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El-Shahabi is a bright beacon in the desert. It is divided into six wards, each with a population of roughly 1,000. Most of the wards are ruled by one of the town's guilds, and together the Guild Grandmasters form the Assembly of Elders. The Caliph Shah Zahir is the monarch and high priest of the city, but his actions are checked by the Assembly.

The wards of El-Shahabi are…

• The Palace Ward is ruled personally by the Caliph Shah Zahir. It has the Caliph's court and the city's temples.
• The Cloth Ward houses the city's tailors, moneylenders and bankers. It is ruled by the Grandmaster of the Cloth Guild.
• The Mariners Ward is the impressive harbour, ruled by the Mariners Guild. Sailors and mercenaries can be found here.
• The Merchants Ward, run by the Merchants Guild, has the city marketplace. The city's richest nobles and the poorest thieves both live and work here.
• The Apothecary Ward hosts the city's surgeons, alchemists, herbalists and magicians. All of these professions are monitored by the Apothecary Guild.
• The City Ward is ruled by the Bel, or governor, of the city. Every year, the highest members of the Guilds draw straws and one is elected to be the Bel. This ward hosts the city's legal court, and the Assembly Hall.

September, week 1, 412

Neesha walks up to a stall in the one of the city's crowded open-air markets. A old dwarf in colourful robes is there, selling writing supplies and some scrolls, plus a few different talismans. He gives her a wide smile and opens his arms in a greeting. 'Allū, allū! Come in!'

He shows off his wares: ink of many different colours, quills and brushes, wax tablets, papyrus. 'I can sell you some fine papyrus here: 4 mina and you can have all the supplies you need to write on a few pages. Papyrus is not very durable, but it gets the job done. If you can afford it, though, these sheets of vellum are my speciality: I ask 3 talents to give you everything you need to write a few scrolls. I only use the finest calfskin to make my vellum, and my secret method makes them more durable against smoke or water damage. Trust me, the investment is worth it!'

As they haggle, the merchant sees that Neesha is eyeing a small map hanging in his stall. 'Ah! An elf-woman after my own interests. This is a map of the world! On it you will find great detail about the Empire in the East, and as you can see here it shows where the lost continent of Temula is believed to be, according to the most learned scholars.' Neesha looks over the map and discovers that it has no information about Hikuptah that she doesn't already know.

The dwarf says, 'I'm afraid I don't have any local maps to sell. There are some libraries in El-Shahabi, but you will have to get permission to use them. The Caliph is sure to have many maps, and each of the Guilds have a small library that should have some maps in them, but you will have to either pay or get permission to enter those.'

He rubs his chin with his inky fingers, thinking. Then he grins and says, 'I will offer you a deal. I have some access to the library of the Merchant's Guild, due to my profession. If you have the coin, and might be able to arrange for you to visit the library for a day.' He adds cautiously, 'It will be expensive, though.'

Neesha slowly walks closer to the salesman looking intrested in his story. close nearby she makes an unsettling grin and asks softly "Expensive, how expensive do you mean"?
in the meanwhile she picks up some papyrus and supplies and put it together in front of the salesman.

The merchant makes an exaggerated face to show that he's making a special offer. 'Well, I myself am not a member of the guild, so my client would have to vouch for you. After the usual fee from the guild, and a service fee for my contact and myself, I think we can come to a deal at… 2 talents per day? As you seem new around here, I don't know if the guild would be willing to let you use their library more than a couple of days at a time.' He quickly helps another customer while he waits for Neesha's reply.

"2 talents a day look a bit price, what if we say 3 talents every 2 days and these supplies for free" Neesha replied back with her unsettlign grin again

The dwarfish merchant looks a little startled at Neesha's counter offer, and then laughs it off. 'I like you, elf woman. You would make a fine trader.' He uses his dirty hand to swat away some large blue horseflies buzzing peskily around his head, deep in thought. Finally, he comes to a decision. 'No, no… after paying the guild fee there would be nothing left over for me or my friend. I will reduce the offer to 3 talents for the two days, plus still paying for the supplies, but that is my final offer. I cannot go any lower than that.'

——
OOC: The barter will use a willpower roll (2D6, trying to roll ≤ your own Will Power). Will Power is modified by -3 for the roll, from the price difference and the merchant's bartering skill:

2D6 ≤ (6-3 = 3) [2d6] = 4
So close… almost made it.

Neesha looks at the merchant and shakes his hand "It is a deal, 3 talents for 2 days and the supplies paid seperate"

"Fine! Meet me by the guildhall tomorrow morning and I'll take you. My name is Ashta."

The next morning as the sun is just coming up over the city walls, Neesha meets Ashta the parchment maker in front of the main hall of the Merchants' Guild. A slender middle-aged man with a long beard is standing with him, and introduces himself as a scribe guildsman.



He leads Neesha through several tiny rooms with scrolls stacked up against the wall. She has never seen so many scrolls before in her life—there must be well over a hundred scrolls in each room!

Finally she is led into a room and asked to sit at a low desk. The scribe leaves and returns with two scrolls: one is a map of Hikuptah, but there is no new information on it. The other scroll is a map of the city of El-Shahabi and some of its surroundings. Neesha spends the next two days making notes.

(Please deduct 3 talents for the maps, and 4 mina for the supplies).

September, week 2, 412
Merchants Quarter

Smiling Ben spends his evenings revelling in the taverns of the merchants quarter. The first two nights are somewhat uneventful, but on the third night he meets a rich merchant, whose name he never learns. They spend the evening placing bets on the cobra fights and buying each other pitchers of wine all night.

The next evening Ben heads to another tavern. This one is underground, and he has to descend a set of thin spiral steps to enter the front door. Small candles are placed haphazardly about the cramped front room, sputtering low light into the darkness. Beyond are several archways, lined with human skulls, leading into a maze of tiny rooms and larger dens.

Ben finds his way into the main den, a sort of cellar where pillows and rugs of all colors are scattered about the stone floor. A young man with a boyish face, a eunuch judging by his clothes, plays a bowed lute in the corner. A few groups hugging the corners of the room are invested in dice games.



Ben finds a spot and begins nibbling from a tray of little snacks wrapped in grape leaves, and drinking wine. Soon he spots a group of four men wrapped in tribal desert clothes, sitting in the far corner. They are fairly quiet and have a hard look about them, and they seem to regularly scan the room as if looking or waiting for something.

Ben, deciding not to get involved if anything untoward happens, quickly leaves and finds another tavern to haunt.

September, week 4, 412
Merchants Quarter

Bright and early one morning Smiling Ben heads to the market to buy foodstuffs. He easily finds access to all of the food he wants, and more than enough camels, cows, horses and mules for sale.

Afterwards, he enquires about where he can find some men-at-arms for hire. He is directed to the Merchants Quarter city gates, where caravan guards sell themselves, and a nearby tavern or two service the more disreputable men for hire.

As he approaches the gate, a group of thirteen burly men come strutting into the courtyard, juggling their swords and and playing at wrestling games. Their leader stands around hopefully, calling out. "Joachim's erg raiders for hire! Thirteen of the best swordsmen in all of Hikuptah! We have our own donkeys, and armor! The lot of our band, for only 32 mina per week!"

Seeing that no one is yet coming to their call, Ben wanders into one of the nearby taverns and immediately spots a group of four men he recognizes from the week before. They look much the same, but one or two of them show evidence of scratches and nicks across their shoulders and face, and one has a puffed right eye. They seem to be eating some sort of breakfast gruel, and minding their own business. A quick conversations determines that they are sellswords, tribal warriors from the southern wastelands near Minaa. "I am Hikkuk," says the leader, "We came here with a caravan some weeks ago, and are waiting until something worthwhile comes. We will take the normal rates." (As light footmen, they would each cost 1 mina per week, for an agreed upon amount of time.)



The proprietor, overhearing Ben's bartering, directs him to a fattened and crusty man lies in a stupor on some yellow pillows over in the corner. Half-awake, he picks his teeth with a chicken bone and introduces himself as Gish, a magician extraordinaire. The sequins of his turban jangle as he coughs himself up to a full posture. "You are in luck, my stunted companion! I normally would charge no less than a talent a week for my services, but as you can sympathize I have run into disfavor at the Caliph's court, by means of a vice I shall not divulge, and very few people within the lower rungs of society are willing to pay my premium. Until I can reach some more forgiving palace, I am at the mercy of your robe and will take… 3 mina per week, shall we say? I can conjure up terrific winds, and have full knowledge of whatever protective auras you might want."

Remember that to feed mercenaries, you'll need to feed them on the road: count up the number of pack animals and men you're taking with you, and every 4 will require 1 mina of foodstuffs per week (it's 6 shekels a week for food, but you only pay for half of the expedition's duration, and they'll forage or provide for themselves the rest of the time). A single pack animal can carry up to 50 weeks of food for one person.

Once the initial expedition is over, you can always renegotiate for more permanent service.

"Hikkuk, you and your men are hired. We'll reach my homelands in a little over a week, and if you give me loyal service, I may have household positions for you. Magician...if you want work, perhaps you'll be so kind as to follow me. You'll see coin as soon as I see some demonstration of your abilities, but let's wait until we're beyond the city walls, I have a feeling the guards won't take too kindly to you trying to summon even a wind within this stinking city."

Ben heads back out, and if Joachim and his erg raiders are still there, he hires them on the spot. He should have just enough mina left to hire them and still buy everyone half a week's food. "We'll hunt on the road. I may not look it, but I'm an excellent trapper. I hope you don't all mind packing your own food, I think we'll move faster without a pack animal, and anyways its not all that far to go. You men who've been with me this month, I hope you've enjoyed these weeks on my coin. Stay with me one week longer and we'll all be feasting in my father's halls, and those who wish it can stay on as my retainers."

Hikkuk looks to his men, who make a show of solidarity by spitting on the ground. He spits on the ground himself in return, and uses his knife to cut off part of the pomegranate he had been eating and offers it to Ben. "We accept. Let us collect our things from the den keeper and we will be ready."

The magician Gish immediately accepts his offer as well. On their way out of the city he professes a great admiration for his own scholarly and magical accomplishments, and promises a worthy show of his talents pro gratis, to secure a place in Ben's caravan. His only moments of silence are when they are casually inspected by the city guards at the gates. Once outside, he lets out a sigh of relief at the prospect of leaving El-Shahabi behind.

Outside the city, Joachim shrugs off Ben's caveats, clearly unconcerned. "We have an extra donkey or two, which is enough to carry what we need. Most are unwilling to hire extra animals for bands like us." He delivers the news to his surly men and they begin to break camp for the journey.

At a distance away from the city, Gish pulls out a small leather bag. "You are in luck for this demonstration, my friend. It takes a great deal of effort and time to create the philtres necessary to cast these spells, and they only last for so many days before losing their efficacy. I mixed this batch of aerial humors myself only two days ago, and it still has some life left in it: watch and be amazed!" He suddenly turns away from the party, and with a flamboyant motion of the arms he sends the contents of the bag scattering into the air. He speaks a strange word, "Abatu-kazzam!", and without warning everyone's ears are filled with a deafening roar, their turbans and scarves whipping up into their faces like scared birds. The valley before them ripples as a gust of wind tears through it, kicking up huge amounts of dust and flinging dry brush through the air for the length of a powerful man's javelin throw. As quickly as they started the wind clears, and a small collection of previously unseen animals struggle back to their feet in a panic, dizzy and unable to keep their balance as they flee.

Reginald emerges into the street from the lotus den and tavern of Plishat, and together he and his slave make wander their way through the city toward the water, figuring correctly that the Mariners Ward must lie generally in that direction.



Within the walls of the Mariners Ward all is noise: the clamour of hammers, the groaning of ship's hulls, the shouts of sailors, the clamour of seagulls, and the unceasing wind tossing salted waves against the shore. Sailors and cutthroats of every hue and shape live and laugh and die here, unable to detach themselves from the wild call of the sea to make an honest living.

The two ratmen find a promising building overlooking the circular bay and enter into the smoke-filled room. Men, dwarves, elves and ratmen sit against the walls, gambling their savings away as they drink sour wine and the intoxicating tea of the grey lotus. At the back of the room, sitting on a mound of tasselled pillows, an old blind woman plays a lyre as two young women comb her hair; from the darkened room behind her a collection of seductive eyes peer out, beckoning lonely sailors to enter.

Reginald and friend begin to poke around, looking for friendly rat-men. If they find any, they will begin to press them about this group of bandits.

Reginald does indeed find a pair of auburn ratmen in the back corner—all tatters, wet fur and mangy ears. Between them they are devouring the barbecued carcass of a large monkey, served with a spicy soup made from some of its innards.

The welcome the newcomers to a seat but do not offer any food. The group chitters away in their incomprehensible rodentine language, and after a short while Reginald becomes used to their tribe's particular dialect.
They are interrupted mid-discussion by a loud commotion in the back of the room. From the smoke-filled harem in the back of the room two drunken men come tumbling out—one a tall night elf with pale grey skin, the other a bronzed human sailor with his ratty turban beginning to unravel. The night elf is presumably the offender, being pushed out of the room by the human as they both argue bitterly. The crowd of patrons begin to take notice, and those who choose to involve themselves take sides with the human.

The old matron stops playing her lyre to clap her hands together twice, and a large bodyguard comes to break up the scene. He grabs the night elf by the collar of his shirt and begins to drag him along the ground toward the door. Several patrons cheer and throw bits of spare food at the elf as he is pulled along. Then, the scene quickly escalates: two night elf sailors pull their drunken comrade away from the guard and stand him up; the guard orders them all out of the building; an elf is pushed from somewhere; a fist flies, and the room devolves into chaos.

A man tumbles into their corner and overturns the ratmen's large soup bowl, his face covered in wine and sporting a thick bruise. One of the ratmen claws at him, and he responds by brandishing a deeply curved knife!

Starbeard wrote:Reginald does indeed find a pair of auburn ratmen in the back corner—all tatters, wet fur and mangy ears. Between them they are devouring the barbecued carcass of a large monkey, served with a spicy soup made from some of its innards.

The welcome the newcomers to a seat but do not offer any food. The group chitters away in their incomprehensible rodentine language, and after a short while Reginald becomes used to their tribe's particular dialect.

Their conversation is PMed.

They are interrupted mid-discussion by a loud commotion in the back of the room. From the smoke-filled harem in the back of the room two drunken men come tumbling out—one a tall night elf with pale grey skin, the other a bronzed human sailor with his ratty turban beginning to unravel. The night elf is presumably the offender, being pushed out of the room by the human as they both argue bitterly. The crowd of patrons begin to take notice, and those who choose to involve themselves take sides with the human.

The old matron stops playing her lyre to clap her hands together twice, and a large bodyguard comes to break up the scene. He grabs the night elf by the collar of his shirt and begins to drag him along the ground toward the door. Several patrons cheer and throw bits of spare food at the elf as he is pulled along. Then, the scene quickly escalates: two night elf sailors pull their drunken comrade away from the guard and stand him up; the guard orders them all out of the building; an elf is pushed from somewhere; a fist flies, and the room devolves into chaos.

A man tumbles into their corner and overturns the ratmen's large soup bowl, his face covered in wine and sporting a thick bruise. One of the ratmen claws at him, and he responds by brandishing a deeply curved knife!

Reginald holds his slave in front of him, like a shield, and runs out of the tavern as fast as he can.

Reginald's slave squeals as his master drags him across the room, intent on self-preservation. Reginald moves to step around the swarthy sailor who had crashed into their low table, but the growling menace makes a move to slash at them with his gleaming blade. Reginald's slave panics, kicking his long, clawed feet wildly at the man. Miraculously, his flailing defense connects directly against the sailor's forehead, and sends him tumbling back into a thin stone support column, the back of his head cracking against it and knocking him unconscious. Reginald wastes no time in making for the door, and is only half aware when he sees one of the ratmen with whom they were dining quickly pounce on the unconscious sailor, pilfering him of his goods with a knife held ready to slash at anyone who might come close.

Splashed wine and bits of shattered pottery fill the air around them as jars are thrown across the room or smashed into the heads of nearby assailants. They duck under a near miss from a heavy vase, and Reginald's slave is hit with something in the shoulder, heavy enough to leave a welt the next day. Reaching the door, the two ratmen step over the night elf who had been the cause of the commotion in the first place. His lies dead before the entrance, slit at the throat.

The ratmen are on their way just as the city watch arrives from the other direction, their bronze helmets gleaming red under the waning sun.

Combat report:

Good morrow, sirs, says Reginald cheerfully. Bit of a brawl in there, gesturing to the tavern. Elf was killed. It was all started by a group of rat-men –– you'd recognize them by their funny dialect. Oh, sometimes I'm ashamed of my species. Wretched creatures these were –– ought to be dragged out and hanged, which I'm sure you good sirs will get on with. Speaking of hangings, I've heard tell that a night elf bandit is to be hanged shortly. Do you know anything about this?

The guards rush dutifully toward the building. Reginald hears the muffled sounds of more fighting within, as well as a few painful screams.

One of the watchmen answers his question, even as he pushes him aside in apparent callousness. 'The execution of the brigand will be tomorrow at midday, in the City Ward. Do not cause trouble,' he says.

Sailors and vagabonds begin climbing out of back doors and floor windows of the inn, some being caught before they can escape and dragged back into the smokey darkness within. Probably time to beat a hasty retreat, as one rat usually looks like another to most men.

The particulars of the event are known well enough in the streets: the prisoner is being held in the Guard Tower in the City Ward; from there he will be paraded around the streets of the Ward, shackled, and before the city hall (the palatial court of the Bel) he will have a public audience before the Bel himself; the Bel will then sentence him to death without blessing, and offer him a partial pardon and burial as a criminal if he agrees to end his own life. If the prisoner is unwilling or unable to take up the pardon, he will have offended the Bel and will be tortured in the square, his dying body consumed by the sacred crocodiles, and his spirit will be doomed to an eternity of drowning in the White River, unable to reach the Valley of the Dead.