11th to the 20th of Arum-Mah, 641 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

Several weeks have passed since the City of Sapphire fell foul of the Darvaki horde and life has slowly returned to normal. Bazaari once again crowd the markets, the great mosque is no longer just a refuge of the old and sick and even the sekut have returned like rats after the passing storm. From the ruins of the old Bazaari quarter, my academy flourished. It feels like just yesterday that we opened our doors to talented individuals from all walks of life, yet I now find myself as the tutor of a dozen of the finest minds in mardoum society.

Day blended with night and I very quickly lost track of time while surrounded by tome and scroll, forgotten relics of the cities library. Hamzi made tutoring look so easy, yet I find myself struggling to keep up with the students’ thirst for knowledge. Often my day would be spent teaching one methodology and then my evening spent researching the next. But all this education is good for the mind, I had become lazy in recent years and relied too much of cheap tricks.

Just as things had started to settle, my evening routine was disturbed by a heavy and somewhat authoritative knock at the door. With only moments to gather myself I was greeted by two Pasdari ready to collect me for the Majlis ceremony in my honour. I remember looking over at the stack of papers on my desk and there, under several stacks of scroll cases, is a crisp and unopened letter that bears the official seal of the city. No time to shave then.

The ceremony was breathtaking. It seemed like the entire city had emptied into the civic hall and for the first time in weeks I felt the weight of our achievement as thousands of eyes sat fixated on myself and my companions.
Once the ceremony had subsided, we were invited to a more private meeting with the Vizier and a few select members of high society. It transpired that we were once again needed in service our adopted city. Construction slowed as materials had become harder and harder to acquire. If there was any chance of returning the Sapphire to its old splendor, we would need a sizeable supply of raw materials from the great northern city of Behoustan.
In addition to the sizeable fortune entrusted to us, the Vizier placed us under the charge of a young and bright eyed mufti named Benn.

So the next day, with Benn and the city’s wealth  in tow, we set out towards the third jewel of the Caliphate: Behoustan, City of Topaz.

No matter how often you travel through the Bahar, it becomes no more forgiving than the last. Wind, sand and sun lashed at any exposed skin it could find and the dunes spanned out for miles in all directions. Though the journey was unusually quiet, which given previous experience, was never a good sign. The Caliphate is a dangerous place, any journeying party would expect to encounter any number of the predatory creatures along its travels, yet we rarely saw anything larger than a desert lizard.

We did encounter several small Bahari groups travelling westward for the rainy season, many of which brought news from the various parts of the Caliphate. It would seem that life in Darvish Kapur had returned to the status quo albeit with the new Sheikh, Wassim al-Kapur. As for the civil unrest in Yasminah, word was that it had come to bloodshed. These were dark days indeed.

Our journey took us north, to the Great Oasis. Once populated by vast numbers of Bahari, this desert jewel was now completely desolate. Dark clouds hung overhead and in the distance, thunder boomed. At first I didn’t realise what I was hearing, dismissing the thunder as a sign of the coming storm. Yet the sound replayed in my mind over and over until realisation swept through my thoughts and drew my gaze skyward. This was not thunder, but the booming voice of a creature far too abhorrent for the natural world. Once again it boomed out Maissa’s name and the beast fell from the heavens like a swooping hawk. The ground around us exploded as more creatures, born of lightning, began to whisper a dark chorus in reverence of this winged beast, this Shaitun of Atash.

I’ll admit I was worried about Benn. He was a sheltered creature, much like I used to be, and to experience such horrors first hand could easily break a man. But he stood firm in his conviction and we brought a swift end to this new monstrosity.

Exhausted, we set up camp overnight at the Great Oasis before continuing our journey north, out of the Bahar and into the mountainous realm of Behoustan. There we crossed onto the main trade route between Darvish Kapur and the northern cities, a vast winding road that followed the banks of the river Kimri.

25th of Garm-mah to 1st of Atash-mah, 641 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

The golden dunes of the Bahar Desert finally gave way to barren hills that marked Black Crescent territory. We knew it was a gamble, our last encounter with the mercenaries was bound to leave a sour taste and we would no doubt have some blood debt to repay. Despite the unrelenting heat, Raouf had an unusual spring in his step, maybe his last encounter with this band played out better than my own. I however, had no intention of becoming an extended guest of theirs again.

Our search led us across the rocky wastes for several miles, through dusty ravines and sharp outcroppings until we finally found our quarry. There’ looming upon one of the hilltops stood a formidable construct of steel, stone and timber. A few gilded words and some parted coin later and we were escorted through the fortress gates and into the depths of the encampment. There we were met by the unmistakable stout form and bushy beard of Samadi “Two-swords”.

And there we learned the extent of our debt. Four thousand gold pieces was to be the blood price. The price we were to pay for the men lost. And the price we would pay for Raouf to keep his head. And so a bargain was struck. We were to pay a princely deposit to leave alive and Samadi charged us with the recovery of an ancient artifact; the Scimitar of Moktor, first of the Black Crescents. With its safe return, we would prove our worth to Samadi and buy the time needed to pay our debts. And Shushan would get its army.

We purchased what supplies we could, loaded up the camels and set off once more into the desert. I remember growing up in Darvish Kapur, where any noble worth his salt could hire a sedan chair for less than a handful of gold. Whereas these beasts cost several times as much and were at least eight times as unpleasant, if such a quality was even quantifiable. They were loud, uncomfortable and there was never a moment when they didn’t smell of manure. Had they not cut our journey time down significantly, I would have been much happier on foot.

We travelled north, over the mountains and back into the vast deserts that the Bahari called home. With Maissa guiding us through the arid wastes, the golden dunes finally gave way to one of the wonders of the caliphate; known to the Bahari as The Great Oasis. The Jandisari tells us that this is the northern hub of her people, where tribes from all over come together to tell stories, trade goods and find suitable partners for their sons or daughters.

That night, despite the constant celebration ringing out from the Barahi camps, I slept better than I had done in many weeks. When dawn struck, we gathered our belongings and set off once again northward towards the rumoured location of a mysterious black pyramid. We reasoned that given the total lack of landmarks, if the Black Crescent’s scimitar would be anywhere it would be there.

Nearly a day’s travel under the beating sun brought us to the lands of the Arkas Mesa. There, under the stone gaze of the jet-black monoliths, we found a structure buried deep within the desert sands. It was protected by a magic that felt far older than anything I had encountered and took several hours to unlock more than a few words of its spell. And then, as though it took no effort at all, the spell took root in my mind, and the shifting sands around the structure suddenly fell still. Along one face of the pyramid, surrounded by runic symbols and no wider than I am tall, a small aperture appeared.  

We followed the tunnel as it snaked deep into the heart of the pyramid before opening up into a large open chamber. Six sarcophagi lay evenly spaced out along the floor, 3 on each side of the room, and one of which was buried deep in rubble that had fallen from the ceiling. Finally, along the back wall was a single shrine of white stone where upon a golden scimitar lay, bathed in light from no apparent natural source. We had found the final resting place of Moktor ibn-Jazeera but it would seem that we were not the first. There, standing by the shrine, was a hulk of a man. His long blonde hair and fair skin reminded me of the men from the north yet his long fangs and sharply pointed ears betrayed the true nature of the beast.

Spells flew and swords clashed as we fought to repel this new foe. Strange how he assaulted without provocation or warning. Maybe he was the protector of this crypt, or perhaps he was just another grave robber that found himself in the wrong place. Never the less, it was clear that for him, this was a fight to the death and we had little alternative than to comply.

Northman felled, we all turned as one to the scimitar as it lay almost defiantly on the stone. There was our prize, yet somehow I felt rooted to the spot. Strength of will alone would not be enough to command my legs forward and my hands felt as heavy as lead. I could only watch as Maissa stepped up to the sword and grasped the hilt.

And then, time froze. The room filled with a presence that filled every pit and illuminated every shadow. I felt the weight of millennia, of everything that was and everything that will be, press upon my shoulders. Under the scrutiny of an ageless gaze, I fell to my knees and sobbed.

17th and 18th of Garm-mah 641 SC

The History of the Jandicary 600-700 SC

As recorded by Ayatollah Nabil ibn Moriad, 720 SC

The Umbar-Shard creeps up the Targyr river untill the belly of the shark scraped along the shallows and there emerged silently in the middle of the river. Violent desolation lay on both banks. The charcoal skeletons of huts and a smouldering pier all that remained. In the distance, the relentless thud of giant trebuchets and the steady hum of powerful magic and warding spells, enough arcane energy to make the hairs on the back of Rafiq's neck stand on end.

Outside the Umbrian craft the visceral stench of war hangs thick in the air. Each side of the river is lined with the carcasses of the dead, human and beast mixed together in defiance of the last rites of the dead and the Holy Divine. More bodies floated in the river, bloated and trapped by the wreckage of the once proud pier.

Quietly into the water the Umbrian leads the way. Never truly comfortable away from the burning sands of the Caliphate, Maissa slips off the railing and into the water. A party of Dharvaki are now alerted to their approaching judgement. Shaking off the stupor of wine and bloodshed and all things dark and infernal besides, the Dharvaki draw hammer and crossbow. Clanging weapon against their armour and hurling garbled curses they arrange themselves beside the river to meet the heroes as they reach dry land.

Drawing blade and staff the party of Maissa the Blessed charge up onto the banks. With the strength and courage of the Holy Divine coursing through their veins and down through to their weapon hands they smite a powerful blow against the cowardly group of Dharvaki. The party emerges triumphant and unscathed, forcing the twisted Ritter Blackfist to his knees. Put on trial as a traitor to the Caliphate and enslaver of the people of the Holy Divine, Maissa performs his execution swiftly. Beside the battle site, two tents stand. One but smouldering wreckage due to a wayward bolt of dark power unleashed by Ritter the Traitor. The second contains half a dozen slaves, bound by hand and foot and chained together. A plea for mercy and freedom rises and all are cut free from their restraints by a blow of the Umbrian’s scimitar.

Sending the freed-men away from the burning City of Saphire, one of the rescued captives offers the heroes help in breaking through the line of Dharvaki surrounding the walls of Shushan. So Mabrouk Kafar leads the party a little way beyond the city to an abandon shed, a secret entrance for the Sukhout,  thieves quick to profit from the desperate crippling hunger already gripping besieged citizens of Shushan.

Down into a secret tunnel, Raouf the Elusive leads the way checking for traps, until the party reaches the sewers proper and clamber up a nearby ladder up into a warehouse. Not quite empty, two ruffians guarding sacks of grain and wheat confront the party of Maissa al-Bahari. With a flourish of longsword and scimitars, darting stabs of poisoned daggers and flashes of arcane magic, the attackers soon lay bloodied and beaten on the threshing floor. A quite creak of the warehouse door and the party spill out into a large square right in the centre of Shushan.

At one corner of the square a few citizens scurry home. Looking out over the low rise buildings the righteous Jandicary spots the looming blue dome of the Great Mosque. Leading the way past a Pasdari blockade, Maissa and the party reach the entrance to the Mosque. Inside the old, infirm and those too young to yet pick up a blade and defend the city walls sit in fervent prayer beseeching the Holy Divine to remember His servants and to show mercy to the City of Sapphire.

Finding an enclave overlooking the praying masses, Maissa sinks to her knees joining in the prayers and meditation of the people with the stoic dragonborn standing beside her. Impatient, the Umbrian harasses the quiet scholars until exasperated he is sent outside with the remaining members of the party to do the bidding of Jabbar the Giant, the peaceful half-Gondehmar. Thus put to manual labour, Rafiq the Soft-hands has his high born feathers ruffled.

Prayers finished and the people of Shushan duly seen to, the Holy Warrior approaches this Ayatollah and lays her flaming sword at his feet. She pledges to do all in her power to lift the iron grip of the Dharvaki upon the city for the glory of the Holy Divine . Blessing her with the power of Holy Wrath, this Ayatollah tasks the Jandicary to strike at Almnos leader of the Black Fist mercenaries and cut off the head of the Dharvaki force.

The party makes their way back outside the city walls and once more at the hideout of the Sukhout they meet up with Mabrouk. Here the party rests and gathers their energy for the coming battle before the wily thief leads them to a watchtower, themakeshift headquarters of the Dharvaki vanguard. As they arrive they see that the mercenary force is preparing for a final assault on Shushan.

A fierce battle of the forces of good and evil ensues, with the alien Umbrian paying the ultimate sacrifice as he lays down his life for a God that he did not know. Yet the forces of darkness are no match for the power and might of the Holy Divine, as the party of the Jandicary defeat the foes of Shushan. Lifting up her mighty longsword Maissa removes the head of Almros leader of the Black Fists as a warning to the enemies of the Holy Divine.

14th of Garm-marh, 641 SC

The History of the Jandicary 600-700 SC

As recorded by Ayatollah Nabil ibn Moriad, 720 SC

The Umbar-Shard breaks the surface of the Azure Sea a stone throw from the fleet that had earlier been glimpsed streaming out from the harbour town of Shushan. Peering out the hatch the servants of the Holy Divine are surprised  to see no great armada but a ramshackle flotilla of hastily constructed rafts accompanied by a score of dhows, more seaworthy, but overcrowded with women and children and all manner of refugees.

Within hailing distance of the closest ship now, Pang Mighty Dragonborn and Maissa the Jandicary climb out the hatch on top of the Umbar-Shard and having greeted the refugees in the name of the Holy Divine, request an audience with the leader of this curious fleet. A dhow approaches and beckoned hither by its captain, Dragonborn and Jandicary both throw themselves into the sea and swim aboard the humble fishing boat.

Dark news greats them: Shysan is under siege.  A mercenary force of Dharvaki most foul calling themselves the Blackfists have surrounded the City of Sapphire and in defiance of the Holy Divine, have begun constructing trebuchets and battering rams to smash down the gates. This sorry fleet is all that escaped in the dead of night before the accursed Dharvaki swept into the harbour, burning the docks and what ships remained moored there.

With a promise in the name of the Holy Divine to deliver the people of Shushan, the vessel of Umbar dives beneath the sea and speeds off in search of safe haven leaving behind Rafiq the Highborn, Pang Dragonborn and the assurance of returning within six hours.

Watched wide eyed by the children, only the bravest darting out from behind nets and barrels to clutch at colourful dragon scales with playful giggles, Pang melts and rumbles out a story to lift the spirits of the youngest shipmates. A tale that would have delighted any brood of dragonborn hatchlings with its elaborate description of maiming and eyeball gouging, the children shrink back in terror, Rafiq’s magical cantrips all that can stop the pitiful wailing.

Bigger problems now arise aboard the flotilla as the situation rapidly deteriorates as fears begin to consume the hearts of refugees. Grumbling and scared people hoard supplies looking on Rafiq’s offer to purify water with mistrustful eyes. Bargaining and battering to get off the rafts and onto the relative safety of the dhows has begun, the poorest and weakest pushed and bustled onto leaky tubs and mere planks. Pang’s roar that had failed to comfort the children now rouses the able bodied sailors. Weather beaten and tattooed all, even the most grizzled of the old sea dogs respond to Pang’s tone and begin lashing the floating colony together with rope.

Though it feels much longer, not two hours pass before the Umbrian Shade and the young Hasari return with Maissa the Righteous. A suitable haven has been found. Natural defences from any inland attack and fresh water, but it lies almost six hours sail from the fleet at the pace of the flotilla’s fastest dhows. The Umbrian, bonded with the infernal shark spirit of the Umbar-Shard, has sensed a storm coming.

Maissa races to the tallest mast, quickly scaling up into the crow’s nest, she climbs and lifting her hands to the heavens beseeches the refugees of Shushan to work together or lose even their lives they hold so dear.

Quickly, time fleeting, Pang rouses the sailors with a giant bellow. Rafiq at last with supplies purifies precious water and stows provisions, Maissa jumps ship to ship and moving refugees up on to the dhows and off the bobbing rafts. Pulling together as at a single oar the people of Shushan lifted by the Holy Divine do the bidding of the heroes. 

Two dhows, however, hang back their sailors making not a move to help the raft people or cooperate with the flottilla.Burning with holy wrath Maissa storms along the flotilla with Pang alongside, roaring out a blast of dragon fear as guards quickly spring apart as the heroes storm aboard the black dhow. They are met by Fahim Ulamai who will not help the refugees and using dark magic confuses and removes the Dragonborn and the Jandicary from his ship. Oh Holy Divine strike Fahim the Blackheart down!

On the second dhow, a mute sailor beckons the party aboard. Youcef Ushna greets the party in his quarters with a wordless wave, tongue once wretched from his mouth leaving behind a fleshy stump. This floating den of thieves will not take on board a single refugee for any price less than 5000 gold pieces. Raouf the Impulsive steps up and with a flourish offers Youcef his services as a Hasari to the leader of the Sukout. The deal is sealed with a sip of sugared tea.

The first drops of rain are falling now and thick purple clouds have rolled across the sky. To sail! To oar! The flotilla begins to flee as lightning splits the sky and waves buffet the fleet. Above even the crashing of the sea and the sound of wood splintering, the wretched cries of the terrified and drowning pierce the stormy night. The party clings on, prayers to the Holy Divine all they can offer now.

At last the dawn and Maissa, exhausted once more must climb the tallest mast to offer prays for the lost and to comfort the living.  Press on: safety lives but a few leagues further! A little while later the Umbarian craft resurfaces, pointing towards a new home with its metallic brow.

And so the refuges set up camp besides the Azure Sea. Leaving Amir al-Moriad the stonemason, silent and devout, entrusted with the care of the people and the rebuilding of their humble lives, once more the party continues on to Shushan inside the Umbar-Shard.

11th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

We had been sailing for no more than a few days when the weather began to turn against us. The wind howled through our sails and waves crashed over the deck. What was once a calm blue sea had turned into a maelstrom. I gripped the railings for support and saw a dark shape skim under the water towards us. Our ship rocked violently as it passed underneath before breaching the waterline just beyond our prow. A tail as thick as I am tall surged out of the water and came down upon the decking, snapping the dhow in two. Wood splintered and rigging snapped under the force as we were sent flying into the sea.
I managed to find purchase on what was once some decking and readied myself to repel the creature. As it raised its head again, I could see that my companions had similar plans. Every now and then, between the beast’s thrashing, I could make out the small figure of Raouf clinging to some tendrils while digging deep grooves in its hide with his blade.

After what felt like a lifetime later, we dealt the killing blow and the creatures lifeless corpse sank below the crashing waves. As it disappeared from view, the turbulent ocean simmered down back to the serene mirror-like surface and we were left stranded on whatever makeshift rafts we could muster. Ahead, a collection of jagged rocks came into view. Too exhausted to mount a response, we allowed ourselves to drift with the current towards solid ground.

I awoke a few moments later to a clear blue sky and a pounding headache. Every muscle in my body ached in protest as I rolled over to cough up a hearty mixture of blood and saltwater. Never again, I swore to myself. The next trip I take will be over land. Maybe through a desert or somewhere. There was a flurry of commotion as I waved the gulls away and crawled up onto higher ground, where I saw my companions had followed suit.

We spent a few moments gathering ourselves and taking stock. It was fortuitous that most of our equipment washed up on the rafts, but it would appear that the Mufti’s wondrous carpet now resided at the ocean floor. These rocks offered little more than desolation, but we discovered one small curiosity that may bring hope: No more than 10 feet below the surface, a small aperture opened up into a tunnel that stretched out below the rocks themselves. Given the option of dehydration again or being pecked alive by gulls, we figured that whatever lay below could be no worse than where we were.

Pang was first to dive below the surface, making light work of the ocean currents. We watched as he poked his head through the hole for a few moments and then slid through the opening. Roauf and Shade were next to follow suit, leaving myself and Maissa treading water. Taking a moment to secure my equipment, I plunged beneath the waves and made for the cave mouth.
I can’t have been more than a foot into the cave when the water appeared to halt completely, as though a wall of air barred its progress. I didn’t have much time to comprehend the sudden change in environment when gravity took hold once more and I was sent tumbling into the darkness below.

We crashed and clattered down the passageway before coming to a halt on a finely worked stone floor. I stood up and worked a couple of cantrips to dry out my clothing before the form of Maissa came barrelling down the tunnel moments later. Looking ahead, the floor panned out into a huge stone cavern. Four pillars of what must have been ornately carved coral stretched from floor to ceiling and there in the centre, stood a gathering of abyssal fiends. There was little time to prepare before the beasts pounced, each with rending claws and poisonous aura. I threw up whatever shielding spells I could and had it not been for some fortune we would have been easily overpowered. As it stood, we were able to repel the creatures and an expertly thrown dagger brought a swift end to the largest beast.

Pausing for a moment to bandage my wounds, I was able to take in more of the environment around us. Littering the floor and columns were glyphs in the hundreds each one finely carved into the masonry with more care and attention than we had come to expect from the fiends. My limited study into the elemental histories told me that this was a temple to Bheestah, the elemental princess of water.
Ahead was a raised platform where several offerings sat placed within a circle of pure white salt. Whether the salt was placed to protect the offerings from the fiends, or as part of a wider ritual it was hard to say. But whoever placed them would be long gone by now.

It was only when we reached the platform did we discover the true wonder of this temple; a wall of water stretched from floor to ceiling and behind the shimmering surface loomed a dark and alien shape. Tentatively we drew nearer, weapons drawn and prepared for a second bout of combat. Instead the shape revealed itself to be a huge metallic shark-like construction, clearly of manmade design. Bolts and rivets secured the various sections of metal hide together and along the side at regular intervals were small glass windows.

[ Incomplete. ]

10th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

As day broke and the sun crept over the structure, we began to see a change in the script that covered the doorway. Where before it was indecipherable, now three symbols stood prominently over the doorway which in common read out as “FIRE OPEN NOW”. As I stood there trying to unravel the riddle before us, the young boy Raouf strode forward and read the words aloud in a language I can only imagine to be Umbrian. No sooner had he finished the last syllable, the great stone doors began to slide inwards and we were met by a blast of heat beyond anything I had experienced.

Hours passed as we took turns trying to decipher a means of entry. Raouf had given up and returned with several coconuts which were well received, Shade was left constructing some kind of sail for reasons best known to himself, Pang and myself took cover under some trees to watch Maissa continue to throw various objects through the doorway out of little more than desperation.

The afternoon dragged on and the sun crawled across the sky until but a sliver of light fell over the trees and onto the stone doorway. With little more to do, we watched the light slowly disappear and as it did so the heat that emanated from within rapidly extinguished. Cautiously, we made our way into the darkness.

We made our way down a sloping corridor, dispatching several guardians on the way and came out to a large central chamber. Hulking clay men lined the walls for as far as the eye could see and in the centre, an assembly line ticked onwards. Unlike the heavy handed process of the clay men outside this process was more detailed, more organic. Crystals were collected from a central sieve and were passed down from automation to automation and in doing so, became more recognisable with each stop. By the end of the process, these rough glass crystals had become the clay men where after they were unceremoniously dumped in a lifeless pile. It seemed that like the clay men, this process had instruction but suffered a fault and was never corrected thus continuing to manufacture duds.

After some examination, one curious property of the crystals is that they seem to absorb either heat or magic. Small fire spells and cantrips are snuffed almost immediately, whereas my larger spells are consumed to the point of saturation. After which, the crystals violently expel the excess energy.

Despite my objections, it was made clear that such a factory cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. If someone like Wassim learned of it and were able to reactivate the clay men, he would have an army far greater than anything seen in the Caliphate. So Pang tossed a torch into one of the crystal piles and we made our escape. Behind us, the crystals began to glow with stored energy and one by one they hit total saturation. We were barely out the door before the explosion rocked the island, stone and debris came clattering down from the sky as we ran for cover.

The clay men around us had ceased their routine and began to congregate, shoulder to shoulder, around the building. I watched as the last one fell into place and, as one, the raised their faces to the sky and let out a deep droning cry. It echoed throughout the island, washing over the trees and almost deafening us in the process. While I scrambled to my feet, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up as a huge magical aura now engulfed the island’s interior. Overhead, black clouds began to form in what what once a clear azure sky, thunder crackled and lightning began to dance between them. Then it rained. It was a torrent of water, unrelenting until every inch of this area was soaked through.
We collected as much water as we could, in everything from waterskin to coconut shell. By now the flaming structure was smouldering and the golems had fallen into inactivity. Knowing there was nothing more for us here, we returned to the ship and once again set sail for Shushan.

9th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

We sailed for a night and a day, the burning sun unrelenting overhead as the heat sapped every ounce of moisture. This is said to be a difficult journey for even the most seasoned of mariners and the nature of our departure left us little time to prepare. It didn’t take long for our water skins to run dry and the sun burned away whatever energy we had left.
In the distance, salvation appeared on the horizon. A small island loomed into view, palm trees surrounding its coastline. If we could find a river or any signs of civilisation, we would find water.

Shade adjusted course and we circumnavigated the island hoping to see any sign of habitation but were just met with cliff and beach for several miles. Yet every now and then, through gaps in the tree line, we could see what looked like a stone structure that jutted high into the air. The island itself was crescent shaped, with golden sandy beaches covering most of the coastline punctuated by rocky outcroppings here and there.

By that point, anything was better than spending another hour on that sun-bleached deck. So the ship dropped anchor and we rowed towards the shore, the stone structure disappearing from view as we drew closer. Night fell as we hacked our way through dense tropical forest. A combination of exhaustion and the difficult terrain turned the journey into what felt like a marathon. And then, as abruptly as the jungle started, it stopped. Ahead of us stretched several hundred yards of marshland which ended at yet more trees. Something was different here though, the trees on the other side were laid out in a more deliberate pattern and behind them loomed the structure. It was a ziggurat of carved stone that stood several hundred feet high, the stones themselves reaching up to my waist.

As I dimmed my light spell and focused towards the distance, I could just make out movement behind the neatly planted trees. At first they were easy to miss, their brown skin blending into the mud and stone but their presence was hard to ignore. Huge clay men were gathered around the ziggurat, all performing various automated acts of construction. Some were gathering the stone and mud and compressing together, some were hewing these masses into rectangular blocks and yet more would collect these blocks and crush them down into clumps of stone and grit. The rest served as a conveyor line, transporting the blocks to the various stations for processing. It was if they had been given the task of assembling this structure and no one had ever given instruction to stop.

Beyond their routine, the constructs were largely oblivious to our presence as we made way through the construction to the building at the centre. As far as ancient structures go it was reasonably basic. It had four triangular faces which all came together in a point at the very top and at one of the points along the base you could see a large stone doorway that cut into the shape. The stone that made up the outer layer was covered in runic script in a language beyond my understanding but had the familiar markings of the Ankivari.

7th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

Dawn broke over the city and leaving little to chance, we confronted the two brothers. Hakim was mortally wounded in the fray and no sooner had he fallen, the man-mountain Ramzi yielded. No more blood needed to be spilled and we would not gain answers from the dead.
It quickly became apparent that Ramzi was no mastermind, but a pawn. We all were. He and Hakim were just bodyguards to the Sheik, hired by the Sheik’s own brother. A man they knew only by the name “H”. The puppeteer had been revealed and we had been dancing to his tune all along.

We did not have long to digest this though as heavy, almost regimental footfalls could be heard further up the streets. Had we waited any later and the White Palace guard would have burned us alive in that building. We took refuge in the city sewers, and planned our next move. Raouf had taken to the rooftops while we made way to the mosque via the Gilded Quarter. I had to make sure my family was safe. If the guards were looking for me, the estate would be the first place they’d look.

We ran for what felt like a lifetime. Those patrols unlucky enough to stop us were torn to shreds. I could not stop, I could not be diverted. It was not the time for thought or planning. I made a pact with the beast within and let it free. “Get me home” I told it. And it did.

Up ahead I could see our courtyard, filled with palace guards. Behind them, flames engulfed the building and began to spill over to houses nearby. The street was strewn with debris, some familiar, much too charred to even recognise. I felt a hand press down upon my shoulder and a voice telling me that we must press on, the Mosque would protect us.

It is still hard to recall the events that transpired after that. My world was a maelstrom of motion and noise. By the time I regained some focus, we were sitting on the floor of the Mosque. Ramzi was nowhere to be seen and from the look on Maissa’s face, won’t be joining us later. Outside, the Muftis were shouting at the palace guards who by now would have us surrounded. As Majlis began to assault the Mosque walls, I came to realise that this would be our final stand.

Kismet, it seems, would have other plans. I looked up into the face of another, much younger Mufti. An initiate maybe, too weak to be any good outside. He ushered us along the corridors to a huge domed room and indicated to the floor where a carpet of the finest craftsmanship lay.
Even in my haze, I could feel the power emanating from this wondrous artefact.

Moments later, we were soaring over the city. Below us, the fires raged as Wassim’s grip tightened. The Pearl was now blackened with soot and treachery. We kept the carpet aloft for as long as we could before landing on an abandoned dhow ship where we made ready to set sail for the City of Sapphire.

6th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

I awoke the next day wrapped in fine silk sheets to the familiar smell of coffee. My clothes were washed and neatly folded at the foot of the bed and outside the sounds of the city drifted through my windows. It was a sensation I had taken for granted for so many years now, but today I would savour it. I glanced over at the clothes I had worn over the last few days, now tattered and torn and made a mental note to visit the tailor to pick up some more practical attire.

The bazaar was buzzing with activity, it appeared that my companions had the same idea as the merchants were awash with foreign (yet familiar) coin. I collected my new apparel and paid a visit to the local curio merchant since I heard word that he had procured a collection of mystical trinkets. What good is gold if you let it rot in the coffers anyway? I had earned this.

We met again in our familiar haunt of Manzil-e-Shamar to mull over the enigma of the Vizier's note. It was certainly not magical, so I reluctantly handed the note over to Raouf in hopes that he could decode the message within. After some scrutiny he was able to discern thus; the wax seal was not formed from a signet ring but rather it was carved, or forged by a skilled hand. Secondly, the parchment had been treated with a toxin of sorts but what he was unsure as to its nature or origin.

Fearing the worst, we bid haste to the Gilded quarter. There we would find a master apothecary who could aid us with either information or antitoxin. After some scrutiny she was able to allay our concerns, the toxin that coated the pages was not intended to kill on contact. However, the similarities between this note and other we had found left no doubt that this was another message from the mysterious “H”.

Our thoughts were cut short by the sound of heavy footfall outside, a large contingent of royal guard marched down the street towards the coffee house in which we had met the Princess Salima. With little better to do with our day, we followed.

The coffee house was a hive of activity, government officials occupied nearly every seat, tables were strewn with paperwork and in the eye of the storm sat Wassim al-Kupari, brother to the Sheik. The gossip going around is that someone had tried to assassinate the Sheik and had nearly succeeded. The Vizier had not been seen for some time and the current lack of leadership called for the next in line to be ready to take the reins.

Before concluding his business, Wassim beckoned our Jandisari companion over and after some chitchat we were extended an invitation to the white palace later that evening to discuss matters away from prying ears.

The banquet hall was vast. Pillars of polished white stone surrounded a long table adorned with flowers, fruits and cured meats. At the head, flanked by several highborn and government officials sat Wassim, his wife and daughter.

After some time many of the guests were ushered out, leaving us, the al-Kapuri and some select members of Wassim’s inner circle. From here the conversation turned sharply to ourselves, our mission thus far, the identity of the mysterious H, and curiously; Raouf’s ties to the al-Kapuri family. He told us that the Sheik's assassin and the man we sought were one in the same and that the two brothers from Raouf’s past are working alongside him. Before leaving, Wassim imparted one last gift: an address in Mardoun quarter where we could find the brothers.

5th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

As the ship skimmed through the skies, I made myself comfortable within the masses of tarpaulin and drifted into the welcome embrace of sleep. I remember dreaming of my home, of waking to the smell of fresh coffee that Nasir would always brew before leaving for the bazaar.
He was a kind soul, whereas A’isha and I would row ‘til the early hours from which I would be frequently ejected from the household, Nasir would always be the one to usher me back.

I remember waking to the sound of distant thunder and the course chafe of the ships tarpaulin. Several of my companions stood around conversing around Xo-Tang and while I couldn’t make out words, their expressions spoke volumes. I rolled over to follow their line of sight and suddenly realised their concern; huge storm clouds began to circle the skyline as far as the eye could see.

The ship descended to a lower altitude and I began to secure myself to the ship’s railings with a line of rope when 4 thuds on the ship’s deck forced my attention. The creatures were beyond anything I have ever imagined; beetle heads and wings rested upon cat-like bodies and from the tail extended a long curled barb not unlike the desert scorpion. It took several minutes to repel the nightmarish fiends and once the last corpse fell, the winds that had buffeted the ship suddenly died down to a simple breeze.

We arrived in Darvish Kupar a few hours later as the ship glided down through the sapphire waters with ease. I gathered my belongings and bode Xo-Tang farewell. It was not our proudest moment; the trail of the lamp had gone cold, the draconic library was lost, the Dead Isle remains unsanctified and Pang was no closer to learning the identity of his aggressor.

It was Raouf who first noticed the men following us. Their efforts to conceal were clumsy, unpracticed and far too direct for this time of day meaning we were obvious targets. We made efforts to disguise our numbers as the boy darted down an alley with the aims to circle up behind them. Once we were in a clear enough area, the men were confronted and revealed that they were simple messengers, sent from the Vizier himself. They handed us a parchment scroll that bore the Vizier’s personal stamp but the message within was completely blank. Vexed, we sent the men away and retired for the evening to ponder its meaning.

4th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

The sun rose over the caliphate and the warm sunlight washed over us. I woke on the hard floorboards and was greeted by the hum and crackle of the ship’s power-sphere. Opening my eyes, I took just a short moment to breathe in the new day before memorising some select entries in my spellbook. It was a warm breakfast and a soft bed short of the perfect morning.

A few hours passed uneventfully, when from the bridge I heard Xo-Tang growl a sharp warning. No more than a few hundred yards and closing was a second airship, much sleeker than our own and parading a jet-black banner. You could tell by the grim expressions of our dragonborn cohort that this was not a welcome sight.

We had no more than a few minutes preparation before the pirates began to board us. They were unlike dragonborn I had seen before, green-scaled with a pair of short leathery wings. We used the ship’s size to our advantage, heaving attackers overboard almost as fast as they arrived. Soon after we dispatched the last invaders, the second ship cut loose and began to build distance. Our cheers of triumph were answered by the thundering booms of cannonfire and our ship began to lurch violently out of control.

I managed to tether myself to some decking before the ship hit the water which proved fortunate as many of my companions were flung overboard during the impact. It was then that we noticed Xo-Tang had collapsed at the helm and the ship had lost all power. It would seem that the pirates had lost interest for now but the Jandisari warned us that hunters rarely leave a wounded prey. So, we secured the ship and began to swim to the shoreline in search of whatever aid could be found.

Several minutes later I crawled onto the beach, covered in seaweed and coughing up water. Ahead, Shade had taken several steps before stopping in his tracks. After beckoning us forward, he motioned to several figures who now dotted the landscape. We were wet, exhausted and in need of aid. Knowing this was not a fight we could win, we raised our hands and walked slowly towards the natives.

It was then that I noticed that along with the warriors, women and children could be seen peeking through the undergrowth. These were not a warband, but instead just people coming out to see the commotion. Turns out that the love for street-theatre is universal after all.

The one in charge went by the name Ho, leader of the Mashavites. They were a tribe local to these islands who traded regularly with T’chin navigators who travel through from the empire. We followed them through the dense undergrowth for a couple of hours before it opened up into a vast treetop village with rope-bridges joining up the various makeshift structures.
Ho ushered us up to a particular hut to meet Riah, the tribe’s shaman. Unlike Ho, she was very pale in complexion; possibly a birth defect or the result of her shaman-esque magics, it was hard to tell. Like the others, she had a very good grasp of the common tongue but her accent was more refined, almost highborn in tone. Maybe she is not native to this island, or spent significant time away from it.

I was surprised at how accepting they were of us, Ho had brought us food and comfort and Riah asked for no compensation in brewing a remedy for Xo-Tang’s ailment. After some doses of the concoction, Xo-Tang was roused though still very weak. He motioned for Pang and began to write out a list of items that he needed to complete the mending ritual for the ship to fly again.

The first component on the list was a flower that grew on the outskirts of the village, possibly our easiest prize. The next was not so simple, the tongue of what the locals called “the pig-lizard”. The beast was about the size of a wild boar and had 2 teeth that protrude out from its bottom jaw like tusks. Establishing that taking the beast on head to head would have gotten somebody gored, Raouf began building a simple pitfall trap from poisoned wooden spikes. We then drove the beast into the trap where Shade enacted a coup-de-gras and claimed our prize.
Moss, mushrooms, blessed water and a flint from my pack were the last items on the list and it did not take long for us to gather everything we needed.

Only then did we notice the smoke that spiralled out towards the northern part of the island. The Black Scales had returned to claim their bounty and the Mashavites were being slaughtered while trying to stop them.

The battle was long and brutal, dragonborn were a new nemesis to me and they fought with the ferocity that I had come to expect from our own scaled cohort. It is a mercy that the caliphate maintains good relations with the empire as a war would likely wipe us out entirely. As for these pirates, this kind of incursion is unheard of in Darvish Kupar. It is difficult enough for our sailors to navigate the golden coast, now they must fear the azure seas as well? I fear this does not bode well for the future of my city.

When we returned to the village, Xo-Tang was in much higher spirits. The components we had brought had been transmuted into a thick golden paste. How that would repair the vessel, I did not know. The empire has been very guarded of its secrets and it is unlikely Xo-Tang would feel the will to share.

No sooner had the paste dried, the sphere began to hum again and Xo-Tang gently lifted the boat out of the water. Now we were free to continue our journey towards The City of Pearl.

3rd of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

It took several hours to transport the draconic library out of the hellish temple but it was worth the effort. I could not allow such artifacts to be burned alongside the Ankivari heresy. My grasp of the draconic language is simple at best, and the archives were written in a script far older than any word now spoken. It was difficult to make out much more than phrases and fragments, until Pang placed a book in my lap, opened on a page that depicted a map of this very island.
I traced our path on the map from where we landed at the southernmost point, through the forest to this temple and there in the north was a marking. A tiny circle overlapped part of the cliffs where a river flowed off into the ocean.

The books were large, too large to take with us despite my objections. So I tore the map from the book and we proceeded through the dense undergrowth towards the the northern cliffside.
After what felt like several hours, we came to the edge of the island; a sheer cliff face maybe four hundred paces high the plunged deep into the surf below. From our vantage point we were able to make out a large cave entrance that bore deep into the cliffside. We rigged up a couple or harnesses and descended down the cliff face into the cave below, entirely unprepared for what we would find.

The creatures were clad in leather, hide and chain from head to toe, their faces obscured by dark red protective eyewear. They asked no questions, nor gave any quarter and nearly overwhelmed us several times during the fight. Maggots and bile spilled from every wound we inflicted and they fought with unholy vigor. Could these creatures have been the result of the Ankivari library that rots the heart of this land? Or was there another force in play here? So many questions filled my head, but luckily we were granted a single answer. In one of the side caverns lay six large reptilian eggs, immediately recognisable as the final goal of Xo-Tang’s quest.

Spending little time with the rotting cadavers, we made our way to the cave entrance and found the Jealous Wyrm and her captain waiting for us.

2nd of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.

Incomplete Entry

Temple of the Shaitun – the party find a temple dedicated to the demonic Shaitun within the island and a collection of priceless tomes on the T'chin Empire. Having defeated the ghostly presence within the temple and its magical protections, the party dedicate the temple to destruction after moving the tomes to a safer location outside. They find a map that indicates the possible location of the eggs in one of the tomes

1st of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.

Incomplete Entry

Rescue by Airship – the party find much time has passed in their absence and the fey maze has changed shape in the meantime. Whilst contemplating their course of action, an airship captained by Xo Tang arrives on the island looking for the Six Dragon Eggs.

Isle of the Dead – the party having convinced Xo Tang there was no sign of the eggs on the Fey Isle are tasked with recovering the eggs on another island infested by zombies.

21st of Sabze-mah, 641 S.C.

Incomplete Entry

Smugglers' Cove – the party arrive at the cove, defeat the smugglers and learn their operation is conducted through a cave system that leads to the docks with their hidden vessels

Whispering Cave – the party enter the caves and find traps and summoned guardians. As they reach the hidden docks, the body of the pickpocket is found and the first message from the Mysterious H knife on the poor boy's chest. On the back of it is a hidden map to a small island where the party believe the Mysterious H will be waiting for them with the lamp.

Fey Isle – the party use a rowing boat to leave the smugglers cove and are picked up by the Bazaari Mossein Samedi on the "Searing Gull" dhow. They follow the map to the isle of the Fey.

Fey Maze – the party navigate the strange maze of Fey plants and pass the riddles of the gargoyle guardians before arriving at the tower at the center of the isle.



Tower of the Iron Dragon – the party enter the tower and see it is a trap laid for them by the Mysterious H who paints a message on the barred doors forecasting Raouf's doom. The party is transported into the Fey where a young gray dragon attacks them. They defeat the dragon and work out how to leave the small pocket of the Fey realm.

20th of Sabze-mah, 641 S.C.

Incomplete Entry

Find the Smugglers' Cove – the party have learned from sources in the city that their best option to recover a stolen item is to retrieve it from the smugglers who will be tasked in shipping it to whoever has

bought it.

Along the Coast – the party search along the coast for the smugglers' cove

19th of Sabze-mah, 641 S.C.

Incomplete Entry

Ambush in the Streets – Raouf the Hassari received a Magical Brass Oil Lamp from his father and is tasked to seek out Ali ibn-Moraki but the party is waylaid by Cult of al-Havas servants and the lamp is pickpocketed from Raouf's backpack.



Chasing the Pickpocket – the party chase the pickpocket across the city before coming to a Sukout (Thieves Guild) hide out in the docks. 


The Safehouse – the party storm the safehouse but it is set on fire by the Sukout leader. All but one of the Sukuout is killed but the sole prisoner is left to die in the fire as the party escapes into the sewers below in chase of the pickpocket.


Escape through the Sewers – the party escape the burning safehouse through the sewers but are ambushed once again by servants of al-Havas

17th of Sabze-mah, 641 S.C.

Incomplete Entry

Temple of al-Havas – the party brave the dark temple and defeat its Dark One guardians and skeletal undead before meeting Hadia Idai and her undead servants in the lower level. They defeat Hadia and return to their own plane of existence having saved the city from the Cult's dark plot.

16th of Sabze-mah, 641 S.C.

Incomplete Entry

Stop the Cult of al-Havas – the party return and rest in the City of Pearl before meeting with the Vazier who studies the Tome of Miriam. They learn of the Cult's plot to bring back the long dead leader Hadia

Idai.

Into the Shadow Space – the Vazier opens a portal to the Shadow space using the Tome of Miriam and the party ventures into the uncertain landscape looking for the Temple of al-Havas

12th of Sabze-mah, 641 S.C.

Incomplete Entry

Black Library – the party enter the upper level of the Ankivari Archives where a magical glyph of madness turns them against each other.

Dark Vault – passing the glyph the party enter the vault of the archives only to be faced by a venomous Abishai demon and three famine hound undead whom they defeat to recover the Tome of Miriam