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.
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.
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