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

8th - 11th of Sabze-mah, 641 S.C.

Incomplete Entry

[ Search for the Ankivari Archives – the party search for the Ankivari Archives north of the city of Darvish Kapur and encounter the Black Crescent Mercenaries and a warband of the Gondehmar ogres who have camped atop the entrance to the archives. The mercenaries are enticed to attack the Gondehmar so the party can enter the archives ]

7th of Sabze-mah, 631 S.C.

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

We arrived the next morning to the smell of smoke and the sound of crowds gathering. There had been a fire in the residential quarter; the Ibn-Manarghi household had been torched overnight. The word going around is that some street urchin was responsible but got caught in the blaze while trying to escape. The lump in my throat told me that this may be the very boy we dispatched for help the night before and had we not involved him, he may still be alive.

We relayed our findings to Sharif Umar who showed concern but admitted that he was already shorthanded. If this problem was to be resolved, we were the ones who needed to resolve it.

Several hours, some kind words and some greased palms later, we found ourselves standing in the white palace itself. In front of us was a desk of the finest craftsmanship, littered with various officially stamped documents and the occasional ornate trinket. Pasdari, adorned in white robes with blue and gold sashes flanked the hallway to protect the man we were here to see: Visier Freydun al-Mosar, the most powerful man in Darvish Kupar according to some circles.

We stood in silence as the wizened old man subjected the pages to some scrutiny before offering what information he could; The pages were from the fabled Tome of Miriam, which detailed much about the elemental planes and the forces within. The pages we had recovered were just a small part of the ritual and for the Caliphate to be safe, we needed to track down the remaining parts of the book before the cult could.  

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

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

The day began with a simple errand. Collect some papers, flash your smile, sign the family name and don’t cause too much trouble. Trouble. That’s what he calls fun these days. Gone is the time when we would play monkey on the rooftops or hide from teacher. Now it is all margins and profit. But he is my brother, so I picked up his books and flashed my smile. The way I saw it, I’d earned the afternoon off and he could have his books later. The famous Manzil-e-Shamar  coffee house beckoned.

They say that you can find anything in this bazaar provided you know where to look, and Shamar’s coffee house was one such treasure. I heard talks that he pays some of the dock hands to occasionally ‘lose’ a crate of the finer import, which will always find it’s way to my table with a smile and a story to tell.

But fate dictated a different tale. I will never forget the face of Hassani ibn-Manargi, as his body slumped to the floor. The moment he stepped through the door, time slowed. I could feel the weight of the table under my hand as I propelled myself forward. The distance I needed to travel felt like an eternity. And that was when I realised that I was not alone; a woman with the trappings of a bahari but the air of a Jandisari had joined the fray.
By the time we reached him, it was too late and he had succumbed to his wounds. There was little more we could do for do for Hassani but justice needed to be served.

It didn't take long for the pasdari to arrive which signalled the end of this particular performance and I found myself face to face with the city's bulldog: Sharif Umar ibn-Pasdari. We went through the usual motions of questioning and I found myself charged with tracing Hassani’s assailant. Fortunately I was not the only one in the wrong place at the wrong time as I had found myself in the company of the Jandisari and another individual who would only refer to himself as 'Shade'.

We left that scene with zeal and purpose, but that quickly petered out when our search bore little fruit. In the end, we had but one charge left: to inform his family of the bazaari's fate. It was a duty that could not be traded or negotiated and it was the one I feared the most.
You would expect then, that when we found the family home to be unoccupied, I would be relieved but something about this felt wrong. Curiously, it did not appear that we were the only ones with interest in today’s events, two other now familiar faces were already waiting by the house when we arrived; a wall of scale and hide known as Pang and a young highborn orphan boy who answers to “Raouf”. At the time we didn’t pay them much heed, it’s not unusual for such events to draw a crowd. Nevertheless, we knocked on the door and waited for a reply.

Maybe I’m not suited for the pasdari lifestyle, or maybe I prefer the subtle, patient approach. Pang, we discovered, lacks both these qualities and the door was very quickly reduced to tinder.
What we saw was a stark contrast to what we expected; three men in attire of design unlike anything I have seen sold in these city walls. Two of them were short, slightly scruffy and had faces that you’d have trouble picking out from a crowd. The third man however, was unforgettable. They say the eye is a window to the soul, but looking through those eyes, I could not see the soul of a man. It was as though the beast within had been unchained and whatever sanity had long since fled.

Once again it appears that fate has a soft spot in her heart for me. On another day, my companions may have been market-men or ship hands and this fray would have been the first and last time I rolled dice with death. But between the five of us, this beast-man was quickly overwhelmed and the other two fled deeper into the building.

Growing up, teacher always told us that a mind must be calm and controlled in order to channel the arcane energies. Not that I paid much attention, magic was something my sister excelled in. Up until now, my education was mostly squandered on party tricks and impressing girls. It was only when that door splintered and my mortality come under full scrutiny, could I feel a thousand years of arcane teachings flow through my veins. The air froze on command and fire danced to my tune, I felt more alive in those few moments than I have ever felt before.

This newfound exhilaration quickly dissipated when I came to realise the horror that we had found ourselves standing in: the ibn-Manarghi homestead had become their tomb. The features of a woman and her child could be made out from amongst the scattered debris, their faces contorted in agony. This was not the work of Hassari blades or poison. This was butchery.

I was shaken out of my daze by the booming voice of our dragonborn companion; more bodies lay out in the next room. It appeared that even the livestock could not escape this act of wrath.
Fortunately, we had not been summoned to look at more corpses, our assailants had made no effort to conceal their tracks and a path lay leading up to a small hatch which led to a lower floor.
With any luck, the men were trapped below. As it was, we did not have time to wait them out and we could not risk there being another exit, we needed to follow them.

And in retrospect, we should have realised that they too would know this. Raouf was first to fall to their trap, a machination of searing acid which turned the ladder slick. One by one we fell, the writhe form of Shade softening my landing.

After the blows had landed and the bodies had fell, we discovered the rest of the ibn-Manarghi family. The remains of 2 young boys lay discarded by the exit we feared we would find. By the smell it became very apparent that someone had broken into this house from the city sewers.

I'm no stranger to getting my hands dirty but I have certain objections to wading knee deep in cess and sewage. And yet that day something, some unseen guide compelled us to press on.

The sewers were dark, damp and frankly an experience I hope to never repeat. Navigation was practically impossible since the sewers spanned most of the city, and you were often too preoccupied with not stepping in something foul that you’d hit your head instead.
Our search brought us to a stone staircase that continued up into a room somewhere just above our heads. Voices crept down the masonry, carrying with them the incantations of a language long dead. With the voices still ringing in our ears, we ascended the stairs and put a swift yet bloody end to their ritual before it could be completed. When the dust settled and the last foe fell, I had the opportunity to fully take in the room. It was around 30 feet from wall to wall and the centre was dominated by a large stone altar. I strode up to the altar, brushing away a corpse when I heard a clatter. A finely worked staff fell from his grip, it’s surface was a polished black and it ended in a slight hook. Upon the altar itself lay an open leather folder with 2 sheets of ancient parchment. The language was completely alien but the contents we undeniably magical.

News of this subversion had to be brought before the law, to allow it to continue would rot the very heart of our city. I picked up the pages and staff and we made way for the surface, where after we send a runner boy to take news to the Sharif such that he could assess the danger with his own eyes. However, it was long past twilight and it was unlikely Umar would be available before the dawn so we took the opportunity to scrub the dross from our clothes and get a well earned nights rest.

Prologue: Hunted and Hated (Shade)

When you were born, your mother an Oracle of your people, dedicated your spirit to the Goddess Diana and imbued you with the Spirit of the Hunter. As you grew by her side she told you of the days before the Blood Wars, when Umbrians were at peace and there was no Tyranny forcing each of the holds under its power. The days when the Old Gods such as Diana guided your people and maintained the balance between the faerie and woodland spirits. The days before the Corruption of Blood had come, long before the hated enemies the Ankivari had fallen to the followers of the human god of the East.

For fifty years you lived the life of a ranger, following the doctrines of balance and order of the Old Gods, in harmony with the forests around Dauphne, your ancestral homestead. You heard stories of the war being waged far away and the merciless expansion of the Tyranny. You heard of the sacrifices being made to the New Gods, the Primordial Princes of the Elements and the destruction of the shrines to the Old Gods. You wept to hear of the forests burned and devastated by the fiery abominations.

It was with a sense of inevitability that your people heard the news that the Tyrant's Host marched on Dauphne, one of the last holds to remain independent of his power. The populace prepared for the battle to come and you joined the forward skirmishers that sought to delay the advance of the black legions. You fought valiantly alongside your kin but the Tyrant's forces were too numerous and the tide swept aside the hold's defenses. You evaded death and for sometime capture but only long enough to know your family had perished in the assault. Bound by foul magics and binded with a runed collar of silver, you were press-ganged into the slaver ships that ploughed the Golden Gulf.

The next stage of your life was a torturous hell of sea-borne pillaging and the stench of burnt human offerings to the so-called New Gods. Far from the glades and forests of your ancestral home, your soul retreated deep within you. For years, you awoke with nothing but the wish that you would die on the next voyage.

It was at the nadir of your spirit, that something miraclous occured. You awoke one morning and your binding collar fell. For the first time in over sixty years, you had free will to act and knew hope. Your body exhausted beyond measure collapsed and the galley master presuming you had died threw you overboard.

Were it not for a second miracle you would have died beneath the depths but instead you awoke on an unknown beach. You clung on to life finding food and shelter, nursing yourself back to health on that hidden cove. Your strength restored, you gathered makeshift tools and clothing heading inland. The sea shore led steeply up to broken wastelands and beyond them desert that seemed to go on forever. You wandered along the coast until at last you saw a strange looking settlement. Remaining hidden. you observed the first people of the Caliphate you had seen in their natural environment. Expecting a hostile reception, you covered your appearance and adopted a psuedonym.

You travelled along the deltas with much time to think before you arrived at the City of Pearl, Darvish Kapur. Your hatred for the Tyranny and the Elemental Princes brought you closer to the people of the Caliphate and piqued your curiosity about this "Holy Divine" that they worship. You cannot help but wonder: Where was the Goddess Diana when your people were subjugated? Did this Holy Divine truly bring an end to the Ankivari? Could He do the same to the Tyranny? And what role will you play in all of this? And of course, what power had set you free?

There was a lot to consider but it was evident to you that a single Umbrian stranded in a hostile land could not achieve much by himself. Sitting in a coffee house in the Bazaari quadrant of the city, you wonder whether there will be potential allies to be found amongst these people who will look past your origins and see the Spirit of the Hunter within?

Prologue: Into the Shadows (Raouf al-Kapur)

You were born in the ivory tower of the al-Kapur family estate in the City of Opal, Helespolis. The oldest of just two childern in a prestigous house, you were destined for greatness. From an early age you knew you would be entrusted to run your house on the day your father passed on. Your family wasn't very religious and your father was a harsh and accomplished wizard always hungry for more power. To him, you were merely another asset to be nurtured for his own purposes. It was early on in your life that it became clear you had little magical aptitude, so your father sent you to one of the training schools of the powerful Hassaris. "If you can't wield a wand, you will learn to stick the knife in!" was your father's last words to you before you departed for the City of Pearl, Darvish Kapur, at the young age of seven.

After the excitement and trepidation of the trip to your boarding school, you felt liberated to be away from your father's tough discipline. Your natural charisma and intelligence made making friends easy at your school and your showed natural aptitude in the Hassari arts, rising to be the unrivalled leader of your class. You mastered blade and poison quickly. You were particularly good at improvisation. Subtle and quick, you would have had a promising future in the order if you weren't already destined to be the head of a noble house.

Out of sight meant out of the mind of your father. Your mother, aloof and concerned only with her own luxurious lifestyle, was no better. Only your younger sister, Leila, would write to you but after many years at the Hassari school without returning home even once, you found it difficult to keep in touch. Only on your sixteenth birthday, when you were officiated into the order, did your father send you a gift: A rare and magical implement, the Ghost Strike Ki, that made you even more deadly with the dagger. Yet in your heart you were left bitter that none of your family were there in person to celebrate the moment of your ascension.

It was in a state of anger and melancholy that you lashed out at a fellow pupil during the final initiations before you would become licensed by your order to take approved contracts. What should have been a non-lethal proving contest turned bloody and the inner demons inside you were unleashed in a violent display that saw your fellow Hassari butchered like an animal. This was an unspeakable breaking of the oaths that bound the Hassari as brothers and you were flogged, stripped and thrown into the street with nothing but shame. Your father upon hearing of this, cursed your name, disowning you and disbarring you from your inheritance in preference to your younger sister.

A life with the promise of power as the inheritor of the house al-Kapur or brotherhood in the Hassari order vanished before your eyes. In the days that followed, you scavanged like an animal in the backstreets until you had gathered the means to survive without becoming prey to the criminals of the seedier parts of the city. Months past until you had mustered the energy to break into your old school, stealing your precious Ki and other supplies before vanishing into the night.

It has been over a year since the events that saw you an outcast and you have made a subsistence level living as an assassin for low-class criminals, a waste of your professional training but a necessary means to stay alive.

Today, started like most others with you heading to the coffee house frequented by the Bazaari, waiting for the fateful scroll that would give you some poor mark to meet their fate at your hands. Yet this time the scroll that was put before you did not name a victim but reported the news that your father had perished, the victim of a magical disaster. The hand written note by the Vazier Hamish al-Torfan suggested your father had practiced unlawful necromancy and his work had resulted in a terrible infestation of shadow creatures upon your family's estate. You did not shed a tear for the old bastard that had disowned you but only felt some sadness at the news that your mother and sister had perished with him. Hours and many cups of coffee have passed since you read the scroll and realised that the life you knew was truly over. You wonder: Where would fate take you now?

Prologue: Man of the People (Rafiq al-Rashid)

You were born into comfort and privalege if not great power as your high-born house, al-Rashid, had faced centuries of decline from the time of their founding in the early Caliphate. Your childhood was one of idyllic peace growing up on the family estate, Hamzi-e-Rashid in the Gilded Quarter of the City of Pearl, Darvish Kapur. Your parents were both loving and took great care to give you and your brother and sister, the best education they could afford. The family's tutor Farid Mehdari was a good man and like an uncle to you. He ensured you were grounded in the necessasities of a high born's life: philosophy, art, drama, etiquette, the arcane and history. As the youngest child you were indulged in ways your older sister, A'isha, and brother, Nasir, perhaps never were. There was the usual brotherly rivalry between you and Nasir and A'isha took her role as eldest far too seriously in your books. Her harsh discipline was much hated when it occured but over the years you began to appreciate both her love for you and the burden of being the eldest child.

In your teenage years you were respectful but delinquent, finding games with the city children a far preferable endeavour than long laborious studies cooped up in your estate. Despite your interaction with the children of the mardoum, you still found yourself socially awkward and exasparated when dealing with fellow high-born children. You preferred to lurk in the shadows at annual eid feasts and other parties, sneaking out to play games on the streets when you could. Whilst you had no real friends due to the limitations of being out of your social class much of the time, you earned admiration for your quick wit, humour and sense of social justice. On more than one occassion you outsmarted bullies and roughians who picked on the weak and defenseless.

By the time you became an adult, it was naturally assumed your way with the people would lead to some civic role, perhaps even a place on the Majlis. The Majlis of Darvish Kapur was more in tune with the needs of the people than most other cities and more than a few of the high-born would try to represent the mardoum in its sessions. However, politics was still an ugly business and your family's low standing and your own inability to get along too well with the other high-born held you back from seeking office.

When your parents died, two years ago, your sister was elected to the Majlis and your brother was left to run the family estate, turning the family's stakes in various city businesses and caravans into regular profit. Your brother's exceled in finance and business, giving him the moniker of "the High Born Bazaari," as an insult by the other high born. Your sister has proven a ruthless and determined politician, punching way above the weight her family name or magical prowess would otherwise afford.

Meanwhile, you have been written off as nothing more than a waster who spends far too much time with the people, solving their petty problems and showing a lack of ambition. You brush off this criticism and devote yourself to doing good and keeping the city you love a peaceful place. But in your heart, you feel somewhat lost and rootless. You have begun to question whether this is all that life has to offer you. Is this all you are capable off?

It is thoughts like these that swarm your mind as you sit drinking coffee in the coffee house north of the Bazaar. Perhaps, you think to yourself, it is time to broaden your horizons and seize an opportunity to be more than the youngest son of a minor house. The city you love is peaceful and the people content. It is not an unjust place and it has not faced true peril in your lifetime. Whilst your empathy and intelligence serve the people here, do they really need you? All these thoughts weigh heavy on your mind as the morning turns into afternoon.