Date: 25th Dar, 798 P.L.
Location: The Unseelie Colosseum, City of Ishtaduk

The Opening Ceremony began at nightfall, on the 25th. The Sand King had decreed that The Dar Games be held to mark the end of another fierce summer. They were to be a succession of free-booting gladiatorial contests to be held over thirteen nights. The Dar Champion – the single gladiator to emerge victorious after thirteen nights on the sands will be permitted to publicly approach The Sand King and beg his favor.

The Dar Games are attended by Kin-Yhakkor and General Marduk, the God-Kings of the neighboring City of Yhakkoth. These Royal guests of honor have just arrived in the City of Ishtaduk, amid much pomp and ceremony. It is no great secret that The Sand King’s fabled airship, the long-lost Princess Parizade had been found again by The Heroes of Yhakkoth. If the whispered gossip and rumor were to be believed, the visiting dignitaries planned to present the legendary vessel to their Unseelie Liege during the Closing Ceremony of the Games.

It was a great shock then – to the crowded thousands in the Colosseum when their King never took his seat. The Sand Throne remained empty, and unexplained. An open insult to Kin-Yhakkor and General Marduk who were left alone to greet the two hundred or so gladiators that filed onto the sands in The Unseelie Colosseum.

Nevertheless, the visiting royalty surveyed the prospective combatants and selected two: the untested slave Drusilla and the dwarven freebooter Rikard the Bull. Against them, they selected another giant, The Captain and another dwarf, Hagga the Howler. The four gladiators accepted the match, and the others filed out of the arena.

The Dar Games were begun! That very first combat set the tone for the whole games. The two dwarves and the two giants battered away at each other in a vicious and unrelenting combat. Drusilla and Rikard emerged victorious, but badly blooded. They were each fortunate, not to be selected for a return to the sands on that first day.

There were many others who were less fortunate.

The Dar Games
by Ian Hewitt

Drusilla the Unblooded (Donna Hewitt)
Rikard the Bull (MacGreine)
The Captain (NPC)
Hagga the Howler (NPC)

Game Master (Ian Hewitt)
Played at the virtual tabletop.
Winter 2012

Date: Moon’s Day, 16th Dar 798 P.L. (Evening)
Location: The Royal Deck, The Princess Parizade

The blue haze receded as quickly as it had arisen, taking with it the vision of the three women. Alriak, Alias and Quin were once more stood upon the deck of the Princess Parizade, beneath the Royal Pavilion, the words of the White Witch echoing in their ears, “Come to me, come to me.”

Jamila rushed to the Prophet and lowered him to the deck of the ship, the human had an unusual look upon his face. The earlier look of rare happiness had become one of unbridled, divine joy.

“Rhea!” The Prophet whispered in awe, before his eyes rolled up in his head and he lapsed into unconsciousness with that same blissful look unchanged.

The sand storm continued to rage about them, but it had lessened somewhat. Parizade and Jamila rushed to them. The genie handed Alriak his blue orb, once more returned to it’s normal size.

“What happened to you?” She asked.

“I am not really sure how to explain what has taken place,” The whole experience had left Alriak weak and emotionally drained. He accepted the small blue orb, “But I believe we were just brought into the presence of Anwen and her angels. The White Witch has beckoned us come to her at the Womb-Grove.”

Princess Parizade’s eyes were wide indeed, “The Womb-Grove!”

Every child ever born had likely heard tales of the sacred Womb-Grove of Anwen, spiritual and literal home of the Mother-Goddess. It was located on the very peaks of Mount Anwen, the World Mountain, but few were those who ever made that pilgrimage. The Queen of the Seelie was known to have made the climb to seek counsel with the Goddess after the Sand King’s revolt, but this was the stuff of ancient fey legend.

Alriak glanced at the sphere before returning it to his pouch and slowly lowering himself to the deck below his feet. He looked to the night sky and said, "There is an even greater storm than this on our horizon, Princess. One that we must face bravely.

Desert Nights
by Ian Hewitt

Alias, Prophet of Anaru (Doug Harris)
Alriak (MacGreine)
Jamila the Driver (NPC)
Princess Parizade (NPC)
Quinvera the Tall (Donna Hewitt)

Game Master (Ian Hewitt)
Play-by-Forum
Summer 2011

Date: Moon’s Day, 16th Dar 798 P.L. (Early evening)
Location: The Royal Deck, The Princess Parizade

The greatest views from anywhere on board The Princess Parizade (with the exception of the lofty helm) were to be found on the Royal Deck. A large pavilion provided protection from the burning sun, which already pushed the springtime temperatures into the 100’s daily.

Here, the Sand King would lounge with his guests, at the very prow of his airship and survey all that he commands. And here, the Prophet of Shoshanna hustled about, preparing for the vatic ceremony; performing the ceremony at a symbolic location, such as this, could very well prove helpful to the vision.

“We’ll see how well you sleep tonight Princess,” the Prophet muttered to himself, oblivious to the scorpion that crawled out of his beard and vanished into the mess of his hair. “Ah, the Sand King is probably your blood-kin, I’ll bet. We’ll find out the truth of it, soon enough.”

The vatic ceremony was an ancient meditative ritual. As a Prophet, Alias was able to recognize and interpret actual dreams, but a vatic vision was something else, something altogether more powerful. More dangerous, too, but everything came with a price, especially in these mercantile lands.

The human spilled the incense into the bowl, he had gathered these herbs a long time ago in the Holy Sister’s gardens at the Abbey in Yhakkoth, for just such an occasion. The incense would aid the waking dreamer in achieving the vatic sight; either that, or they would empty their stomachs and pass out.

Once he was satisfied with the preparation of the incense, Alias turned his attention to the deck, scratching glyphs and patterns with a stick of charcoal in the prescribed manner.

The sun would soon be setting, and the others would be arriving. It was very important that they not be disturbed during the ceremony – a fact that the Prophet had stressed to First Mate Hanbal, so that he might perform whatever naval duties were necessary to provide a calm and quiet environment. The consequences of being disturbed while attempting to divine the fate of a being as powerful as the Sand King, would be dire indeed!

The former wagon driver, Jamila, was the first to arrive. In fact, she had been observing the Prophet since he began his preparations and only now stepped forward, timidly.

“Es salam alekum, Prophet,” Jamila said, a nervous smile upon her usually jovial face. “Is there anything that I can do to help you prepare?”

“Of course you can help, dear woman,” Alias said smiling at her. “First, please bring me some water. It is a blessing indeed for worthy hands that can assist.”

Jamila nodded and turned to fetch the water, but the Prophet took her hands before she could leave. Jamila’s hands were as coarse as a warrior’s, her fur thin and gray; twenty years spent driving lizards across the desert will take it’s toll.

“Shoshanna be praised,” Alias said.

“Shoshanna be praised.” Jamila replied, her haunted eyes filling with tears.

Jamila soon returned with the water and Alias paused to drink deeply. With water (and spiders) dripping from his matted beard, the Prophet allowed Jamila to assist the final preparations. Alias guided her hand in drawing the last of the glyphs.

“You have a fine skill. We must always be conscious of the blessings we are about to receive. We must be grateful so the vision will share its truth.” He laughed when Jamila made an error in the design. “Do not worry, nervous one, that you have offered to assist is a more important omen than whether the paint is set dry before the viewing. May all blessings be upon Her.”

Alias was as happy as Jamila had ever seen him, and she offered another whispered prayer of thanks to Shoshanna. The Prophet was a great man, and he always seemed so troubled, he deserved a moment’s respite, she thought to herself.

By the time the sun was setting, and the others had arrived, Alias was even more animated and cheerful. Even Quin, who had known the Prophet the longest had never seen him quite so pleased with himself.

Quin, Alriak, and Princess Parizade crossed the Royal Deck and joined them under the pavilion.

“Well you seem in fine spirits this evening,” Alriak said, trying to recognize the joyful tune the Prophet was humming. “Especially for someone who only hours ago was unconscious and bleeding. So what have you in store for us this evening? What is this ceremony?”

The Prophet didn’t appear to have noticed them immediately, as he knelt and lit the incense. A plume of wispy blue smoke began to spiral up into the canopy of the pavilion. The smoke lingered, despite the fact that the wind had picked up this evening, blowing sheets of sand across the desert below them. Jamila looked around and selected a place among the glyphs and spiraling patterns to sit. Princess Parizade sat down too, although her eyes remained on the unusually jovial human.

“Find a place to sit down,” Jamila said. “I think we all need to meditate. We should pray, perhaps.”

The events of the day were piecing themselves together like a well known story, Alriak thought to himself. Although it remained unclear, he had dreamed of this very scenario only nights before. Everything that was happening now, right down to the words Jamila had just spoken had played themselves out in his dreams. Yet he was unclear where this was going. He couldn’t seem to piece things together until they happened and then it felt like deja vu. Was he to dread the words of the Prophet or to celebrate them? Clearly the Goddess had been good to him, because he should be bed ridden, if not dead, with the wounds he’d received this morning. But here he was singing and preparing a ceremony.

Alriak had called upon the Goddess a few times, but she never seemed to talk back. This Prophet had a connection with someone or something greater than anything Alriak had ever known and because of that he would listen and observe.

Removing the small blue sphere from his bag he gazed into it focusing his energies on something greater than himself. Something greater than anyone here.

The genie folded her long legs and sat beside him; the others were doing the same thing, but it was becoming harder for Alriak to see them. The smoke, from whatever herbs the crazy human was burning, had suddenly thickened. It was becoming an increasingly windy evening, but the blue smoke from incense burner did not pass beyond the perimeter of swirling patterns drawn by Alias and Jamila.

And it stank! Jamila turned a sickly green and lost her dinner.

The wind whistled and roared across the deck, threatening to wrench the pavilion from it’s moorings and scouring everyone in a shower of grating sand from the dunes beneath.

“A storm is upon us,” Parizade had to shout to be heard. “I must return to the helm. The First Mate will need my help.”

The genie stood and was about to leave but she was interrupted by a thud. The airship was being rocked hard now by the storm, sand was beginning to gather in drifts upon the deck, forcing everyone to wrap their faces to avoid choking. Impossibly the pungent blue smoke still lingered beneath the madly flapping pavilion.

The thud had come from the strange blue orb that Alriak held – the jostling deck must have caused the witch to lose his grip and it had fallen at his feet with a crash that had cracked the planking on the deck. It rolled rapidly across the sloping deck as everyone else, struggled to keep their balance.

Parizade was transfixed, could such a small thing possibly be so heavy? The decking was constructed with lumber taken from the Fairy Woods of the Seelie Court and blessed to be as strong as a rock.

The blue ball reached the center of their circle and levitated, it was spinning and spinning upon its own axis and it appeared to be getting larger by the second. Its growth was so rapid that in moment’s it would threaten to force everyone from beneath the pavilion – and it showed no signs of slowing.

Alriak felt a deep feeling of dread. His father’s image swam into his mind, and his angry words, “I don’t know what it is with you Alriak! You seem to be a bringer of trouble. Everything you do comes out wrong! You have been nothing more than a disgrace to our entire family and all that you touch seems to fall apart and cause others grief.”

Jamila, still nauseated from the smoke, staggered blindly to her feet and almost immediately fell when the airship bounced violently through pockets of turbulence.

“Prophet Alias!” She cried out. “Where are you?”

Alriak ran for the sphere and dove to grab it with his hands.

“Wait!” Quin shouted and lunged to grab him. But she could hardly see in the blowing sand and she missed him. Quin understood only a little about the Prophet’s magic; but she knew enough to understand that a vatic ceremony may well blur the lines of reality, it may indeed cause hallucinations – but these visions were not always false.

Alriak felt as if he were trying to collect spilled milk – in the brief moment it took for him to reach the small orb that he had kept in his pocket, it had grown so large that he could barely put his arms around it.

But, he tried.

His hands met no resistance. Alriak may as well have tried to gather the blowing sand from the air – his arms passed through and into the expanding blue sphere. He felt someone grab his hands – firmly, but not aggressively, and tug him forward into the sphere.

The chaos of the bucking deck, the scouring sand and the cloying incense all fell away and the young witch blinked his eyes and rubbed the sand from them. Was he even still on board the ship? He was surrounded by blue nothingness, emphasized by drifting white clouds and ethereal wisps.

Quin and Alias were beside him now, whether they had been swallowed by the sphere against their will, he could not say and before any of them could gather their senses, three figures emerged from the clouds, levitating forward.

The first was a fierce-looking gnomish woman, elderly and bent. She leaned upon the handle of a broomstick as if it were a quarterstaff and her unkind eyes pierced Alriak, “Do you know me, Witch?” She asked and scratched the errant whiskers on her chin.

The second was a tall sibeccai women with the same shockingly white fur that Quinvera had. This woman was dressed simply in the way of the Bedouin and carried a shepherd’s crook. She smiled kindly and extended her arms towards Quin as if to embrace her.

The third figure to emerge from the mist was a dark-skinned, winged human woman. Tall and slender, armored in shining scale mail and armed with a golden morningstar upon her hip. If there were any discernible light within this strange blue netherworld, it seemed to emanate from this last woman as if she were somehow lit from within. She raised her morningstar in salute and dropped to her knee before the Prophet.

Fear gripped Alriak tightly. It was the kind of fear that takes away ones ability to speak or even move. It wasn’t the situation he was in or the women that stood before him that filled him with fear. Nor was it the thought of death. Quite the opposite, Alriak had embraced the thought of moving beyond this painful and trouble ridden life.

What paralyzed Alriak with fear as he stood before these women was the fact that he felt like they could see right through him. It was like everything he was, is and would ever be was obvious for these women to see. Every tear he had ever cried. Every person he had ever helped (or hurt), every word uttered, every choice made was now common knowledge in this place. He was naked with no place to hide. Every aspect of his life now an open book. Was he to be judged? Was he about to give an account?

He felt embarrassed and a heavy sense of conviction fell upon him. Seeing it all laid out before him he realized his life had been a waste. He had spent his life, thus far, constructing a self centered identity from his painful experiences and it sickened him. He wished he could take it all back. Start over.

The woman’s question remained and seemed to hang in the air around him,

“Do you know me witch?” But Alriak stood frozen and unable to reply.

He did know her, of course, they all did. It was the Goddess Anwen, flanked by a pair of Shoshanna’s Angels. Of this incredible, unbelievable fact, there could be no doubt.

The women stepped forward.

The White Witch held up her hand and reached for Alriak. She pressed her open palm over his heart, instilling in him a feeling of grace, and nodded, “You will be the Heart of Anwen. Come to me and receive my blessing.”

Her touch was soft and yet flowed with the energy of a thousand suns. Alriak looked down at her hand and he could sense the aura surrounding its form. She meant him no harm. She was Good and he knew that for sure now.

“Are you the one behind my dreams and strange powers?” Alriak asked meekly.

The White Witch merely looked at him in reply, it was obvious he knew the truth. He felt revitalized and although he wasn’t sure what she meant, he trusted that all things would be revealed in time.

The Angel completed her salute and stood, kissing Alias on the mouth, “You will be the Voice of Shoshanna.”

The white-furred sibeccai embraced Quin, “You, my Granddaughter, will be the Arm of Anwen and the Will of Shoshanna.”

“Come to me, my children.” The White Witch addressed them all. “Come to me and receive my blessing. A storm approaches. A terrible, terrible storm.”

Ghost trails and wisps of blowing sand whirled about their feet; above them, in the blue haze of this no-place a dark sun, eclipsed, hung heavily in the sky. Comets and meteors rained down from the sky.

“Everything Alias has prophesied is true.” The Angel said, removing her helmet. Quin and Alias recognized her immediately, despite her altered appearance, it was Rhea, the Light-Child who had sacrificed herself to save them in Yhakkoth. “On the first day of the world, when Shoshanna created light and life, the first shadow was cast. Her shadow. Her opposite. Her antipathy. A God of the Dark places. While the Lady of the Light rested on the thirteenth day, the Dark Lord seeped into the world, he insinuated himself into its warp and its weft. There he created his own domain. His was the face of the stone turned against the soil. The night, the shadows, the stillness of a tomb, the dark places in men’s hearts were all his. These were the places where even Angels fear to tread.”

“Shoshanna realized her error too late and her vengeance was terrible.” The beautiful sibeccai said. “She destroyed the world utterly. She shattered the planet and cast it aside to begin anew. I, Ashasunnu witnessed the first remnants of this ruined world falling upon ours. You, Granddaughter, carry within you, the soul of a single inhabitant of that world, their being encoded within your runic tattoo.”

“The Sand King has long erred against my laws and led my people astray.” The White Witch said bitterly. “I have sought to resist him peacefully, but to no avail.”

“The Sand King has taken heed of what has happened in Yhakkoth.” Rhea said. “He saw the power and influence offered by the Dark Ones and he has welcomed them into his Court. The Sand King’s strength is growing, and now he offends not only Mother Anwen, but the All-Mother Herself, Shoshanna. He must be stopped, before Shoshanna’s ungentle wrath is felt once more.”

“Your dreams will show you the way.” The White Witch said to Alriak. “Your heart will temper the zeal of the Prophet.”

“Your dagger has the power to slay any who holds the darkness in his heart.” Ashasunnu said to Quin. “Your arm will carve a bloody path to the Unseelie Throne, if needs be.”

“Your words will deliver the Truth, Prophet.” The White Witch said. “The Truth will defeat the Sand King, more completely than steel and magic. Come to me, my Children. Come to me, at the Womb-Grove and receive my blessing.”

Alriak listened intently as the women spoke. Their words casting visions of incredible things before his eyes. Things he could never imagine. Their words filled him with an understanding of why this world was sometimes so difficult. He had always wondered why a world as beautiful as this could be riddled with so much pain and suffering. Now he understood. He hated the darkness of his own heart even more now.

He shuddered at the thought of tempering the zeal of the prophet. More like babysit that nut, he thought to himself. Quickly he caught himself and changed his thoughts. This was precisely the darkness of heart he should not allow in himself. The White Witch seemed to gaze at him knowingly.

Desert Nights
by Ian Hewitt

Alias, Prophet of Anaru (Doug Harris)
Alriak (MacGreine)
Jamila the Driver (NPC)
Princess Parizade (NPC)
Quinvera the Tall (Donna Hewitt)

Game Master (Ian Hewitt)
Play-by-Forum
Summer 2011

Date: Moon’s Day, 16th Dar 798 P.L. (Morning)
Location: The Ship’s Kitchen, The Princess Parizade

The following morning First Mate Hanbal entered the kitchen. Everyone had gathered around the huge island, where Jamila had prepared a platter of dates and olives and Ali had gathered together bread and some exotic-looking jars of jams. Outside the sun was only just beginning to rise, but already, in the windowless kitchen especially, the heat of the day was making its relentless return.

“With no Ship’s Wizard on board,” First Mate Hanbal said, “we cannot afford to tax the fire elemental unduly. So I have spoken with the Pilot. We can maintain a steady pace during the day and drop anchor at night, and she can keep us on a steady course without any more crew. It’s amazing really! We will be over the Magister’s City tomorrow morning, and we could be docking in Ishtaduk before the end of the week.”

The First Mate’s gaze turned, pleading, with Quin’s, “If that is still the plan, Captain? The day after the night before, calmer heads will prevail, and all that.”

“Look at this,” Sara thumped her finger down at the freshly jam-stained charts Hanbal had set on the island. “We are only two days, three at best south of Muan Oasis. Arishka the Trader is an associate of House Summonel. We can unload what is left of our cargo into his warehouse, and recoup.”

The Princess Parizade rocked violently to the starboard, as if buffeted by a powerful wind. Alriak bashed elbow and dropped his plate, spilling dates across the floor. Ali tried to catch the falling coffee carafe and missed.

A terrifying woman’s voice screams out, “May you meet the day with a restless heart and know a thousand sleepless nights!” It was a curse, antiquated now and spoken in an archaic desert dialect.

Parizade appeared a burst of sand and dust, the scouring cloud blew into the room through cracks in the ceiling and then suddenly she was among them. Her usually blue skin, now a pale purple.

“The ship is under attack, beasts from the desert!” Parizade said.

Quinvera the Tall was the quickest to react. In one moment the half-fairy was sat at the kitchen counter laughing with Sara and Jamila, popping olives into her mouth, and the next instant the lithe, powerful spellsword was on her feet and racing toward the mid-deck. The other two women raced along behind her, a little less sure of themselves.

“Alias is out there alone!” Jamila cried as they raced from the kitchen, scattering pots and pans in their wake.

From his lofty vantage by the raven’s nest, Alias watched as the creature shook the airship violently and then turned to glance downward as Quin burst from the aft-castle with those two slave women, right behind her.

Two more of these terrifying creatures circled the hovering airship, their shadows criss-crossing over the deck below. Bizarrely, unnervingly, their shadows were that of ordinary sibeccai, not the twisted monstrosity that screamed obscenities and curses in an unusual dialect.

Alias could see a fourth creature pacing the sands below them, it’s wings beating impatiently as if it itched to join the melee. Several smaller, younger creatures waited on the ground with this last one, bleating plaintively. The druid flexed his wide condor wings and circled the mast.

Alias opened his beak and cried out, a condor’s call. The wind heard the druid’s defiant prayer and it answered. A violent squall suddenly picked up above the airship. The rigging began to rat-a-tat-tat across the beams and the mast, but the true storm was above where the wind had reached a near hurricane. The two circling beasts were forced off course, and left struggling to stay aloft. The condor cried out again in satisfaction and landed inside the raven’s nest.

Alriak, Ali and First Mate Hanbal burst out onto the deck, behind the women. Their fur waving in the druid’s wind. Alriak wore a new shield on his arm and clung to a small worn satchel.

The creature on the helm’s roof paused in it’s shaking of the mast and looked up at the other two. They were caught in the buffeting wind and being forced to retreat and approach the airship from below.

“Where be you, magister?” The creature screeched in an archaic and high-pitched tone, before leaping across the chasm to the raven’s nest.

It was a bestial, hideous monster. It’s forelegs and body was that of a powerful, heavy-set stag, and they lashed inside the raven’s nest kicking the Prophet. It’s forequarters were those of a gigantic bird of prey and they clutched the railing at the side of the perch. It’s head combined the worst features of a stag and a jackal, with sharp, viscous teeth and a deadly rack of horns.

Parizade was the last to leave the kitchen, but she did so in an swirling whirlwind of spilled flour, sugar and salt. Moments later she reappeared at the helm of her ship.

Quinvera swung her curved sword in a deadly and precise figure of eight and then flung a jagged bolt of ice from the tip of the blade. But the luck of the fey was not with Quin this morning, the icebolt cut it’s way through several lines before burying itself under the raven’s nest.

“Damn it!” Quin cried. “Get down here and fight you big brute!”

Sara skipped backwards with a look of utter terror on her face. She fell backwards into the hallway that led back to the kitchen. Jamila, on the other hand, sprung into action. She grabbed the nearest line and began climbing upwards into the rigging. It was clear the former lizard driver was unaccustomed to swinging through an airship’s rigging, but she made resolute progress toward the raven’s nest.

Alias flexed his wings and launched into flight, desperately trying to escape the raven’s nest. The condor was hit hard, and momentarily caught, upon the beast’s jagged antlers. Alias half-fell, half-flew in a chaotic spiral of condor feathers to the deck below.

“We’ve stirred up a nest! But, perhaps they seek only to defend their nestlings?” the Prophet yelled, a human again with a badly bleeding leg. “Let us shake the first one loose and fly, should they follow, we will know their true intent.”

Alriak reached into his witchbag and tossed some dust into the air muttering, “Breath of air from nature comes, cleanse this place with winds that gust.”

A strong blast of air rocked the creature on the raven’s nest and threatened to dislodge it and send it careening from the airship. But it clung to rails and snarled in defiance, “Two spell flingers? I’ll eat your hearts and feed your bodies to my young!”

Ali stepped back into the hallway and helped Sara to her feet, the two former merchants cowering in the cover of the aft-castle.

“Come on then! Come on, let’s ’ave ya!” First Mate Hanbal yelled as he placed his back against Quin’s and waved an axe in each hand.

The huge creature leaped from the raven’s mast and plummeted toward the deck. It landed with a crash among the companions on the deck. It lunged again at Alias with it’s deadly antlers but the wounded druid was able to roll aside. The other two, forced away by Alias’ prayer, were rapidly returning. One from the port-side, and the other from the starboard.

Far above the deck, Parizade began a series of arcane rituals. The flaming elemental began to awake within it’s harness, slowly at first, the burning inferno of the ship’s engine was coming to life.

Quin leaped at the beast, her iron sickle sword slashing it’s flanks. It barely caused the creature to flinch, but it was at least enough for the druid to scrabble to his feet and back away from it’s crashing hooves. Alias bumped into Jamila, who had crashed back to the deck in her haste to reach his side.

The Prophet raised his voice in prayer, as the former slave stood between him and the creature grasping nothing but a wooden belaying pin. A jagged bolt of lightning ripped out of the morning sky and electrified the beast.

Alriak reached again into his satchel and tossed a small feather and a handful of sand into the air. “Wind! My friend, please come to aide in my hand. Please form your blade. As sharp as any weapon known and stronger than if formed of stone.”

Holding a black shield, emblazoned with a shiny starfield, and a blade made of nothing but whistling wind and air, the witch ran to join Hanbal and Quin. The First Mate’s axes rose and fell but, despite the girth of the Templar’s arms, they failed to penetrate the beast’s thick hide.

“There is no magister aboard this vessel.” Alriak yelled. “Who is it you seek?”

“Magister! Witch!” The creature reared up on it’s hind legs it’s hooves lashing about it at anyone close enough, and gouging with it’s antlers. Alriak caught a glancing blow to the shoulder. “Your magic-using hearts taste of the same lies and falsehoods!”

The other two glided over the melee. Their bizarre sibeccai-like shadows trailed beneath them. The two flew at Jamila and Alias; the unnatural shadows reaching, stretching, grasping for the pair. Alias leaped aside into the deeper shadow of the aft-castle, but Jamila was not so fortunate. Her own shadow was swallowed by the shadow of the flying creature, merging and melting until they became as one.

Both creatures landed heavily upon the deck, the one before Jamila cackled madly, at seeing their shadows enmeshed together, “You’re mine now!” It snarled.

The other charged down, like a bull out of the sky, it’s antlers spearing Alias in the chest, and it’s hooves kicking hard at his stomach driving the druid backwards against the ship’s rail and landing in an ungraceful crash.

The airship lunged forward. It was not a steady start, ripped from it’s magical anchor by the genie’s urgency. Jamila and Alias both stumbled with the sudden motion, falling to the deck, but so, too did their attackers, their hooves and talons scattering for purchase on the hard-wooden planks.

Quin slashed again with her curved sword, cutting another slash into the thing’s hide. The mage blade then drew her dagger from her belt and lunged. The dagger sank deep into the creature’s neck and it collapsed immediately. Quin didn’t relinquish her grip, driving the blade deeper and straddling the dying monster in it’s violent death throes, bellowing a defiant war cry.

Jamila swung her makeshift club at the slavering jaws approaching her, but the creature only gave an evil laugh. Alias dragged himself defiantly back to his feet, these stag-harpies had an evil shadow. Was it possible that thing had somehow tethered itself to the slave-girl by their shadows? These stag-harpies must have the touch of Hell upon them, the Prophet hadn’t felt this devilish presence since the Black Mist threatened Yhakkoth. These things were demons, slaves of those Fallen angels that had betrayed Shoshanna.

“Ullrey, Witch,” Alias cried, drawing his sword and rushing forward. “Mind the shadows, I fear the one called Jamila has been majiked! Quin, May the Great Mother shine upon you and your sword! They will not reason.”

“Quin, if you command the genie of this ship I beg you tell her to get us out of here quickly.” Alriak called out as he rushed to Jamila and the Prophet. He started to pass a healing draught to the Prophet.

“Defend your women, witch,” the druid cried out gasping from his chest wound. “I have not traveled this far to be struck down by ranting harpies!”

The witch turned back to the monsters, still scrabbling for purchase on the racing deck, and raised his hands. A thick fog rose up from the deck around the witch and spread outwards. Alriak, Jamila, Alias and the two creatures were soon enveloped and obscured from view.

“Quickly now, ship mates!” First Mate Hanbal bellowed. His powerful voice carrying to all corners of the deck. “Everybody get inside and brace yourselves. Captain, cut the engines and dive. We’ll shake ‘em loose while they can’t see! All hands, inside, and grab a-hold!”

The Templar raced for the hallway to the kitchen, joining Ali and Sara.

A torrent of high-pitched threats and curses began from within the blinding mist, the two creatures clattered around on the deck unable to find their prey. One of the two stumbled against the rail and fell overboard, screaming, as it struggled to correct it’s unexpected fall.

The Princess Parizade had been steadily gaining altitude since it bolted free of it’s anchorage. But now, the fiery living engine suddenly went dull and the nose of the Royal Airship immediately stopping rising and began to dip. This was what the First Mate had been anticipating, “All hands! Get yer arses indoors or grab a-hold!”

Quin returned her sword to it’s sheath, her dagger gripped tightly she raced for the kitchen hallway. The closer she came to the doorway, the steeper the incline became, the Merchant Sara leaned out of the doorway and grasped Quin’s outstretched hand. Jamila appeared from the obscuring fog and, in turn, grabbed Quin’s hand. The women fell into a pile in the hallway as the airship continued to fall steeply. None of them noticed how Jamila’s shadow stretched, defying all possibility, through the doorway and back into the fog.

“I shall fly down and kill their younglings as punishment." Alias’ voice called from within the fog, which appeared to be spreading, engulfing yet more of the deck. "Let us see if their little ones enjoy the taste of lightning!”

From below the rapidly descending airship came the sudden bleating, screaming cries of the young creatures and the enraged yells of the stag-harpy left to watch over them. In the hallway, First Mate Hanbal was the only person still on his feet, and the only person in a position to watch as the two stag-harpies launched themselves from the deck and flew upwards and free of the obscuring fog. The fairy breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the shadow release it’s strange grip upon Jamila’s shadow.

“I reckon we’ve seen the buggers off,” he said.

The deck righted itself, parting the crest of a massive dune in it’s wake, and shot across the sky faster than the creatures could hope to follow. The thick fog quickly dissipated with the passage of the ship’s motion, revealing Alias and Alriak in a tangled heap of their own against the ship’s railing.

“I’m impressed you land lubbers kept your feet as long as you did,” the First Mate chuckled. “You’d do well to keep your condor wings handy if you’re going to stay on deck when we have to take such defensive maneuvers.”

The bump on Alriak’s head throbbed with every movement as he looked over the side of the ship. “I think we managed to shake them.”

Alias smeared blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He flicked the blood upon the deck … an alarming amount, much of it covering Alriak’s robes and fur. Very much still bleeding and bruised, he smiled at Hanbal.

“In my land, surrounded by a great sea of blue they say upon a midsummer’s night you can see the man in the moon. Here they probably see a dog.” Still smiling he spit more blood from his mouth and his chest wound steadily dripped more upon the deck. He staggered a little.

“The albatross tells me the air gets thin if you fly high enough,” he said still gurgling slightly and with raspy breath. “You can see how the whole world turns against itself as it spins. Up, up, up. Some say if you go too high you can’t come down at all. Like falling up. You would do well to keep your condor wings handy. Handy. Up, up, up, up.”

The Prophet laughed, with even more blood oozing from his chest and face. He turned and swooned, passing out on the deck.

“We should try and get him inside and stop the bleeding.”

Desert Nights
by Ian Hewitt

Ali, of House Summonel (NPC)
Alias, Prophet of Anaru (Doug Harris)
Alriak (MacGreine)
Jamila the Driver (NPC)
First Mate Hanbal (NPC)
Princess Parizade (NPC)
Quinvera the Tall (Donna Hewitt)
Sara, of House Summonel (NPC)

Game Master (Ian Hewitt)
Play-by-Forum
Summer 2011

Date: Mother’s Day, 15th Dar 798 P.L. (Nighttime)
Location: The Raven’s Nest, The Princess Parizade

The full moon was high in the sky. The heat of the day had fully drained away becoming an impossible memory in the sharp chill of the night. The airship was silent, everyone had closed a door on the day and fallen into a slumber.

Everyone except Princess Parizade. She, alone, stood at the helm steering the airship ever-West. The flaming elemental had burned strong throughout the evening and into the night but even it needed to be rested – lest the elemental be consumed and the airship left without power.

“Skakrum, Be at ease, Flame of the Ship.” Parizade said, and the fire elemental burned low, dwindling to barely visible tongues of fire, licking through the arcane harness that bound it to the airship. As the elemental burned low, the airship lost power and slowed to a halt. The genie performed a complex arcane ritual aboard the helm, anchoring the airship a mere ten feet or so from the crest of a star-shaped dune, itself the size of a mountain. The deep desert of Farid never ceased to amaze the genie.

The blue-skinned woman sped through the open window on the wings of the wind, scattering dust in her wake. In a flurry of dust and a heartbeat, she reappeared sitting, delicately upon the rigging just below the Raven’s Nest and just across from a large condor.

“Maybe the stables would be more comfortable to you, Prophet Alias?” Parizade smiled and removed her veil. “They are built to house several giants eagles, you know. I came up here to speak with you, if I may Prophet.” The genie smiled, sadly.

“Yes I will talk with you, Jinn,” the Prophet said, after flying near to her and returning to human form.

“I know that you think little of my husband’s fate, or of my broken heart.” She began.

“You have free-will as a mortal does, despite your nature. I can hold in my heart some sentiment for your loss of love." Alias replied.

“But your own goals are much purer, much holier, and I understand.”

“Yeah,” Alias said. “It is true I am on a higher path and calling, but the restive heart of love and happiness is pleasing to the sight of Shoshanna. The Great Mother does not wish to see her creation suffer or feel loneliness and despair. Injustice can be corrected and your complaint seems true.”

“It does seem that our paths have converged.” The genie raised her downcast eyes to meet Alias’ burning gaze. “We both seek to gain entrance to the Sand King’s tower, for our own reasons, but the goal is the same.”

“I am frightened by Alriak’s dream. Does it inform our actions? Do we fly directly to Ishtaduk and the Dark Tower? Or do we first seek the blessings of Anwen?”

“It is of mutual advantage that we seek the same being regardless of our reasons. But a journey of revenge is not what the Daughter Goddess will bless.” Alias was perched lotus style on the beam beside the beautiful genie. "Yeah, to you, Jinn, I say this: we will surely all be destroyed if we approach the Sand King in personal wrath, and especially if we fail to honor the Daughter Goddess Anwen first.”

Parizade nodded, accepting the Prophet’s answer. “I do not seek revenge. If I am able to free my husband, he and I would depart this world and the Sand King could have it all.”

“You are not so different, Jinn.” Alias in a calm voice. “You are part of creation as are all beings and things. I am not so far removed from my nature that I cannot admire your grace and beauty, but I will not be thwarted on my vision nor my mission. The others bow before you as if you were kissed by a higher spirit. You are blessed differently in your way and being, but your love and your heart is of no more or less importance than the hopes and dreams of the others."

“Quinn and the others have gladly jumped to your aid. They feel sympathy for you. I, too, feel the pull of excitement to befriend a creature such as yourself. I am, but, a man, despite my calling. I am not immune to your distinctiveness and allure. But this is a weakness in our companions. They would perhaps drive with you to the ends of the world to serve your heart and quest. It is a high calling for dirt dwellers and sibeccai to stand in unity with you, be careful you do not abuse it.”

“I have not compelled anyone to join me on this quest, Prophet.” The genies normally doe-like eyes blazed with a dark fire. Her blue skin was as black as the night sky. “I am able to practice my own free will only through the grace of Quinvera the Tall.”

“Use your reason. Is it wise for servant maids to chase after the sand wizard? Is the blood of another living creature worthy of your happiness? I, too, ask myself the same question. Is my journey, my holy truth, a task that others should bear, even by happenstance? I think it is not. And I think such truth lies in your hope as well. Tell me your thoughts on this Jinn. Tell me your hopes. Tell me your dreams.”

“For once I understand what you are saying, Prophet.” Tears spilled from the genie’s eyes. “I was prepared to smash this airship into splinters on the side of the King’s Dark Tower, if he would not release my husband. And, he will not release him. Why should he, when all he cares about is his Royal Ship? And how can I bring the others to their deaths? But, how can I not try to free my love?”

“And what, then, of yourself? Is your mission worth it? Will you leave us and march up to the King’s front gate until he spares time to grant an audience to a foreign blasphemer? Or will you simply be arrested by his Templars the first time you speak your mind? Arrested and executed, you wouldn’t be the first, nor the last. Nor likely, even noticed!”

“But Alriak’s dreams say, that we can defeat the Sand King with Anwen’s blessing?” The genie grabbed Alias by the shoulders, despite their delicate perch. “If that is true, we should pay a visit to a Queen before we plan on visiting the King.”

“I see you still have hope, despite your childish weeping,” he said harshly, before his frown softened on his grizzled face. His expression changed swiftly as if remembering a very funny story. “Can you catch the wind, spirit?” He challenged her, but in earnest now. “You appear to be made of wind depending upon how the light hits you. Yes, yes, seek your Queen but make haste. Prepare yourself and the others. I can brook delay for your sake, but only because I see you are starting to see truth and not the twisted vision. The fabric of your illusions have been dissolved!”

He jumped up upon the railing, balancing precariously. “I am not of the air, but I have no fear. You see? Time runs in both directions Jinn. What the Great Mother knows she always knew, and so it is now, in OUR time that Alriak is blessed with visions. Found upon your very ship! These are not dreams to fear, but portents of great tidings. With the blessing of the daughter Anwen even one from the nether realms such as you can hold fast in this temporal moment. There is nothing to fear great Parizade, we are now, do you understand? We have no need to hold back a wind if we are the wind! Let the storms of Heaven and Earth be our testament. The walls of the Sand King’s Tower may not fall, but his lies will be replaced with truth eternal. Even if death is our prize with the blessing we cannot fail! Do you understand? Do you see? Just as a pyramid is built stone by stone, brick by brick so will time weather it away. It will fall, the pyramid can be unbuilt stone by stone and brick by brick!”

A meteor streaked across the sky above them, ploughing it’s way out of the heaven’s. But neither of them, even noticed, caught as they were in the passion of the Prophet’s sermon.

“A lie has no foundation,” Alias raved. “It is untrue. The slightest stir can drop a castle if the foundation is weak, can it not? Every little grain removed will topple this false god. I am not a blasphemer or a heretic. I am a seer. I am a blessed Oracle of Truth! I have come to bring down the wickedness of pretenders who hold themselves high, building stone edifices upon a foundation of clay and mud. Do you see? The smallest scratch, the tiniest pin-prick, once the void of the lie begins to bleed it shall be fatal.”

Alias’ ranting finally got the better of him and he slipped, plummeting toward the deck below. At the last moment, he managed to tangle himself in the rigging and halt his free fall, but not his sermon, “I will not be noticed? All the better, until the time is ripe! If this corrupt force cannot be corrected, if balance cannot be restored, I shall not be noticed by the Grace of Shoshanna. In ten thousand years, Jinn and mortal alike will celebrate free-will and know truth. I am Alias. My name will not exist. I will not exist, but the Glory of Shoshanna will fill this world and all others.”

The genie soon returned to the helm, leaving the Prophet alone in the raven’s nest. It was some time before Alias was able to sleep, and when he did his dreams were troubled. In his dreams, he attacked the beautiful genie with the full fury of his words. Mocking her, scolding her and provoking her; he mimicked her voice and veil and leered at her until she flew away from their perch screaming in grief and sorrow.

Her screams continued to echo throughout his dreams, leaving him with a fitful night of poor rest. He was not altogether surprised when the screams of his dream became the cries of the creatures jolting him rudely awake…

Desert Nights
by Ian Hewitt

Alias (Doug Harris)
Parizade (NPC)

Game Master (Ian Hewitt)
Play-by-Forum
Summer 2011

Date: Mother’s Day, 15th Dar 798 P.L. (Evening)
Location: The Ship’s Laboratory, The Princess Parizade

Alriak was rummaging through the Ship’s Laboratory. It was almost at the very bottom of the airship, only the Ship’s Hold was below decks from here. The Ship’s Lab was adjacent to the Ship’s Office and the Personal Quarters of the Court Magister.

The Court Magister, the fearsome and feared Baba Yaga was the personal magic-user of the Sand King and something of an alchemical twisted genius. Obscure beakers and pipes, test tubes and jars adorned the shelves and desktops throughout these rooms. Although this workshop is designed for a shipwright, for every carpenter’s tool there was a pestle and mortar; for each smith’s file was a pair of tweezers and tongs. Many of the jars, glass vials and test tubes were filled with oils and unguents, both arcane and alchemical that could only be discovered by poking around down here, if one knew what they were looking for.

Alriak had spent a great deal of time in the lab as pup. His parents had hoped he would eventually learn something that would be prove his worth to the Duke. Unfortunately he never did. Truth be told, Alriak didn’t believe he could ever make up for the burden he was to everyone.

The beakers and burners stirred a powerful nostalgia within Alriak and his mind wandered. In those days, he had been apprenticed to the Duke’s Magister, Banu’s master alchemist. Alriak could tell the master alchemist saw no giftedness in him and merely tolerated his presence because it was his duty to do so.

The Duke always demanded that Alriak practice his craft as the Alchemist did. But Alriak’s talent, while magical, was not that of a magister and his mind wandered constantly. The dusty tomes and scrolls meant less to Alriak than simple experimentation. “What if” had become the question of the day for Alriak and he could tell it frustrated the master alchemist if not enraged him.

Alriak laughed to himself as his mind traversed the years. Alriak’s erratic approach to magic had left his master’s lab a mess on several occasions. Explosions, volatile fumes and sickness became the norm as his experiments went awry and added to his score of failures.

The laughter turned to tears as he recalled wanting, so badly, to be loved and accepted by his family and the Duke. It wasn’t that he was bad it was just that everyone had expectations of him that he could never meet or live up to.

This Ship’s Lab, though, now this rivaled anything the Duke’s Alchemist had ever dreamed of. Baba Yaga had outdone herself and it seemed to Alriak that nothing would be impossible with a lab such as this. There were stockpiles of the more common mixtures such as potions of healing and health, weapon oils and poisons. But there were some very advanced elixirs and potions, things that were foreign to Alriak. Things that he had only dreamed of creating himself, and things of which he could never dream.

He could tell the lab had been abandoned in a hurried fashion and that the pirates had made no use of it since. Half finished experiments and spilled materials littered the work benches, waiting for the Court Wizard and his associates to return to them – but none had in ninety-nine years.

As he examined the beakers he noticed a small vial that he seemed oddly attracted to. A few small mushroom caps lay in the bottom of the clear yellow liquid. Alriak was well versed in the various types of fungus used in alchemy but he had never seen the likes of these before. The tops of the caps were a bright orange with magenta swirls patterned about the surface. The mixture smelled poisonous and ordinarily he would consider it deadly but he was compelled by it. Compelled to smell and taste it.

Madness, he thought to himself, this should be tossed overboard before someone is hurt by it. But the strange feeling compelled him even further and Alriak had the vial to his lips before he even realized it.

Suddenly aware of what he had done, Alriak threw the vial across the room. As it smashed against the wall Alriak began to vomit, violently trying to expel the disgusting liquid. He examined himself in the mirror and looked quickly at his hands and feet. Everything seemed normal. He was relieved that he wasn’t dead. He no longer felt ill and the sour taste in his mouth was starting to dissipate.

“Well that wasn’t too bad,” he muttered to himself, turning away from the mirror.

A light breeze blew through the cabin, startling him. It was odd that there would be a breeze this deep into the ship. As he turned to the door, it were as if, in one slow moment the walls, ceiling and floor of the laboratory fell away into darkness and shadow and he was standing in a place without boundaries. No floor, no walls and no ceiling or sky. There was nothing except swirling mist and eddying shadows. It was indescribable to him and he became afraid. It were as if the place he were in existed on its own, not a part of anywhere.

Materializing out of nowhere a figure started to form before his eyes. It was a short fairy dressed in a threadbare, dusty shift.

“My, my, my, oh my!" The fairy said, chewing on a stalk of wheat. “Don’t be afraid, young Mortal Man. Together we might learn to fly, you and I. You must be aboard The Princess Parizade, the King’s own boat. You’ll need to learn some new tricks if you plan to stay afloat. I can teach you, if you have no fear.”

“I was, am, a prisoner of the Court Mage. My skills, without peer, the King thought it best I serve him, albeit from a cage.” The fairy was about three and a half feet tall with grey mottled skin and a long, pointed nose.

When he spoke, his voice was soft and lilting and it calmed Alriak like a mother’s calming hand upon a child. It was like nothing he had ever known, and he wished he could feel this way forever. Alriak sensed himself conversing with the fairy but no words were necessary here. It were as if they were talking without talking.

“Drink the yellow potion and step backwards through the mirror. That is how I will hear your call. Here, I must stay, and there you will play; but in-between will be our study hall. A potion of flight? Yes, we might. A potion of healing? Our potential knows no ceiling.”

Alriak knew without any doubt, that the fairy could show him things that no Mortal witch had knowledge of, not even poor Meloria. Excitement filled his heart and he was eager to discover all the fairy had to show him, but things were changing again. The mist was swirling and thickening, becoming darker and obscuring his vision.

“Do not worry.” The fairy grinned. “You need not hurry. I will be here, you needn’t fear. When you return.”

Alriak awoke on the floor. He must have fallen over backwards after he drank the potion, and hit his head against the shield that hung on the wall. The shield, though, was somehow strapped to his arm, with a stalk of wheat caught in the buckle. It was a masterfully crafted iron buckler. Jet-black, but emblazoned with a field of stars and a burning comet. It was truly a beautiful shield.

Alriak knew something very special had just taken place. His mind was racing as it never had before. He knew that what he had experienced wasn’t one of his dreams. It was as real as his current reality but something much better. He looked forward to returning but he knew in his heart the time was not right. He had much to accomplish here now and he reconciled himself to the belief that he would just know when the time was right to go back to that magical place.

Exhausted from his experience he laid down upon the Court Magister’s bed relaying all that had happened today. He had never experienced such a feeling of hope, it seemed to well up from deep within him. His destiny lie ahead and in his heart he was ready to face it, whatever it may be.

Desert Nights
by Ian Hewitt

Alriak (MacGreine)

Game Master (Ian Hewitt)
Play-by-Forum
Summer 2011

Date: Mother’s Day, 15th Dar 798 P.L. (Evening)
Location: Deep desert, Southern Ishtaduk. On board The Princess Parizade

Quinvera had joined Ali, Sara and Jamila in the kitchen and helped to prepare the evening meal of ragout, pilaf and fresh-baked flatbreads (it was Uncle Kahaal’s recipe). Quin used the time well to get to know the other three slaves of the pirates. They were intrepid merchants, kidnapped in the desert when they had defiantly attempted to forge new trade routes into the city of Yhakkoth. They had been forced to work the kitchens and wait on the thieves for the past month, maltreated and routinely beaten and abused. They were desperate people, ordinary brave folk, but they were downtrodden and forlorn.

They looked up to Quinvera, in part because she was a Hero, the mage-blade that slew their captors, but also because of her blood. Although diluted, the fairy blood in Quinvera’s veins marked her with one foot in the aristocracy. Albeit the pale-furred stepchild. But Quin was accustomed to this and adeptly won their trust with her elbows in the sink and flour stains on her fur.

By the time they were carrying the many bowls of delicious aromas up the stairs to the lounge, they were laughing with one another as if they were old friends, reunited. In truth, Quin was pleased they were here, she was a woman of action, ambivalent to politics, and with a little luck these new arrivals would be able to listen to the Prophet’s daily sermons in her place. Indeed, Jamila, seemed quite taken with the druid, Quin chuckled to herself.

The Royal Oasis, was an opulent, decadent, and arrogantly-comfortable lounge bar located above the main passenger dining hall on board The Princess Parizade. Plush, thick, scarlet rugs adorn the floors while dark oak and pine panels line the walls. Seating is provided for only thirteen guests of the Sand King, while the other fortunate few took stools at the bar.

The Royal Oasis was the personal dining car of the Sand King. It was here that very apex of the Unseelie Court – Kings, Dukes, Lords and Baron’s – each a God in their own city, and each loyal to the Ishtaduk Throne; it was here that these living gods relaxed in private company.

Alriak and First Mate Hanbal joined the others, where they had shoved two of the tables together and were eating and laughing. Alriak had been on a walk around the ship, enjoying his new freedom. First Mate Hanbal had been pouring over the maps and charts in the Navigation Room; he clutched a few scrolls, still.

The genie was still at the helm, piloting the ship through the night, across the dunes.

And above them all, presumably, the Prophet Alias, was still perched in the web of rigging below the raven’s nest. The companions enjoyed an evening of quiet company, and new friendships. They remarked upon the incredible circumstances that had brought them altogether in the King’s own lounge. After they had eaten, according to the customs of the land, Hanbal prepared coffee and Quin served each of the others; the two faeries, the Captain and her First Mate assuming the role of host and hostess to the sibeccai.

Then they each retired, First Mate Hanbal escorting Captain Quinvera to her quarters with a strange sense of naval etiquette, and the others finding their own accommodations throughout the airship.

The Captain’s Quarters were located in the rear of the airship behind the staircase that led up to the helm. First Mate Hanbal, his goat’s feet clicking on the floorboards, fumbled with the large set of keys for several prolonged moments before he opened the heavy door into the Captain’s suite.

It opened onto a sober, yet professional room. Hard leather-backed chairs stood rigidly upright behind the Captain’s dining table, and armchairs were gathered by the wide bay windows, that when opened could only offer the most spectacular of views. Various weapons and trophies adorned the walls, but the place of honor behind the head of the table was given to a portrait of the Sand King stood by the entrance to the Royal Suite at the prow of this very ship, a not-so subtle reminder of the Captain’s duty.

The Captain’s bedchamber was largest Quin had ever seen, an immense four-poster bed covered with silky sheets and thick animal furs welcomed her into an otherwise sternly, masculine bedchamber. A warrior’s bedroom, built and furnished to honor the Captain who held the most trusted position in all of the King’s Navy.

And here was First Mate Hanbal handing the keys to such an imposing room to her. A half-blooded desert girl who didn’t even know who her father was.

“I’ve had a clean-up for you Ma’am. You didn’t want to see the state those pirates left the place in. If you need anything, Captain.” First Mate Hanbal bowed. “Anything at all, First Officer’s Quarters are just right above you, Ma’am, on the next deck. You just holler, I’m at your service.”

Desert Nights
by Ian Hewitt

Ali, of House Summonel (NPC)
Alias, Prophet of Anaru (Doug Harris)
Alriak (MacGreine)
Jamila the Driver (NPC)
First Mate Hanbal (NPC)
Princess Parizade (NPC)
Quinvera the Tall (Donna Hewitt)
Sara, of House Summonel (NPC)

Game Master (Ian Hewitt)
Play-by-Forum
Summer 2011

Date: Mother’s Day, 15th Dar 798 P.L. (Evening)
Location: Deep desert, Southern Ishtaduk. On board The Princess Parizade

Four sibeccai had followed them up the stairs and stood at the door to the helm. They had a particularly bedraggled look about them, two men and two women, each dressed in the loose pantaloons and long button-less shirts favored by most Faridians. They were not armed, and indeed looked more than a little nervous to be facing the intimidating Fey-blooded warriors Hanbal and Quinvera; not to mention the bizarre Prophet and the blue genie.

“Please, we mean no harm or trouble.” One of the sibeccai stepped forward. “Excuse me I didn’t mean to startle you. I am Alriak. One of the prisoners taken by the pirates."

Quin tensed when Hanbal drew his sword, but she quickly laid a calming hand upon the First Mate’s shoulder, “Be at ease Templar. You can see these people mean us no harm.”

First Mate Hanbal lowered his blade at her touch and relaxed. The Prophet seemed not to have noticed, he was gazing out of the windows at the coming night, lost in his evening prayers.

Alriak turned and motioned to the others. “This is Ali, and Sara and Jamila. They were also taken in the raid on the caravan we were working. I must tell you it has been a very tough journey for us at the hands of those ruthless cutthroats. The last thing we are looking for is trouble or a fight.”

“What he says is true.” Parizade spoke. “You have my sincerest apologies for the part I played in your capture. I had no choice.”

“At first I thought being captured and forced to serve the pirates was just another unfortunate twist of fate for me. But when I saw you two," Alriak said to Quin. “I knew there was more to it than just fate. My being here and meeting you is my destiny. I know this may sound like a trick but since I was very young I have been plagued with dreams. Actually more like nightmares and horrible visions. They mostly make no sense to me. I was told by a dear friend that through focus and concentration, I may one day develop a gift for interpreting them. I have yet to see that day come and often think of this “gift” as more of a curse.”

“These visions and odd things that always seem to happen around me have mostly ruined my life." Alriak said with a serious and disheartened expression. "I can’t tell you exactly what the dream I had was, because it is so unclear. But I do know that it involved all of our destinies entwined. In the near future we will face crisis and serious challenge that we must overcome together or be destroyed. This much I know to be true.”

Bowing before the adventurers Alriak continued, “I ask nothing of you but that you would allow me to serve in any way that I can. I don’t know the wishes of my fellow captives, but I know that my destiny and only chance for any kind of future lies in fellowship with you.”

Ali, Sara and Jamila were grateful that Alriak had elected himself their spokesperson, and they nodded their agreement, and bowed in kind.

“I am sorry that you were each so abused by these pirates. But you live, where others do not, and your shackles have been removed. You are free again.” Quin said. “You are welcome to join us Alriak, but you should know that we are fugitives pursued by the Templars of Yhakkoth; and that we seek a confrontation with the Sand King himself. Our future is as uncertain as it is safe, and you might wish to reconsider. That said, my friend the Prophet,” Quin nodded toward the praying human, his face hidden beneath his tangled dreadlocks, “has taught me well that dreams, such as you describe, are to be taken very seriously indeed. I have had dreams that I have not understood, but the Prophet has been able to decipher them for me. If your dreams counsel you to join us, well, I won’t be the one to tell you to ignore them.”

“I know of the Sand King” Alriak said with a concerned look on his face. “He is a very powerful wizard. If you, my new friends, are fugitives who are about to face the Sand King perhaps I would be crazy to join with you."

“If you had any sense you would be afraid! All of you!” The Prophet said, turning suddenly and spitting his words out. “But especially you, young one.” He pointed his strange, short human finger towards Alriak. “You would consult a prophet but not walk forward one step for a glory beyond your comprehension. You step lively now after your drink and comforts of this ship, but will you step so nimbly into the jaws of death? Lo! It may be true that I am mad, as Quin would say, but I am with a fever that isn’t a sickness but a glowing heat of Truth."

“I don’t know anything about fighting the King, that sort of talk makes people disappear very quickly." Ali said, nervously stepping back from the Prophet. "But, we’re grateful to you all for killing the pirates and freeing us. Whatever we can do, to express our gratitude.”

“Well, if you know anything about crewing an airship,” First Mate Hanbal said with a wide grin, returning his sword to it’s scabbard. “We need to get this Princess looking ship-shape. The genie here might be able to fly us without a crew, but there’s no excuse for tardiness and those thieves have made a right old mess below-decks. And, I for one, could use a strong brew after the day we’ve all had.”

Quin clapped and smiled when Hanbal mentioned food, “That is a grand idea! I am as starved as I am tired. Did I not see a sign for a tavern above the passenger’s quarters? Let us eat and drink. And then let us rest, the Goddess only knows what tomorrow will bring.”

“We would be happy to help crew the ship." Alriak said with a large grin. "We do know our way around a bit and don’t mind hard work. If its strong brew you’re looking for, I know just where to find it. The pirates have a large stash of alcoholic beverages in the tavern. If you haven’t yet I recommend we have a look around the ship and gather up supplies and equipment that may aid us in our journey. As for my friends here, they will get busy preparing a meal to celebrate our new friendship and our recent victory.”

“We will head to the kitchens to prepare the meal and pour some ale”. Sara said.

“This young one has the sight.” Alias raised his voice once more. “A Vatic gift wasted upon a manchild who is perhaps best left pondering his wondrous nightmares with his slave maidens and wine below the decks! Can you not see in my eyes the slightest hint of glow? Mad? Do I have a tail? Do I not sting the enemies of Truth with a poison greater than clear water? A hiss towards flames that brings a mist into your unseeing eyes?”

“Yet you, little one, you Alriak,” in Alias’ heavily accented tongue it sounded like Ulleyray. “You can see? You can still see even with your eyes closed. Inside you is an unopened gift. It brings you foolish joy. Such as a warrior child who desires a sharpened blade, only to sever his fingertips before the master teaches to hold it by the hilt. Look into the eyes of a true warrior.” He pointed to Quinn. “Look upon the curve of her blade before you are struck blind again in your folly! And see not the orb of blue? And in my eyes? The glow of a sight of a thousand in a thousand leagues upon a ship on a blue sea of water, not of orange dust. The curve of the earth itself, which like the blade turns and glints as it is watches the chase of the Sun and the Moon.”

Alriak produced a small orb from his bag and gazed into it as the Prophet continued to rant.

“This blue orb, this big blue ball, the heart of Anwen’s land where false gods reign and true Prophets are asked to drink Sibeccai poison with galley slaves! I, too, was once a slave Ully. I walked free as Shoshanna willed. Now you too shall walk free. It is her will. But I did walk towards my mad death without a purpose. Do you walk with purpose, or seek only glory for an unformed self? Those who hold the orb are not smashed by the earthly fist? A fist of sand no less! For in your infant Vatic Truth you have seen great acts unfold whilst you slept. Yet you offer no praise for the Mother. Quin calls me mad, yet you say you must be crazy to face the Sand King.”

The Voyages of The Princess Parizade
by Ian Hewitt

Alias, Prophet of Anaru (Doug Harris)
Alriak (MacGreine)
First Mate Hanbal (NPC)
Princess Parizade (NPC)
Quinvera the Tall (Donna Hewitt)

Game Master (Ian Hewitt)
Play-by-Forum
Summer 2011

Date: Mother’s Day, 15th Dar 798 P.L. (Evening)
Location: Deep desert, Southern Ishtaduk. On board The Princess Parizade

The helm was a circular room some ten feet across. It was cluttered with devices that boggled the mind and enchanted the eye; apparatus of a not-quite nautical nature but a definite arcane design adorned the spaces between the windows and hung suspended in the air and even decorated the ceiling.

The view from the tall windows was breath-taking. The raging circle of fire that powered the Royal Airship could be seen in it’s full fury from this vantage, the fire elemental roaring within it’s arcane harness with a frightening intensity. The main decks of the airship were more than fifty feet below the helm.

First Mate Hanbal wandered around the room examining every inch. The excitable Fey Templar peered closely into crystal rods, examined jewels and instruments, muttering to himself the whole while.

Some thirty feet below the enchanted planks of the magnificent ship, the trackless sands of the desert slid past in an unchanging, eternal vista of massive curve-backed dunes that resembled beached whales hundreds of feet tall and miles long.

To the north lay the nation of Ishtaduk, to the south their neighbor Banu-Sippar but out here in the deep desert such political boundaries meant nothing. None lived here, because none could. Only the hardiest and most resourceful nomad would even travel here, or those with the protection of the wealthy Merchant Houses that crossed these sands in extensive land caravans or skimming the surface aboard their sandships.

The genie piloted the airship with a single-minded purpose across this hostile landscape and into the setting sun. Her slender blue hands gripped the ship’s wheel in a determined grip. As she released the magical lock upon the door, Parizade seemed to relax a little. Her initial excitement at finally being allowed to realize her own ambitions eased, and as it did so the airship, of which she was a part – body and spirit – slowed to a less terrifying speed.

“A thousand, thousand thank you’s and blessings be upon you Mistress Quinvera,” Parizade said, tears of gratitude spilling down her cheeks from beneath the white veil that concealed her face. “And upon your companions. I am ever in your debt and at your service.”

“We girls must stick together Princess, this is a Man’s world after all.” Quin was a tall woman and not accustomed to looking up to address anyone, but the genie was over nine feet tall. “You told us that your husband was being held captive by the Sand King. Why is he held? Where is he held? We just made ourselves outlaws of the Unseelie Court, on your behalf, so I think we’d better hear the full story.”

“You deserve the full story,” Parizade answered, her hands nervously playing with her simple white shift. “But it is a sad and sorry tale. Ninety-nine years ago I lived and worked in the Red City, far to the west of here where the desert meets the ocean. It is a beautiful city. The only city perhaps, where Mother-Anwen is remembered and revered and the Unseelie Court’s grip does not reach. Or, so I thought.”

“I was called Parizade of the Red City, not Princess, and I was known throughout the land as the greatest air-shipwright there ever was. I say this not to boast, it is a simple fact. I was commissioned by many; powerful Mage-Lords from Skenfirth; elvish Merchant Houses from across the ocean; Queen Titiana herself flew one of my finest creations all the way home to The Feyen Isles.”

“I worked for the love of my craft. But when The Sand King commanded my services I could only refuse. Some weeks later a sandship flying the Seelie Flag arrived in The Red City. The Templars on board announced that they had arrived to bring me to Ishtaduk to complete my commission! What could I do? I stood upon my balcony and screamed my refusal.”

“Little did I know they had already taken my husband. The Templar’s had dragged him from the ocean where he was enjoying an evening swim with his dolphins. With my husband, poor, poor Jalal, now their prisoner, my hand was forced. I went aboard and was flown to the King’s Dark Tower in Ishtaduk. I have never seen my home since.”

“Once in Ishtaduk, I was forced to construct an incredible airship. It was to be the flagship of the Sand King’s already impressive Royal Air Fleet. But the Sand King was not yet content, a typical man, he had to have it all. His must not only be larger, faster and stronger – but his must be like no other could ever be.”

“The Sand King is a powerful wizard. Perhaps the most powerful magic-user that has ever lived. He took me aboard the airship once it was completed and bound me with arcane chains to the bow. For millenia my people have been forced into lamps and urns, and once there forced to perform favors for their cruel masters. My own fate was to be very similar. The Sand King worked his magic and trapped me within the very planks and ropes of The Princess, forever.”

“The airship would always respond to my unspoken command and I, in turn, would be forced to obey the orders of the Ship’s Captain. For decades, my poor Jalal languished in the dungeons beneath the Dark Tower – the Sand King’s Citadel and Palace in his city of Ishtaduk. And I was forced to fly military campaigns and scouting missions transporting his Templars across the desert. Templar’s dressed in that very uniform you wear.”

First Mate Hanbal was startled out of his study of the ship’s compass, his antennae drooped noticeably, “I have always worn this uniform with pride. I have never done you harm Princess Parizade. Indeed I spilled blood to help free you, and I…” he glanced at Quin oddly. And at Alias, “I would do so again.”

“You will forgive me if I do not take you at your word.” Parizade said. “I have aided too many of your brothers on missions so despicable and such an affront to my Goddess that I would not repeat them now. Thirteen years ago, The Sand King ordered his Templars on a quest into the deep desert to recover a buried artifact and they were all slain. They had recovered the artifact, but in doing so awoken a dread evil. In their panic they flew so far and so fast that they drained the elemental engine completely and yet they were still overrun. I was not sorry to see them go, but without a new Captain to countermand my orders and without an elemental to power to the ship I was marooned.”

“The desert quickly claimed me and buried me beneath her sands. There I lay until the pirates found me. They were able to summon their own elemental and soon put me to their own selfish uses. This was how you found me, and by slaying the Pirate-Captain, Quinvera the Tall is now Captain and I am bound to follow her orders.”

“I have not seen my husband in more than thirteen years, except for in my dreams. He was kept in the Sand King’s dungeons in the City of Ishtaduk and he was brought to me from time to time as reward for my continued obedience.”

“I have no desire to be Captain of this ship. What do I know about running an airship? And I have even less desire to be your Mistress,” Quin said. “But this is where the Goddess and the Winds of Fate have placed me, and I know better than to argue with Fate. If I am to be your Mistress, Parizade of the Red City, then it is my command that you follow your heart. Alias has his own mad reasons for wanting to travel to Ishtaduk, and now we have ours.”

“I am at your service Quinvera, I know plenty about running an airship and I can’t tell you the honor it is to serve on a ship such as this. I’ll help you, however you need me. Who the devil are you lot?” First Mate Hanbal’s curved sword was suddenly in his hand and he stepped close to Quinvera’s side.

The Voyages of The Princess Parizade
by Ian Hewitt

Alias, Prophet of Anaru (Doug Harris)
First Mate Hanbal (NPC)
Princess Parizade (NPC)
Quinvera the Tall (Donna Hewitt)

Game Master (Ian Hewitt)
Play-by-Forum
Summer 2011

Quin stepped away from the others, her long stride taking her quickly across the blood stained deck and into the nearby passenger quarters.

Once inside the blue carpeted and mahogany-paneled hallway and confident that she was out of earshot and sight Quin called out softly, “Princess Parizade. I know that you can hear me, so listen. I have no intention of allowing Captain Rafiq and his men to take you to Yhakkoth. I would help you to find your lost love. As your new Captain, I order you this: before the crewmen below can secure us to The Sirocco, fly fast and fly far. Follow your heart and fly to your love.”

Quin risked a look through the door back onto the deck. Alias and First Mate Hanbal were alone now, the others having climbed overboard. She wished she could have consulted with her friend over this, but there was no time. The human was a strange one indeed – and she had no idea if the druid would agree with this course of action. Oh well, if he didn’t they could set him down somewhere safe once The Sirocco was out of sight. As for the First Mate, well, he might be more of a problem, but not if he knew what was good for him…

The Princess Parizade leaped forward with a terrific eager speed. In one moment the luxurious airship had been stationary, some twenty feet above the deck of The Sirocco and the desert sands. In the next moment, the fire elemental that powered the Royal vessel was awake and flaming in a furious and terrifying display of power, spinning in a hoop amidships, and The Princess Parizade was flying forwards and upwards, banking gently into the setting sun.

Quin grabbed for the door frame to catch herself, but missed and fell backwards onto the carpet. Outside, Alias was also taken by surprise by the sudden motion of the ship and he crashed onto the bloody planks of the deck and skidded into the rail, colliding with First Mate Hanbal in a confusion of tangled limbs.

Great cries of anger and surprise arose, unseen, from below as the crew of The Sirocco were jerked violently backwards by the few ropes they had begun to fasten. The Sirocco collided with a sand dune and listed hard to her stern, her bow pointing dangerously upward before the ropes snapped and The Princess Parizade was free.

“I am coming for you, my husband!” The genie was nowhere in sight, but her triumphant voice echoed across the decks nonetheless. “Finally, I am coming for you!”

Momentarily confused, Alias slowly got to his feet, offering a hand to First Mate Hanbal who eagerly grabbed for it. The First Mate rushed to the rail and looked down at the diminishing shape of The Sirocco, Captain Rafiq and the crew hopping about on deck and waving their fists in impotent frustration. Clearly they were readying their own airship for pursuit, and just as clearly they had no chance of ever catching them.

“By the Gods,” First Mate Hanbal swore. He buried his face in his hands and shook his head, his antennae drooped so low they lay flat against the side of his head. “What have these women done?”

“Quin,” Alias called out. “Quin! Of what does this spirit Djinn speak? Husband? I have not left the care of one selfish captain to be held ransom by another who is blinded by foolish passions. What is happening? How quickly the slave becomes the master! Quin! Quin!"

“Do not be alarmed Alias,” Quin said, emerging from the passenger quarters. “We are not slaves, by slaying the pirate captain, I have become Captain of this ship and the genie Parizade is obliged to do my bidding."

First Mate Hanbal‘s antennae pricked up at Quin’s return, “I cannot believe this, any of us could have landed the death blow upon the pirate’s Captain and taken command of the ship. We all crossed swords with him.”

“Yes. You could have. But I did, and I find that I don’t have the taste to play slave-master to anyone, that is a man’s task. Neither do I wish to condemn the genie to slavery in the name of our City-Gods. Not even if that makes me an outlaw, which I guess it does.” Quin said. “Instead I have ordered the genie to follow her own heart, her husband has long been a prisoner of The Sand King and I am going to help her to free him.”

“From The Sand King’s Dark Tower?” First Mate Hanbal sputtered in a high-pitched panic. Alias had found his footing and paced upon the racing deck listening and frowning.

“True love deserves to triumph in the end, not slavery, not the military or commercial might that our city would gain with such a tremendous vessel at their command.” Quin ignored the dumbstruck Templar. “But I do apologize to you, Alias, my friend. We came here in the service of the city, to protect our friends and my family in Muan Oasis. They were being preyed upon by the pirates, and I have jeopardized our future by bringing the wrath of Yhakkoth’s City-Gods and Merchant Houses upon our heads. But I say again, true love deserves to triumph. I understand if you do not wish to join me in this, Alias. To be honest, our Templar friend is likely correct, freeing a prisoner from the Sand King’s dungeons does sound like the plan of a lunatic, but there it is. Would you have us set you down?”

“True love is a gift that is precious Quin, but don’t let the passions of another rule your heart as well,” Alias said, softening his tone somewhat. “Hear me, my friend, I have something to say.”

Alias looked over the edge of the speeding ship, quietly watching its shadow as it weaved like light on water over the dunes.

“I did not board this vessel to serve either love or a city. I serve only the Goddess. I bring truth unto this land. Whether it will heed it or not isn’t my concern, only that it hears it. I have a message for the ‘god king’ and it will be delivered. But we need not part ways so quickly. Perhaps there is good fortune in freeing your spirit friend? This is a land of trade. I have something she may value, and she may return to me what I value most – passage to the great city."

“Very well, Alias.” Quin smiled, relieved at the Prophet’s answer. "And you, Templar? I have no desire to keep you against your will.”

“There is nothing down there!” First Mate Hanbal cried, his goat’s feet clacking in agitation upon the deck. “You would set me down to die of thirst!”

“You are wise in your fear Hanbal, but you are no coward.” Alias said. “You have been the leader of strong and able men. They looked up to you and followed your example and command. You have helped defeat a powerful pirate. The Sand King is just another puppet on a larger stage. We will not leave you to die, but we will not be making any special concessions either.”

“Then this is a madness, that I must endure it seems,” Hanbal answered.

“Surely Quin’s Djinn has tossed nights in ethereal slumber if only to conjure visions of revenge. Bring me to her, or it to me. Come forth spirit! I would speak with you. Tell me your dreams.”

“If the genie is flying this ship, she will be at the helm.” First Mate Hanbal said. “Up there.”

The Fey Templar pointed to the rear of the ship where the aft-castle rose several levels above the main deck, culminating in a round turret offering a commanding view of the decks below and the desert landscape streaming by some fifty or so feet below that as the Royal airship was flying away, westward, to parts unknown.

“Let us follow the spirit’s dream.” Alias said. “We shall save her love and then find the prize we both seek – the great oasis of the city of the god king.”

Following the First Mate, Alias and Quin left the forward main deck and entered the passenger quarters. They followed the plushly carpeted hallway past a spiral staircase (an elegantly engraved signpost directed passengers upwards to the dining hall and the ship’s tavern, and downwards to the Mosque and library). They exited the straight hallway onto the aft main deck and crossed to the aft castle.

“This is the finest airship I have ever seen,” First Mate Hanbal said, tears flowing openly down the Fey Templar’s purple cheeks. “It is everything I have ever heard and more.”Princess parizade ship

They entered the aft castle and climbed a staircase that led to a landing opening onto the officer’s lounge and the Captain’s suite. It was here, it seemed that the pirate’s had spent much of their time. The heavy scent of their hookah smoke still lingered throughout the cabins, and their trash was scattered underfoot, their stolen loot piled in drifts in the corners.

A spiral staircase led upward from the landing, to another deck that housed the officer’s quarters, and yet further upward to the deck upon the roof of the aft castle and it’s deadly array of ballista and catapults.

“With this ship at her disposal, Yhakkoth could be a great city once more,” Hanbal said with breathless awe. “No longer would we be a second-class city, forgotten and past her prime.”

Yet another spiral staircase took the three, yet further upward through a navigation room laden with maps and charts. The maps adorned the walls, spilled from a grand table and were stacked in untidy piles on every available surface.

Finally, above the navigation room they came upon the entrance to the helm, some six stories above the deck. The door was locked, but atQuin’s request the genie within answered their call and the door opened.

Coda
by Ian Hewitt

Alias, Prophet of Anaru (Doug Harris)
First Mate Hanbal (NPC)
Princess Parizade (NPC)
Quinvera the Tall (Donna Hewitt)

Game Master (Ian Hewitt)
Play-by-Forum
Summer 2011