16th of Atash-mah to 12th of Arum-mah, 641 S.C.

An excerpt taken from the journal of Amir al-Farid

16^th Atash-mah – Sami was right, guard duty is definitely the life for me. I was worried at first when he told me what happened to the last people who worked the caravans but so far, it’s been a breeze. Due to the losses during the siege, businesses are paying hand over fist to anyone who’s even willing to hold a sword and Mihnaz is more generous than most. It can get a bit boring but it beats the backbreaking manual labour that my brother’s doing. I just have to stand around, collect my free meal, and get paid. Hitting the hay now before my early shift tomorrow.

17^th Atash-mah – Stupid Youcef. He was supposed to warn me if someone was coming, and now my nose is broken and he’s all messed up. Apparently we’ve been waiting for a CO to turn up and train us and here I was thinking we could stand around all day. He caught us sleeping, Youcef and me, sleeping on our watch, and he kicked my spear out from under me. Then he put Youcef in the training ring against Bash. Bashir is 6 feet of pure muscle and everyone knows he can actually handle a weapon, unlike the rest of us. It was a massacre; Youcef was lucky to be alive by the end. My time in the ring didn’t go much better. My eyes haven’t stopped watering since my nose was set this morning and now I think I might have a few cracked ribs to go with it. None of the men are happy. I haven’t seen Mihnaz since yesterday and I can’t help but think she wouldn’t be happy with this.

24^th Atash-mah – The week of hell is finally over and the CO is gone. Mihnaz took care of that but you could tell if she hadn’t arrived when she did, the lads would’ve taken it upon themselves, especially Sami; he was furious. Removing our rations for the day was the last straw and the men were clearly at the end of their rope. We all knew hunger during the siege and it was far too soon to be revisiting that memory again. We’ve been given a 3 day rest from our training and Mihnaz has promised to find us someone better suited as our CO. She even gave us wine for the evening by way of apology. It was clearly the cheaper stuff but the men enjoyed it all the same. We’re going to be leaving in a few weeks and Mihnaz told us our training will need to be stepped up a notch. While she won’t tolerate abuse, she said it will only get harder. I guess this isn’t such an easy job after all. Still, I’m glad I’m not our next CO; the men are looking to put somebody’s head on a pike.

8^th Sucht-mah – The past 2 weeks have been easy. I’m even getting a few good hits in in training. I haven’t seen Mihnaz for a few days and I think she was hoping to have left by now. She seems very busy; either sorting out the departure or looking for our new CO. Apparently he’ll be arriving tomorrow and I know none of the men are happy about it. Even that old pushover Youcef looks like he’d love nothing more than to step straight into the ring and gut whoever walks through the gate.

10^th Sucht-mah – The last 2 days have been the worst 2 days of my life by far. There we were, all 9 of us on parade, standing defiantly in a line, when all of a sudden, some sort of 7 foot man-dragon walks through the gates. I was dumbfounded and as I looked around me everyone’s expressions dropped and there was a cocktail of fear and fury in the eyes of all the men. Even Bash realised that this is not a man he could intimidate or bully. I didn’t really take in the short speech being given by, what I later found out to be a T’chin, except that his name was Pang. Something about being all we can be. We were left alone for an hour after that to spar and take it all in but I caught him watching us, the Dragonborn, through an upstairs window. He stood there, impassive while the men fought, leaving only once we’d finished for lunch. None of us were sure what to expect and after lunch we once again stood on parade in the beating sun. After 10 minutes, He strolled out carrying 3 heavy looking backpacks with small holes in and overflowing with sand. He left and repeated this twice more. He then made each of us take a sack and took us on a lap of the city and informed us that if we didn’t make it back with half the sand still in the bag, we would repeat this the next morning, and the next morning and the next until we could do it. It was the hardest, most gruelling exercise I’ve ever done and none of us made it back with so much as a handful of sand between us. I’m too exhausted to be angry but I doubt the other lads share my leniency. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. The worst part is Mihnaz seems to be fine with it all.

15^th Sucht-mah – Somehow, I’ve managed to survive a week of this. No one has managed to bring back the required sand yet, despite numerous tricks that have been tried but we’ve all started to think that we’re not supposed to. We’ve even started scooping it out ourselves to make it easier. The CO doesn’t seem to mind what we do provided we don’t actually upend our bag onto the floor and we keep an even pace so we stick together. He made each of us fight him today, 1 by 1. I don’t know if he was just planning on showing off but for such a “seasoned soldier” it sure took him along time to beat us all. Bashir lasted near on 2 minutes. At the end he just dismissed us and slinked away. Clearly he thinks we’re a bunch lost causes and he feels he should’ve done better, the arrogant swine. It felt good to have a go at hitting him and I nearly got through his parries a few times. Being around him for a few days does seem to remove the terror. While I wouldn’t say he was approachable, and I certainly wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley, he’s definitely not as scary as he seems.

23^rd Sucht-mah – Another week and another 157 bruises have come and gone. Still, we’re leaving tomorrow and it will be nice to get underway although, I’ve not trekked through the desert before. Pang has driven us hard this week and the boys are just as unhappy as ever. Sometimes there are mutterings over dinner but fortunately no one has gone so far as to actually do anything yet. I saw Pang talking to Mihnaz today and he looked furious. I thought I’d seen him mad while barking orders at us, the “puny humans”, but this time he seemed genuinely angry. I guess it’s because he’s been roped in to coming with us. He probably thought he could pick up his pay and leave. Now he’s stuck on a dangerous voyage with a bunch of humans he doesn’t like, who would all like to see him have a little accident.

28^th Sucht-mah – The boys were getting riled up today, especially Bash. Me and Youcef stayed out of it but things are starting to take a turn for the worst. I don’t agree with Pang rationing the food and water because we have plenty, but I don’t think starting trouble in the middle of the desert is going to help. Racial slurs are being thrown around a lot and the guys on watch say they hear him muttering to himself sometimes as if he’s talking to someone else. This seems to fuel their prejudice even more. I don’t like Pang but he hasn’t steered us wrong yet even if his methods are brutal. I’m worried something is going to happen tomorrow.

1^st Arum-mah – Today, everything changed. As the half-meals were doled out, the tension was tangible. Every move was exaggerated and the suspense was killing me. Suddenly, Bash made a move for his sword, and you could feel the energy about to erupt when all of a sudden, he stopped, looked down, and studiously took in the bolt protruding from his chest. A battle cry rang out, and Pandemonium erupted. Enemies sprang over the rocks, darting this way and that. As I fumbled with my sword I saw Pang cleave through his first assailant and move onto his second without breaking stride. He was yelling and pointing like a man possessed, trying to get to Mihnaz, and I just stood there watching but not seeing, not knowing what to do. Just when I thought I’d never move again, a man appeared from my left. Sword clutched in both hands raised above his head, he stepped within reach and was cut straight across the mid riff by Bash; dropping his sword in time to catch his vacating entrails. As the body slumped to my feet, the sound suddenly become clear as if I’d emerged from water. Steel on steel, groans and screams, and the unmistakeable bellow of Pang. I spun around trying to take it all in at once, suddenly ready to fight, but it was almost over. Pang had formed the rest of the squad into an echelon, and sent them sweeping along the side of the caravan and cutting down whatever was in their path. The end result was 12 to zero in our favour. And I didn’t even strike a blow. Even Youcef got in on the action. Poor bash though; Pang and Mihnaz have been trying to help him since the fighting stopped but it’s not going well. He’s in for a long night.

2^nd Arum-mah – I couldn’t sleep last night. Even once the screams had died down. The adrenalin was still coursing through me, the battle still ringing in my ears. They had to burn the crossbow bolt out of him in the end. It was hard to listen to; only The Holy Divine knows how it felt. Bash doesn’t remember a thing. I got up early this morning after my restless slumber and caught Pang training which was a sight to see. He was making arcing motions with his sword through the air and leaving crescent moon shapes in the sand with his feet as he swept along. It was slow and exaggerated, graceful even; an unusual sight for someone of his size. Especially since the only type of swing I’ve seen him exhibit is more of a repetitive bludgeoning. He told me it was how a friend of his used to fight and it was very effective. I got the impression this friend isn’t around anymore and had only passed away recently. He continued to tell me about his other friends and how they would’ve made a far better teacher than him, especially a fiery women name Maissa. Apparently she wouldn’t have put up with anywhere near as much trouble as he has and one day with her would’ve had them begging him to come back. He also joked it’s lucky for the bandits that Raouf wasn’t here or they might have lost a few digits before they were allowed to die. I only realise now that I haven’t seen him genuinely smile before and it’s actually quite an odd look. Usually his smiles are a terrifying ordeal, generally foretelling some future hell I’m going to have to run through, but not this time. This time his whole face was smiling. A brotherly smile with a laugh that puts warmth in your belly.  There was a long silence after this and I was about to go and do my rounds and leave him in peace, when he turned to me and told me not to worry about my freezing up. I was surprised he even noticed but he didn't even  seem angry at all. He even told me that it happened to him the first time he was in a real fight too. Only, instead of having someone to back him up, he was simply smacked on the back of the head with a maul and spent the rest of the fight, and the subsequent 36 hours, unconscious.

My insight into Pang’s life did not last much longer than this  as, even with our new feeling of closeness brought on by the recent battle, he seems to be a dragonborn of few words He spent the rest of the day wandering between the men, checking the camels and checking up on Bash. He seemed happier than usual, maybe because of the recent fight or maybe because of our talk, but he’s still not been himself since we left Shushan. I just thought it was because of looming threat of betrayal but I see now that that runs straight off of him. What he really wants is to be back with his friends. I wonder what else I've been wrong about.

10^th Arum-mah – Bash has been up and about the past few days. He still has an angry red mark on his chest but he wears it with pride. He boasts of the 3 men he killed while the bolt stuck out of his chest. Even Pang smiled along with him. The mood is a happy one as our march breaks into the muddy hill lands that lead to Behoustan and even the rain cannot dampen our spirits. We still cannot change our talk from reminiscing about our routing of the bandits. Since we’ve had no food related issues, Pang has increased our ration sizes and everyone has gone to sleep each night with full bellies and smiles on their faces.

12^th Arum-mah –  Probably my final entry as it hurts to write. It came from nowhere, the creature. The wagon holding Mihnaz and her goods lost a wheel and Pang gathered us around to defend it. He was on edge and the weather wasn’t helping. He kept scanning the hills looking for an ambush. The clouds were black, the thunder was booming, and the rain was hammering down. I don’t know who was hit first. There was just the most horrific screaming from my left, my right and behind me, all at once. Before I could even turn around a giant... wing...or claw slammed into me and knocked the wind from chest, throwing me to the ground. I landed in a heap hard on my back and slid through the mud. The screaming had stopped almost as soon as it started. I scooped the mud out of my eyes only to see Youcef lying next to me. Well, half of him at least. He had that thousand yard stare I’ve heard the men talk about and there was no life in his eyes. He’d died entirely unaware that he’d been separated from his lower half. He hadn’t even made a sound. There was chaos around me now and I could hear Pang. Not bellowing this time, just talking, to himself I think or more likely the creature. I watched him bang his sword and shield together to taunt the creature and then deftly duck under the next talon strike. Unfortunately Sami was on his right and he wasn’t so quick. He was shorn in half just like Youcef. I couldn’t see the creature at first, but it turned out to be a huge dragon. When I eventually managed to roll over a little, it was just in time to see bash’s sword slide down its massive green scales, a look of puzzlement on both bash’s and the dragon’s faces, and then a flash of white lightning. I reflexively turned away from the light, heard Bash’s death cry and felt a stab of pain shoot up my back. I could smell burnt flesh. I was paralyzed on my side now; half my face caked with blood and mud and agonizing pain lancing up my spine. The last thing I remember seeing was Pang standing directly between Mihnaz and the massive green dragon, shield raised and body loose like he was waiting to pounce. Only, the pounce never came. Just before I passed out I heard Pang’s battle cry, saw the flood of acid fly from the creature’s mouth, and engulf the area they were standing in within a 20 yard radius. I wish I could say I saw a defiant Pang flip 20 yards to the side, but I didn’t. Instead, I slumped into unconsciousness.

As I sit here with my broken back resting against what will serve as my grave, I cannot stop thinking about that moment permanently seared into my memory: the steely determination in Mihnaz’s eyes as she realised her fate and whispers whatever inspiring last words she can think of into Pang’s ear. Pang’s unfaltering shield arm raised more to cover Mihnaz than himself despite how futile it is to attempt to block the dragon’s attack. And his eyes. The same steely determination as Mihnaz, but there was something else there. Something not final. While he seems ready to give his life, it’s not what he expected. This is not where he expected to die and we are not the people he expected to die with; wanted to die with. And just before the end, as death was about to wash over him, his gaze dropped, his eyes betrayed him, and I saw something I never thought I’d see. Fear.

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

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

17th and 18th of Garm-mah 641 SC

The History of the Jandicary 600-700 SC

As recorded by Ayatollah Nabil ibn Moriad, 720 SC

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

14th of Garm-marh, 641 SC

The History of the Jandicary 600-700 SC

As recorded by Ayatollah Nabil ibn Moriad, 720 SC

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Black Fist Butcher

The second-in-command of the Black Fist Mercenaries, the Butcher was a ruthless and wicked Darvaki who had built a reputation of desecrating the bodies of his enemies. He was killed during the Siege of Shushan.

Ritter

A human dark cleric and lieutenant in the Black Fist mercenary company, captured by the party of Rafiq al-Rashid during the siege of Shushan

Nabil ibn-Moriad

The Ayotllah of Shushan is one of the few civic leaders left in the City of Saphire during the great siege of 641. He is an old and wise man who is most likely to be leading prayers at the Great Mosque. As the religious leader of the City of Saphire he is considered by most the premier scholar of the Holy Divine and spiritual leader of the faith.

Jabar ibn-Kafiri

Jabar is a giant of a man, suspected to have Gondehmar blood in his family, who has found solace in devoting himself in the service of the Holy Divine after a bloody history. He has vowed never to shed blood again and was found by the party of Rafiq al-Rashid helping the people of Shushan at the Madaras near the Great Mosque.

Almros Hammerhand

The Darvaki Warlord of the Black Fist Mercenaries he was reputed to be a great warrior, undefeated in battle until he was killed by the party of Maissa al-Bahari during the Siege of Shushan on 18th Garm-mah 641

Youcef Ushna

The old weathered and mute leader of the Sukuout in the City of Saphire, he fled with some of his most loyal henchmen. After being requested to help the other refugees escaping the besieged city, a bargain was made for the services of Raouf the Hassari, at a time and place of Youcef's choosing.

Mabrouk Kuffrar

A member of the Sukout in the City of Saphire, his name was given to Raouf al-Kapur as a potential ally in lifting the siege on the city.

Fahim Ulamai

A High Born wizard from a shadowy house in the City of Saphire. Fahim gave the party of Rafiq al-Rashid a frosty reception and used powerful magic and his loyal guards to retain the privacy of his boat, refusing to help the other refugees fleeing the city.


Currently located in the refugee camp to the east of Shushan.

Amir al-Moriad

A local stonemason from the City of Saphire he was entrusted by Maissa al-Bahari to lead the refugees upon her departure. Considered by many an upright, humble and trustworthy man of great physical strength.