MAIN SAGA PEARLS OF PERSIA | IC

[Kuno]

PEARLS OF PERSIA

LORE | CHARACTER INDEX | OOC

 

[Kuno]

Isfahan

PART ONE: THE SEARCH BEGINS

Diamonds shone best under the burning gaze of the sun, and Isfahan - the jeweled pride of the Persians - was to the eye the quarried gem to the searching miner. The prismatic stonework embedded in the ground, the walls, and the very arches adorning the city's architecture glittered like so many treasures coveted in the fabled tales themselves. Life was given to this city, and in this city life thrived - from the shining opulence of the shah's Golden Palace down to the darkened hovels where the poor survived, finding beauty themselves in the tongues of flames licking against swallowed bricks in modest homes, each flicker a beat of the city's heart. Isfahan thrummed with festival activities; Huvarshta meant to be in each other's company and good graces before night fell, and the hustle and bustle of the city had exploded overnight with the influx of sight-seers and workers alike.

But those who followed the invitation's instructions were taken away. Away from the crowded bazaar of Merchant's Square and the tawny, narrow streets where lanky homes leaned together around the protective koochehs. Away from the common rabble of Persians and foreigners alike hurrying to make preparation for the festivities. Those who were inclined trod where in others the root of all envy lied: into the East Quarter, where homes became estates and where names were unequivocally tied to money, power, and prestige. It was Huvarshta, and the towering gates that kept the divide were gone.

It was an hour shy of supper. An hour shy of official celebrations, too. The swell of people adorning the roads in strokes of browns were not yet at their peak, and most stood gawking, taking in the wonders of a society which would never fully belong to them. Most homes were not yet open to guests, and some had taken to wandering throughout the brilliantly colored alleyways in search of any hospitality they could get their hands on.

The address on the invitation brought one to a section of homes belonging to esteemed professors and doctors. The home of Habbas abutted the crossroads between their block and the next. It was comparably smaller to its extravagant, noble neighbors, though no less resplendent. A compound: three levels high, with a low, ochre red wall stretching along its considerable width. Vines curled and intertwined against the mud and within the bars of the small gate guarding the estate's sole entrance.

Should someone knock at the gate, a burly Persian male will come to the gate. He will rebuff all attempts to enter unless the invitation is explicitly mentioned. Then access will be given, and he will lead one into the home and outside once more into the beautiful inner courtyard. Once there, guests will be instructed to wait until Habbas' arrival, and the gatekeeper will leave, leaving one caught in the narrowed-eye gaze of the guard overlooking the gardens.

 

[Red Thunder]

character sheet​

He had been remarkably obtuse about the whole matter.

Razin Al-Farsi lingered in the courtyard of her father's home. Her questions, inquiries, antagonisms, and general nuisance-making had gotten her nothing from the man save an all too characteristically patient reply of 'this thing will be explained tonight'. He had seemed- preoccupied, she thought.

And Umi is off somewhere with the little one. Perhaps the market or somesuch.

Her mother was such a dear, though. Razin leaned back on the stone bench, staring blankly into the infinite blue above her. Her river of jet streamed from her head, cascading onto the stone. The Arabians might prefer a head covering, but humility was a glimmer of a torch as compared to the sun that was the exhilarating touch of the wind in her tresses.

Her sharp eye caught a hitherto surreptitious glance from the guard. She smirked. Razin had been trying very hard, though perhaps not as hard as she might have, to resist the urge to entertain herself at her father's man's expense. 'Wait in the courtyard', Habbas had told her. Well. She hadn't been told to keep to herself, now, had she?

"It's like liquid obsidian, isn't it?" Razin ran her fingers down the generous length of her hair. She wore it free and unadorned, apparently giving little care when the breeze would cause it to dance about her, a body to the breath of the earth. "Are you jealous? Shall I give your wife my regimen?"

Jabir, of course, had no wife. The poor man shifted uncomfortably as she antagonized him, the very picture of professionalism that Habbas Al-Farsi had hired him for.

"The movement drew my eye only, unsure as I was what it might be. Please forgive any indiscretion," he returned, giving a small bow of his head as he focused again on the courtyard's portal.

Razin laughed, a breathy sound that faded away rather than ended abruptly. Jabir was a walnut; exceedingly difficult to crack without ruining the sweet meats inside, but so very worth the effort.

"You'll lose your demeanor eventually," she grinned, shifting to a cross-legged position on her bench. Where the air had been still before, now a gentle breeze tugged at hair and jacket alike, the gray-blue fabric undulating with its rhythm. Time was on her side; she was in no rush. "In the meantime, Abba's guests lack more initiative than the Shah's own son. Yours is a tedious task, so I shall assist, both with the watch and with the wakefulness.

"Tell me: why do the best cats come from Purr-sia?"

@Kuno

 

[Doctor Jax]

Mohamed Ibn-Sina​

The courtyard gate creaked open, allowing a single visitor in as a guard stepped to the side.

"Razin, stop harassing the men. It's bad enough they don't get to enjoy the festivities."

The voice that spoke was mellifluous and soft, almost mousy, if not for the bite of playful irritation on the park of the speaker. Mohamed nodded to Jabir, flashing a slight smile as he noted the man's slight shift of relief. She was incorrigible, and he pitied the people Habbas hired to watch the place. His daughter was a troublemaker all the way around, like a devilish parrot intent on getting a rise out of people.

If he was honest, he himself was a bit unnerved that Habbas would call upon him on Huvarshta's first day, of all days. He had hoped to spend the week with his mother, but alas, he knew better than to ignore his summons. Besides - it did get him reprieve from his mother's prodding and probing about what women he'd gotten to know, or if he had his eye on any particular woman on this holy week of feminine celebration. There were few answers that would have satisfied her.

She had already set upon him one very aggressive suitor, so perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. The scholar was dressed in simple robes, hair combed yet still somehow a mass of black curls, as if he were trying to hide from notice. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking about the courtyard.

"Where is everyone else? I'm early, aren't I?" Hama sighed, itching the beard on his face with an annoyed expression. In his mind, early was on time -- if you were on-time, you were late. Always be prepared and leave early, you never knew what could beset you on the road.

@Red Thunder

 

[A Crow]

ENAYA

"All paths eventually converge into one long, winding road, and that road will inevitably lead to your Fate."

That was what Father had always said. As a youth, the meaning of it was lost on him, for his childish brain had many other things more worthy of focusing on. The wise teachings of his father were something he considered background noise until he was finally old enough to realize the meanings of them all. Even now, some of the things he would repeat, hoping to instill some intellect within Enaya, were still an enigma to him.

"You can never escape Fate, Enaya," the old man would continue. "Trying to do so will only cause your fears to come sooner."

Well, was Enaya to believe that Fate herself was leading him into a neighborhood of educators and medicinal practitioners? Looking around at the extravagant homes made him feel remarkably small, which was rare considering his height. He was certainly out of place, but with the long lion's tail flickering thoughtfully at the end of his back, he should have been used to the feeling. Enaya wasn't one to give up, though, in the face of a little social intimidation. Once he straightened his shoulders and held his head a little higher, it was a piece of cake navigating his way to the proper abode.

It was a place Enaya had never laid eyes on before... A curiously raised eyebrow was in order as he approached the gate and rapped his knuckles on the iron. A man of similar stature to his own answered, and upon presenting the piece of paper which had led him to arrive there, he was allowed through. He followed silently until he was left in a courtyard with beautiful, well-taken care of specimens of nature. His piercing eyes softened, the pupils dilating ever so slightly as he allowed himself to take in the beauty of the flowers and plant life, not to mention the well-designed architecture.

He was not alone, however. Three other people caught his eye: a guardsman, a beautiful, seemingly care-free young woman, and another man who seemed to be just as at ease as her. But Enaya wasn't the type to socialize. He didn't know these people, and there was nothing yet about them that drew his curiosity.

Standing in the shade, Enaya folded his arms across his chest and remained silent, waiting for the man named Habbas to arrive and satisfy his need for understanding; mainly understanding why Enaya was asked to attend this gathering.

Created by Jenamos

 

[Red Thunder]

​

"Hama! Cousin, you're always early. And you always complain about it." Razin waved her hand dismissively even as she leaned against her knees. She eyed Hama with a twinkle. "Jabir, though. Can you imagine a worse fate than listening to your pontifications?

"Come." She patted the empty space beside her, the smooth stone echoing roughly. "Rest your legs and regale me with-"

Her quip was cut short. A newcomer, the first that she did not recognize, had entered. Habbas might have dissuaded her from encountering him, but he wasn't here to do that. Besides, how disrespectful and dishonorable to allow one into her Abba's home ungreeted by a member of the Al-Farsi family! She leapt to her feet and bowed her head in greeting.

"This day shines upon us, that we should receive such a distinguished guest as-!" Again, Razin's words fell as if from a cliff even as she took a look at their new guest. One of the Aspect Clan. Lion, by the look of him. Her face twitched, the effort in squashing a harsh remark obvious.

"Welcome to the home of the esteemable Habbas Al-Farsi; I am his second youngest daughter: Razin Al-Farsi," she continued, with somewhat less enthusiasm. "Shall I call for refreshment? For we have the finest in fruits, breads, and mil- that is, welcome."

Her smile did not reach her eyes.

 

[A Crow]

ENAYA

The word "awkward" could not describe the heavy feeling that washed over Enaya upon realizing that the attention of the petite, black-haired woman was suddenly cast upon him. He wanted to avoid being anybody's center of attention, but he supposed having so few of people to sink her claws of interest into gave him a huge disadvantage. Of course, whose eyes wouldn't be drawn to the tall and very different looking man standing in their courtyard? With his light hair, light skin and blue eyes, he might have looked like a foreigner to his human counterparts. Even some of the men and women in his clan were of darker tone than he, with equally dark hair of a much different texture. Yes, he was used to standing out, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it.

His pupils returned to nearly invisible slits as the woman, who introduced herself as none other than Razin Al-Farsi, second daughter of the man who had requested his presence, plodded over to him with a warm greeting. Discomfort caused him to step backwards further into the shade, though she seemed to want to sincerely welcome him. It was assuring, but her sincerity seemed to have dissipated in the air between them, vaporizing the moment she noticed he wasn't as human as she had presumed. His tail flickered with annoyance, internally revolted by the obviousness of her prejudice. However, Enaya didn't want to be disrespectful to the daughter of the master of this beautiful home.

He hadn't expected to be met with anyone who would carry such views toward him, and he hoped for the sake of his precious time that her father was different.

Enaya wasn't exactly hurting for food, nor was he really interested in making new friends. He instead glowered down his nose at Razin Al-Farsi, though he hadn't meant to express any of his displeasure so blatantly.

"Water," a rich, monotonous voice answered. Enaya wanted nothing that could be considered extravagant from anyone, even if it was only the beginning day of Huvarshta. "Please, Miss Al-Farsi. I would only like to drink some water."

Created by Jenamos

 

[Spekkun]

Ayaz Rahal​

Ayaz wasn't one to be suspicious of anyone, not without reason. Sure, in his line of work a healthy suspicion kept one's pockets full and, most importantly, their life safe, but he generally liked to give people the benefit of the doubt and offer some modicum of trust. But even he found the invitation he received quite suspicious. Delivered by a handsome falcon with lettering in gold, it raised quite a few red flags.

Of course, however, it screamed opportunity, and Ayaz was all about opportunity. Plus, whoever sent the letter clearly recognized and respected his abilities. A person of great enterprise? Habbas was obviously a man who recognized quality when he saw it.

Whenever he saw it.

When Ayaz showed up to Habbas's home, he made sure to do so in his best clothes, a black robe embroidered with gold that stopped just past his knees, and beige pants. Because he had to look as enterprising as Habbas knew he was. Dress to impress, right? In any case, he was certainly glad he'd dressed so well when he saw the state of the neighborhood. Though Habbas's home was smaller than others, it was equally as gorgeous, and it made him envious. This was the type of area he always wanted to live in.

He arrived at the gate, and upon mentioning his invitation to the guard he was welcomed into the courtyard. "Oh, is this the whole crew, then?" He asked aloud upon laying his eyes on the people in the courtyard, his hand rubbing his chin. "Kind of small, isn't it? Surely we've got more people on the way?"

 

[MiharuAya]

Errol Demir​

While the bustling streets of Isfahan were teeming with life, a cloaked figure silently weaved his way through the crowd. With his head ducked low he periodically pulled his hood further over his head, nervous that his vibrant feathers might stick out. Errol's sharp amber eyes wearily flickered around at his surroundings, ever watchful of impending threats. As much as Errol dislikes large crowds, it made going unnoticed far easier. The populace was too enthralled by their Huvarshta celebrations to pay him any mind.

Ever since coming to Isfahan, Errol never understood Huvarshta. The kindly act of committing good deeds or opening your home to the less fortunate is a moral responsibility. The idea of simply doing this for a single week was disingenuous, and an insult to the impoverished masses.

As the modest homes, he was accustomed to seeing turned into grand estates, the opulence seemed to seep from every corner was laughable. In a place where a select few fortunes flow like the Nile, it would mean almost nothing for them to spread the wealth. All Errol could think of were the poor beggars that he had befriended. Even just a slim portion of this wealth would allow them an easy life. Yet, the affluent Isfahan horde it all for themselves.

It was for this reason he held no qualms for taking some of this wealth for himself. His fingers danced and twitched, itching to relieve the nobles of some of their costly goods. Although this would make for the opportune time, he restrained himself. Errol had another task on his mind.

When he finally reached the home of Habbas, Errol eyed the luxurious compound from afar. With the vagueness of the letter, he was feeling uneasy about entering. This wouldn't have been the first time he has been led astray and nearly fell into a trap. An aspect as beautiful as himself was a prize for those looking to show off their status. But, he refused to be so naive a fifth time.

After watching someone enter the gate, he decided that he would enter through an alternative route. Errol turned the corner and walked to the side of the estate. As he paused to examine the wall, its height looming over his short frame. Still, he wouldn't let this dissuade him.

With a huff and look of determination, he took several steps back. In an instant, he was sprinting towards the solid structure. As his feet pushed off from the ground, his arms stretched upwards. However, his fingers were more than a foot too low to grasp the top of the wall. When he landed, it was clear that he needed to find another method.

As Errol spotted a nearby palm tree, he got a marvelous idea. As his spindly limbs wrapped around the tree's trunk, his claws dug into its outer bark. He began shimmying up the tree and eventually made it high enough to peer over the wall. Even though this house wasn't as grand as the others, it was still a sight to behold. It was hard to believe that such comfort existed.

He flung himself through the air with a leap, landing on the wall and perching himself on top. While amber eyes cautiously took in his surroundings, he heard the faint sound of voices chatting. As far as he could tell, the immediate area was clear of threats. At least, for now. From the wall, he gracefully hopped to the ground.

 

[Kabboom]

Alim Arslan Yafir

Things never go his way. His mysterious employer beckons him to Isfahan of all places. His employer was wealthy enough to afford a falcon to deliver the summoning message to him in particular, but uninformed or dumb enough to neglect the minute detail that, oh, he's wanted by the Shah's bone-headed lapdogs for funding an insurrection, among other crimes? And this 'Habbas' wants him to enter the Shah's own backyard, on a busy holiday? Just so he can... take a look at Alim?

If this isn't a trap, then at least he can reimburse his risk by relieving this idiot of his undeserved riches. All he had to do now was to actually make it to the damned house.

His journey to Isfahan was uneventful enough. Entry into the city proved more... elaborate. A contact in the slums - a rare gift in Isfahan - guaranteed his safe passage through much of the bazaar with some precision bribing and blackmailing. The merchants who were known to snitch kept shut that day, as the 'Lion' of days past strode across their bustling stalls.

His name changes after every street he passes, in case anyone asks. After every discrete street corner turn, Alim changes his visage with quick, oft-practiced visual changes to his clothing; one moment he was a regular traveler, the next he was a nobleman failing to hide his rich strut with a mere robe, and the next a weary visitor with an exquisite scarf, and so on so forth. His eyes were peeled to the skyline, leering at every wayward movement in the windows or on the pavement, in the alleys and on the rooftops, in front of and behind him. The eyes that met his own quickly looked away, desperate to show they weren't trailing him. This was the risk of Isfahan- no, of any city still under the Shah's control - as long as he's out of the slums, he's in mortal danger.

Eventually he made it, coming in closely after a fancifully dressed scumbag, it seems. There are others in whatever group this 'Habbas' was assembling. That either means he's very serious about this wild goose chase they're about to go on, or Alim is about to get really rich with just a few good stabs.

But for now, he'll just play along. Presenting the letter to the door guard, Alim walked in after the well-dressed gentleman, looking like he was born into a very big red rug. Shrugging some dangling cloth off his face, Alim responded in a gruff voice to the words of the man in front. "Right behind you, jackass."

A feathered thing landed in the area, and Alim nearly threw his knife at it in self-defense. Realizing that it was not a Headmen trap springing into action, he calmed down, silently grateful that he didn't blow his cover just because of some idiot's fanciful entry. "Hello yourself," he grudged to the new arrival.

 

[Applo]

In many ways the jewel of the empire was like the reefs off the coast of Punt. The tight, twisting interior throbbed with the drumbeat of life as it's inhabitants rushed back and forth; each seeking enough of what their home had to offer so that they might see another dawn. The more open fringes were quieter. This was where the big fish roamed, each individual territory jealously guarded from all others. The inhabitants of the city proper could be found here too; there was too much to be lost by not doing so, but they moved with the reverence and caution of those who know their future depends on good will and generosity of others big enough and strong enough to act on whatever whim took their fancy.

Through this dry sea, Asra moved, as much a stranger in this reef as the ones she had grown up in. The eyes of the proud and powerful watched her every move while the bodies of the small and meek flitted out from her path. The Puntling ignored them all. She had long gotten used to being a stranger in the empire. In fact, Asra practically sought it. To be a stranger was part of being somewhere new. Once one became just another fact of life, chances were that that place had given up all it had to offer. Besides, paying too much attention to the people of a place was to ignore the place itself, and the East Quarter had such a feast for Asra's restless eyes and soul.

The Puntling passed her intended destination at least three times. Each time she began to approach the compound's gate, some distant feature would catch her attention and, like a moth to a flame, draw her towards. Even when she managed to muster the mental fortitude to resist all the temping distractions of her decadent surroundings and make it to the estate described on the invitation, the Puntlings roaming was far from done. The front gate was ignored in favour of the alleys and roads that surrounded the compound as Asra strove to commit every feature, every twisting vine to memory. This last minute exploration came with a strange bonus on rounding a corner; the sight of a strange, scrawny figure vaulting from a tree and over the compound's red walls. This odd distraction caused only a slight pause in Asra's pacing. Awestruck as she was, she was aware that she was beginning to tread on her host's hospitality, still the Puntling waited a few moments until she was sure the figure was not going to reappear.

When Asra did finally knock gently (for Asra had long since learned the constructs of small folk were not as sturdy as those of Puntish design) on the compound gate, part of her fretted that she would be scaled for being late. She was not. If the man who did greet her was angry, Asra could not tell. Her invitation was presented and after a moment, the portal into the estate was opened to her. Asra did mention to the gate-man than she had seen a figure scaling over the walls, not to do so would be rude, but otherwise she was silent as she was guided through the compound; her eyes once again devouring every sight they could until she was ejected into the crowded courtyard.

"I hope I have not kept you all waiting long. Your city has so many things to see. I got a little distracted."

With her eyes flitting from one person to the next, a look of puzzled confusion spread over the Puntling's features.

"I am sorry. I do not know which of you invited me here today. Who is our host?"​

 

[MiharuAya]

Errol Demir
​

As Errol's nimble body landed delicately on the ground inside the compound, his crouched form quickly straightened. He unconsciously readjusted his hood, tugging it further over his head to hide his feathers. While his amber orbs flickered around hesitantly, he felt his heart racing in his chest.

A sudden voice coming from behind him caused him to jump and nearly stumble. With a gasp, he hastily spun on his heels to face the man. He was expecting to be face to face with a guard, but to his surprise, he found a noble-looking man instead.

"Uh, um...Hi?" Errol responded nervously. The youth appeared to shrink back as he ducked his head timidly, Though, his wary gaze never left the man. "I- um...seem to be lost?" He said bashfully, a tight smile pulling at his lips. If he was in trouble, a little bit of charm was always a good remedy.

Errol took several steps back, his body becoming tense, as he tried to evaluate whether he was in danger. It was then that he remembered the invitation. "I got this letter…" He explained, holding it out to the man and a very angry-looking guard.

 

[Red Thunder]

​

"Please accept my family's apologies," came the reply to the Puntling's question. A slight woman late in her second decade stood in the center of the courtyard, dressed modestly for the setting but with a touch more extravagance than was absolutely necessary. She had been monitoring a servant who had been in turn offering drinking bowls of cool, clear water to the gathering guests. She bowed her head, reintroducing herself to both the latest newcomer and any others that she may have missed. "Abba will be along shortly. He- well, I can't say for certain where he is or what delays him. Likely waiting on his daily medication to be mixed into his food."

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. She snapped her fingers. The servant, head lowered and standing to one side, looked up and hurried over to the Puntling to offer a drinking bowl. Razin nodded, assured that her father's guests were as cared for as they might be until- whatever nonsense idea Habbas had planned for them. Speaking of which-

"Ah, er. I don't know whether everyone planned for has arrived or not." The man (she assumed Egyptian by his look) had inquired about the number of their gathering. Her father's voice rang in her head: do not ignore the honest inquiry, Razin; it reflects ill on you and your family. Very well, then. "Unfortunately, Abba has been very tight lipped about the whole affair, neglecting to share even the basest concept of what he has planned with his family.

"Or perhaps he has merely forgotten to do so. Allah save him, he has become so forgetful in his age."

@Applo @Spekkun

 

[A Crow]

ENAYA

Not too long after his encounter with Razin, a variety of others began to wander into the finely designed courtyard. The rate at which they appeared left no time for Enaya to adjust, and the more that arrived, the higher his discomfort meter rose. He started to feel a tingling sensation on his left side, causing his head to snap in the left direction just as a rather meager, cloaked humanoid landed on the courtyard flooring. His eyebrows furrowed as the figure adjusted their cloaking, having caught a mere flash of vivid and entrancing colors. This intrigued Enaya, but rather than approaching, he stepped backwards and away.

Turning his shoulder, he had to halt suddenly or he would have crashed into two other men who had filed in together, coincidentally as it seemed. One appeared as if he belonged here, and his formal wear made Enaya second guess the very casual, everyday clothing he chose to attend in. But he quickly shook it off and let them pass prior to navigating his way to the most isolated spot in the lush, cool courtyard, which was a shadowy corner behind a tall pillar overcome by vines.

His hand touched the mustard hued wall, feeling it before he pressed his back to it. The others began to raise questions that he could not answer, though they hadn't been directed at anyone in particular. As a bowl of water was presented to him, he was grateful and thanked the servant who had delivered it. He hastily sipped at the water, humming as it rehydrated him. There came a long pause in the courtyard, then another of the guests made her entrance as well.

Enaya was shocked to say the least, for he had never laid eyes on very many people taller than himself before, let alone a female. He hadn't ever had the pleasure of knowing or viewing a puntling, which was very obviously what this woman was. The hue of her skin was lovely, to say the least. She was quite a sight to behold to someone who wasn't accustomed to viewing such differences. And though he might have seemed hypocritical to stare, Enaya spent a lot of time on his own. Most of his time was spent on his own, in fact. He was rarely found in the company of others, even of his clan. It was just a preference.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts about the female puntling, he redirected his attention to the young woman who had earlier approached him and listened to the information she was sharing. Though, it wasn't very helpful, for it seemed she too didn't have much of a clue as to what everyone was gathered for.

Created by Jenamos

 

[Kuno]

HABBAS

Servants were meant to be seen, not heard.

In one's peripheral vision they moved, faintly sensed yet unnoticed, like whispers in the dark. There were no more than half a dozen of them: a collection of Persian women dressed in asture, somber colors, a stark contrast against the vivid dyes of their hair. An air of urgency hung over their movements. Orders had been given to them, and though their mistress was kind, the need to render perfect service was implicit.

It was unclear at first what they were doing. Alongside the shallow pool in the center of the courtyard, opposite the assembled party, the women found a clear space within the foliage and began driving metal rods into the ground. Upon this they balanced a flat, metal latticed frame, and they completed the canopied tent with finely woven, sheer sheet; flaps had been cut on all four sides to allow for entry. Soon enough, a low table was carried out and placed mere inches above the ground in the tents center. The women hummed quietly to themselves as they returned from the house with armfuls of brilliantly colored seat cushions, their eyes discreetly glancing at the unusual guests in their courtyard.

As Razin's last words flitted away into the air, a man emerged from within the ambient compound. He was Arabian: covered entirely in sumptuous white robes, the older man's dark features were made severe by the shadow his hood cast. The set of his brows added nefarious intent to his hawkish eyes, and the stern-faced man approached the group from behind, his hands hidden within the folds of his sleeves.

"I am sorry to keep you all waiting. I trust my daughter kept you entertained while I was away."

Was the look he gave Razin one of acknowledgement or knowing disapproval? Ah, but he could not have heard the things she had said from so far away. Right?

The man inclined his head to his guests. "I am Habbas Al-Farsi, the owner of this home. I thank you all for accepting my humble invitation. Please -" He extended his hand towards the tent. "Have a seat. Let us eat...and speak with one another."

Habbas, naturally, took a seat at the head of the table. He crossed his legs against the ground, folding his arms as he waited for everyone to take their own seats on either side of him.

Like specters, the servants reappeared, alabaster cups and plates borne on their trays. They quietly placed one of each before the guests, pouring wine into the pristine white of the dishware as Habbas continued speaking.

"I must apologize for being so discreet in my letter. But the opportunity I have begs secrecy; there are many who would desire this information. Would kill for it, even. It was necessary." The bearded gentleman made a flourish with his hands, fanning out his sleeve. "So-"

He paused. Bowls of rice, fruits, and spiced meats were being placed in the centers of the table. The aromas filled one's senses; yet Habbas' hands did not reach for any of it. Instead they steepled before him, and he scanned the faces of these strangers and his daughter, his eyes searching.

"What if I told you that I have the means to procure a treasure which would ensure each of you would never work again for the rest of your lives? And that our financier would still pay more than that just to have you obtain it?"

 

[Doctor Jax]

Mohamed Ibn Sina
​

The physician and academic watched as others streamed into Habbas' courtyard, in their myriad entrances. A soft-spoken lion Aspect... a young and inquisitive Egyptian... a Turkish man of some uncomfortable air... a Bird aspect nearly scaring the daylight out of him... and a Puntling tall enough that it was prudent they met in the courtyard. Habbas had gathered quite the eclectic group, and from the look of several of them, they were of character a mite less than upright. Hama could not be called talkative, and so he chose instead to observe the group around them while he helped the servants with the tent (it was Huvarshta after all). He did shoot Razin a look as she mentioned Habbas' health as he fought a tent pole.

Razin was young. She forgot that the walls had ears, and strangers have knives, and indeed information was worth its weight in gold. This was not a group to be speaking such things around. Never the less, he did not chastise her. It was not his place, despite being kinsman to her. Let her father handle her.

Regardless, soon enough the man of the house did appear, and the reason for this whole hubbub would come to light. He tried to be glad for that, but in truth he hoped that this would last a bit longer so he wouldn't have to go back home quite so soon. Maybe he might find Bahram to get a drink later, delay the inevitable.

Declining to take the food until others had taken what they wanted first, Hama did narrow his gaze as his cousin laid out his proposition. Suspicion was there in his gaze. A prize worth that much?

"You know that money is no object to me, but knowledge is," Hama stated slowly, sipping hot tea. He had no desire for riches. Enough times in his life had he watched ambition sour a man into a creature of little more than manipulation, lies, and hatred. Even so, his attention was piqued. An item of that sort would have to be-- legendary. Something of mythic proportion. The stuff of bedtime stories, made real.

"And what I want to know is, what item exactly is this, cousin? And who would our financier be?"

He trusted Habbas' judgement and prudence. He would not call him here to chase a simurgh. Nevertheless his natural caution behooved him to consider that those things which sound too good to be true, often are.

 

[MiharuAya]

Errol Demir ​

Even with the playful smile that gleamed towards the strangers, it was evident that his charm had alluded to the brutish guards. The irritated looks adorning their faces made it clear that they were unimpressed by Errol's crude entrance.

As he was ushered towards the growing crowd in the courtyard, he kept his head ducked while secretly peeking at each of the others. At first glance, it seemed like a strange hodgepodge of people. While some appeared to fit the extravagance of the estate, others who like himself stuck out sorely. When he spotted another aspect and even a puntling, he was surprised to see such unexpected guests among the assortment of wealthy-looking individuals. But, it was relieving to see that he wouldn't be the only oddity at this gathering.

While he joined the conclave, Errol chose to stand near the lion-man. Though, still some good distance away. He figured that if anything dangerous were to happen, he was more likely to find an ally in him, than the rest. With his back leaning on the cool limestone wall, Errol's sharp gaze studied his surroundings, ever watchful of any impending threats.

Now that he was inside the estate's walls, he is able to appreciate its grandeur. The grounds were vast, filled with beautiful greenery and the smell of blossoming flowers. With the crystal clear water, it was like an oasis. The building was a paragon of luxury, as it could easily fit five of his own homes inside of its walls. With the opulence dripping from every corner, even Errol felt the tinge of envy.

When the collection of servants appeared, Errol was brought back from his thoughts. He watched as they worked curiously, his gaze following their every move. At first, he wondered what they were doing. But, as the tent took shape, he was impressed with how cohesive and swift they accomplished their task.

Errol hadn't been paying much mind to the conversation happening around him. However, as an older man exited the house, his appearance caught his attention. As the man introduced himself, his feathered ears perked under his hood. This was the man who had invited him, yet Errol is still just as clueless about the reason. Even though Errol was hesitant, when he was invited to sit and hear what Habbas had to say, his curiosity got the best of him. As he listlessly pulled at his cloak, he moved with the others into the tent. Errol took a seat at the far corner of the table, refusing to turn his back to anyone.

While Habbas began explaining the need for secrecy, Errol listened with interest. Though, his eyes often drifted to the delicious food being placed in front of him, his stomach loudly growling. Yet, he was too wary to take any. The topic, which Habbas was taking his time to get to, sounded serious and left Errol's mind to run with fantasies.

When Habbas finally proposed his offer, Errol tilted his head. His eyes narrowed on the man as if trying to decipher if he was being genuine. A scholarly appearing man spoke up, asking the same thing that was on Errol's mind. "Why us?" He asked, his voice slightly timid. It was the question burning in his mind since he had first received the letter. Although this entire spiel sounded suspicious, the idea of making that much money for his clan was something he couldn't outright refuse.

 

[Kuno]

HABBAS

Hama had what Naudar, his scribe, so sorely lacked: maturity and caution. Habbas was not surprised that his younger cousin was first to speak. To question the unknown was his way. Such was the order of all scholars: to constantly seek out yet unattained knowledge. Only untamed hubris stopped the neverending quest.

Habbas poured himself a cup of tea, lightly shooing away the maidservant who surged forward to do it for him. He went to take a sip, yet he stopped briefly as a voice came from the end of the table, from the young boy this time. He could hardly have been older than his Manu, if not a year or two younger than her. Habbas' gaze lingered a moment longer.

There was something strange about the boy's eyes.

But the heavens alone could want to inquire into such a matter. The man himself had no desire to.

"Euttob. More honey, please."

As his tea was attended to, Habbas lightly gestured with his hand towards Hama. He would answer in the order asked: Hama first, then the boy.

"Please. Eat something," The older man urged, "For I have much to say. And food grows cold so quickly.

"In your studies, you may have read of something called the Ananias Square. Supposedly designed by the trickster god himself, it is a scattered map of puzzle pieces leading one towards collected riches over the many centuries. The ancients depicted a massive treasure vault sealed by bars of diamond, with a great winged, scaled beast curled around piles upon piles of gold, jewels, and unbreakable swords. Shelves with tomes of ancient knowledge line the walls. Later transcriptions add more to its bounty: the Helm of Baal. The Fountain of Youth. Siturehkun, they called this place. 'Star Keep. "

There was a hint of incredulity in Habbas' severe, stern face.

"I don't intend to pursue fairytales, nor would I have all of you. I am certain there have been some...embellishments over the years to this hold. While I don't believe we'll find such abundant treasures there - nor any ridiculous creatures, I might add - what we do know with certain authority is that kept therein is the knowledge of the ancients, which I am particularly invested in adding to the College. But after acquiring the first piece of the square and analyzing it, we have discerned that Siturehkun holds something of particular interest to our financier: Xšayāršā's tomb. The first ruler of Babylon."

It was a name that would have drawn the attention of both his fellow scholar and the Puntling in their midst. A man of mythic proportions, he was rumoured to be the spawn of a Persian and Puntling's union. A hellish figure whose strength and ability to warp legions of foes at once challenged even minor gods.

But who would be interested in such a thing?

"The Shah's Order has shown a desire to procure his crown. Their captain wishes to present it to the shah for his 70th birthday...and the centennial celebration of the Persian Empire. I am told it is a matter of pride - frankly, I don't really care for the details. I care only for the forgotten tomes locked away in that hold.

"'Why us?'" Habbas echoed. His hawkish eyes landed on the boy abruptly; his question had not gone forgotten in the midst of his monologue. The older man tutted his tongue a bit, shrugging.

"Word of mouth. And recommendation. In spite of some of your more...unsavory lifestyles, you all possess certain skills and drive to form a well-founded team for which to accomplish the job at hand. And people have mentioned you to me. All of you. Just like others, too, have been presented to me. They, too, have been offered the same prospects. Now it is only a matter of who will accept first."

The implications hung over the cheerful ambiance of the courtyard supper. Habbas busied himself with setting his plate at last, reaching for the bowl of spiced meats at the center of the table.

 

[Red Thunder]

​

Perhaps the North Wind itself might have been able to insert itself into the silence that followed the Al-Farsi patron's comment. Or maybe the Spear of Cyrus, said to be blessed with such a precise tip to be able to pin a fly to a wall by its wing, could have found through sheer luck the moment of pause in the conversation as it lingered.

As it happened, neither could match Habbas' second youngest child for quickness of wit.

"Hah! What shall I say, Abba? Shall I decline?"

Razin had positioned her place parallel to Alim, staring at him across the board in such a way as to make the servants shift in second hand shame. A wink here, a flick of her fingers there, misapplying all the methods her masterful father had instilled in her as a diplomat. So she had done, all but subtly, as Habbas had waxed eloquently and as his guests had voiced questions and concerns. Now, however, Razin laughed, the airy sound lifting easily into the cerulean sky.

"Treasures? Xerxes?! Come, Abba. If the idea of piles of wealth guarded by winged, fire-spewing monsters of myth is unbelievable, as you say, how much more that it should be anything of the great Xerxes. If indeed he ever actually existed.

"And even if he did? Even the most meager house requires stones of quality and consistency, or repute and reliability. The builder that builds with irregular bricks dooms his work to failure. How much more a dangerous quest for rumored riches undertaken by strangers so identified as of ill-repute?"

This last, she said as she gazed at Alim, a sweet smile on her lips.

 

[Kabboom]

Alim Arslan Yafir

Silence befell his lips as the proceedings continued. There was quite a concentration of folks here - a fine group of oddballs for their benefactor to lead. Alim simply stood where he thought the Headmen couldn't get a good view of him if they were peering in from adjacent buildings or from the door, keeping eyes (and knives) fixed on the members for any potential threats that could arise from them. The Headmen could still strike - anywhere, anytime. Alim is going to take his chances and remain here even after the benefactor remains unseen - he could benefit from inspecting the interior of a rich man's courtyard, after all. His previous encounters with the higher class had either been in situations of stealth where he familiarized himself with the shadows, or high-intensity raids where his accomplices smack a hole in the wall and ruin the intricate (slave-built) constructions after they're done.

Alim's silence persisted even after Habbas had made himself known after his servants pitched a nice feasting tent. The old man looked almost exactly like how he'd imagined: pretentiously fabulous, trying too hard at being mysterious, and superficially verbose - if it weren't for the locale, Alim could've mistaken him for a slumlord he screwed over a while ago. Alim followed others (Yafir's Rulebook: Never be the first to something) to the table, taking a seat where he could keep an eye on others - and a hand on his knife - and deliberately avoiding the food. He'd grown used to an empty stomach anyway.

As Habbas explained the group's goal, a series of threads unraveled inside Alim's mind. Their financier is the Shah himself? A crown fit for the dear old bastard for his 70th undeserved year on this realm? Yafir's stomach boiled hot enough to virtually melt the armor he wore beneath his threads, but his rage was then matched with a devilish crackpot conspiracy that had very little chance of success (just a regular Alim plot). Perhaps that poison expert he knew is still active - perhaps, yes, then some riches and some close ties could open the gates for a covertly-poisoned crown to pass through inspection and end up on the Shah's head... just in time for his 70th birthday. Alim suppressed his childish giddiness at the supreme opportunity that these sheep had invited him to - all that was left was to take the damn crown.

His crackpot fantasy was made more difficult with the acknowledgement of his crimes by Habbas and his long-haired spawn of sass and annoyance; the former was more discreet about his acknowledgement, while the latter... a brick through a window could be more subtle. She did raise a point, though: if the Shah had authorized this mission and knew about the team members one way or another, why would Alim be allowed in? His mind came to the visualization of an executioner's blade on his neck, a fate most likely reserved for after the expedition - or if they came back at all. Alim smelled a trap.

"She has a point. If all we're doing is chasing dead men's crowns in faraway crypts, why such a group? Surely, the Shah knows best - why resort to you for selection?" Alim barely managed to hold his disgust at the word 'Shah'.