Zakhara month names:

• Taraq
• Masta
• Magarib
• Gammam
• Mihla
• Qawafil
• Holy day of Ahad
• Holy day of Atnen
• Holy day of Salas
• Holy day of Arba
• Holy day of Yasad
• Safa
• Dar
• Riyah
• Nau
• Rahat
• Saris

Months have 30 days, and the five holy days don't have any months, they just come after 30th of Qawafil and before 1st of Safa.

Första taraq börjar året,
nästa masta kommer näst.
Magarib, gamman har knopp i håret,
Mihla, qawafil blommar mest.
Safa, dar och riyah,
härlig sommar är det då.
Men nau och rahat
och saris är så grå.

The party is

• Jalara abd-Jamil, a bugbear corsair
• Djut, a goblin corsair
• Keeze, a goblin sa’luk
• Na’im al-Qadib, an air genasi flamewind sorcerer

Everyone has a shared goal: to get onboard a ship by capturing the Sea Ghost. Unfortunately they don’t really know much about that ship.

The two corsairs also want revenge on the pirates on Sunless Island.

Keeze and Na’im have a shared past… that they don’t know about. They’ve both suffered memory loss. They used to be level 12 characters with some kind of relationship – the nature of that relationship is still a mystery – but one of them used a Wish “I wish we had never met” which reset their lifes and wiped their memories. Back to level 1. Back to the old fishing village.

jag vet att jag har minnesluckor men det är ändå inte så konstigt efter alla fester jag varit på och allt man rökt, druckit och testat på där

ta det lugnt?! haha nej det kommer inte hända. måste ju hänga med i svängarna, skvallra, dansa och allt det där… jag är en livsnjutare in i märgen

men… det känns som att jag har varit vassare med kniven och snabbare på fötterna eller att jag borde vara det, en mycket märklig känsla… det känns som deja vu varje gång jag lär mig något nytt!

fast jag kommer mycket väl ihåg mitt kall och uppgift här i livet… ja även vi tjuvar har vår heder och mästare som ger oss uppgifter ibland

jag kommer också ihåg mina drömmar om att en dag grunda en stad för alla tjuvar, tiggare, gatubarn, rövare och andra på samhällets botten

som en ny Hawa ungefär… jag har varit där en gång, det minns jag, ett fantastiskt ställe!

och givetvis kommer det finnas plats för ett rejält bibliotek för vad vore en fest utan er magikers fyverkerier och konster?

men först måste vi hitta ett lämpligt ställe att grunda en stad på och för att göra det så behöver vi en bra båt

• 1494
  • Taraq
  • Masta

Acererak created the dagger from a shard of the soul monger, a magical skullgem, a ring of intelligence, smoke of his breath, and the heart of a dragonborn, and the stone itself is in fact a fragment of his own life.

The dagger is made from the soul of a living natural creature, and it cannot be healed from the death of a living creature. The soul in question is the mishap of a living creature, and the dagger is the destruction of a living creature. The dagger is never killed, as it is a living creature, and the destruction of the mishap is always the death of the living creature.

The dagger can be used as a weapon, as a tool, or an ordinary dagger.

When al-Bek, the Kahin, ordered Sir Bradford to destroy the dagger, the ghosts inside were restored from the evil forms Acererak had turned them into and their souls found peace among the planes.

Even as the plane guardians watched their numbers dwindle, their sovereigns continued to look on with hope and goodwill, and the Vizier of Fate also continued to watch the trouble with which the planeshifts were carried out. When the planeshifts had been completed, Vizier Hajama ibn Abd al-Waqadah, the God of Courage, was among those who were most disturbed, for the change that he saw was not one that he had been warned of.

Four plain golden rings were forged, one for each of the four heroes. Sharwin al-Hukra, the Wind/Sea mage. Her brother, Talgen, the corsair, and his corsair friend, just going by al-Karakas. They had been joined by an outland warrior, Sir Bradford, who carried the legendary Shatterspike.

They each had their names carved into their rings. And swore to always wear them as they were meant to be the everlasting party.

They kept on coming up from night to night, but one night they had all been at their lodgings, when the evil spirit of wanderlust that was in them gathered them all together, and took them to the palace, where the pumpkin-headed queen was sitting on her throne.

Al-Karakaras was Treasury, and was the first to wear the ring, but many of the Masters of the trade are not great, and know well enough all the plots of the Enemy, having been appointed by him. He is the First to salvage the sheep of the Desert, and to wander over more lands than any other, for a simple desire to see the light, and a desire to have the best of the best of the apples for his fellow sa'luks to eat.

Krag is what they call me.

Two times every day, Eli had looked out over the dead horizon. I had watched him, almost every time, seen the rays of sun dance over his neck of sand and earth, as he looked out over the water. His name for the sea was his roaring, crashing danger.

That danger was not how he died.

Neither the waves nor the dunes claimed him. Humanity did.

A man with white clothes, a red sash, and a silver ring with a golden, embedded symbol of a scimitar had struck him down. Openly in the street. Apprehended immediately, of course, by the confused guards. With Gellan al-Pirwa, the godfather of smuggler bands, still in jail, the guards were lost at sea with Mahnaz in exile and Eli dead.

Jumlat's influence over Safaq is slipping rapidly, and perhaps that's for the best. I was never as invested as Eli was in the sultan and his affairs. I was happy to work with my hands and shovel during the day, and read into the wee hours by candlelight in the evening.

I feel just lost as lost as the guards, as Safaq as a whole. I haven't looked over Eli's financials yet or how I'm gonna pay for this place. I am still living in his house. I still use my own room. I still read Eli's books. I still use his towels, still eat off his plate. I am still stretched on his grave.

A bard cast Awaken on a crab, and the other missionaries were deeply moved by the crab's dedication to Hakiyah and named her Barnacle Bess.

She loved singing, and especially singing hymns dedicated to Hakiyah's wave of truth, and the most famous of them is

Weeping, my beloved, who adores the sea and the land,

Our hearts are filled with the sorrows of our own tears.

We have vowed to give you our lives, for you are a great one

O Hakiyah!

They say that the one who is most beloved is the greatest of matters,

and that the greatest of the great is the greatest of the lesser.

I have sworn to you, to give my life to find out what is true,

O Hakiyah!

She was adored by the missionaries.

The Faith Ethoist of Hakiyah is gradually becoming more secular; the priests now involve themselves in local issues, and the faith is more familiar with the settlers. The faith is also less invited to be involved in politics.

In the present day, the faith is a highly respected institution, often referred to as the Widow's Keepers because of its passage of years. The faith remains one of the few institutions in the Land of Fate to keep a watchful eye of the latest arrivals of holy slayers and mamluk.

Rubban Safaq bin-Jute himself assembled a force of half the people of the city, together with the sultan's vizier, to confront the hags, lead by Evanore bint-Rūm.

Safaq and his crew defeated the hags and their fish, and they had a great victory.

When Evanore and the other hags saw their fate, they were filled with regret and stayed in captivity. They were allowed time to think of a plan, but when they did, they found that the time for their escape was short. They took a ship from the city, but when they got there, they were met by a swarm of hounds who took them prisoners. They prisoned them in the palace, but when they had been taken there, they set about making their escape.

When they got there, they had to bear a great deal of cruelty and they had to eat the flesh of five hogs. Each of them had to go through the streets of the palace for a whole day, but when they were brought back and told that the palace was empty, they got up and left.

When Safaq saw the shipwreck and the slaughter, he was satisfied and said: "This is a wicked and treacherous race and they are all doomed."

Henrietta's Jewels & Appraisal is a merchant's shop run by a misfit who is also a wizard. The shop is full of exotic and exotic items, usually hidden under the tops of bookshelves.

The shop is respected by the local gentry, and is often visited by the stables of the Black Riders, who have complained of the shop due to the number of odd (and colorful) items they see there.

The shop is usually full of exotic and exotic items from top to bottom, but the problem is the shopkeeper's son. The shop also sells a wide variety of gemstones, but the shopkeeper's son is more interested in his own jewelry and accessories than in dealing with the locals.

Henrietta herself is a merchant who frequents the canteen and bath and mooch. She has no idea why, but is still fond of it. She also has a dimmish but fond sense of humor.

As you all know, this eulogy is for Rumfels, who was eaten by an orca earlier today.

Rumfels was usually alone. Half-elven, half-human, and with an ambiguous expression, who liked to wear a big, loose cloak of camel wool, originally brown but worn thin pale gray through many years on board sunny decks.

The craftmanship of this cloak must've been superb originally because the one time I saw them take it off, not a stitch was loose. It was only the cloth itself that was being worn threadbare, day and night, almost exposing the quilted lining.

Their bahrayin's rucksack contained several balls of twine, some finer thread and needle, a mess kit, a tinderbox, and a durable, heavy lantern.

A couple of times I saw them at the docks, marveling at the tales of sailors from other ships especially when they had sea creatures or exotic treasures on display.

As far as I know, they grew up on the high seas, but those seas never lost their sense of wonder and fascination to them. Often looking wistfully at the sun glittering on the waves of the Golden Gulf and further south, on the Crowded Sea itself.

I asked them once where they had gotten the name Rumfels and at first I couldn't hear their mumbled reply. I asked again, and they said, still softly: "Because I always set aside my last fels, my last copper piece, for some rum."

The House of Dhi'b, or as some call them, the Sons of the Wolf, are ruled by an old, gaunt sheikh, Anwat al-Makkar, nicknamed the "skeleton". He is not long for this world. His granddaughter Moira al-Dhi'b is too young to rule.

Anwat's advisor, the legendary sha'ir Mamun bin Harun bin Hamid, traveled to Hiyal to search help but was referred to the gnome rulers of Sikak. Those rulers did not open the gates to this scruffy sha'ir with his al-Badia–accented Midani. They did not let up whether they knew of his reputation as commander of genie.

On the island village of Samak, he received the hushed whispers: "Bring your young ruler-in-waiting to the hakimas on Saliam Island". Eager to return home, he signed up with the Sea Ghost Trading Company for passage home to his tribe in the deserts west of Ajayib.

Thirsty Salt is what they call me, and me and my best friend Clever Copper are acolytes here at Safaq's Hakiyah mosque.

Petitioned by the residents of Safaq, Na'wa min-Hakiyah, the new priest, had attempted to raise the guard captain, Eli, from beyond the shroud between life and death.

Accompanied by two of the novices, Hafam and Zobeiza, they commenced the hour-long, solemn process. Suddenly, after just a few minutes, we heard a terrible commotion, screams and… and a snarling, wet sound.

I, and Namarida, one of the novices here, rushed up the stairs and on the other side of the door we saw a horrible stillness. Spatter on the wall and floor and the three of our fellow clergy, with whom we break bread before every vesper and after every laud, dead. Their injuries too gruesome to detail, but, seemingly committed by tooth, claw, and a curiously precise assortment of needles.

Eli's own body still on the slab, not a drop on him.