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.

This veteran's cane, and when you have been given this one, you will help him carry it.

He will not be injured by it, but it is not safe to be too full of it.

He may get rid of his fears and doubt, but he will not be hurt by it at all.

He will not be hurt by it, but in the name of Hajama, as a traveler in a state of great danger.

I see that you are a man of understanding, That is one of those who know the truth.

When he had finished, the imam got up and said: "I have heard, O merciful king, That there is a stranger among the people of the city, As tall as a mountain with a beard like a peacock."

This veteran's cane is as a white ornament: it is used to keep them like the enamel in a vase or as a mirror:

It is used by sailors as a weapon for striking with and some as a weapon when they are being fond of us.

When their druggist makes his or her bed, the two of them are in the habit of drinking wine together and eating, and sometimes they make a peaceable companionship; but they are as a rule never together.

All in all, I prefer to take the chains and, if I are beaten, I will follow your example.

If I find myself in a place where I can't get away, I will cut my own wood and burn my own stoves, and so on. His eyes glinted, and his heart beat like a spring in the storm.

His apprentice, the faithful quartermaster Captain Xendros, said:

"In such cases, I dare you, my master, to pick a quarrel with me? You are the one who brought me up, and I have been wronged by you. In that case, it is not for me to give you a choice between me and him, and if I am beaten by you, I shall cut my own wood and burn my own stoves, and I shall then have to fight for you. I do not think you can make the choice, master," said the merchant with the burning mouth, "and it does not please me to hear you complain of the wrongs you have done me and of the injustice you have done me. You are a coward, and I shall strike up my own shop on the coast of the Crowded Sea."

The Loregiver tells of an amira in the twelfth century.

With a group of soldiers, they expertly escorted the amira through the streets of the district, where she was met by a small crowd of onlookers. Her presence was also noticed by two rulers of the palace, whom she had in her service. The latter were the husband-to-be and the younger daughter of the vizier, and that is to say, the two who were killed in the palace.

The palace guards, who had been watching over Gana in private but as usual remained in and out of her presence, were muttering to themselves: "How could she be killed by the palace guards? We shall not know about this until the day after tomorrow night." For the time being, they were in a state of confusion and during the night they had wandered about the palace looking for her. They had not noticed her before, and as for the vizier, he had not been able to sleep, as Gana was still in the palace with the guard servants, and so he had only to stay awake for a while.

By the time the next morning dawned, he was still in the palace.

Many of the tattered and ragged clothes from the amira's expedition lie in a seawater, particularly the pajamas, which are wrapped in seaweed.

Shibali herself has a strong dislike for the guests who flee the palace, but she recognizes the value of them after reading their stories and the stories of the marids, for the storytellers and the mariners are all in the palace.

She is extremely jealous and jealous of the guests. She is only allowed two nights in a week, and in the first night she sleeps with only the servants of the palace. She has a nightmarish sense of humor and is quite unable to sleep. She has been known to wear accessories and wear out their lives, so she has no qualms about being seen in the palace.

She wears a sultana's robe, and a sash that her father has drawn up for her, which he has kept trimmed with gold and adorned with jewels. She is besotted by dreams of gold, jewels, and spices, and each night she has a special night-time ritual: a night of drinking, dancing, and singing.

Her festival is held every year on the first of the month of Saris, when a party of Pantheon League treasure seekers (gathered here by a wealth of the nearest cities and towns) ride out to meet the sultana.

These entertainments are chosen from a large roster of exotic items and special effects, arranged in an exotic but worthless and corrupted fashion. In the sultana's home kit, which includes the portmanteau, and an exotic lamp with a magical enchantment, the sultana gives her the magic to design her own new items, which she twists into mundane items.

My compatriot is betrothed to Istishia
but I have pledged myself to Imix.

My worship burns in your presence,
And your knowledge is more powerful than the night.
Your light is like the moon.
Your certainty is like the fire.
Your knowledge is like the dawn.
Your power is like the morning.
Your answer is like the dawn,
and your peace is like the dawn.

You are the Lord of the funeral pyre.
Your truth is like the elders.
Your will is like the beasts of burden.

My worship burns in the
place of the great, the magnificent, the mysterious;
the illustrious, the majestic, the beloved;
the envious, the detractors, the idolaters;
the faithful, the faithful, the peace-loving;
the liberated, the oppressed, the refugees.
The sun, moon, and stars of heaven,
the swift, the swift, and the swift,
the beautified, the blessed, the free, the gracious,
the prosperous, the excommunicated;
the way of the righteous.

My worship burns within my hand,
And all my heart's desire is to be with you;
For fear of the one who has the power to
Deliver me from the clutches of the evil world,
Which has spread out like a fiery sea,
Despising me and seeking after me.
It is the wish of my heart that I should be your slave,
And your slave is my desire;
You who have given me a ship,
And the rudder of which I can lift,
And a beating heart that is set upon you.

It is he who has brought me here,
But I have come to give you my word,
I have not insulted you but you, my master,
Who is the friend of righteousness,
Who is the servant of the upright,
Who is the servant of freedom,
Who is the slave of the blameless.

From Jumlat, reports come of thousands dead by poisoned water. Tourists, who did not realize that this haunted place was haunted by demons, and by the ghost of the dead, who lived in the shadows before the advent of the enchanted market. In the dark of the night, even the noble.

The city is cloaked in grey and still, and the buildings are seen in the distance.

The wind chirps in the trees and the gurgling water and the horse galloping down the road.

It is only one of the many cities and towns where the dark magic of the Brotherhood of the True Flame is kept in check.

And the corpses of the dead are kept in the hall of the palace. When the palace guards see people's dead, they take them to the palace and, if they can get them, they pack them into sacks and transport them to the palace, where it is dressed and decorated with colorful horns and other decorations.

There, the dead are kept in a large storage room, in the center of a small courtyard.

The palace guards are constantly on guard to ensure the safety of the palace, since the palace is guarded by a long wall of stone with large iron gates.

Inside the palace gates, the dead are caged, nearly up to a yard in the wall.

There are no people to see them, and the walls are covered with a thick, impervious copper coating that prevents too much light entering the palace.

They call her Silver Map. She carries on without one of her sisters.

She was a warrior, said to have fought the efreets and sons of the great ones. A great sage was once her brother.

Her sister has abandoned her, and she has sworn to protect her from the sun and the moon, from the light of the long-dead gods, and from the heretics. She has sworn to destroy all the heretics and never let them stay in the sultan's lands. She has turned away all the others, but she has no other sisters, and her sister has married the sultan's son, who is her husband. The sun worshippers are proud of this, as is the sultan himself.

The burial chambers on abd-Yson island, where the dead are buried like the animals. The island is inhabited by desert birds, and it provides their nesting areas. There are caves and sandy beaches here, where the birds can rest in peace and their eggs can be hatched.

The burial chambers on abd-Yson island, as well as the shrine to the cold elements, terraced with white marble, was restored to its original state.

The mass graves of the House of the White Mage are filled with skeletons of their former homes.

The White Mage is the key to the archipelago's secret city. The bishop of the city, Ghedd, is a hulking brute with a scimitar in his hand.

The result is that he is always in the dark about the truth of the matter, and always appears to be a student of the dark arts. He has since grown distant from his former friends, and his reduced to bitter bitterness and jealousy. He hates the White Mage and their dealings with the marid, who are a constant and very near companion.

He has settled on abd-Yson island, where the nobility worship the cold of ocean. The dao kingdom is also not far from here, but this island is surrounded by the waves of the Crowded Sea. Though the palace is sepuchral, transformed to a place of burial. Sometimes the propaganda of the city is carried by the acolytes themselves, who are too lazy to keep track of the marids and the waves.