One day at the docks while unleading heavy crates for Andar bin Solmor's trading company, a dockworker overheard three bums that seemed out of their luck. "I'll offer them a job", he thought, and said that they could work with him for seven dinars a week. More than enough to cover a modest lifestyle, with food and stay at one of the local inns. "That's not enough for us!" they answered. "Fools", he thought, "who does not know the value of steady money." But he told them "If that's not enough, you might inquire with Mahnaz al-Qudra, she might need sa'luks such as yourself to guard her mine." "Sa'luks! We be not sa'luks!" they snarled. "We want to work as scribes, sorting papers!" "Well," the dockworker replied, "that's probably still going to be about the same pay as here" "Not enough!" they said. "Give us better work!" "What fools have Fate wrought", he thought.

Hanna bint Rist at "Fiskelinan" tavern had a rough night. It was tough sleeping even though she tried to cover her head with a pillow because she was hearing weird noises from her next door neigbor, Gufsha.

Early in the morning, a corsair and two sa'luks came to visit her little establishment. At first, they seemed helpful. They even helped her find her family heirloom necklace. Nothing valuable, just sentimental, but it meant a lot to her. They asked if she had any suspicions and of course her thoughts led straight to that weirdo, Gufsha.

All well and good. But. While she had left them to guard the tavern, they must have stolen the bottle of mom's lobster wine. Later they came back with Mahnaz, the owner of the silver mine down the coast, and tossed coin around and took her pillowcase and her bedsheet.

Gufsha was a scholar. She kept to herself mostly. Why did everyone always suspect her? Why did people always came knocking on her door, haunting her?

Eleven of us askari were sent to the silver mine. The dead walked there. Familiar faces to these askari. Faces that they hadn't seen in a long time.

And the dead were armed.
And the dead fought well.
And our lives were harmed.
And our brothers fell.

Two of our number fled. They just broke ranks and ran, after seeing their friends die to this frantic horror under the ground. The blades swung from bone arms that moved jittery and spastically, almost like a trick of the eye. The half-composed bodies who would take spear-wound after spear-wound and never blink. Eyes unmoving, lids unclosed.

When I was a child there was an old woman who would go to the souq two times per a tenday. We would all laugh at her funny way of walking, almost as if she was dancing with every step. She would smile at us. My father told me that she had been his teacher in her youth. But this was many years ago now and now I am a grown man.

Today I had to kill her thirteen times while she tore the last of my friends apart. Only I remained.

Afterwards, two men showed up. Mining operations officers, sent by the owner of the mine. They said they needed to cut the heads of my people. "Just a formality," said they. "So we can prove that we have killed these creatures," said they. "I'm hope you understand". They took stock of the fallen, friends and foes, and loaded them up like crates on a wagon of djinni wind.

Come gather round! This bottle contains a magic potion that will make you friend to all animals. Only fifty dinars! An elf came to me, they said they wanted to win the animal's test of bravery but had been defeated by the wolvenkind. I sold them a bottle of this very potion and then they returned with a crown branches on their head, with regency over wolf, beast and eagle. Friend to all beasts!

I asked them how they had won over the littlest sparrow, who, while trembling, is steadfast and true.

They told me:

Embracing Fate, you become embraced. Supple, breathing gently, you become reborn. Clearing your vision, you become clear. Nurturing your beloved, you become impartial. Opening your liver, you become accepted. Accepting the World, you embrace Fate. Bearing and nurturing, creating but not owning, giving without demanding, controlling without authority, this is love. We have no Fate but the Fate we are given.

To this, the sparrow replied "♫poo♫tee♫weet♫".

On a high cliff by the coast four miles from Safaq on a hot day there stands a well. The water is clear there. The water is cool there. The water has blood and venom there.

At the bottom of the well, fourteen dirhams glistened, the glints of lights like notes on a pungi flute. Charmed dwellers in the wall of white stone.

Now there is no glint. Now there is no joy.
Now there are two workers digging in the ground.
Trading calloused hands for coin and books.

One is burying their goblin-kin, their anchor in the Land of Fate, their hope and their future.
The other is burying his past. His forgotten everything and other half. He is burying his wish.

The party now is

• Umaji min-Hakiyah
• Talara adb-Jamil
• Na'im al-Qadib
• Djut (absent)

Call me the Brine Hand.

I lost my leg at sea and I lost my best friend there. They couldn't even give him a true burial. Sometimes I even wonder if he is really dead. I worship Hakiyah, the sea breeze, the god of truth. I want answers. I've put my weapons in the ground. I serve as imam in the small seaside town of Safaq. It'll do, this little town. It'll do. We have a sailor's graveyard here. Memorial stones, mostly. But sometimes sa'luks… no, sometimes heroes come with bones of the sea and we give them an honorable grave.

I look out over the waves at night. I listen to the waves' crushing sounds. Sometimes they feel peaceful. Other times they feel suffocatingly restless.

Gufsha; I still think my name is beautiful. I remember my mother braiding my hair and saying my name. They say I'm Gross-Gufsha, Disgusting-Gufsha. But I know who I am. I'm just Gufsha.

They don't let me see the sun. My dawn is when the dwarves light their lanterns, shining on the silver lode. My day is the pick, heavy in my hands. My music is the sound of rocks breaking. My company is the whip lashing. My fashion is the manacles and chains. My evening is the dwarves leaving, taking their lantern lights. My night is a bed of stone.

There is no true time here. There is only the cycle of work, sleep, eat, work and sleep and eat. I am not here. There is only darkness and stone. As my hope dies, so does my true self and my true name. Gufsha, the child my mother loved… I can't let her into this mine. Gross-Gufsha, Disgusting-Gufsha, Necromancer-Gufsha… that is who holds the pick. That is who is trapped here.

I am a soldier. An askari. I work for the good of the village of Safaq. On Hakiyah's day I go to the mosque for prayer. My sword and shield belong to the city but my liver belongs to my goddess.

Im'ran. I take the name Im'ran min-Hakiyah.

My goddess brings light through Umaji, one of the five novices studying under Velmar "the Brine Hand" to become an imam of my goddess. She provides me with what I need. Umaji's voice speaks loud and true. The night tries to crush me with falling rocks. I do not hesitate.

The sea breeze of dawn shines through me and the word of my goddess heals me. We have no Fate but the Fate we are given.

I do not know of gods and of godly things. My way is the way of sword and shield. My way is a simple way. Sharp and clean and true.

The darkness was beautiful there. Shadows pooled like water. The cavern wasn't formed naturally. Someone had dug it but without rhyme or reason. My master's friend Djut tossed a couple of torches into the distance and around the flickering point of light faraway, the harsh crisp marks in the stone left shadows like soft caresses and feather downs. It was an awe-inspiring sight. Tufa, our genasi's parrot, flew hundreds of feet but couldn't reach a ceiling in this massive cavern.

I usually move so silently in the night, and so tenderly I plunder the bags, with my expertise in dex checks. But for the first time in years, the mark woke up. At first I thought I was just unlucky, that he had woken by coincidence, rather than me making a mistake. But when I saw him I realized at once what I was dealing with. The geniekind have many frightful talents. Now I have learned that they may sleep without sleeping, and hear without hearing.

There is a house up the coast, East of Safaq, and west of Mahnaz' Mine. A man went there. A faris, in armor, with shield and sword.

The dwellers in the dark slew him, and when his body was cold, dozens of eggs were laid in there and dozens of maggots made their home there.

A man with the blood of djinn disturbed their abode with a hand of wind. The maggots poured forth like milk through cloth.

Into a goblin, pure of liver, they started drilling.
The many maggots stung like thorns in briar.
The flamewind mage lit up the skin with fire,
and in their dying breath they took to killing.

The party now is:

• Jalara abd-Jamil
• Na’im al-Qadib
• Umaji min-Hakiyah
• Lamsa abd-Husam

What a strange follower we found, who wanted to deliver a rat to a novice of the temple of Hakiyah, but carrying an urn of ashes as if it were an atlas of the cosmos. What is there to learn from the dust of the dead? What is there to glean from their smoke and markings?

No, I learned all I need to know right here under the starry sky. There are many djinni and efreeti in the Land of Fate but the concern of me, my brothers and my sister is for this flock of goats to be safe and grow strong.

In stillness I take rest underneath the cypress shade while my goats graze the commons.

In that big house there is a cellar carved into the sharp cliffs by the sea. That cellar is but a tiny gash into Toril's rocks but enough to shield it from Selan's light.

In that cellar by the crackling fire we eat our dinner at the long table, break our bread together. This is our home.

Our beds are here. Our fellowship is here, our livelihood.

It's just that… that pounding on the barred door keeps waking me up in the middle of the night. In my nightmares I see those… can I even call it "faces"? What we locked in there… I see them smile at me, kindly at first but it turns cruel and gnashing. Their hollow gaze pierce my soul.

I wake from my nightmares when I hear them pounding on that door. I hear the creaking of the metal bar. O, Najm, let it hold.

Potions of healing, greater potions of healing, even supreme potions of healing… small bottles all. But I have through my decades-long alchemical research created a wondrous substance. The strength of ordinary potion of healing, that's true… but concentrated such that two doses fit in a single tiny vial. Two doses! One-fiftieth the size of one normal potion of healing.

I dare not leave this substance on my person. What if I roll over in my sleep and break it?

I have constructed a hidden compartment in my desk drawer, under the old receipts and miscellanea I store there. The vial wrapped in cloth is hidden there, and the drawer is locked.

Steal a goat! Tarnish Hakiyah's temple!
Throw dirt, throw mud!
Sink a boat! Let all ships dissemble!
Flow dirt, like blood!
We've got conch to make our kind appear
Make a door under the sea
Through that door the Land of Fate is near
In that land we can roam free!

O child of my liver, the Loregiver tells of a couple of orcish millers who lived in the cliff city of Warth al-Keel. Everyday they would bake their bread and eat it and sell it. This was before the enlightened time and everyone in this village worshipped the kraken Valaastroth. The kraken would visit the town once every ten years, giving orders and taking treasure as tribute.

In the age of the Loregiver, a priest of Hakiyah, named Trandence al-Ek, visited Warth al-Keel. He ate of the bread. He showed the true wind and strong wave of Hakiyah.

The people built a strong mosque to Hakiyah. But when Valaastroth returned years later, they were furious at the people of Warth al-Keel. Vaalastroth broke the cliff and sent the town into the water.

Istishia, the cold god of water, opposed the enlightenment of the Loregiver. Istishia only wants the world to drown. But al-Ek loved Istishia in his liver.

al-Ek knew that Hakiyah's light, life and truth would turn the livers and minds of the citizens of Warth al-Keel in a way that the cold waves of Istishia never could. Only by posing as a priest of Hakiyah could he gain a foothold there, build a temple there. But al-Ek loved Istishia in his liver.

al-Ek knew that if the citizens of Warth al-Keel had turned to Hakiyah, away from the kraken Vaalastroth, the kraken would break the city. The city would fall from its sunlit cliff into the cold water. Into the waves of Istishia. The people in the city would drown. al-Ek too would drown. Every man, woman and child in Warth al-Keel would drown. But al-Ek loved Istishia in his liver.

They broke the portal
and I came out wrong
I was half cut off,
half buckled,
and half whole.

My sister came after me
the portal was grey dry glass
it was a thousand fractures.

Mephits shone through a cracked lens
refracted and multifaceted
unique and wonderful.

But when the conch is gone
the portal is no more
and we can’t go through.

Let’s dance for the kraken!
Let the night begin!
As the world is dying
we’ll be among kin.

Vaalastroth is coming.
Leaving his true mark.
While he starts to eat the world,
we’re dancing in the dark.

In his chandelier there are
a thousand brilliant lights.
Stars that light the ballroom’s floor
under endless nights.

Warth al-Keel will serve him
to honor his soft form.
He whips his arms like lightning
in a sudden storm.

Lankus, let me tell you about these no-good sa’luks and their “missions” to my mine…

Mission one, they tell me they’ll find the source of the undead that attacked us there. Good job, just repeating the rumor-whispering of your collegue over the other tavern, Hannah. That was the most expensive message delivery service I’d ever paid for.

Misssion two, they tell me they’ll stop the zombies and skeletons. They show up when it’s all over, grab the bodies and come here to claim the rewards. Glad I got out of that one, or that would’ve been the most expensive body transport service I’d ever paid for.

Mission three, they tell me they’ll find where that monster in my mine came from and how come it was dead and who broke through to the mine from the other side. I was just about to pay them for that too. But thanks to that new guy in their group, the honest novice and his sister, I dodged that arrow. That would’ve been the most expensive efreet story telling hour I’d ever paid for.

Just an ordinary pumpkin head on a moonless night. There is candlelight flickering inside it. Teeth are square, eyes with brows corrugated and cruel. You could tell that when you get bit the marks are going to be square holes.

The sound comes from outside of the house. Or so it seems. It's not in here with us.

The flesh is stringy and wet, stuck between yellow teeth. A darkness pierced by warmth and a happy smile greets you. With joy someone carved me and presented me. A celebration.

You don't understand what Ökensand had been looking for, or the price they would've been willing to pay for it if they had found it. They're beaten up, messed up, mistreated and scared and the journey was longer than it had any rights to.

Beyond years; longer than what's tracked on the calendar or map. Paws callused by grit. Small black pearl eyes darting with caution.

Not only is the rat finally home now after a long quest. They carry a liverful of despair and resignation. Having learned the hard lessons of life. You have to walk that desert all alone.

There are many more colors than the sun can burn away from our vision. Covered over by the shallow colors red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet are the eight true colors of the weave. Fuligin, grue, hooloovoo, octarine, smaudre, gloxym, jale and ulfire.

To see them is to see the world as it really is.

How easily the world breaks, fractures like a velvet egg. It shines as it breaks in a dry and dusty neon. Dances over our faces like wild water caustics. Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes and she's gone.

Kära dagbok.
Idag har vi haft en mycket intressant dag.
Allt började redan under morgonkaffet. Jag kunde se hur värdshusvärdinan nästan fick en leverattack av att se Jalara i dörröppningen. Det visade sig att Jalara hade fått tag i en stor magisk pumpa, så även grönsaker kan vara magiska.
Kanske det är bättre att skaffa en egen bostad i byn, verkar ju som mina vänner bara ställer till problem för lokalbefolkningen.

Vi besökte det "hemsökta" herrgården utanför byn för att hämta upp de kvarvarande kropparna så att de kan få en riktig begravning, men det verkar vara någon eller något som transporterat bort kropparna.
Efter lite undersökning av huset så hittade vi tecken på att det verkar vara "bootleggers" i farten. Dels är det brandyfaten i källaren, men även att de har kommunikation med ett skepp ute på havet. Kanske ska jag ta med faten till Hanna så att hon kanske blir lite lugnare. Hon verkar ju gilla lite av de starka dryckerna.

Jalara verkar fortfarande inte förstå att elementarmagi är verklig. Detta även fast hon fick prova på att själv använda en Detect Magic från en wand. När inte ens detta hjälper så vet jag inte vad jag ska göra för att få henne att vilja överge sin antitro. Kanske Umaji kan göra något för henne.

Vi verkar ha en spion i gruppen, den där ökenråttan är en farlig motståndare. Verkar bara vara jag som förstår problemet med en ond elementar magiker i gruppen.
Måste vara någon konstig magi som ökenråtta tagit över Umaji med, kanske ska jag fråga Salta Handen när vi kommer tillbaka till staden. Parasiter brukar ju kunna döda sin värd om man inte är försiktig med separationen.

Sist men inte minst så råkade Tufa nästan ut för ett otäckt öde. Men jag han i sista sekund rädda henne från att uppleva döden. Prata om problem med ohyra i denna herrgård.

Clean face before the morning prayer.
Breakfast of bread, curd cheese, olives and dates.
The coffee is dark and bitter.
The evening meal is the largest of the day.
Scooped up with flat bread.
An evening of telling tales.

My son was chosen by the gods.
My daughter signed herself away to the courts of air.

A scent of the sea on the breeze through the window.
The day is done. I lay off my burden. Each day a new day.

It's not that I don't want to work on this whole gold thing. I do. I want to find the truth.

I've selected solitude so I can study. So I can read and try to find the secret of making gold. To create the philosopher's stone.

If I just… Maybe tonight I'll find the answer.

Pfffsht! Whaddaya talking about, Ibrahim! No way 200 dinars is "too much money for a fishing rod, even if it's pure silver". Take a look at this thing, it is absolutely baller!

So, wanna go fishing this weekend? We can go on your boat and we can take this fantastic silver beaut for a spin!

We have swords and we will attack Safaq. Any questions? We will destroy everyone who lives there. Kill the town guard, the citizens. Just the eight of us will do that. On our own.

They say there is a house in Safaq where you can go when you're at the end of your rope. When you have nothing and you want comfort, you want shelter. You can find blessing there and they will take care of your soul for you.

A fish drying facility was burned to the ground in the riots over arrests of alleged "smugglers" last week. The protesters demanded the release of the suspects held by Eli and his town guard.

Knocked out by poison gas! But two awoke after just one hour. The others woke up later.

To work as a guard in the House for the Poor's Comfort in Safaq you need to be motivated because there is not a lot of money. But you will be provided for. Food, shelter and faith. Now hiring, because the other six guys died.

All it takes to get burninated by the party is one little Thaumaturgy.♥ Luckily you can flee at the last second! Famshuna ftw!

O, liver of mine, Q'xetl was a young god.
He wanted souls.
He wanted to harvest them, to eat them, to grow strange and strong.
To await his maw they pulled my limp body.
Into the howling portal they threw me.
With the many I became one.
When he fractured I remain—
split in shards.

We are kin of goblin, they say.
We were born in Safaq, they say.
We steal fish, they say.
We attack on sight, they say.
We shoot before asking questions, they say.
We have treasure, they say.
But what they cannot say
is that we survived the party.

The Honorable, the Chief Qadi and the Associate Magistrates of the Court of Safaq al-Hadhar min Jumlat. Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! All persons having business before the Honorable, the Qadi of the Sultan, representing the Grand Caliph and ultimately the Law of the Loregiver, are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Court is now sitting. We have no fate but the fate we are given.

It is a crime against the enlightened to willingly smash people in the head with lethal intent.

But witness testimony seem to indicate that the accused, whom herebefore is present, was under the influence of the arcane: a weapon crafted with intent to stir rage; a berserker rage to protect its owner and keeper. Whether or not this is the unnameable Sloessa is a question beside the court's present ruling.

Even so.

It is a crime against the Law of the Loregiver to recklessly handle, attune, or possess cursed items to the extent that they kill, injure, endanger or encroach on the safety of enlightened beings.

That is a fine of 100 dinars for the first offense. Repeat offenders will risk exile.

Welcome, one and all, to my abode. My name is Andar bin Petra and this is my buttler Skerrin. Thank you for returning my fish. You may keep the gold as a reward. No, no, I should be thanking you, for without your help I would have no fish, no gold, no camels and no cart.

Rich? I don't know about that. Yeah, a lot of the fishing boats here are mine, and the fishers are in my employ, but I inherited a lot of that from my mother, Petra, and the same goes for this abode.

I've expanded the trading program a little bit, that's true. Just doing my best to keep the family name proud!

The Aalim family got sick from bad grains at the green souk. Umaji min-Hakiyah managed to contain the plague. A pickpocket reported some unusual garments in the merchant's bag. Khamu was his name, I think.

Under the Empty Net there is a strange smell. It is arcane and it causes strange behavior.

Accessing the elements directly is the power of elemental mages. To blow away gasses and fires is something they can do easily and then normal people can just duck under and avoid getting burninated.

Na'im, unfortunately, got sampled pretty thoroughly by some wondrous apparatus that tried to examine his constituents and he died.

• Crystal
• Spellbook
• Red-tipped wand (7/7 pyro)
• Bok (Hemligheter med de vises sten med ett pergament)
• Bok (Örter)
• Crowbar
• Bedroll
• Thieves' tools
• 10 rations
• Key mine
• 12 x light comp
• Litet skrin med 11 candles och pergament
• Vinflaska
• Bläckpenna
• Magiskt bläck 50G
• Pure white clothes
• Oil
• Waterskin
• 1000 ball bearings medium pouch
• Bottle of ink
• Mess kit
• Small knife
• Carved marble elephant
• Hooded lantern med cover
• Owlbear (nallebjörn)
• Silvermetspö
• 2x5 stone barrels of brandy
• 4 sacks
• 5 medium pouches fulla med light components — 5x5x6 Light components
• vattenskin
• Spade
• Hammare
• Abacus
• Healers kit
• 6 munkkåpor (Istishia edition)
• bok med namn på folk som varit i templet
• 3 × pergament
• papper
• Kulspetspenna från "Bank of Toronto" i plast
• iskall dagger (cold iron)
• 8 munkkåpor kolvita (Q'xetl edition)
• half plate
• Alkemist-böcker och papper
• 2×Flaskor 16-7
• 79 Dinarer, 97 Dirham, 18 kopparstyvrar, 29 Bonedisk, 1 Thay-guldmynt
• 13 Light components
• Mystery key
• Silver Bell
• Azur
• Moss agat
• Eld Opal värd 1000g
• Perl worth 100g

It was truly a time of riches and wonder, o child of my liver! But we have no fate but the fate we are given.

When a hero falls, the gods cry and the monsters cheer.
But when a wizzard falls the rest in the party directly ravage through his belongings.
I, Suha, witness this first hand today.
The wizzard's body was not even cold and already the cleric in the party was spilling his belongings on the floor, and this is a believer in the truth accordingly to his faith.
Maybe they had a bet on what the testament said or if the wizzard had more then they thought.

A bloody sight he was, tubes and wires leaking out of his mouth and a scary sight in his eye.
At least I was there in Selan´s service to help clean him up before his maker he would face.

If he ever gets to walk the earth again only a higher power knows.
May Selan take mercy on his soul.

A great secret the wizzard had. Power over both the fire and the air for him to inferno make.
Fire to light the room and fire to burn, could this be the answer to a ceiling break.
But to escape this hot cage all the fire would do no good. Air on the other hand removes fire where it streams, or punches a hole in a wall it seems.
After all this I no wiser was. Maybe my master can finally teach me how to crystal clean, so I might someday a master make.

My name is Aulin, I'm a level six rogue, treasure-hider for hire, five dinars a week. My most precious possession: Sloessa!

Thirsty Salt is my name and the Clever Copper is my friend. We had to leave Sunless Island in a hurry and we were lucky to be picked up by the party and escorted to Safaq.

We had visited the Sunless Island with four sa'luks. A corsair Talgen al-Hukra, and his sister, a Wind/Sea mage named Sharwin al-Hukra. Another corsair just calling themselves al-Karakas. And an outland warrior, "Sir Bradford", who carried the legendary magic sword Shatterspike. He did not speak midani, the language of the Loregiver.

But there were debbi on the island. Wild dog people! Not enlightened beings. Me and Clever Copper just had to run away quickly and left the adventurers to their fate.

Clean face before the morning prayer.
wash of the streaks, wash off the worry
Breakfast of bread, curd cheese, olives and dates.
set the table, stare at the food, try to eat some
The coffee is dark and bitter.
salt from tears
The evening meal is the largest of the day.
it sickens me
Scooped up with flat bread.
my hands do not obey me, they fall limply by my sides
An evening of telling tales.
i cannot hear them. my thoughts are with my daughter

My son was chosen by the gods.
hakiyah, you failed me. i blame you
My daughter signed herself away to the courts of air.
husam, scum among the djinns. your power came with death

A scent of the sea on the breeze through the window.
a lament of cold water breaks my spine
The day is done. I lay off my burden. Each day a new day.
this too shall pass

The ten schools are secretive but the clothes from Flame/Wind in their blue and red are distinct. You do not meddle with their affairs. Sanbalet was not a well-known student. But even so; to rank among the very few who manage to graduate Flame/Wind as level 3 elementalists is not an easy task. It is doubly impressive to so as Sanbalet did: as a multiclass build. When you spend only half your levels on matters arcane, you need to work hard. As Sanbalet did.