Going Forth by Day [Gwalethia, Closed]

[Seba Kemet]

"Fitting, isn't it?"

Maatkare, Son of the Sun, King of Kings, Father of the Land, Great Bull of Thebes, and a number of other titles running the gamut down of significance, looked up from the polished wooden slab onto which his sigil was now affixed. The polished ebony bore inscriptions in both the sacred glyphs of the priestly tongue and the common trade cant of the western sea, each letter and glyph inset with gold foil, details picked out in lapis, jade and polished red coral. Each was a work of art. The pharaoh, he would admit to himself, felt a little guilty in the act of writing on them himself. While his handwriting was not poor by any stretch, the scribes and artisans of the palace were a step beyond the abilities of any amateur.

"And why would that be?" Maatkare set his brush down and turned to look directly at Paneb, who picked the slab up and set it aside with a number of others, "Fitting that I should be confined to this dusty room on such a fine day?"

"It's hardly dusty, and if you wish to do this in the garden I'm sure we can find somebody to move the desk outside. But no, I was thinking that it was simply...suitable that this occasion should coincide so happily with Opet. The Kingdom will be renewed in the eyes of the world as you are renewed in the eyes of the gods and the people. Is that not fitting?"

"Ah." The pharaoh regarded his vizier, a man entering old age now. Tough, but beginning to show the signs of his body no longer being able to keep up with the demands of life, "Well, that was the idea, wasn't it? And of course, the festivities will give us an opportunity to let the emissaries encounter the common folk. It's always worthwhile to watch a foreigner encounter the procession of Asir."

Paneb nodded slowly, "I believe the community around the Temple of Asir has prepared an especially large phallus this year. It should be most amusing."

"Then I suppose there really is no choice." Maatkare sighed, picking up the brush and setting to work once more.

---

Each tablet, once properly signed and sealed, would be handed off to a messenger. These were dispatched, a trio to each state of significance with which Deshkhet had trade ties to. Each was addressed personally to the chief monarch, head of state or local equivalent as far as the Deshkheti bureaucracy was currently aware. They were accompanied by small but suitably lavish gifts, perfumes and oils, a few bolts of linen, bottles of opium, jars of spice and jewelry. Enough, certainly, to attract the attention of a local ruler.

While the hieroglyphs of liturgical redi’ret would be incomprehensible, save perhaps to a few scholars with an interest in ancient lore, the trade cant portion of the message was quite straightforward, couched in polite terms, tailored to suit the style of the ruler being addressed, it was a simple invitation to attend the pharaoh of Deshkhet at the city of Nekhen, the City of the Hawk, in three months time. The message noted that the occasion coincided with the festival of Opet, a major holiday and festival which would, of course, be open to all those attending. In between the festivities, the pharaoh wished to address a number of matters of great import, especially in the realm of trade, hearkening back to the days when trade flowed freely along the great river and to the sea.

Besides the personal mark of the Pharaoh, the tablets bore a device which had not been seen on correspondence for some three hundred years now. Worked into the wood of the tablets and gilt in the finest silver was a phoenix, bearing aloft a golden sun emblazoned with the Eye of Horus, the ancient heraldry of the Phoenix Kingdom of Deshkhet. Long banned under Fyraean rule, it appeared to have made something of a comeback.


Nekhen

Those who accepted the invitation would find Nekhen a bustling hive of activity. The legacy of Deshkhet, long neglected, was being revived. Massive public works projects had been organized after the long period of occupation, civil war and insurrection which had marked the previous centuries. The harbor, famed in lore and history for its size and architecture, was still something of a ruin, but the docks had been cleared and were functional, at least.

The most notable feature and current center of activity appeared to be a massive pile of loose rock just off the coast. The island was surrounded by barges, so thick that one could walk from shore to shore, and indeed a number of trains of both mules and men hauling stone showed that this was the intent. To those unfamiliar with Deshkhet this would merely seem like any other salvaging operation, but to those who knew their history, they would recognize the ruin of Shed-wer. The great lighthouse had once stood taller than any building save the great artificial mountains of the rulers of the Old Kingdom, but had fallen into disuse and disrepair. It would seem the current ruler had some plans for the structure, though. Currently, the rubble had been leveled out at one point and a huge brazier burned, the smoke providing a clear signal to distant ships of the harbor’s location.

While this was the main center of activity, the whole dockside thronged with other endeavors. Trade had clearly already resumed judging by the number of craft in the area, mostly flying signs from nearby petty kingdoms which neighbored Deshkhet and were eager to get in ahead of the game. Under Fyraean rule, most of Deshkhet’s goods had flowed to the south, but production had continued unabated, so the chief trouble was simply redirecting everything to a point more accessible to the outside world and finding some place to put it once it was there.

Fortunately, the great warehouses of the previous eras were generally structurally sound. The light roofing of reeds and palm fronds had long decayed and been blown away as dust on the wind, leaving the vast chambers to fill with sand and the refuse of those who still dwelled on the shore in hopes of better days returning. Now, they were once again filled with the products of a kingdom, great piles of grain, arrays of pottery filled with beer, wine, spices and dyes. Carts moved constantly through the streets, hauling loads of goods for the city and the merchants that were passing through it, and the protestations of overworked animals and men resounded throughout.

On top of this, the festival atmosphere was evident. Bright streamers hung from roof supports, windows and poles set into buildings. The Temple of Haru, looking over Nekhen, had received a fresh coat of whitewash and a number of touchups to its murals, while the great basalt statue of the god adorning its facade had been polished until it gleamed.

Lodging had been set aside for the pharaoh’s guests at the palace of the city’s governor, a structure which many might find rather modest in its construction. Deshkheti architecture favored such modesty outside of temples, however, as they habitually tended to spend as much time as possible outside. Thus, those of the delegates with the sense to spot such things would no doubt take notice of the vast parkland which surrounded the palace. It was clearly not the main focus of restoration efforts, but a few work crews were present and making some effort at reconstructing the numerous walkways, pavilions and beating back the overgrown hedges.

Possibly the most shocking part of the structure to those not accustomed to desert living would be the lack of walls. It had long been the experience of those who lived in Deshkhet, where rain was a rarity and generally welcomed as a means of cooling off, that walls just made you uncomfortable and kept the light out. Even those few rooms surrounded entirely by stone generally had a completely open roof, while others were simply large open spaces separated by screens or a light frame of wood and reeds. Most of the outer ‘walls’ of the palace itself were simple curtains, easily drawn back to allow the cool evening breeze while keeping out the dust of the day.

Little restriction was placed on the delegates and their parties, although the more observant would no doubt note the medjay tailing their groups as they left, an occurrence which would be explained as a protective precaution. After all, Nekhen was a port town and port towns could be dangerous, especially with possibility of the Fyraeans wishing to disrupt the talks.


After several days, allowing the final delegates to arrive and recover from their travels, each received an invitation to attend the pharaoh at court for the formal reception. The occasion was one of great pomp and ceremony, the great hypostyle hall of the Temple of Haru selected for the main event, with the Pharaoh appearing in the midst of the main ceremony to officially consecrate the proceedings. Enormous amounts of incense were expended, and a sacrifice of 9 white bulls was made, invoking the blessings of the major gods upon Deshkhet and those present.

Besides the delegates, vast crowds of commoners were present, along with various vassals of the renewed Deshkheti kingdom. Dwarves from the northern mountains, elves from the eastern desert, seafaring men from the southern shore in their ornate silks, and others besides, all creating an astonishing mix of culture and language.
It was only in the evening, however, when the foreign delegates were politely accosted by an unassuming scribe, who informed them that the pharaoh would be pleased if they would attend an informal dinner. Those who accepted would be quietly shuffled off through side corridors, and the particularly observant might well not that the pharaoh appeared to still be in attendance of the ceremonial goings on in the main temple hall.

After the long day’s events, the delegates would finally be settled at a modest table, carved simply but elegantly of ebony wood, with wide, cushioned benches provided and servants ready with enough varieties of drink to suit any taste. The courses laid out on the table were as varied, although tending toward the Deshkheti preference for heavy spice, with flat loaves of bread to serve both as plate and napkin.

Maatkare himself was seated at a separate high table, without the ceremonial garments or finery associated with public appearances, he wore a pressed and bleached white kilt and generally appeared to be quite young, perhaps in his mid twenties. Those familiar with Deshkhet’s politics would, however, know that he was approaching his forties by now. The only concession to his status as pharaoh was a bronze circlet set with a disc of polished red coral, the metal formed into wings circling behind Maatkare’s head. An otherwise average example of Deshkhet’s human population, it would have been impossible to mistake him for anybody else on the streets thanks to the gold hue of his eyes, a trait which had long been noted as unique to the ruler of Deshkhet.

Beside the Pharaoh, several other scribes and officials were in attendance, from Paneb, seated at the Pharaoh’s right, to various minor scribes who appeared to be in the process of recording the meeting.

“Good evening. I apologize for the subterfuge, but I’m afraid it’s expected on such occasions in Deshkhet. Appearances must be maintained and such, and we are a nation at war.” Maatkare gestured around the room, and then at the food arrayed before him, “Help yourselves. In this setting we do not stand on ceremony. Please make yourselves comfortable, and speak at your ease. I wish this meeting to be straightforward, that we may all understand each other’s intent here.”

“I am, as you have no doubt gathered, Maatkare, I am son of Neferkamun, who was son of Neferkare the Liberator, who freed us from the yoke of Fyraean tyranny. My grandfather and father spent their lives and blood freeing Deshkhet and making it secure, and it is my wish to see their legacy secured. To that end, I have invited you, representatives of the other free peoples, here. Deshkhet is preparing to open itself once more, and we have a great deal to offer.”

Maatkare gestured to the fare set out before his guests, “No doubt you have already sampled the beer, a preparation overseen by my beloved queen. You have seen the warehouses and the grain therein, but that is only a fraction of the true wealth of this land. Should you wish, I will have the minister of trade’s yearly report delivered to your quarters. But...” And here Maatkare raised a mug in an informal toast, “Tonight I wish to hear from you, you have all traveled far and no doubt have your own reasons to come to distant Deshkhet. I would hear these reasons, and know of your lands as well. It has been long since we have had word of the world outside our borders.”

Maatkare sat, directing his attention to the nearest delegate and indicating that they should speak.

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[The United Kingdoms of Ferelden]

A sound was moving through the air it was the sound of wheels being turned and hooves running along the ground. It was the sound accouncing that the forces of the united kingdom of fereland were making their presence known to the host of the even. It wasn’t the sound of a group of people riding as fast as possible to get to a destination it was just the sound of a proper march. Each hoof fell in time with the soldier’s feet so that there was only ever one sound at a time; it was a march of a collection of practiced soldiers. As they neared the city, the marching formation broke up into three single-file lines. Every soldier in matching amour as they made their way through the capital, however, they soon stopped at an inn, after all, they were to attend a meeting for what might be a trade agreement or a call to war, either way, they were prepared. Leaving a majority of the company as the inn as a much smaller group made their way to the temple. It was a small group no more than twenty or some people just enough to keep the two that seemed to be in the center safe.

However, after a few days, the force was allowed to relax and enjoy most of the celebration under the general rule if they get someone pregnant well they knew the rules. One was a made that seem to be somewhere in his middle twenties his amour seemed to match with most of the contingent. However, a few things seemed to separate himself and the woman that he was conversing with as they walked. He had a bastard sword hang off of his hip and a buckler shield on his arm the symbol of Fereldan emblazed on a field of blue on gold. His cloak was more elaborate than anyone else in the group; it almost seemed like a stylized map of the Kingdom. His crown was a simple thing, made of a mixture of gold and silver over iron. The woman he was talking to seemed to be at least two feet taller than him, and the soldiers that surrounded them gave her a wide berth. Not out of fear or disrespect bit the face that she had wingspan three times her size, with a tail that seemed to continue at least four feet behind her. Deep red scales seemed to run up his arms disappearing under her amour but rose above her breastplate stopping just under her chin covering all of her neck. Her cloaked appeared to depict a raid but on what or where it appeared that the artist left that out. This small group continued towards the main temple with the two in the middle continuing their conversation. Stopping at the door for a second to show the guard the invitation as the group broke apart leaving only three people to walk through the entrance. The man with the crown, dragonish looking woman and a simple soldier carrying a pad and a set of inks and quills made the way inside. The man taking a seat at the table while they stood on the left and right side of him respectively, as they paid attention to the man’s speech

“We are here because we seemed to have been invited, so we have come if this meeting will lead us to trade with your country or not will be interesting to see. However, in the name of celebration and your anniversary of this event, we will offer the kingdom of Deshkhet a gift.” The solider to the left stepped forward unwrapping a package on the table discarding the brown paper it was wrapped in. Inside was a cloak made of well-refined cotton depicting the image of the eye that was on in the invitation in the nation’s colors. The Kingdom of Fereldan is located to the East of your countries borders and is made of up of four distinct races, the high elves, the children of the stone” Pointing to the woman on the side of him. “The kings of fire and the men of the fields. This is....” Warden-Commander Cysenth of the Gray Warden Order. and "Sir Regnolad a master Templus of the Stone Order." "We are here to possibly open a trade agreement with our nations and to meet fellow ambassadors.

[Feudal Albionica]

King Edwin had stood at the prow of his ship, the Grand George, for much of the journey. The Royal Fleet had been mobilised for the great exodus, thirty-four ships had conveyed the King and 300 of his best knights to Deshket, leaving only twenty-eight back home. The Royal Fleet had set sail from Yorkcliffe and took twenty days to pass around what Albionican sailors have called 'The Cape of the World' for generations, as it is the edge of the known world. Despite multiple claims, no Albionican sailor had yet to pass far beyond it. From then on it was a straight path with favourable winds to Nekhen, where the fleet had ceremoniously docked. With two-hundred of his men left with his ships, along with their crews, King Edwin toured the city.

While travelling the city, Edwin's men reported many times that their group was being followed. Many assumed it to be criminals but Edwin had guessed early on that it was the Pharaoh's men keeping tabs on the Albionican delegation. After all, who wouldn't be cautious with 300 foreign soldiers in their lands. When several of his senior knights approached him about seeing the trackers off by force, Edwin seemed ready to have a heart attack, it was only the assurance that no such actions had been taken that calmed him down. The old lion was particularly agitated, many assumed it was the heat, his physician prepared for the worst and the King was soon bedridden with fever and diarrhoea. Ten days passed billeted in Nekhn and the King only recovered on the ninth, death had almost come to him on the seventh but the quick intervention of his doctor and a full night of attentive care had managed to set Edwin on the road to recovery. Albionica would not lose its sovereign today.

The arrival at Nekhen was a cause for great celebration, it was the destination of over a month of travel and the Albionican host spent the nights before the ceremonies feasting, drinking and debauching. King Edwin and his nobles were up bright and early, however. The delegation consisted of the King himself, Lord Merioneth, his Chancellor, Lord Fenchester, his Steward and Lord Suthwicke, his Lord High Constable. Together, mounted on their high stallions, they rode to court and, bedecked in fine clothing (although not their best), made their way to the 'informal dinner'. King Edwin had worn his war crown, a smaller, more modest affair with points in the shape of bastard swords and less bejewelled than the regular Royal Crown. This was to show his status but to remain modest. The Albionican delegation were courteously seated and served but decided not to speak up straight away, taking stock of the other delegations present.

[Bakvae]

Just inside Nekhen
(as the ceremony begins)

A small caravan slowly makes its way through the crowded streets of the festive port town. The group of seven riders on horseback closely escort two fairly small ox drawn carts, one being more of a camp wagon and the other being a slightly modified coach. All the visible people being garbed in fairly thin mottled tan and brown hooded long cloaks with masks covering their faces to keep the sun and desert sand off them while still allowing airflow to keep from overheating in the desert. The only outwardly identifying marks that made them look unlike foreign merchants was the soaring white raven emblazoned upon each of the carts, the saddles that the riders rode, and upon the left shoulder of all of the cloaks.

One rider falls back slightly to come alongside another. "I'm surprised that they gave us such grief at the gates because we were a few days late. I mean its not like we traveled across the known world to get here!" The other rider looks out slightly across the people the procession passes as they head for the Governor's palace "And it appears that they still don't trust us from the level of city guard that they have leading us to the lodgings." Both men fell into a short silence after that, merely watching the townspeople and occasionally pointing out things of interest in some subtle fashion before the first rider resumed his position in the formation.

(inside the coach)

A young auburn-haired woman sat up in her seat and looked away from the window and looked to the missive in her hands that arrived from the higher offices only days before they left. She thumbed the small envelope over to reveal the woman's name and office across the front 'To: Lady Dea'Hae'I vi Rho'Uu'Ys, Holy Diplomat of the Eternal Throne, and Holy Diplomat of the Bak'Ee'Ne'Vae Order' and sighed slightly at the fact that she had to make a trip clear across to the other end of the continent by coach among other things. The sigh roused the attention of the slightly older, chocolate-haired woman who was the only other occupant at the moment. Chu’Ne’Ae had been the personal guard of Lady Dea'Hae'I for more years than she would ever readily think about, and knew that it meant that her partner was already spinning up those political gears in her head for the days that were to come while they were on this assignment. She had never really been one for word games personally, but remembered that their main objectives were ones of assessment and of forging amicable relationships. "Another interesting adventure looks like it might be kicking off for us, doesn't it? At least these people look somewhat more amicable than the last bunch, and more festive too," remarked the older of the pair as the younger began to fiddle idly with the small glass orb around her neck. "yep, hopefully these ones wont try to sell us on some occult nonsense with chicken bones or toe-necklaces." the younger replied as the other one just guffawed at the memory of the young woman trying to talk her way out of nibbling on a severed toenail some time ago as the pair fell into silence.

A short while later at the Governor's palace

"Finally we made it!" the young woman exclaimed as she almost bounced out of the coach, her modest but still elegant knee length mustard colored dress swished around her. The other occupant could only laugh and shake her head as she followed her companion off the carriage step and up to the palace. The waiting attendant showed them to their quarters while explaining that the rest of dignitaries as well as the Pharaoh were at the temple of Haru performing the welcoming and blessing ceremony, and that it was a shame that we couldn't make it in time but to rest none the less. Everyone rested for a bit once the horses, carts, and equipment were seen to before everyone except for Lady Dea'Hae'I, Chu’Ne’Ae, and a rather disinterested male Legionary with a tinge of grey in his hair went to explore the city in no less than pairs and with the instruction to return at sunset.

At the banquet hall

After following the young scribe to the banquet, Lady Dea'Hae'I sat down with the other dignitaries at the table with Chu’Ne’Ae taking up position behind and to the left her partner and the other veteran Legionary taking a spot against the wall nearby, both soldiers proudly wearing their gleaming Lorica Squamata complete with Manica and Greaves. Lady Dea'Hae'I wore a similar dress to the one she arrived in except that this dress was in Tyrian purple with gold blossoms blown across it and had an additional sub skirt of the same material and pattern that extended to her ankles with leather boots below that. No one was visibly armed any heavier than a Pugio dagger as a show of solidarity and confidence in their hosts, although the lady still wore her peculiar glass orbs and the guards had several similar objects only slightly larger in size.

She looked around the hall at the other guests and the spread laid out before them as their host spoke and had to admit that she was somewhat impressed with this level of advancement in one of the "child" nations. Although when she took into account that the heretics once ruled this area, it somewhat dulled what impressiveness there was about it. She smirked at the thought of making a grand speech as the delegation from Ferelden began its posturing, although it was interesting that they sent three officials instead of agreeing on one voice, but there's time for the younger nations to learn yet she guessed. But never the less she preferred to make more of her statements and dealings in private than have them be broadcast across the continent so settled in to basically people watch for the remainder of the night.

[Mokranshi]

The Anagiti fleet

It takes a certain beast to convince his fellows to leave the comfort of their homes to a land that could very well kill them, all on the promise of riches. That beast was Pasekur, Whose Wealth Exceeds All Others. A mouthful to be sure, but it's reportedly more brief in Beasttongue, and well earned. Pasekur was not a chief who won his place by force of arms like so many of his peers. He bought his place in Anagiti, and had accumulated enough riches to awe the tribe, who already were far more prosperous than the average herd back home. The Anagiti tribe were peerless merchants who built a city on wealth. Well, 'city' by their standards. Ten thousand was hardly a major metropolis in most other places, but to the beastfolk, it may as well have been the center of the world.

To the beastmen, the mere existence of a sailing fleet was a testament to his fortune. Mountain flax was in sharp demand back home, and even a single catamaran was rare for your average fishing village. Pasekur commanded eight. Even more, all sixty crew members were covered in elegant crystalline jewelry. An auspicious sight for anyone, but it meant much more to the crew. The jewels were forged from enchanted Everice, and were keeping the beastfolk crew sated as the magic of the ice kept them cool in the face of the desert sun. A poorer beast would die from heatstroke before even reaching Nekhen. Pasekur supported the lives of sixty people with mage-forged jewels that coated them from horn to hoof, riches that could support a dozen small tribes. Some might have called this extravagance garish or obscene. But as Pasekur himself would tell you, the humble never rule.

As the catamarans pulled into the docks, the daunting heat set in. Many of the unloading crewmen felt a wave of nausea and weakness, kept in check only by the Everice adorning them. To the surprise of a few, no one immediately died upon stepping off the boats, despite the discomfort of the heat. Pasekur smiled contentedly at this as he took his first hoofbeats on the paved streets of Nekhen. He was a sight to see. The chirugor stood slightly above most of the humans present, his ridged horns pointing straight up. His silky white hide covered up whatever the jewelry didn't. Speaking of which, of all the crew, he was unexpectedly the most adorned. A chain of Everice ran between his horns, with a hanging crystal inlaid pendant in between them. His hoofed legs were coated in half a dozen anklets flecked with black feathers, and twice as many such bracelets on his arms. His ears also hosted a few Everice piercings that swayed with the turning of his head as he surveyed the port city before him. Despite the fortune that coated him, perhaps the most unusual sight on his person was a crow perched on his shoulder, a chötgor as they were called back in Mokranshi. The intelligent black bird was named Aho, and was Pasekur's translator, as the chirugor could not speak any human tongue if he tried. The chief paid much for this particular crow, who was reportedly trained in five popular human languages. Hopefully that was enough to get by during the trade talks.

Hardly a moment passed before he was met by three strange figures, humans by the looks of it. And locals judging by their garb. They each handed over something. Two of them gave what appeared to be a gift of some local goods, including jewelry, some cloth, a few odd substances, and a bag of musky dirt. Dirt? No, spice. An exceedingly rare thing in Mokranshi. The final figure handed over a tablet. Most of it was illegible but Aho could make out the trade cant near the bottom, a welcoming statement addressed to 'Pasekur of the Anagiti tribe of Mokranshi', along with an invitation to a feast. How unusual for the welcome to be directed at him, when the invitation was sent to the Elder Council. They must have heard of his coming beforehand. All the better, Pasekur supposed, that they learn of him sooner.

The strange men seemed to want him to follow them to their lodgings. The merchant-chief called upon his crew for a handful of guards to accompany him into the city while the remainder unload the goods from the fleet. Three kaprogors answered his request, and flanked by the armed goatmen, Pasekur followed their guides into Nekhen.
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The Maktet caravan
Later that night...

Priestess Sekha stood at the forefront of the group, mounted upon a two-humped camel that caused her small form to sway with its hoofsteps. She was coated in silver-and-white fur, and cloaked herself in a simple priest's robe that signified her status and helped reflect some of the heat. Behind her followed the rest of the Maktet pack, numbering a little over two dozen. It was rare for a whole tribe to venture outside Mokranshi, but Sekha was confident there was too much to gain to pass over this opportunity. Some months back, word had spread that the Elder Council was invited to a grand event in Nekhen. While that collection of shamans and soothsayers was unlikely to act directly on it, the opportunity was free to any tribe who dared make the journey to the other end of the continent. Unsurprisingly, most people dared not travel to the faraway desert, but Sekha was not most people. She knew what she and her pack stood to gain. Wealth, exotic goods, valuable trade deals, and knowledge. If she was lucky enough, she may even get the opportunity to study the archives of Deshkhet, and glean some info about her people's past. Near every pup knew that the zerdagors came from Deshkhet long ago, but many questions remained. Why? Where were they before Deshkhet? What connected them to the Deshkheti? All questions the upstart priestess hoped to answer.

Of course, none of that would matter if the pack could not make it to Deshkhet in one piece. Over the past two weeks of travel, they had been trekking through the Great Northern Desert, a terrible journey. If the Weeping Desert was a pleasant leg and the grasslands that followed an uncomfortable experience, then this place was a hell fully realized. While sticking close to the Great River kept the Maktet Pack fed and quenched, it was the heat that they truly reviled. At daybreak, the accursed sun would show itself and all the sands would rise to a terrible scorch that threatened to kill the Winterborn in mere minutes. To keep themselves alive, they only traveled at night, when cool breezes kept the desert in a very cold state, much like their home. They pitched camp and slept during the day. Whether it was because of the erratic sleep times or the pounding heat just outside their tents, no one enjoyed the trek. For the tiny Maktet, only faith in their priestess and an almost vain hope kept them going. They were so few in number that very few people would notice or care about the loss of their tribe if the deserts swallowed them whole. And yet how the other packs would envy them if they were to return with fistfuls of gold and satchels of spices. At least, that's what the resident mage, Akhnar, thought.

It was highly unusual for such an insignificant group like the Maktet to have a mage in tow, though that may have been due to the fact that he was born among them. Of course, Akhnar was rather unimpressive by beastman standards, even looking past the fact that, like many zerdagors, he was only knee-high to a human. Still, the fancy parlor tricks and cooling breezes he conjured kept the band sane. The fox-man had a gray pelt and wore simple garb like the rest of the pack, not really standing out except for two copper earrings that hung from his large ears. Riding ahead, he caught up with Sekha. 'Not to raise doubts about your guidance, my priestess, but when will we reach Nekhen. My talents can only keep the pack cooled for so long, and I think some of them are getting quite agitated despite.'
'Have faith, Akhnar. We are no doubt getting close. If the Cold Father favors us, I wouldn't be surprised if we reach the city tonight. Just keep an eye out for the bright lights on the horizon.'
'I have, my priestess. In fact, from what I can see, I think we're being watched.'
'What? From where? By whom?'

Akhnar pointed to some indistinct robed figures on the horizon, almost impossible to spot. But they were certainly there. Not moving, but there. A look of concern crossed Sekha's face. 'Out the scouts on high alert. Don't go after them, but don't let them get too close. And don't try and scare them off yet. I'd rather not alert them that we know, nor draw the attention of any potential highwaymen.'
'As you say, my priestess.'

So the pack continued their journey, tired, anxious, and under the a mysterious gaze of the robed men. It was only after they caught a glimpse of the shining city that they began to relax. And not a moment too soon, as the first rays of daybreak were peeking out from behind the horizon. The band picked up the pace, hoping to find shelter before the desert grew hot again and they all died. As they close down the distance though, the robed figures got close. When the gateways to the city were spotted, the robed men got too close for comfort and the pack's scouts drew their weapons, barking at them to stay back. Undeterred, the men approached and nonchalantly introduced themselves. From what Sekha knew of the Deshkheti tongue (it was somewhat different from the slightly archaic version the elders taught her), the pack was welcomed formally into the city, and given a smattering of gifts. They were also to be led to their lodgings. With some apprehension, Sekha and her kin followed the men into Neken. It was a sight they had never seen before. The whole of the city seemed to be waking up to a celebration. Over what, she had no idea, but the festivities were fascinating. A massive temple dedicated to some false god overlooked the people, who were on,y beginning to stir for the new day. Her pack were especially curious about the humans, as many had never seen one before. They were tall. Not tall like a mastogor, but tall. Sekha, Akhnar, and the pack continued to their lodgings.
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At the lodgings of Mokranshi

Pasekur sized up the elegant abode he had been granted while his guards stayed at watch just outside. Some of his crew members had gone on to partake in the human festivities, while the more reserved ones chose to stay at the docks with the boats. The chirugor had to say, the city was very unusual, even by the standards of the many cities he had seen in his time. He didn't expect so much green to be found in the desert, nor did he expect such monuments as the temple that crowned Nekhen. He didn't expect humans to want their homes, let alone their cities, to be so drafty. And he most certainly did not expect his guards to disrupt him with not one, but two important pieces of information. 'Wealthy One, a message for you from the Deshkheti', uttered the warrior. Pasekur obliged and went outside to speak with the local official.

And what interesting things the human had to say. First, he and his associates were expected at a ceremony with the Pharaoh and the other foreign delegates. Second, he apparently had an associate he was unaware of, and who had come by land. In fact, they were on their way to his abode at that time.

Under the gaze of the early morning sun, Pasekur and his men stood at their doorway and witnessed a peculiar sight: a pack of zerdagors making their way to his doorstep. When they stopped to face him, Pasekur was the first to speak to the one in front. 'What a most unusual surprise, to meet a sister in the faith so far away from Mokranshi. My greetings to you, and may Khutankhan bless your path. What's your name, sister?'
Sekha replied to the chirugor, 'Cold Father watch over you, brother. I'm Sekha, priestess of the proud Maktet pack. And who am I addressing?'
'I am Pasekur, Whose Wealth Exceeds All Others. I hail from the mighty Anagiti tribe.' Of course it had to be Pasekur who also came to Nekhen. 'What brings you to my doorstep, sister?'
'I am here because I have been informed that these are the lodgings for the delegates of Mokranshi.'
'Indeed they are, and here I am.'
'And here I've arrived.'
'So it seems, sister.'
An uncomfortable silence was shared between them before Pasekur spoke again. 'So you have come all this way for opportunity as well, I imagine. And you no doubt seek respite from your journey. It would be wrong of me to deny you that. So please, come in, come in!' The chirugor and his guards stepped aside and allowed the pack in. The whole time, Sekha attempted to hide a shameful blush. It was a supreme indignity for a priestess such as her to have to be 'granted' shelter, and by one of the most powerful chiefs in Mokranshi no less. They had been in the city for only a few hours and already her pack had been greviously embarrassed. Curse Pasekur and his wealth!

Still, no time for rest. A banquet was to be held by the Pharaoh himself, and many influential figures from all across S'Kar would undoubtedly be in attendance. If there was a good time to salvage shame, make deals, and flirt with power, this was it. Sekha took the time to change into a clean set of priestly robes. They were in the style of old Deshkhet, a sign of her people's cultural heritage and hopefully an attractive piece for the Pharaoh and his people. Akhnar likewise put on some clean garbs and adorned himself in an Everice necklace, which would hopefully empower his magic and impress the delegates. Meanwhile, Pasekur and his men also got ready. His guards armed themselves with showy armor made from the bones of large animals. Not especially practical, but the point of this banquet was to make an impression. For his part, Pasekur donned a light set of chainmail, where the individual links were made from - Akinator had to do a double take at the sight of it - carved Everice? Maktet pack could feast for a month with this the value of that piece! Just how much money did Pasekur have!? Well, no time to ask. Both parties made their way to the hall.
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The banquet hall

When both parties reached the great hall, they went their separate ways and found some seats. Passkur surrounded himself with his guards, who stood by him while he sat. The many pieces of Everice adorning his figure shimmered Andy he could already feel their effects as his strength returned. He still wasn't quite as strong as back home, but he couldn't at last breathe as easily as any of the others. He croned his head and looked at the others in attendance. Besides the zerdagor priestess and her mage, he also saw who appeared to be the Albionican king himself. An excellent sign, as appealing directly to the human in power was easier than speaking to an unreliable stooge. Besides him, there's was also a Fereldan soldier of some sort who decided to make a speech. If they were right, then a Warden-Commander was also here. They were a gamble. Military types didn't always understands the value of trade, but a commander had influence, and that Pasekur could work with. A third party was also in attendance, a group of Bakvae humans. A rare sight, to be sure, but Pasekur did not recognize them. And it was his job to know the names of the powerful. Still, silent as they were, they could be of use later. And of course, there was the Phar - what was the zerdagor priestess doing?

After running her eyes across the room, Sekha was somewhat taken aback at the auspiciousness of these beings. Whoever they were, she was certain that she was in the presence of powerful people. So now seemed like a good time to make herself known. After all, if she didn't, they may not have even acknowledged her. Standing up, she announced, 'Blessings upon you, warriors, diplomats, and beings of noble lineage! I am Priestess Sekha of the proud and perseverant Maktet pack. Our people have traveled far to stand beside you, and we are gladdened to be in your welcoming presence. We especially thank you, oh mighty Pharaoh, for welcomi us into your great city.' She turned to the Deshkheti sovereign and bowed before him, trying Tom accentuate her robe in the hope that one of the Deshkheti officials would take notice, if not Pharaoh himself.

Pasekur looked on in amusement. Did she think that a simple speech could win over the delegates? Pasekur was originally content to sit and wait, but if she wanted to play this'll game, then he was happy to oblige. After she sat back down, Lasekur stood up and spoke while Aho translated his brays. 'Good tidings be upon you, great Pharaoh! I am Pasekur, Whose Wealth Exceeds All Others. I am chief of the Anagiti tribe, the greatest in all Mokranshi. We are blessed to be received by your gracious host, and we wish to properly repay you.' Pasekur signalled for ones of his guards to bring forth a pile of delicately cut and skinned furs. Such things had a way of appealing to humans. 'These are furs of the beaver, a beast from our homeland. Few materials could hope to match the texture and value of them. We pray you find this offering a suitable repayment for your generosity.' Pleased at his performance, Pasekur sat back down once the furs had been handed down.

[Alchemic]

Alchemician informants from the boarder of Alchemic, witnessing numerous marches towards Deshket immediately report to their Fuhrer Elric Von Holstein

As news arose through the Alchemician nobility classes, Fuhrer Elric Von Holstein responds by sending 10 representatives and 20 tradesman to Deshket. The representatives were to honour those who they meet in the proud city of Nekken and spread word of Alchemicians interests and wishes of a positive relationship with its neighbours. The tradesman, were simply to investigate and appraise the technology of Deshket, as Fuhrer Elric Von Holstein was a curious individual, he craved more knowledge than power; when the two were "said" to be different. He instructed both the representatives and tradesmen to carry Alchemician mage books which they could use as their proof of the potential of Alchemic and its heavy interests in the magical arts. If there were any items or non-alchemician technologies we could trade for a books or other Alchemician items they were told to do so.

Fuhrer Elric Von Holstein dispached, 20 defensive land tech level 1 soldiers to accompany the convey across the "Dhali", a local name for the unclaimed land between Alchemic and Deshket. He also despatched 1 combat support tech lvl 4 and 1 healing support lvl 4 to accompany the representatives and to never leave their side. A small army indeed, but the Fuhrer much preferred to keep his army strength hidden and let Alchemician mage books talk on behalf of Alchemician potential.

[Lokhaven]

On the Southern S'Kar'Rhoi Ocean
A tall figure stands on the bow of a ship, one lent to them from a far-Eastern friend. Although the figure did not learn the language of which this ship was named, he learned that it translated to The Artist's Lament, apparently it was named after an artist who travelled across the Eastern Islands trying to find the truest beauty to paint, only find out that their expectation of beauty was unrealistic - leading them to take their own life, after which the blood that spilt from their body stained the last portrait they made; leading it to be their most successful artwork. Ironic.

"Magister Gûdhein'il, pardon my disturbance." Said a young woman who approached; dressed in the Gold-Blue-Red colours of her city, wrapped in a robe of various styles and art. Her face shared the similarities of all her people; hair that shimmered in the light, going between varying shades of its initial colour. In her case, it went from crimson red to a bright pink; her eyes were of deep purple with sky blue pupils, and her skin a pale blue/grey.

"Worry not, Tyro Hwes'tia. It is perfectly alright. We should arrive at our destination in a mere half-day." responded Magister Gûdhein'il, as he turned to bow his head slightly in a gesture of good faith, continuing, "What can I help with, my dear?"

"Are you sure it is wise to extend our cities to the West? The home continents are already rich in trade and resources." She questioned politely, bowing in return.

"Of course. This Maatkare, leader of his people seems interested in trade deals. It appears that the S'Kar'Rhoi People have recently come to a relatively peaceful era, and the invitation specified these sort of discussions. Although they may not be expecting us... we did receive this invitation handed to us by the Fourth." He responded, his eyes questioning the name "Fourth", uncomfortable with titles.

"The Fourth was an interesting lady. However, I am uncomfortable with referring to her by the Fourth, Magister." She also felt the discomfort at it.

"As am I. But unfortunately, we are unable to discern her true name, and as she is a numbered vassal, it is unlikely she would ever tell us." He seemed visibly sad with this comment, as his people did not enjoy using titles for outsiders, and only used them amongst one another. He continued, "But it is fine. We know the name of their leader, and we shall meet with other national leaders. Our riches and resources can stretch to this continent, and our Treaty with the East will be reinforced." He smiled, recovering from his sadness almost instantly.

"Of course, Magister. If you truly believe extending ourselves to this continent is wise, then I shall abide by your will." She bowed once more, and he returned the gesture; she knew that she was now dismissed.

---

At the Port of Nekhen

The Artist's Lament docks in Nekhen, with the Lokhaven delegation disembarking and enjoying the view. To the delegates, this city was an interesting change, a far sight from the Eastern Architecture, even the mixed architecture of the Loledan Port Cities. Magister Gûdhein'il, or as he will call himself from now on; Gûdhein'il, due to their cultural traditions, steps forward to speak with the port guards.

"Greetings, people of Deshkhet, followers of your leader, Maatkare. I am a representative of the Free Cities of Lokhaven, and whilst I am quite aware that this may be unorthodox, but we received an invitation to this event through a referral by the Bak'Ee'Ne'Vae Order. Whom, we believe, are also going to be attending. We do not wish to be rude, but we do believe that as such, would also wish to attend these affairs, as we have recently come from the Far East, establishing a new trade port, full of resources and riches that this land has yet to see." As soon as he says this, his entourage brings out a chest filled with various valuables from the Far East. At the same time, Gûdhein'il removes his hood to reveal his face.

His eyes were of a deep blue with light blue pupils, his hair shimmered and changed colours in the light; going from dark purple to light blue, and his skin shared the same grey/blue skin that the rest of his entourage had. He wore a tunic that was gold, red, and a light green, and his expression remained neutral, yet he gave the appearance of being kind. He awaited the guards response before proceeding, ready to turn back if he would not be welcomed. His entourage was also prepared, half stood on by the ramp to the ship, as the rest stood by Gûdhein'il. The crew of the ship, of course, were all lent to Gûdhein'il as well, so they did not disembark, preferring to keep to their duties, as they will explore the city on their own, should they be welcomed.

[Feudal Albionica]

Nekhen

"Would you kindly announce me, Merioneth?" King Edwin asked, smiling courteously.

"Glad to, sire..." Merioneth replied, standing from his chair. He nodded to the Ferelden delegate, the first man to speak, then turned back to Maatkare. "Your Excellency..." He declared, "I am Lord Merioneth, Chancellor to my gracious sovereign, King of Albionica. This," He gestured to the other Lords as he introduced them, they stood and bowed their heads respectfully, "Is Lord Fenchester, Steward to the King and Lord Suthwicke, Lord High Constable to our sovereign."

King Edwin stood gracefully and bowed his head, taking care to keep his crown firmly in place. "Your Excellency," Merioneth announced with a degree of pride and authority, "May I have the esteemed honour to introduce, His Majesty, King Edwin of the most honourable House of York, fifth of that name, King, Lord and Protector of the Kingdom of Albionica, Defender of the Anglican Faith and Knight of our most noble Order of the Belt and Garter."

Deeming the introductions done, the party respectfully retook their seats, awaiting the next events.

[Ptumeria]

Scribes transcription of events taking place on mid day of the year 0092 of the standard star calendar at Keep 39.

Beginning conversation between Scholar Richards and Scholar Naymer.

N:"G' day Scholar Richards you seem well rested." Richards enters the inspection room greeted by Scholar Naymer, R: "Yes thank you Naymer, ah I see the scribes already begun, now shall proceed with the inspection and recording of this 'foreign' parcel." N:" Yes Scholar."
R: "Subject of today is a wooden tablet with 3 distinct portions roughly a foot high, half a foot wide and a inch thick" N:" Wood? They must be ashamed of the quality of their parchment if their still using wood for messages." R: "Possibly or their couriers are poor at their jobs... Anyway portion 1 of the tablet is written in ancient hieroglyphs I believe, portion 2 is written in the common language of S'Kar and portion 3 of the tablet is an avian creature of fantastic origin with some symbol of an eye underneath made of silver or polished steel, I'll need to break of a piece off for one of the Keep alchemist to be sure of its composition."

Scholar Richards proceeds to pick up the tablet and looks to begin reading portion 2 of the table. R:" Hmmm, I appears to be some sort of royal summons to visit the a city named Nekhen during a local festival." N:" And the first portion Sir? R:" Just ancient Redi'ret, have a scholar how seems to be lacking in task today translate it later." N:" Yes scholar. My a royal summons how exciting, shall you attend to this matter yourself Sir? R:" oh no Naymer my work right now is more important for a man of my standing I am a 3 Key Scholar after all, send word to one of the more central Keeps so they can send a 2 Key scholar with the proper escort of scribes, bureaucrats and Protectors for a journey to this Deshkhet city and I should remind them to send along a decently sized exploratory force with them to update our maps of that area at the same time... Oh and send a message to the keep where this was sent from saying not to execute any messengers who try'd to deliver this." N:" Oh right, the parcel that it was in was addressed to the Council of 5 so their probably still being tortured at the moment for even asking where to find a single council member, I'll do that once Sir." R:" Right well I'm off the continue with my research of MA-0105, oh and scribe you can follow me once you've finished your work here, the last one was killed by MA-0105 when it broke a binding and turned him to ribbons once it got a hold of him."

Naymer then leaves the room with the tablet for further testing before archival procedures take place.

End of transcription.

[The Oracai Templar Order]

Arriving at the port of Nekhen

Three ships with striking blood red sails were spotted arriving at the grand harbour of Nekhen. For those who had already made contact with the Knights of the Temple of Our Burning Saviour, those red sails was a telltale sign for their presence.The ships were large, impressive, obviously made to traverse the high oceans, not just to stay at the coasts.

The main sail of the one at the head, a massive warship, bore the golden flaming wings of Our Saviour. The other two were sleek and elegant, obviously built for speed and manouverability.
Gracefully they glided into the harbour, taking positions at a free spot reserved for visitors. Once they had dropped anchor, it didn't take long for multiple small boats to set off, their passengers glittering in the sun with gold.

Once they arrived at land, a procession formed, quickly, with military discipline, heading towards the palace. At the head of the procession walked an Oracai in dark red robes, which were intricately embroidered with golden thread, and wearing a breastplate of gold, heavily engraved with religious symbols and signs of his special status. His face and beak bore burn marks, ritual brandings as signs of his dedication to the Burning Saviour.
He was flanked by two Templars in gilded full plate armour, their faces hidden by visored full helmets, bearing curved swords at their sides. Eight Sariant Brothers and Sisters followed, taking every step in disciplined unision. The Sariants were clad in long coats of golden scale armour, with scales taking on the form of feathers. They wore plate gauntlets and helmets, and carried halberds. Their faces and beaks showed brandings of dedication as well.
Last came the slaves, elves clad in purple silk and veils, some of them carrying chests of dark wood. They did not stop to interact much with the city's populace, they knew exactly where to go.


At the banquet hall

Of course, the Templars had followed the invitation as well. The Oracai clad in red robes was here, snd his two armoured companions, although they now wore dark red doublets and light, ceremonial breastplates of gold.
Six slaves stood at attention behind them, their purple silks and veils hiding their faces and bodies and falling almost down to the floor to their bare feet. The dark-wooded chests had been delicately placed between them.

The red-robed Oracai, the High Priest of the Temple of the Burning Saviour, regarded Pharaoh Maatkare and the proceedings around him with interest. He heard the words and studied his simple, but fine clothes and concluded, that this was indeed a man who valued directness and simplicity, or alternatively, liked to be seen as such. If the first, he was a man after his own taste.

When it came to the Templars to speak, the High Priest rose from his seat, and bowed his head respectfully before the pharaoh.
“Esteemed Pharaoh, I am the High Priest of the Temple of Our Burning Saviour, Ioreq of the House Veneanar. The Templars are honoured by your invitation, and the Grand Master sends his deepest regrets for not being able to attend himself, for he is on campaign. I admire your proposal to be straightforward, and I shall happily comply. We Oracai are but pilgrims in S'Kar, and we have made the Holy Land whence Our Saviour has come our own. We have come to Nekhen, just as invited, to initiate trade relations with the great Kingdom of Deshkhet. May the Flame shine its light on this meeting."
Reacting to a subtle momement of the High Priest's hand, the slaves behind him opened the chests for the Pharaoh to see. They were filled with luxurious silk clothing, gold jewellery, bags of tea and spices, but also golden, intricately decorated armour and weapons. There were tools as well, obviously excellently crafted - ceremonial tools, so that they could be offered to the Pharaoh directly, but the implication was, of course, that the Templar's craftsmen could provide the Kingdom of Deshkhet with whatever tools they desired.

"We would be honoured if you accepted these gifts as a sign of our gratitude, esteemed Pharaoh, and as an example of what we have to offer."