Gold/Aristo

[center][h3]Kern, Cormyral[/h3][/center]

	A coastal wind ruffled Yadira’s garments as she stood at the top of the ramp, flanked by a number of bodyguards and attendants. The climate was different from Hyrkos, humid and tropical, and tiny beads of sweat formed on her brow. This had been her first real foray outside of her homeland, both a source of excitement and nervousness to the young princess. 
There were burly shiphands with weather-tanned skin running up and down the docks, a bustle of commotion in languages Yadira didn’t understand, and the odor of the salty ocean fought with the spices of nearby markets. Already, the Hyrkossian had started to feel quite overwhelmed. Over the journey, she’d developed a reflex to reach for the white pedant in times of unease, and now it was nestled in her grip above her bosom.    

	From amidst the crowds and bustling of the docks below the ramp, a set of brown eyes marked out Yadira. [i]That must be her[/i], a thought passed through the lurker’s mind. Moving closer to the path she must take to enter the markets and exit the docking area he kept his eyes trained on her, only a slight pain in the head taking his attention elsewhere. 

	With her vessel in the hands of the Hyrkossian crew, Yadira composed herself and stepped down to the docks, her men in tow. One hundred and eight Tagmata, mail glinting in the sun, followed her, horses in tow. Their appearance stirred the locals nearby, pausing from their knots to gaze at the foreign procession. The crowd parted before Yadira, at the head of the mailed snake that crept from the ship to land.

	A ways through the bustle, the march of the Hyrkossians was halted as a stranger stood in Yadira’s path, not parting with the crowd. The stranger pulled back a weathered hood, revealing the dark face of a Sakabanatu tribesman, a scar burned into his head of a handprint, and the bagged eyes of an alcoholic. 

	“Princess Yadira?” Mozkurtuta confidently asked, a desert accent whooping his words, or perhaps it was the drinks of the previous night. Stepping forward he knew his long and strange journey from the desert was finally at an end, and after going through such a distance and even an exile by trial, he was glad to be in front of the strange woman that an even stranger ghost told him to seek out.

	Bowing lowly he cryptically finished his question, “I believe it is divine fate that we are to meet, destiny even.”

	A Tagmata on Yadira’s right stepped forward and gestured defensively, but Yadira held his arm and brought herself before the stranger. She could not place his accent, having been accustomed only to men of the west, but his appearance and manner suggested he was no local. She could not be sure how he knew of her name, let alone that she would be found here, but after her experience with Ishtar weeks prior, she’d prepared herself for future oddities.  

	“Men believe a lot of things,” she answered, drawing herself up to full height. “I don’t believe you to be a representative of Cormyral, yet you stand ready to receive me anyway.” 

	Mozkurtuta lifted a single finger, but stood in silence. It was true he had no idea he would get this far, or even what to do to convince her to listen to what he had to say, but he did know one thing, either you believe the tribe drunk or you don’t. His look of surprise turned into a small welcoming smile, trying his best to look like a wizened man of the desert, “I come from the heart of the desert, Princess, tasked by the spectres of the sand and canals themselves to seek you out and share with you dire information, I only wish for your ear in privacy.”

	Yadira was about to speak when she felt a warm throb at her chest, a pulsating that came from the stone around her neck. For a very brief moment, her mind was clear of all thoughts, save for one, that beckoned her: [i]Go.[/i]

	“...As Ishtar wills it,” she exhaled. “Lead on, if you have a place for my men and I.” It was suddenly clear to Yadira that her goddess would lead her by the hand at each twist and turn, and whatever grand plan Ishtar had for her, she was to be Her instrument. “And because you know mine, I think it only fair I ask your name as well.”
	
	“Mozkurtuta,” Mozkurtuta said with a bow of his head, “and I know of a few higher up inns that could accommodate us for the evening, I assume your highness brought coin with her.”

	He almost added “I’m a little strapped,” but then thought better of it, “this way!” He turned on his heel.