[u][b]Śukaraguzāra[/b][/u]

The light breeze gently blew through the fields, crops and trees swaying ever so slightly as the moving air passed by. The sun beating down onto the ground, delayed and blocked only by the occasional cloud. The sounds of people working hear able even from a distance.
By all accounts, it was a picturesque day for Hōrēsa, who looked out upon the waters of the great sea. Ships carrying the symbols of the Dari they orginate glide across the water, most heading south to continue the long standing trade routes Dari had set up many a year ago.

Hōrēsa himself stood atop one of the hills overlooking the port capital, Śukaraguzāra, as well as the many fields of crops around the city. This city, despite many of the great families denying this, if the lifeblood of the Commonwealth. The only place where unity between the Dari is real and true. Not simply an idea and saying. Here, this is Dari'a and not a Dari.

To Hōrēsa however, he did not care much about the ideals of the Commonwealth. Only that it made Śukaraguzāra the most prosperous city of the east. Wealth from the entire Commonwealth, and even over cities of places far off, pour into the harbor upon ships so radically different one would think they were alien. 

Yet, all this just makes him a very happy man. He brings up a wrinkled hand to his pure white mustache and rubs a finger against it as if it was a comb. Being a member of the Ghaṭa prīśada had turned him into a very wealthy man. He owned seventeen different trading ships alone. That isn't counting his many subordinates who may own a ship of their own.

"Today... is a good day." He said, as he began to slowly make his way down the hill. The path being nothing but dirt and rocks made the toll on his frail old body more then usual. His voice sounding out one of the few things the Dari have in common; Accent.
To outsiders, it made the Dari all sound like upper class businessman who tend to be very uptight. Though, that is most likely because outsiders only ever deal with businessmen. Very few are allowed to leave the ports they enter. Xenophobic attitude is something that is hard to kill, after all.

"Hōrēsa! Father, please, over here!" Shouted a young woman at the end of the path, it seemed she was trying to get up the kill judging by the dirt on the bottom of her Salwar kameez.

"Oh, it is you Phalāvara. I thought it was about to deal with a Kutā tē hamalē*. What is the problem, my daughter? More people trying to make you sign deals for me?" Hōrēsa said as he finished his way down the path. His daughter taking up the space next to him as they made their way into the outskirts of town.

"No, there is an emergency meeting of the Ghaṭa prīśada with the Cōnakāra." She said as she easily kept pace with him. It wasn't hard trying to follow an old man after all.

"So they sent you to get me? Must be a really important emergency. Go on, tell them I'll be there shortly." He waved her off, and with a nod, she picked up her pace down the road and disappeared into the thickening crowd.

((* - derogatory term for non-working peasants looking for handouts.))