"Make way!" The guard commanded, gesturing for the shifting throngs to part. "Make way for his majesty Nerej, King of Farai, Progeny of the Lineage of Chakul!"

Like the dunes melting away in the face of the erg squalls, the late-morning bazaar-goers emptied the center of the narrow thoroughfare and pressed in toward the streetside storefronts. As the crowds drew back, a great palanquin of polished gumwood passed on the arms of eight swarthy-skinned servants. The palanquin's carpeted platform held aloft two thrones carved from the same siena-colored wood. In the right throne sat a man who appeared to be some thirty years in age. His skin was bronze, but perfectly free of blemish, calluses, and scars. His arms and face shone with a dull sheen like polished wood, indicating frequent washing and bathing. He wore a robe of orange silk that reached down to sandal-wrapped ankles; a golden shawl with jingling tassels draped his shoulders. Upon a head of black hair combed full of glistening grease, a jewel-encrusted sarband indicated his place as King Nerej - the master of Farai. He gave a polite smile to his onlookers as his palanquin moved down the street.

Seated beside the King was a girl who looked to be half his age. A think coating of facial masking and excessive eyeshadow made her appear four or five years older than her true age. Her gown was immaculate - a robe of white silk tightened to accentuate her femenine form. Silken braids of her father's jet black hair coiled down into the collar of peacock feathers that formed a prismatic facade behind her face. She sneered in contempt as an unpleasant smell entered her nostrils.

"Father," the princess groaned, "these people have a most wretched scent.

King Nerej nodded in accord. "They do. But you must remember, Raiza, that not everyone is as privileged as we. Most of these folk do not have the luxury of bathing or perfumes. Water is scarce for them and many have likely never bathed in their entire lives."

"What a disgusting thought." Raiza complained as she looked with contempt upon a passing commoner whose roughspun shirt was caked in dust and stains.

"You will mask your disdain, Raiza," the King commanded through a polite smile to the bystanders. "These are our people. Though we be their rulers, always remember that we are nothing without them." Raiza's contemptuous glare withered into a bored and vacant gaze as she slouched in her throne.

The narrow alleys meandering down the hilltop emptied into a clearing amidst Farai's boxy plaster edifices. Here, an open plaza three acres in size played host to a forest of stalls, awnings, booths, and shops. This was the Bazaar of Farai, the most active and diverse marketplace between Qarthine and the Great Sea. Booths were crammed shoulder-to-shoulder in a tight maze of bustling commerce. Within their designated spaces, each merchant crammed as much of their wares into their display as could possibly be managed. Riding the palanquin through the bazaar was to immersed in complete sensory overload. The diversity of all that was for sale here was indescribable. One glance to her surroundings afforded Raiza a glimpse of a stall selling all manner of dried medicinal mushrooms and lichens; a blink later and she found herself watching her reflection undulate through the reflection of an armorer's curaisses. A single sniffle filled her nostrils with a spicy-sweet melange of kamfiri spice, quiverwood sap, incense, tadjool and a dozen other scents she couldn't place. And there was sound of a thousand vendors hawking and haggling and negotiating, with a roar of buyers giving counteroffers.

It would take someone a good month to simply see all that there was to see in the bazaar, and by the time that month had passed there would be a whole new cycle of merchants and vendors. Ismal and his companion Kali would probably do just that if given the opportunity - which was one of many reasons the two were forbidden from leaving the palace without watchful guards serving as chaperons. To Raiza, these noisy, bothersome traders were just one of the nuisances a princess had to tolerate.

It took the palanquin team a half hour to negotiate the twisting aisles between the stalls. And that was good timing, for the majority of the shopgoers were not at the markets. It did not take long to see where the crowds were gathering, for as the palanquin approached the far side of the city the towering aspect of Farai's coliseum radiated with the roar of throng numbering in the tens of thousands. As the curved facades of the arena began to rise above the houses and tenements of the city, the streets clogged with humanity once again. The scent of body odor wafted about Raiza and she groaned.

"I [i]detest[/i] the arena," the princess protested. "It's boring and it's hot. May I please go home?"

"No." Nerej sighed, his patience visibly wearing thin. "We are not going for the sake of diversion. I have guests to entertain, and I expect you to exhibit your best behavior for our visitors."

Raiza rolled her eyes. Guests were always the worst. Her father was always entertaining some foreign dignitary, which meant sitting around and doing nothing while father and some windbag from Qarthine or the Great Sea states talked about politics, trade matters, or any number of boring subjects for hours and hours. And worst of all, Ismal was left at the palace to do whatever he pleased.

"Why do [i]I[/i] always come to go see visitors? Ismal never has to go. Why can't he go with instead? He's the one that's been asking you to see arena fights."

"Ismal is too young to see bloodsport, and you know full well that Ismal does not possess anywhere near the sort of maturity to be trusted in the presence of a guest." Raiza agreed to that, if begrudgingly. "Besides," her father added, " there is someone there that I would like you specifically to meet."

The palanquin's guard attache went ahead of the litter to forcibly move the throngs out of the way; asking the people to disperse was no longer effective this close to the arena. After much 'persuasion' by the guards, the palanquin was allowed a path through the teeming crowds to the steps of the coliseum. Guards dispersed the arena-goers from the stair up to the arena's iron drawgate, allowing the palanquin team to heft King Nerej and Raiza up to a raised mezzanine surrounding the gate. A cadre of guard-flanked officials awaited the royal pair at the gate; at their feet, the palanquin team came to a halt. Two of the eight carriers left their posts to place stepping stools at either side of the litter while holding the hand of each rider as they descended off the platform onto solid ground.

"I dismiss you," the King told the palanquin carriers, finally relieving the servants of hefting the heavy thing about. They did as they were told, easing the palanquin to the ground. With that, he turned to the party awaiting him.

"My liege," a black-skinned man sporting a silken turban slapped a fist against his lamellar chestpiece in salute to his king before bowing stiffly. "Our esteemed guests have all arrived safely and have expressed their stay thus far to be satisfactory. I shall permit them to address you now." The guard captain expressed in the thick dialect and rigid speaking manner of the Ebon Lands.

"Thank you, Rhuk."

Four figures stepped forward from the guards, clad in vestments that while extremely exotic, where undoubtedly of exquisite quality. They wore robes of an unworldly fabric that seemed to shimmer like the surface of glassy water. The fabric caught the light and shimmered in the same way that insect wings did. The smooth perfection of their garments made the fine silk of Nerej's and Raiza's robes look like jute in comparison. Wide epaulets on the shoulder of the supposed leader of the delegation swaggered back and forth as he made his way to King Nerej. As he approached, his great stature was apparent. A healthy and plentiful diet had allowed King Nerej to grow head and shoulder above most inhabitants of the Western Erg, but this foreigner managed to dwarf even him. His show of deferral to King Nerej was a brief bow of his head.

"Master Joshaad, it is my honor to welcome you and your delegation to fair Farai."

"Delegation?" The Master repeated. "No, these are my wives," he corrected with a humored smirk as his women came to his side.

Dratha, Raiza realized. Raiza had overheard her father and Rhuk discuss the Dratha in hushed discussions after dinner more than once. Raiza rarely paid any mind to her father's geopolitical discussions, but the Dratha had managed to pique even Raiza's interest. Dratha Masters, like this Joshaad, amounted to something like a noble. The Dratha possessed an affinity for conjuring magic and rituals in a way that other people could not - be they commoner or royal. As such, the Dratha masters were often capable sorcerers as well. Even a child could understand that one such a this Joshaad was a powerful friend... and a frightful enemy.

"My apologies, Master Joshaad," replied King Nerej. "In any case, I wish you and yours a most enjoyable sojourn in my city. Farai has always been a friend of the Dratha Union, and will see to it that our friendship is made manifest during your stay. Allow me to attend to your every want."

"Of course," the master said thoughtlessly as he turned his attention to the girl standing beside Nerej. "Princess Raiza?" Raiza nearly jumped when the Drathan master addressed her. Joshaad held back a chuckle.

"Yes?!" Raiza blurted.

"Fret not, little girl." Raiza had never been called 'little girl' in her entire life. If she were not so anxious, she might have taken offense. "I only wish to introduce you to someone." The master turned and beckoned toward the cluster of Faraian guards remaining behind him. Another Drathan approached from amongst them: a boy who appeared to be about fifteen years of age.

Raiza had many servant girls who befriended her, but she rarely had any interaction with boys her age. The boys she did interact were unkempt servants' children and her dreadful imp of brother. They were all obnoxious and revolting without exception, but this Drathan was something totally alien to her. He possessed a jawline which was remarkably strong, with sharp, studious eyes that locked with hers as he approached with the same confident stride as Master Joshaad. He was, without doubt, the most handsome person Raiza had ever seen in her life.

"Princess Raiza," the Dratha boy addressed her with the same bow of the head. "I am Qarsul, son of Joshaad. It is an honor to meet you." Without hesitation, he took her right hand and planted a gentle kiss upon it. Underneath a thick layer of makeup, Raiza's face turned the color of a ripe pomegranate on the bazaar's tree.

"And an honor to meet you as well," Raiza replied.

"All parties have been addressed now," Rhuk spoke up again, punctuating the greetings. "I have been informed by the pitmasters that the combatants are ready to begin. Let us make our way to our seats."

"I have no intention of keeping them or the crowds waiting on our part." King Nerej agreed. "Guards, escort us to the guest mezzanine."

And with that, the Faraian and Drathan nobles followed the guards through to the arena vestibule and up to the choicest seats from which to watch the impending carnage.