The humid coasts of Risha were a far cry from the arid sands of Ashar, but its crowded streets and bustling people were at least reminiscent of the great oasis cities which pumped trade through the desert like the hearts of a great creature. True, the buildings were different and everyone seemed so oddly dressed, but a desert traveler could almost feel at home in the busy atmosphere. Unless, of course, that traveler happened to be a naga. Yes, for a naga, things were different. Even within Ashar’s borders coming across one was a chance encounter; finding one near the coast was unheard of. The vast, [i]vast[/i] majority of people in Risha would only perhaps have heard stories of naga, grossly warped, describing them as mere monsters. If one were old enough and lucky, they may have come across a black market naga skin at an outrageous price, left over from the days of the skin trade (or perhaps more recently, from rampant poaching). A Risha native would almost definitely never have laid eyes on a naga in the flesh, so imagine their shock to see one slithering down their narrow streets. Reactions were largely negative, though differing in severity. Some chose to stare, mouths agape, in blatant shock and confusion. Others gathered up their children and hurried from its path; still others chose to glare or shout. These differing reactions, however, were all answered the same way: a dignified Beast passing by unshaken, unblinking eyes trained forward and head held high. As luck would have it, the naga made it almost all the way from the sands of Ashar to Risha’s arena unmolested; though stereotyped and largely hated, the typical naga was a large and imposing creature, and few dared raise a hand against one or get in its way. Here and there was a pleasant surprise: a Jackal caravan offering food, a gruff ship captain open to bribes, a kind guard to grant access to Risha where it might otherwise be denied. Such things were welcome luxury, but any of the few naga travelling through the realms knew not to expect them.