Amal watched, entranced at the spectacle for a brief moment. The serpentine seductress hacked off limbs and lashed out with her stone tail with the moves of a belly dancer, breaking legs with each twist of her lower half. She almost looked to toy with the men she hadn't killed in a manner that made Amal believe the statue was almost sapient. He wasn't certain if it had ears, but he would take no chance and he silently lowered himself and Emmaline, quietly bouncing off the pillar like a mountain climber lowering himself. Emmaline pressed her face into the back of Amal's thick head of hair so she wouldn't scream as he pushed off the pillar thrice until they made it to the ground.

"There's no way out," Emmaline whispered.

Amal placed a finger to her lips and nodded in the direction of where the statue had been. The ethereal lights within the chamber betrayed the location of a tunnel. Amal didn't know about his new companion, but a cutthroat's existence was about improvisation. Another door opens? You take it and hope you amuse Allah or whatever other God enough to curry their favor.

As they made their way across the room, they noticed snakes began to pour out of small holes in the stonework. Adders, Black Mambas, Cobras, and the like slithered into view and fell lazily to the floor if they were higher up, some simply gazing out at the two from their high perches as if it was a curiosity to see them die. Amal ignored them, his adrenaline pumping, keeping ahold of Emmaline's rope as they hadn't had much time to untie themselves.

The tunnel was lit only by the light that permeated the chamber, and it fed into a small cavern that widened into a great chamber of naturally carved rock, and they could hear the running water before they could see it. A small walkway made of marble, framed by terrifying figures of women with hair and fangs like Cobras, led toward's an ancient dock. Even Amal made a small gasp of relief when he saw the sight of the river, and a boat still within it.

He was suspicious of the statues, but luckily none of them came to life as they passed. They need only figure out how to leave, for the small oaken boat was not tied down, but fixed in its position by an ornate brass pole, carved in the likeness of a Cobra, small rubies placed in its eye sockets. He could focus on the jewelry once they escaped, but for now he placed his thieving hands on the staff and pulled to free the boat as Emmaline hopped in.

The Staff couldn't, wouldn't budge. Hard muscles from years of climbing and fighting grew prominent, but with all of his strength he couldn't move the staff. It was then when a great silhouette filled the chamber, and they both looked up to see the Guardian of Asaph, her swords and hips dripping in blood, appear at the entrance. She paused for but a moment, and then with blinding speed she charged their position.

Amal took up his Shamshir and held it aloft in a brave show to attempt to ward off what was coming, and with a last desperation, Emmaline grabbed at the staff, only for it to simply pop out of the water. The woman stumbled back into Amal and they both hit the floor of the small boat. No one had pushed off, however, and the thing was nearly upon them, was upon them! Emmaline held the Cobra Staff up at a vain attempt to guard a falling Scimitar...only for the blow to never come.

As the small boat floated deeper into the current, they saw the Guardian, once poised to strike, shrinking back from the Staff as if it were a stone wall. Amal looked between Emmaline holding the thing, and the Guardian, and then he simply let out a relieved laugh that echoed across the cavern. "Asaph favors a beauty with magic!" he exclaimed. "Particularly one with blood on her hands." Amal helped himself and Emmaline up from their fall, and he gave her a grin that showed his teeth. "Asaph and I seem to have similar tastes."

Any continuation of the shameless conversation was blocked out as the boat was suddenly swallowed up by a lightless cavern, and they were whisked off to Allah knows where into the mountains...
@Penny

“Can’t you make another light?” Amal asked as they were swept off into the darkness.

“I don’t have any more money,” Emmaline admitted, then much to her own surprise, she started to laugh and Amal joined her the pair of them roaring with the mirth of recent death narrowly averted. Amal squeezed her hand and she squeezed back

“What about the staff,” he asked. Emmaline gripped the golden staff, she could feel the magic pulsing inside the thing, though she had no idea for the moment what it did. Adding her own spell to the enchanted metal could have a variety of effects, ranging from bad to disastrously bad. She opened her mouth to tell Amal this and then a sound reached her ears. Water rushing over rocks. Amal didn’t react but then he had lived his life in an arrid landscape where water was rare. He hadn’t heard the roar of Riechbach falls, or seen the mighty Tablec tumble from its headwaters.

“Waterfall!” she yelled, “Grab hold of something!” The boat picked up speed suddenly and the roar swelled to a crescendo. Spray flicked up over her face and she grabbed hold of the boat desperately. With a horrifying lurch, the boat plunged into the darkness and water poured over them soaking them both as they plunged into blackness.

Emmaline opened her eyes and rolled over onto her back. It was still pitch black but she could feel water lapping at her ankles. Her entire body arched and throbbed. Her hand still clutched the staff in a grip that would have whitened her knuckles if she were able to see. Gathering her will she spoke the words of a spell, drawing miniature flecks of iron from the sand around her into a ball of metal that burst into a soft silver glow. Amal was sitting up beside her her rubbing his eyes and their boat lay in splintered ruins upon an underground beach. A dark passage ran from the top of the beach, eaten away perhaps by ancient flows of water.

“You… sure know how to show a girl a good time,” she muttered.

"Well, it's not on the level of my first rescue." he admitted, gathering himself. He had fallen from high places before, but this was an entirely new experience. "But I am improvising." The sand under him felt off compared to the grains of the desert. He found he liked it a bit better, actually. You could gain more traction on it. He tested it, raising his feet into the air and whipped them downward to send his upper body higher, making it to a standing position.

"I've never seen so much drinkable water in the same place." He said. He knew it was drinkable because 8 gallons of it had gone up his nose and into his throat and he was not dehydrated. "I had no idea it could be so destructive. Well, no sense on focusing on it now." He offered her a hand, and helped her up. The light truly helped. Even he needed some form of light to move around, even if it was starlight streaming from under a closed door. "Besides, how many other suitors have you had that helped you gain a magical staff?"

She shrugged as if to say 'he has a point' and said. "Well if you can get us out of here, then I'll be impressed. But this staff was just as much my doing as yours."

He pointed at her as if to say 'you have me there.' It was hard to tell what Amal considered serious.

They made their jaunt into the passageway. Unfortunately, Amal had lost his shamshir and scimitar in the waves, but his dagger had been held close as always. In the dim light of the low cavern, it almost looked as if it had materialized by magic, ironically. The tunnel led in a rough incline, Amal moving nearly sideways as he stepped continually up, dagger in front and face a mask of focus. He looked just as much of a cobra as the staff she carried.

Minutes later, he held his free hand up to halt her behind him. "Dim the light," he whispered. His voice held no room for argument, and she dropped a few grains of metal from her collected ball and the light grew softer, and as they moved she could see why the cutthroat had asked for it. There was another light past hers, shadows now dancing at the end of the tunnel. Vaguely, she could see Amal's figure looking through the tunnel's end, and he beckoned her forward.

The next corner held a cavern, with roughly hewed seats, flanked by stalagmites so high they nearly touched the stalactites that crowned the room. There were various wooden chests and sleeping cots, and three men sat around a fire and played a card game neither Amal nor Emmaline could decipher there, one of the men very clearly angry at the other two making a joke at his expense in Arabyan. Probably because he was the one that just lost a hand in the game. It was clear they were buzzed from the Arak they had been consuming, a traditional Arabyan spirit. The most important thing, however, was the loot they had accrued.

Copper and brass pennies from across the Old World were tossed together with Imperial silver Schillings and even Gold crown, along with the local Arabyan minted gold coins. Goblets and trinkets, earrings, necklaces, and even large pieces of artwork were all piled in what Amal considered the eastern edge of the cave, though of course he had no sense of direction below the ground. It was no Sultan horde, and truthfully it wasn't even fit for an Emir or bastard prince, but it was easily a few years worth of bandit loot. Amal could already tell these men were apart of the group that had attacked their caravan.

Amal placed a hand over Emmaline's mouth before she could speak, fearing she might whisper something that carried across the stones. He guided her back into the tunnel, her spell completely spent.

"How many men were alive when we escaped? A dozen? Half?" he asked her as silently as he could. Could the guardian of Asaph had killed all that had been pursuing them, or all that would make it back? Perhaps these three men were celebrating they didn't need to share this small trove with the others that had likely died in the sand. Next, Amal referred to those in the cave. "Wait here as I kill them," he breathed, though if she had a different idea or attempted to stop him, he wasn't gone yet.
@Penny

Emmaline crouched in the darkness mouth agog at Amal’s simple and direct plan for dealing with the bandits. She had no sympathy for them and didn't doubt they deserved what they got but Imperial justice tended to involve more formal proceedings. Araybians had a more elemental concept of what was just. The first man slumped forward with a gurgle as Amal’s blade sliced across his throat.

Drunk or not, the bandits recognised the smell of blood and they started to their feet. The second man went down screaming with a dagger in his belly and the third bolted in fear, screaming about Djinn which Emmaline translated as daemons. Unfortunately his blind panic carried him directly towards her hiding place, scimitar in hand, eyes wide with panic. With a squeak Emmaline swung the staff like a club, catching the man across the jaw and sending him spinning to the ground. The impact wrenched the staff from her grip and before it hit the sand it was sinuous and slithering thing. The bandit screamed as the hooded cobra rose in a recurve and then struck like a snapping bow, sinking its fangs into the bandits neck. The man screamed once, and then flopped to the ground froth bubbling from between his lips. The snake turned towards the petrified Emmaline she head Amal shout a warning, but instead of striking it merely bowed its head and a moment later the staff lay in the dirt. Gingerly Emmaline picked it up.

“Whoa,” she commented incisively.

Amal yanked his knife out of the second man, but he had seen the third one die from her staff. He had to agree with Emmaline's sentiment, his eyes wide in shock at the transforming object. "Whoa, yes..." he breathed, dropping the newly dead corpse and walking over to the sorceress, who held her staff gingerly.

Slowly, he reached toward the staff, and then swiftly poked the cobra head. Amal jumped back and Emmaline flinched, but nothing happened. They breathed easier, relaxing for a brief moment.

Suddenly a hand grabbed Emmaline's ankle, and she squealed in surprise and fright. The man wasn't quite dead it seemed, sweating profusely as foam continued to pour out of his throat, though another shudder and he was dead. Amal wanted to make sure, and he knelt down and slit his throat carefully. Foam seeped out of the wound, ebbing slowly.

After taking a moment to make certain there would be no more surprises, Amal placed a hand on Emmaline's back and guided her to turn around. "Let us look at something more pleasant, eh?" he said in broken Reikspeil.

Fire danced upon the heaped loot and treasure, glinting off their respective eyes. What was almost as delectable was the cooking food above the fire. It looked like roast that needed to be spun, and unopened bottles of Arak were placed atop the gathered chests and crates. The cutthroat let Emmaline take a look and handle the food for a moment while he went to check the potential exit/entrances.

The cavern extended three different ways out of the cavern they were in, and upon further inspection he found one turned back around to the river, which was likely where they gained their fresh water. The next led deeper into an unknown cavern, and Amal stopped a hundred meters in, as he was running out of light and found no end. The middle was an exit to the plateau overlooking the road. An easy way to spy on merchants and pilgrims.

He made his way back in to see Emmaline, finding her trying to unlock one of the chests after having turned the pork. Amal made his way silently behind her, and it was impossible to detect him until his lips were next to her ear. "Having difficulty?" he asked, knowing he could pick whatever lock she needed.
@Penny

Emmaline whirled in surprise, her staff whacking into Amal’s shins with a painful thump.

“Ouch! Easy woman!” he snapped somewhat irritabley. Emmaline blew a blond lock out of her face in frustration.

“Well don’t sneak up on me like that,” she responded before turning her attention back to the chest. There were five chests scattered around the room, four of them lay open, the locks that had sealed them melted into puddles of cooling iron that hissed and spattered. The last chest however had proved immune to her spell.

“Watch,” she instructed, and touched the end of the staff to the lock, whispering the words of the simple spell. It went haywire, despite being among the simplest cantrips a Gold Wizard was taught. Sparks gouted from the end of the staff and bluish electrical light sizzled for a moment.

“Let me try oh great one,” Amal responded mockingly, rubbing at his shins for a moment before sitting down on all fours before the chest. He drew forth a pair of metal probes and fit them into the lock, gently testing and turning until finally giving the larger of the two a firm twist. The hasp of the lock sprang open with a metallic click that bought a self satisfied grin to Amal’s face. He tossed the lock aside and pulled open the chest to be rewarded with the glint of gold and the sparkle of jewels. Unlike the other chests that had mostly been brass and silver, this appeared to be the pick of the bandits loot.

“Well what have we here?” Amal asked and reached for a ring of gold with stones of smokey gray set into the band at irregular intervals.

“Dont touch that it is…” Emmaline began but Amal already had the thing pinched between thumb and forefinger.

“Enchanted,” she finished in a flat voice.

“Is it dangerous?” he asked peering into the grey stones intently.

“Well it didn’t kill you when you picked it up,” Emmaline conceded.

Amal had seen a lot of gold in his life (generally other's gold and not his), and yet it still gave him joy to see more of it everytime he did. The brass and silver would work wonders for his mood as well, and ontop of it all, he had a new ring! Enchanted or not, it was valuable and he was curious on what secrets it held. However, first thing was first. They had not eaten or supped drink other than river water for quite awhile now, and they needed to restock their packs.

"Gold and jewels make a fine background for a dinner over wine, yes?" He asked her in Riekspiel, his eyebrows wiggling.

He got to work on cutting the pork, finding silver plates in the pile to use. Despite the decorum of the rock, the crackling fire, and the distant sound of water, it felt positively high class. Amal even did away with his usual rougher eating habits (for the most part), though he did drink the Arak and what wine they found greedily. He poured his new friend of fortune a glass as well, and for a time they simply enjoyed the fire and the drink.

Soon they were laughing, Amal telling Emmaline some of the less reputable situations he had found himself in. The latest involving a naked Amal awakening atop the locked vault of a local official, having spent the time smoking Dohka with the guards and a few escorts, only to fall victim to the second hand smoke itself and unable to steal from the administrator of Al-Hiekk's finances. "Speaking of which," he said, producing his midwakh pipe. "Have you ever partaken?" He leaned in, his smile as taking as the treasure beside them.

"Don't worry, I only have a small bit of Dohka left," he assured her. "Neither of us will be waking up naked. At least, not without conscious consent." His grin was wide, and the wine must have gotten to her for she took a drag or two of the pipe, as Amal did as well. It gave a very nice mellow feeling to the night, the wine and Arak warm in their bellies. It was then Emmaline caught glimpse of her Cobra staff, the ruby eyes enchanting in the fire light.

She had decided it was time to inspect the staff to its fullest extent, and she was drawn in by the gaze of the item teasingly. For a moment, it was like pure lust, or perhaps goldfever. Her jaw went slack and her eyes glimmered with the ruby's shine, until she realized what was happening. The luster of the rubies had an enthralling quality, one that likely lead to enchanting those who didn't expect it.

Yet still she delved deeper, confident that she could control it once she was aware of the effects. Further she went, until the cobra's eyes had swallowed her up into a world of red and molten gold, and her body felt a thrill the likes of which she had only experienced in her most passionate moments of life. She did not know when it had happened, or how, but she was now herself a Cobra. A massive Cobra, deadly and sinuously beautiful all at once, coiling around an unknown sultan who begged for her forgiveness and her favor, in vain of course.

Gold, jewels, and whatever she desired began to flood below her massive form until she sat upon a mountain of wealth, power, and pleasures, and just as she reared back to strike the sultan with her fanged maw, there was a poof of smoke that enshrouded her eyes, and she was yanked out of the vision when she heard Amal cry "HEY!" A few head shakes later, she had found herself still looking into the staff, and behind the staff was a massive Ogre, holding Amal up by his vest. A massive beast with a fu-man chu covering his chin, and he looked to be missing one eye within a massive scar that left the orb milky white.

"Who the maw are you?" the Ogre reviled, menacingly. "You are not Achmed."

Amal only knew two things about Ogres. Both of them being common knowledge. They had voracious appetites, and they sold themselves as swords for hire the world over. Neither he could use to his advantage at the moment, so he slipped out of his vest by raising his arms, to land nimbly on the ground, shirtless and oiled with persperation from the fire and wine. "Hold, my friend..." Amal said, reaching behind his sash belt to his dagger, in only Emmaline's line of sight. He backed up slowly as he did so.

"They are all dead I am afraid, but that does not mean we cannot work something out..."
@Penny

Emmaline’s blue eyes widened at the sight of the massive ogre. For a moment she considered whether she could crush him with her coils and then realised that she wasn’t actually a snake. The creature rubbed at its enormous paunch as it regarded Amal with naked hunger.

“Would you care to join us for dinner?” Emmaline asked politely. The ogre paused and looked down at her speculatively, cantaloupe sized eyes narrowing. He made a contemptuous gesture at the remains of their supper.

“That tidbit, by the maw woman…”

“No no, I wouldn’t insult you with a meal so paltry,” Emmaline interjected smoothly, leaning down she grabbed one of the dead bandits by the tunic and heaved him forward, making scant progress but bringing the corpse to the attention of the giant creature.

“See? Nice and fresh, butchered not an hour ago,” she enticed. The ogre took a step towards her and with unnerving speed for something so large snatched up corpse and bit the head off with a terrifying crunch of bone and a spritz of sluggish blood spattered in the fire, trailing long tendrils of smoke up towards the ceiling of the cavern. The ogre crunched for several thoughtful moment and then sat down on a large boulder to pull off an arm with a jerk of his head. Shakily and trying not to look horrified Emmaline resumed her own seat beside the staff, though there was food left she found she was no longer hungry, though she did take rather a large swig of arrak. Amal slipped the knife back into his sash and took his own seat.

“Well Acmed is dead, and I suppose partially digested,” Emmaline conceded.

“How much did he owe you?”

“Fifty sovereigns,” the ogre said around a mouthful that included a flopping hand. Trying to keep her gorge down, she stood up and counted out fifty sovereigns, wrapping it in a silk shirt and hauling it over to the creature. The ogre chose that moment to pluck a bloody tibia from its mouth, snap the bone in two and noisily suck the marrow. Emmaline shuddered and turned pale.

“Well Master Ogre, now that your contract is complete, are you available for hire? We are in need of a body guard for the road to Coppher, and there may be other Acmed’s along the way.”

The Ogre checked the sovereigns, gauging the weight as if he could tell with his small brain if it was enough. Likely he wanted to just give the illusion of being thorough, since no one would really jip him or he'd devour them. It was then a thought in his brain that if he were to eat these two, then he could have all of the gold for himself. He looked up from his gold, and watched them both, weighing his options.

Amal was not a mind reader, but he knew how scoundrels thought and watched him carefully. Luckily, the Ogre seemed to appeal to his reason. He had just walked in on these two standing easily over the corpses of his would-be allies. They had nasty tricks up their sleeves, likely, and they had also seemed reasonable so far. "Very well, I will go to Copher if that is where you go. But I want twice as much as this for my services and protection."

Amal and Emmaline shared a look, and after the thief shrugged, Emmaline agreed. There was enough gold to go around. If the Ogre got a third of it, it beat him potentially making meals of them. "And you can eat any enemies we happen upon that have no value to us, as well." Amal said. The Ogre smiled widely, showing bloodied teeth. At that, he grabbed the corpse of the second bandit and effortless snap, his leg was taken clean off to be eaten. "Very good," The Ogre said between mouthfuls. "I usually eat prisoners, anyway."

The thief winced, as Emmaline likely did, realizing that if the tables had been turned and they had been captured by the bandits, they would likely be head fist inside the thing's gullet at this point. It was something that disgusted anyone, particularly when they had to watch him devour human remains infront of them. It also completely ruined the mood the alcohol, gold, and midwakh had given them, at least in Amal's opinion.

Oh well, he went with the flow as he always did. The cutthroat grabbed his vest back with a jerk, and he waved it about to get the dust of the floor off of it. "Well, I am glad we have made an accord," he said dryly. "Are we far from Copher, by the way?" He had an inkling of where they were, but he still wanted to ask the Ogre, who didn't seem too confused on the geography of this part of Araby. Briefly he wondered how the Ogre got here, but he had plenty of time to ask later.

"The morning on the second day of travel, we will arrive." The Ogre said.

"And your name?" Emmaline asked, smiling slyly.

"Trogg Greatgut." The Ogre said, beating his aforementioned gut with his massive fist.
@Penny

The walls of Copher rose like a mirage across the distant sands. Night had fallen but hundreds of torches lined the white washed battlements, casting a flickering illumination on the limestone. The tang of salt was on the air and the call of gulls testified to the presence the ocean, though steep cliffs screen any view of the sea.

Emmaline rubbed her sleep deprived eyes. The two humans had been sleeping in shifts, justly concerned that if they both dozed off, Trogg might decide on a snack. He had bought the two remaining corpses, tied over the back of a camel, but both of those and the camel that had been carrying them were by now being digested in the ogre's enormous gut.

Dietary peculiarities aside, Trogg was a surprisingly good conversationalist. He regaled them non-stop with tales of various adventures and campaigns he had been apart of. To hear Trogg tell it, he had been involved in battles stretching from the steppes of Kislev to the coast of Ind. It seemed to Emmaline that he was peculiarly focused on losing battles, dwelling fulsomely on depressing retreats, sudden routs and the general misery of a mercenary life. Emmaline was particularly interested to hear about his time in the Empire, she was not particularly patriotic, but it was still welcome to hear stories of her native forests rather than this sun blasted wasteland.

"Will they close the gates at night?" Emmaline asked Amal. The thief wrenched on the reigns of his tired camel, hauling the obstreperous beast back towards his desired course.

"No one is foolish enough to attack a City of Wizards," he told her.

"My kind of place," Emmaline said with a tired smile.

Amal should have been waylaid by desert bandits, attacked by Snake Guardians, and nearly drowned more often. The trip was far more comfortable to Copher than he had originally thought. It was true that Trogg ate a bit more than they had, but he had expected it. The bandit was used to rough travel and living roughly, and he spent most of the way either guiding the Camel on foot or guiding it atop it with Emmaline behind.

At first, Copher looked like one single tower standing in the distance, but over the next few miles it was a true spectacle. Multiple towers of swirling majesty filled the sky, with walls the color of bronze flexing their strength over the arid landscape, even as the sea threatened to swallow the land up from behind. It looked a sight more resplendent than Al-Hiekk, though there was still a rundown quality to the stonework. Araby always had an aged look to it, even with all of the gold and the women and the magic.

Some would find it cynical, but Amal thought that was apart of its charm. It meant there was plenty for him to hide in as he stole all of the good shit. The thought brought a grin to his face.

Once through the open gates, it looked much similar to Al-Hiekk. The throngs of beggars and haggard looking citizenry mingling with audaciously dressed merchants and entertainers. The Ogre scratched his 'jumbled parts' as he called them, and picked his teeth with the same hand. "Oi, wa'nt so bad fers some food and that lot of gold. Where else we headed, eh? the lumbering thing asked. Before Emmaline could speak, Amal placed his hands on her shoulders and led her away.

"We'll no longer be in need of your services, Trogg. Hope you enjoyed the meals!" The cutthroat said to him.

"What are you doing?" Emmaline whispered acidly, having gotten comfortable with such a large enforcer.

"We have a trove of gold but as soon as it runs out, so will his loyalty." he whispered back. "I know a backstabber when I see one. I've done it a few times myself."

The Ogre waved them as they made their way down the street with their packs and their lone camel. Usually Amal was content with finding a nice rooftop or abandoned hovel to sleep in, but he had a woman to entertain and gold to spend in celebration! They might not be of aristocratic birth, and they might both be fugitives, but the golden rule was plain. He who has the gold makes the rules. After a small perusal of the city, Amal and Emmaline found a fine tavern to relax in. A famous Ale House and Brewery of the port city where traders from all over the southern sea drank and talked.

As Amal went to grab a drink and some food for he and Emmaline, the woman would overhear a conversation in bumbling Arabic. At first it didn't sound like a native speaker, but soon she would realize the man was fraught with emotion as he spoke to a servant of his, begging to know if there was any word of a caravan from Al-Hiekk that had disappeared not a few days ago. Regretfully, the servant had no word, having no inkling that a sly con artist listening had not only traveled with the Caravan, but survived it to tell the tale. Just as Amal was heading back with the drinks...
@Penny

Emmaline slid towards the distressed man even before she was certain of what she was going to do. Quickly she drew a scarf from her sarai and tied it over her head to give herself what, in the Empire, would be the look of a soothsayer or fortune teller. The move also showed off her blonde hair, making her appear strange and exotic by Arabyian standards. She caught the fellows wrist with her fingers.

“Away with you woman!” the man snapped by reflex. He had a clean look to him, perhaps a minor merchant who invested in the caravans, though his face was haggard with worry and lack of sleep.

“I am cursed by the gods,” she declared dramatically.

“I can see the strands of fate and follow them to their ends!” she hissed. The man raised his hand as though to strike her but hesitated a moment.

“You would know the fate of your caravan, set out from the City of Slaves seven nights past!” she declared dramatically. They had an audience now, the denizens of the bar glancing at her with a mix of expressions from skepticism to desire and not a little fear.

“How did you know that?” the man demanded, as though he had not been moaning about it for all to hear.

“I see many things, perhaps I can tell you of your caravan,” Emmaline declared.

“Speak then woman,” the man snapped through the eagerness in his eyes belayed the anger in his voice.

“The Gods do not reveal the fates of men easily,” Emmaline told him, leading him towards a booth at the rear.

“An offering is required,” she whispered.

“What kind of an offering?” the merchant asked. People always got suspicious when you asked for payment up front, so it was best to camouflage what you really wanted.

“Gold yes, but more importantly, blood,” she told him, taking a seat in a booth across from the merchant. His eyes seemed to be drawn to the eyes of her staff so she held it up more as a dramatic prop than for any real effect she expected it to have.

“Blood?” the merchant replied in a dreamy voice. Emmaline nodded encouragingly.

“Blood and Gold,” she confirmed as the merchant drew a hand full of gold pieces from his pouch and set them on the table. Emmaline produced a small knife and muttered some nonsense snatches of Imperial Opera and then drew the blade across the mans palm allowing the blood to dribble over the coins. Whispering a word of real magic her eyes became shining gold as she drew on the Winds of Magic. The gold coins seemed to sink into the dirty wood of the table, her legs concealing the fact that they dropped into her hand beneath it and vanished into her robes. She pretended to read the pattern of blood remaining once the coins had ‘vanished’ and gasped theatrically.

“Death!” she declared in a loud voice that carried through half the tavern.

“Bandits and buzzards, ruin and wreck, the caravan will never see the walls of Copher!”

The merchant leaped to his feet, eyes wide and panicked, and then rushed from the tavern.

Murmurs began to arise from the crowd, and the spectacle had caused the usual tavern goers to give the enchanting 'seeress' a wide berth, shifting seats or watching her from the side. None of them saw the trick she had pulled other than Amal, however, who had been watching the charade from the opposite corner of the room. He had been sipping his drink as he enjoyed the ploy. Truth be told, he had initially been fooled like the rest of them when she had transmuted the coins, but he caught on quickly when he saw her sleight of hand.

As the man fled into the streets, Amal lifted up both his tankard and hers and made his way over to her around the crowd's blind spots, so as not to draw too much attention to himself. "You know, women of ill repute do not last long in Araby." he teased, sliding her mead across to the table into her waiting hands. She took the drink happily, pleased with herself. He smirked, leaning back casually.

"Then again, if you're to dabble in unknown arts, Copher is where to do it." He conceded, and they toasted to their recent gold and adventures.

Amal had expected to lose sight of her more than a few times throughout their journey, and he believed she likely had thought the same of him. The cutthroat had to admit that without one another, neither would have made it out of Al-Hiekk alive, much less would have made it to Copher. He wasn't certain if he respected her skills, it was his curiosity on the map, or it was simple attraction, but somehow they were still reaping the benefits of other's misfortunes with one another.

He could get used to this.

---

Hours later...

The day was waning, and though the sun still held sway over the sky, it would only be a few short hours before it would fall into the evening, and they still needed to find a place to stay within the city. The establishment they had been within had no rooms, only drinks, of which the two of them had plenty. Perhaps not enough to halt their reason, but it gave them a comfortable feeling as they walked around the city.

Balconies hovered above them, the calls of men and the giggling of women emerging from within the towering spires they were attached to. Amal had the urge to climb one and take his chance at stealing something valuable, but now was not the time. They had left the shops, and the towers of learning and wizardry stood vigil over the northern edge of the city, but between them and there were the western docks that stretched over the coastline.

A crowd bogged down the streets that reached the docks, and even from a distance it was obvious why. There atop various raised wooden platforms were slaves from across the world, bound and chained and being sold off to anyone wealthy enough to purchase them. Some of them looked much like Emmaline, but still others were from Cathay or even further south from Araby, and Amal even noticed a knife eared elf or two being pinched like raw meat.

Emmaline shuddered, no doubt remembering her days as the love puppet of the Emir. Amal remembered days in his youth being chained as well. But it was how things were, and he couldn't change it. "In Araby, you have three choices." He said, glancing at Emmaline. "Enslave, be enslaved, or steal for a living." The thief shrugged, and turned to leave, before Emmaline let out a squeal that took the soft comfort of the drink right out of him.

He spun, his offhand already on the dagger he had hidden behind his tunic on his lower back. She was held by two strong hands, one from two men. Both were Corsairs with rough facial hair and an appraising eye. The man on the left lifted her chin up, moving her head side to side roughly. "Is she for sale?" he asked in Arabyan, and upon closer inspection Emmaline would see his right eye was made of glass. He turned it to Amal. "Are you her owner? Do you have papers?"

Amal grabbed the Corsair's arm, and a dagger materialized in his offhand, now pressed to the Corsair's throat. "She is mine," he said, realizing the futility of trying to claim she was not a slave. "She was not brought in with the others, now be off." He warned, and shoved the man away. The Corsair snarled, but made no move to reach for Emmaline again until he saw his partner grab the hilt of his cutlass.

"Show us her mark. You can never be too careful-" He began, but Amal had lived in Araby too long to know that this could be negotiated out of. The two men looked like they could handle themselves, so he didn't attack with his dagger. Instead, he gave a smile and kicked the dirt and sand that had accumulated on the road, hitting the men in their widened eyes and causing them to stumble back in surprise and pain.

"Allah curse you!" one roared, the other swiping the street with his sword, but there was no only air where there had been Emmaline before, Amal having lead her through the window of one of the spires across the street, closing it before the two pirates knew what had happened. Closing the veil-curtain, Amal winked. "Well, some men steal and enslave. But who's counting?"
@Penny

Emmaline curled her lips with Imperial disdain for the barbarism of Araby. Altdorf footpads might cut your throat but at least they wouldn’t try to claim you as property. Although she appreciated why Amal had claimed to be her owner it didn’t exactly overwhelm her with happiness either. To take her mind off the dark thoughts that were growing there she glanced around the interior of the spire. It was dark and cool and a vague hint on incense hung in the air. A winding staircase against one wall lead up and down while in the center of the room was a large table heaped with food. Curiously bronze statues of servants stood around the food as though in the process of preparing the feast.

“Amal, why would a ground floor window not be barred?” she asked uneasily. Amal opened his mouth to reply and looked back towards the window. There was nothing there except smooth stonework.

“Hrmmm,” he temporized looking back to Emmaline with a look of shock on his face. The statues gleamed under the light of a pair of lanterns that hung from hooks in the wall.

“I think we should get out of here,” she said, reaching up and lifting one of the lanterns. As the light shifted the bronze statues began to move, chopping vegetables and preparing food. One turned and looked incuriously at Amal and Emmaline.

“Definitely time to go,” she squeaked and hurried up the stairs, figuring that one direction was much the same as the other. The next floor was similarly windowless and held a dormitory that must have either been for servants or soldiers. Though no pursuit or alarm was evident they quickly hurried up to the next level. Emerging from stairway they found themselves in a somewhat shabby work shop. Alchemical equipment, familiar to Emmaline, though strange and exotic to Amal was set up on benches, liquid flames licked the glass and sent strange liquids and vapors through the condensing tubes and bubbled concentrating flasks. A crudely built book shelf contained a few dozen moth eaten volumes and a pile of scrolls and papyri. As they entered a pimply faced young Arabyian in a threadbare robe jumped to his feet his eyes wide with shock.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he demanded drawing himself up in what he probably imagined was an impressive fashion.

“Uhhh we came in through the window,” Emmaline explained, blue eyes darting around the chamber.

“Ah more flies drawn to the honey trap I see,” he cackled, revealing yellowed crooked teeth.

“You are now the slaves of Suhayl Tahir,” he declared pompously. Emmaline arched a blonde eyebrow, her face irritated at a second attempt to enslave her in ten minutes.

“And that is you?” she asked skeptically. The youthful man cleared his throat, apparently taken aback that they hadn’t fallen on their knees in supplication.

“Ah, no, I am Lufti, his most favored apprentice, submit now and it will go easier for you!” he cried, melodramatically raising his hand so that arcane energy danced across his palms.

“I see,” Emmaline said reasonably and then smashed her lantern into the side of Lufti’s head. There was a sound like iron hitting sand as well as a cracking of glass as the lantern struck the apprentice squarely, the arc of the lanterns short chain making up what Emmaline’s slight frame could not supply in strength. Lufti dropped to the floor like a poleaxed steer, the arcane energy sputtering and dissipating.

Amal blinked, seeing the apprentice sorcerer go down harder than if he had stabbed him. Silence ensued in the chamber for a brief moment, until Amal leaned over the downed man and said. "Well, that's one way to end the conversation." He nudged him with a foot just to be certain he wasn't getting up again. "As the northern merchants say, he was a...er, 'pompous chap' eh?"

From the outside, it looked like the tower stood four or five stories high, and he had no desire to explore it himself. Well...that was a lie. There were many riches to be found in a sorcerer's tower. However, they had more than enough gold and for once, he let caution override curiosity. At least overbearing curiosity. He wasn't above searching the room at least...

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), his delectable companion had already appraised the various desks and tables of the room before she had halted at a dias erected at the northern edge of the circular chamber, raised atop a three step platform, with symbols of a great eye along its woodwork. Her dainty hands raised as she gazed at the dias, whispering to herself. She looked as if she was trying to decide which candy she wished to take from a tradesman's shop.

With a gasp of delight, she ran one finger along the center eye, and its brass lining began to glow. Quickly, she pulled out the map and placed it atop the dias, and as it began to glow, Amal decided he would be at his most useful if he was watching the exits for any potential intruders. Taking out his knife, he crept to the window and looked, opening the drapes lightly with his blade. He could no longer see the two ruffians, and the slave auction was nearing its end.

He heard a squeal, and he could not tell whether it was from fright or delight and he spun to Emmaline, muscles tensed.
@Penny

Emmaline watched the glowing map as she placed it down on the table. It was some sort of arcane orary, and maybe the best chance they had to read the map. As she watched the ink seemed to run, the map growing slowly three dimensional, showed a vast expanse of desert, she recognized Copher and felt her view flying east as though dragged by vast wings, soaring over canyons and past oasis until it arrived at a great city of black stone and sparkling gold, mostly sunk into the sand. As quickly as it had appeared the ink seemed to swirl into the air leaving the parchment bare and empty. The ink suddenly flowed onto her sliding beneath her skin without pain but with a queasy feeling before slowing and stilling until an intricate tracery of strange symbols seemed tattooed from her shoulder to her wrist.

Emmaline opened her mouth and squealed as figures appeared at the top of the stairs. Bronze soldiers, perfectly life like just like the servants below began to march down the steps. Moving jerkily but with razor sharp scimitars glinting. She yelped in fear and turned only to see the bronze servants climbing up behind them to cut off there escape. The unconscious apprentice might have been a bumbling fool, but these enchantments were dazzling and far beyond her ability to understand. The master of this Tower was clearly no mere dabbler. She backed quickly towards Amal, eyes darting wildly this way and that.

“Uhhhh, I’m open to suggestions,” she told the thief as she felt her rump bump against the wall of the tower.

While Amal wouldn't exactly trade company, if he was alone he felt he might have a better chance of escaping. However, that was usually every thief's thoughts when in any group. He found even if he could, he wasn't going to leave her for a reason he chalked up to 'honor among thieves.' He himself had to back from the window as the bronze men closed off the escape route, and he backed up to stand just beside Emmaline, the blonde woman flanking his right as the soldiers moved in.

Within seconds, the two lowlifes were surrounded by gleaming brass scimitars, poised like spikes to keep them rooted. It was a common enough occurrence for Amal, but not from automatons! For what it was worth, he kept his cool. One had to in the strange streets of Arabyan cities. At Emmaline's words, Amal replied with "I was going to ask you the same thing, truth be told." and he backed up one more step, his foot brushing one of the many towering cabinets that lined the walls. He glanced at it with a raised eyebrow, but his concentration was taken as an odd noise took his attention.

It was clapping, and the door past the two dozen guardian soldiers opened without anyone having to push it. From within stepped a frail looking stick of a man with a contrasting air of powerful superiority. His eyes were piercing with a malign edge to them, and despite the fragile form and the barest wisp of a goatee on his unimpressive face, Emmaline's magesight would light up. It was clear this man was, if nothing else, more powerful than her lecherous old master.

"And who have we caught in our web today, hmmm?" He asked thoughtfully, though there was a menace to his voice. He had the look of a spider about. Even his fingers idly tapping along his chin seemed like moving spider legs. "Did you enter my humble domicile by accident or design? I suppose it doesn't matter. You have used one of my devices without my consent, and you have damaged a promising if foolish apprentice. But perhaps you might have your uses to me?"

Amal leaned over to whisper to the shorter woman. "He likes talking doesn't he?"

There was a thunderous roar, and suddenly the man was cloaked in power and rising higher and higher, growing taller it seemed without changing his physical form. "DO NOT INTERRUPT OR I WILL TAKE YOUR TONGUE. YOU ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF SUHAYL TAHIR AND I SHALL NOT BE DENIED." The air in the tower whipped like wind, and Amal held on to his looser cloth wraps to keep them from flying off of his neck and chest.

The man reduced in size and grandeur, but the danger was still present. With a short breath, he continued. "Now, as I was saying...you seem to have an over abundance of curiosity. It just so happens I am in need of people of that nature..." His smile was evil and wide, and Amal knew indentured servitude when he saw it. It was one thing to be enslaved in the market, it was another to be under the thrall of a sorcerer.

Amal prostrated himself before the man and his soldiers, dutifully giving praise in Arabyan as if the man were a God. Taken aback, Suhayl seemed please. "Aha, smart man. Yes, rise! Rise, so we may speak of grander things."

Amal did as he was bid, rising to his feet, foot brushing the cabinet again. Amal raised a finger as Suhayl's mouth opened. "Master Tahir, may I ask a question before we speak in full?" he inquired politely. Impatience clear on the frail man's face, he acquiesced. "Yes what is it?"

Amal elbowed the cabinet again, and a vial fell into his awaiting hand. "What does this do?" He quipped, and the taut muscles in his athletic frame sped the bottle toward the lines of the soldiers, hitting center mass. As the glass struck the bronze, green liquid heavily splashed across the metal as if searching for things to latch onto, and when exposed to the air it burst into blue flames that ate the bronze like it was dry leaves. Emmaline gasped and Amal had to agree. That was far better than he expected.

The menace and power of Suhayl Tahir's voice was gone, replaced with a shrill scream as he tried to escape whatever alchemical concoction was in the vial. A bit of it splashed as Amal and Emmaline's feet, and the cutthroat sweeped Emmaline off the floor to keep it from touching it. "I think it's a fine time to leave, don't you?" he asked amid the cries of lamentation from Suhayl at his soldiers melting.

Grunting, he let go of Emmaline with his left arm while his right arm still held her off the ground, and he picked up a fallen soldier's arm with the blue fire still burning along its stump. He lifted it up with gusto and turned, painting a door in the stone wall, liquid fire seeping into the rock of the tower and disintegrating its integrity. He dropped the bronze arm, and covering Emmaline's head with his free arm, he kicked the stone twice, thrice, and then shoulder rushed it. A near perfect door was pressed out of its place in the wall to fall heavily onto the ground, evidently crushing an unfortunate slaver who's recent purchase looked positively dumbfounded.

Amal gave a very curt bow. "You are welcome my friend," to the thrall, before running into the alleyway and flee into the twists and curves of the city.
@Penny

Emmaline looked at the tattoo that appeared to have been magically inscribed on her arm. For a moment her eyes flashed gold but her witchsight revealed nothing beyond the faint shimmers of the arcane workings that had been employed. Arabyian wizards, like hedge witches in the old world tended to draw on a variety of ethereal winds rather than on a single wind the way the Imperial College instructed. Drawing from all the winds risked straying into dark magic, but it did allow some strange and wondrous spells to be worked. How the map had been imprinted into her skin she couldn’t guess nor was she sure she wanted to.

“I saw a city in the eastern deserts,” she said to Amal as they hurried around a corner and began to walk at a more measured pace, her eyes glittered with avarice as she remembered the vision of ancient treasure chamber and the forgotten wealth of Empire’s that had crumbled to dust before the birth of Sigmar.

“I think I can find it, we just need to…” Further conversation was cut off as bells began to ring from the top of minarets. Emmaline froze uncertain what the bells portended. Amal however gripped her arm urgently.

“Slaves have escaped, they will be hunting them,” he said urgently. Emmaline swallowed hard, they had only just escaped a couple of sailors, she was under no illusion of what an organized search would be like. As though listening to her though hounds began to bay at the slivered moon above and a clamor could be heard as armed men moved through the city.

“We need to hide,” Emmaline said, looking around. By chance, or Amal’s instinct to head towards loot, they had strode into a wealthy section of the city. White washed palaces were set back from the dusty street by stone walls and intricate wrought iron arabesques. A pair of guards stood before a gate that looked rusted and unused. Emmaline tugged at Amal’s arm and they hurried over. As they approached the guards roused themselves from their leisure and put their hands on their swords.

“Is the Emir at home?” Emmaline demanded in accented Arabyian. The guards looked at each other and one spat in the dirt.

“He is in his palace at Kandar of course, everyone knows that Emir Rana…” Emmaline cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“I am an agent of the Emir and a soothsayer, you will let me in,” she commanded trying to appear meancing. One of the guards scoffed and spat in the ground.

“Begone street whore or I’ll…” the guard trailed off as Emmaline raised her staff holding the snakes emerald eyes in front of the mans face. He blinked in confusion and tried to speak but it seemed he was having trouble making his mouth work.

“You and your friend will let us in and then forget you saw us,” Emmaline commanded.

“Let you in and forget…” the guard mumbled, taking his hand from his sword and reaching into his arak stained tunic to withdraw a large metal key.

“Rashid what are you…” his partner began but Emmaline turned the staff on him in turn.

“We are agents of the Emir. You are going to let us in and forget you saw us,” she repeated. The second guard blinked and then nodded twice, once uncertainly and then more decisively. A minute later they were inside the palace grounds and the gates closed behind them.

“How did you know that would work?” Amal asked in a whisper. Emmaline shrugged.

“I didn’t,” she admitted, though in truth her study of the staff had given her some inkling as to its purpose. Amal arched an eyebrow.

“What would you have done if it hadn’t worked?” he demanded. Emmaline hefted the staff in one hand.

“It’s pretty heavy, I suppose I could have hit him with it.”

1 hour later...

The bedroom was huge. In fact, it was nearly as large as the closet.

A cozy bed covered in the fur of great cats sat beneath an attached canopy of silks that cascaded around it like a soft evening rain. The bed itself was located at the center back of the room on a small island that one reached by stepping up four regal stairs. The rest of the chamber had sofas one could lounge on and a fireplace to provide light at night. The room was also connected to the small outside gardens, where toucans and parrots flitteted about, with a large three stories fountain at the center.

As soon as Amal had seen this jackpot of a location, he said "Oh this will end badly," because nothing so comfortable had ever worked out for him in the past. Of course, they were only staying a night, and Emmaline had successfuly beglamoured the steward of the house, which led the rest of the servants to treat them as honored guests. He supposed nothing could go wrong, and honestly he didn't mind things going wrong sometimes. It gave some spice to life.

Emmaline was currently perusing the closet to see what fine garments she could steal, whilst Amal decided to check on the many wines and fermented drinks they had in concavely shaped bottles at the edges of the curtains that led to the gardens. The only downside of being in such a lavish spot was the fragility of everything. He truly wished he could throw knives into the wall to curb a bit of boredom, but he wanted to leave the room the way it was. If nothing else because the servants would likely have to pay for their insolence, rather than him fearing the fury of the master when he returned.

Suddenly the large red doors leading to the halls opened up, and seven men brought in a stuffed pig, three chickens and seven cuts of beef, along with a large collection of grapes and dates, along with a dessert of Lukaimat dumplings and a jug of water to top it all off. The man at the head had a weathered face and a dutiful way about him, and he bowed low. "Your excellency, the food as you requested." He said, abasing before Amal.

The thief had taken a new cap and a more impressive cloak, but he didn't think he looked very regal. Still, he didn't waste the opportunity to measure the food and the man as if he would possibly be displeased with either. "Very good, now leave us. And do not come into the room unless we bring ourselves to calling you."

The servants backed into the hall, still facing him and bowing repeatedly before they were gone. Amal grinned when the door closed. "Suckers." He reached down and cut off a piece of the pig with his large fork and butcher knife, savoring the succulent taste of the meat. He would truly enjoy this night. It would be a good surprise for his companion too, and when Emmaline poked her head out to see what the voices had indicated, he could tell she was giddy over the food. She had the same look on her face then that she did when she was looking at gold or sizing someone up to steal from. Her Cobra staff leaned against the wall next to her doorway, ruby eyes of mindbending glittering in the firelight.

"Almost done changing," She said and slipped back away.

He gave her a three finger salute, an old Arabyan gesture that indicated the three fingers one used for work. As merchants or workmen that stole and got a lighter sentence than losing a hand or their life would lose the pointer, middle, and forefinger so they could still survive, albeit with great difficulty. It was used to show you were someone's fellow and they would all find the same fate in the end.

Amal turned from the food and made his way to the wines, uncasking a purple bottle and take a whiff of the contents. A light breeze to his side betrayed the entrance of a heavily plumed parrot who landed on one of the stands beside him. Amal smirked. "Are you here to help me pick a wine?" He said, and put a red bottled spirit near the bird's beak. The creature sneezed, causing Amal to snicker. "Not your type, eh?"

The parrot squawked. "Pretty lady! Pretty lady!"

Amal glanced toward the Cobra staff and the closet, then back to the bird. "What of her? Yes she is my type, but I find that makes little difference my friend." The thief's left eye closed as he looked inside of an empty bottle, wondering if there was some manner of magic or treasure hidden inside.

"Go for it! Go for it!"

He turned to the Parrot. "Think I should?"

"Pretty lady! Pretty lady!"

He stroked his chin. "You're making quite a bit of sense my feathered friend."

Emmaline stepped out with her new garb, picking up her cobra staff and making her way over to them. "Who are you talking to?" she asked, but before she could finish the thought the Parrot saw the Cobra Staff and the woman, and the Parrot squawked in utter terror as if it had seen a real serpent and bolted out of the chamber loudly screeching. Amal raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. He'd still follow the advice at least.
@Penny

Emmaline emerged having found some clothing to her liking. Though she missed the dress of her homeland she was willing to be practical and admit that the heavy dresses of Altdorf and Nuln would be a death sentence in the heat of Araby. She had eschwed anything that looked like it came from a harem and while the Emir evidently had a wife, fine living had obviously enlarged her to the point that Emmaline couldn’t wear any of her clothes. Fortunately the Emir also had a daughter whose clothing was close enough in size for Emmaline to make do. She wore a dress of dress of cloth of gold, white linen that had been woven with gold thread. It hung from one shoulder in the Tilean fashion and was probably intended to be paired with a gausy over garment but she had neglected to bother with one. She shot Amal a suspicious look, and glanced after the departing parrot.

Outside the clamor of the slave hunt could be heard and there were even a few pillars of smoke, dark against the night sky, where over enthusiastic hunters, or desperate slaves had managed to set building afire. Though guards with torches passed in the street below none even glanced at the wrought iron gate with its drowsy guards. Emmaline took a seat on the cushions laid out before the table, Araybian’s didn’t use chairs in the same fashion as Imperial’s and she wondered what some of the rotund nobles she had met would do if they were ever asked to sit cross legged. Seizing a knife she sliced off several thick pices of pork and then did the same with the beef before finally grabbing a peach and taking a bite out of it. The food on the caravan had been plain, and what they had taken from the bandits cave had been difficult to enjoy with a vast ogre chewing up corpses at every meal.

Seizing a random bottle of wine she plucked out the cork and took a long drink from the neck of the bottle. It was rich and sweet and probably very expensive, but it was the first alcohol she had enjoyed since her capture and it tasted delightful.

“Not bad,” she said around a mouthful of food.

“I had some dwarven ale once, but I dont really remember what it tasted like, or much of the rest of the night,” she admitted.