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.”