The lithe theif vaulted over the cushions to land just before them, letting gravity pull him down into a sitting position once he stuck the landing. He made it look so easy, and one had to be reminded he had lived his entire life out of slavery as a knave, thief, and when need be, a killer. But here, before a literal pile of food and wine, he had on that handsome grin of his. "Ah, Dwarven ale? I'm surprised you survived the night, much less remember any of it."

He plucked a few very delectable looking fruits and placed three in his mouth, yanking out the stems. His eyes widened and he seemed very happy. "What do you call these?" He asked, grabbing more of the berry-like edibles. Emmaline had to divulge he had grabbed what she knew to be Cherries, his demeanor having gone from sly to childishly pleased in the matter of a moment. "Truly? I've never had these, I love-"

He grimaced and blinked, and he held up a finger for a moment as she saw his cheeks churning for a moment. The next thing she knew, he turned to the oil lamp and spat out the seeds, the small items firing out like a hochlander's rifle, with similar accuracy as all three seeds struck the lamp with a 'ping!' He bumped his fist into his chest to keep himself from burping, and then sighed. "This is what I get for trusting a pretty thing." His grin was back tenfold, and he winked. "Sometimes they are more trouble than they are worth."

He held his hands up. "I am kidding, don't worry. It has been an honor and great fun to travel with you." For once, he seemed adequately sincere. He took a few mouthfuls of pork, and washed it down with some rather expensive Kislevite vodka, the brew not as strong as Dwarven ale but still stouter than anything this far south. "We should take a few bottles with us when we leave tomorrow, along with a few other items." His eyes darted across the room for a moment, and then landed back on Emmaline. He grabbed a few more cherries, and handed her a few before leaning back upon the cushions beside her, dropping one after the other in his mouth as he spoke. "Speaking of which, I fully expect to find some treasure for when we travel eastward. Tell me, what do you plan to do with your share?" He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his voice husky. "Surely you must have ideas."
@Penny

Emmaline leaned back on her pile of cushions and popped a cherry between her lips stripping the flesh of the fruit with practiced ease before spitting the seed out. She rather negligently waved her hand and, rather than falling to the floor, the pit began to orbit one of the hanging lanterns like a small moon. Cherry pits could be processed to create arsenic she recalled from what little instruction her master had bothered to impart to her.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” she admitted. Like most wizards of her college, she believed, in her heart of hearts, that gold was a goal within itself.

“I suppose I could buy myself a mansion in Altdorf,” she mused, imagining a grand house among the nobles and rich merchants, something that would show all those who had looked down at her that she was a great lady now and worthy of envy. Perhaps she could build a proper laboratory and library to make herself a respectable wizard as well.

“Maybe I could hire mercenaries to dispossess a few Emirs,” she giggled, looking around at the opulence that surrounded her.

“Or travel to see strange and exotic places,” she mused, thinking of the distant and legendary kingdoms of Ind and Cathy in the far east, places that were only rumors and outlandish stories in the Empire.

“If there is enough gold I suppose I could do all three,” she grinned, spitting out a second seed and setting it to orbiting alongside the first before taking another mouthful of wine to wash the dark red juice from her mouth.

“What about you?”

"You know, many thieves back in Al-Hiekk will tell you that they've thought about what they do if they ever struck rich. I admit I have too, but I never did know. Perhaps I never thought I would be in a situation where it would happen. But..." he opened his eyes, and knelt on his elbow as he spoke to her. "To tell you the truth, I like the danger too much to ever give it up."

She raised her eyebrow, still with the grin. His smile bloomed, as they both know that didn't mean that he would pass up the chance for a fortune. Amal took another generous drink of the wine, setting a comfortable warmth in his blood. "Of course I'd spend the money. In fact, your idea... suits me is the word?" He said the sentence in Reikspeil. "A large house to live in when I'm not traveling."

He passed her the wine, which she took happily and drank her fill. After she let the bottle down from her lips, he thought again about how attractive she looked in the fire light, and for a brief second he saw her eyes trailing down his torso. She spoke first. "I'm chocked full of good ideas, aren't I?"

"I can admit that," He said, leaning in.

Thump.

The two immediately regained their composure, even as buzzed as they were. Emmaline grabbed her staff and Amal erected himself atop the cushions on one foot like a lookout upon a crows nest, as alert as a fox. Emmaline nudged him with the cobra staff, something he would have considered dangerous any other time. "What was that?" she whispered. He held out a hand to keep her behind him, eyes searching. He knew his big mouth had cursed him. Ah yes, more danger, he thought.

Thump Thump Thump Thump Thump

Something on the floor to the left moved. He didn't know if it was a serpent or a rat, as nothing else slunked so low to the ground. He took out his knife and stepped off the cushions toward the direction of the noise, and then saw it move again under a richly furnished carpet of vibrant colors. He slowly knelt down and curled his fingers around the carpet and suddenly tugged.

The carpet didn't move. At least in the traditional sense. Something stuck fast to the floor, but the carpet itself tugged with him! Amal fell back with superstition, eyeing the thing warily as the carpet rippled like there was a flow of air beneath it. He leaned forward after a moment, and decided to see what would happen if he undid one of the bolts. Placing his knife under it, he yanked it free, and the carpet rippled incessantly before calming, and then its fluffed 'toe' perked up curiously.

"This is a magic carpet.." Amal said in disbelief, having heard of them from tales. Only sorcerers used them, he thought. Then again the Emir was rich, perhaps it was a gift that disappointed him? Amal shook the fluffed end of it. "Very nice to meet you, my friend. I am Amal. What do they call you?"

Another thump struck their ears, but this time it wasn't from the carpet. It was from behind them, and Emmaline squeaked, the blood leaving her face when a rich voice arose from outside of the doors. "You! Liars and thieves! I know who you are, and I know what you have done to these good servants of the Illustrious Emir Latar Ibn-Revir! Give up now and we will grant you a quick death by beheading-"

Emmaline gripped her neck and curled her full lips in distaste. "-fight, and we will feed you to the Tigers of Shapur! What say you?" He called. His accent was much more polished than the servants. Perhaps he was a sage or a decorated Captain of the Guard. The two thieves paused, and Amal spoke to the carpet. "My friend, I will free you if you get us out of here. Sound good?"

The carpet fanned, and Amal took that as a yes. He placed his dagger under the next bolt, and with a grimace he yanked it free.

"Have you no honor!?" The voice cried.

"No!" Amal called through the locked door, and there was a pause as he undid the third bolt.

"...Very well. We will gut you like a dog!"

A few moments later, something nearly burst through the door. It even gave Amal pause. They had to have been using some sort of battering ram. Emmaline looked deep in thought, as if she was preparing a spell for a last stand of magic, or perhaps it was to aid in keeping the door sealed. Amal popped the last bolt, and suddenly the carpet sprang up as if in glee, before flying around Amal thrice in excitement. Amal laughed, and they moved almost in one as the thief leaped, and the carpet spun to fly below his feet.

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership. Well..." he looked at Emmaline. "Not as beautiful as this one, but close. Hey Mushkila!" He said, using the Arabyan word for 'trouble maker.' Emmaline turned to see Amal on the carpet, holding a hand out. As the door was finally rammed through, Emmaline was yanked atop thew carpet, and before the guards could assail them, they were out into the courtyard and flying into the moonlit sky. Amal keeping Emmaline steady as she squealed with a mixture of fear and delight.
@Penny

Emmaline squealed as the carpet whipped out of the window and over the streets of Copher. The door gave way a heartbeat afterwards and several servants and an evil looking overseer rushed in with drawn swords cursing and shaking their fists at the vanishing pair. The streets below were in uproar as the hunt for escaped slaves continued. Shouts went up as searching guards caught sight of the flying carpet. Bowstrings snapped and arrows glittered in the moonlight as they rose towards the carpet.

“Can you do something about that!” Amal called back over the windrush. Emmaline who, to that point, hadn’t been able to do anything than cling to Amal and the carpet, forced herself to straighten up. The carpet seemed to wrap one of its corners around her waist to steady her as Amal zoomed between a pair of towers, narrowly avoiding a volley of arrows. Emmaline raised her arms and incanted a simple spell. The arrowheads flashed to fireballs as the metal sublimed to a molten state, igniting the shafts and fletchings in spiraling burning cinders that rained down like glowing fireworks, followed by a shower of droplets of molten steel.

“Can you get us out of here before a real wizard gets irritated!” Emmaline shouted, waving a hand to swat another flight of arrows like a bursting firework. Amal let out a shout and the carpet zoomed skyward until the city below them vanished to be replaced with the silvery moonlight desert.

The city was far out of sight when the carpet finally settled to the ground. It seemed to grow lethargic and settle to the ground Emmaline stepped somewhat thankfully to the ground and Amal with obvious reluctance. The carpet seemed to wave lethargically and then, as though elastic rolled itself up into a narrow cylinder.

“Well,” Emmaline said shakily, looking around the darkened desert in all directions.

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

The thief patted the rolled up carpet. "I cannot take all of the credit." He said. Standing up he smiled a smile that showed his teeth, and reaching to the small of his back, he produced one of the more expensive wines from the Emir's stash. "But thank you all the same." He said, considering tossing her the clay bottle but thinking better of it. This was no time to continue their drinking, and so he shoved it into his small sack. Finding yourself in the middle of the desert, even with a quick means of escape really killed the mood. He sighed, exasperated. Every time he was about to be a with a woman these days, something ruined it for him. He suspected the old gods had truly cursed him.

It truly had been something else, flying swifter than a bird through the night sky, even if he didn't have Emmaline clinging to him. He could get used to flying like that, but the magic carpet seemed content to leave them be at the moment. As Emmaline gazed into the gloom, Amal turned and his demeanor turned more serious as he recalled something he saw in the distance. It was as if the carpet had known which direction to fly them in, as there was something south of them he could have sworn he had spotted by the light of the moon.

"So, where do you suppose we are?" the northerner asked, shaking the airborne sand out of her fair hair.

"We are east, in the lands of the dead." He said. "That was where you saw your vision, right? I know we are east because there was a landmark to the south I saw. Something no one ever goes to." He checked to make sure he had everything in order on his person. His ring, such as it was, along with his knife and the scimitar he had procured, along with the rope. Emmaline would see him stand very differently than any way she had known him. Not hunched in a crouch or ready to spring, but tall and almost powerfully. Despite the small change, it was as loud as a pistol shot to someone who had spent the better part of the last few weeks with him.

"No one ever goes here, either." Amal turned in her direction, his dark eyes, shining like agates in the starlight, meeting hers. He was as honest and serious as he had ever been. "There is evil here that does not sleep. Things...things that make the Asaph guardian we encountered look like the bumbling bandits it slaughtered." The young bandit took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers as his face drew closer. There was nothing playful or sexual as before. He was speaking to a companion he trusted, and he wanted to make sure she was paying attention. "You are smarter than me in many things, but surviving the sands of this land is what I do. If you say jump, you jump. If I say duck, you do so. Follow my lead until things turn sorcerous. I turn it to you then, got it?"

He finally gave his usual grin once he felt she understood. "Good. Now that we have that out of the way, let us see if we can go make our fortunes, yeah?"

Amal looked about, and found the tallest sand dune amongst the waves around them to go and ascend, walking to the top as if it had perfectly carved stairs and stepping his foot upon a relatively large rock that as he gazed eastward. The moon and stars would fade within a matter of hours, but he still wished to try and see if they could view anything on the horizon. He saw a few jagged bits of masonry far away, like shipwrecked sticking out of the sea, but nothing substantial.

"Asaph..." a whispered called, carried by a sudden wind that had materialized a few yards before Amal and Emmaline's position. There was a chill to it that was uncharacteristically cold even for the night time of the Southland deserts. As Amal took out his scimitar and gazed about, Emmaline would suddenly regain the visions of power and riches in her head as she had when she first picked up the staff, but only for a fleeting moment as her eyes fell upon the rock Amal had been standing on. It was no rock at all.

It was a large skull.
@Penny

Emmaline walked over towards the skull, scooping handfuls of sand away in an effort to reveal more of it. This proved to be a useless endeavor as more sand simply trickled into place to replace it. Muttering in disgust she gestured Amal back and raised her staff, whispering the words of a half remembered spell. A gust of wind burst from the tip of the staff, blowing the sand away at the pressure of water bursting through the base of a tall dyke. The sand flowed away from the skull to reveal the teeth and jaws of a great serpentine beast, a dragon beyond doubt. The spell faded away and sand began to trickle back with the slow insistence of an hourglass though it would take hours for the sand to reclaim the skull completely.

“Wait…” Emmaline said, glancing down at the markings on her arm that the wizards device had rendered on her flesh. A dragon skull was marked just above her wrist. As she beheld it the ink seemed to run, moving up her arm towards an oasis, the ink adding detail to the previously hinted at wadi, the two moons above the water shifted their position slightly and she glanced up at the sky, both moons hung waning in the sky just as the tattoos depicted.

“It’s like a bearing,” Emmaline mused in Reikspiel.

“A what?” Amal asked in his own language apparently not having the word.

“A direction, if we keep between the two moons, we will come to an oasis,” Emmaline explained. That was a very good thing because they didn't have anything to drink beyond a few bottles of wine. She leaned closer to the skull and seized one of the half foot long fangs and pulled it free with a snap.

“What are you doing?!” Amal asked in obvious alarm. Dragon’s teeth had alchemical properties and were worth a pretty penny to the right buyer. Emmaline snapped off a second tooth and tucked it into her bag before reaching for a third.

“Waste not, want not,” she quoted with a smirk.

The walked south and east following the path of the two moons. Attempts to rouse the strange magical carpet had been greeted with at best lethargic flaps of the tasseled edges. It was clear that the carpet, or whatever magic animated it, required rest. The going was tough and they had to stop and adjust their course at the top of each dune, but by the time the sun began to rise and the moons faded in the illumination of the dawn, they could glimpse the distant green fronds of date palms that were a certain indicator of an oasis. There appeared to be several buildings around the pool, but as they drew nearer it became obvious that these had fallen into ruin long ago.

“We can at least find water and shelter from the sun, maybe some dates as well,” Emmaline said hopefully as they descended a dune and reached the rocky fringe of the oasis. Tough scrubby grass grew here and a few twisted bushes as well, but most of the greenery lay closer to the rare and precious water at the wadi’s center.

Amal stepped atop the small crags on the outskirts of the oasis, utterly enthralled by the beauty of the scenic location. He hadn't been so close to anything so lush since he was a small boy, and it dazzled his mind that nature could produce such bounty. He raised a hand to help Emmaline step across some of the less friendly rocks upon the ground before their sandal-ed feet touched down on soft grass, idly tickling their ankles.

Amal could smell the water from there. It was a skill most Arabyans had, having so few chances to drink water in their lives. "You might turn out to be a good luck charm after all," he said to her playfully, though the foreboding arches that looked as if they had shot out of the ground were not very promising. Atop the arches were carved skeletal looking kings, holding a saw-like mace in their left hands and a khopesh in their right.

Amal was thirsty enough to be uncaring for the moment, and he made his way to pristine spring that was practically transparent save for some loose sediment at the bottom. It wasn't a large body of water, but it was big enough for small fish evidently. They scattered when he fell to his knees and dunked his head into the water to take a long drink. After he was satisfied, he lifted his head out and whipped his thick hair back and forth like a hound.

"Thank Allah! Or whatever Gods are watching over us." He said, falling back onto his rump and basking in the sun. Once far too hot, it was now radiating pleasant warmth as its rays clashed with the coolness of the water that had drenched him. The archways that stood vigil a few yards behind him seemed to lead into a few abandoned workshops, and one lead to a tower that barely poked over the upended rocky walls that seemed to surround the wadi. The caligraphy looked far too old to be Arabyan, and Emmaline would perhaps feel the echoes of a faint presence of power that had long ago become faded.

Or hidden.
@Penny

The presence of the water was a comfort at a level so basic it was difficult to put into words. In the back of her mind Emmaline had been fearing the long slow death of dehydration that their sudden and unexpected flight into the desert and the weight of that lifting away was a considerable relief.

Common sense dictated that travel be undertaken by night so after drinking their fill, they set to exploring the wadi. It quickly became apparent that at least part of the spring had once been given over to some sort of ritual bathing. The remains of ancient walls ran down into the oasis at regular angles before disappearing beneath the waters. The ruined structures contained little of interest, although Emmaline did find several more or less intact clay pots, each about the size of her clenched fist. Given the regular size of things, she imagined they had once been oil lamps, though any fluid had long since evaporated. She gathered the best of them up nonetheless, an alchemist's unthinking need for some kind of specimen jars more powerful than any conscious reasoning.

Date palms fringed the oasis and Amal proved to be extremely adept at scampering up the trees to retrieve the ripe fruit. They laid in a considerable supply of them, wrapped in green fronds which Emmaline stripped and wove into simple packages that she strung together to make rudimentary packs. It was unlikely they would hold for longer than it took for the fronds to dry out and fall apart but that would likely be long enough. Although she had intended to make some study of the markings she had found in some of the ancient structures, by mid afternoon Emmaline was drowsy and ready for sleep, a condition only improved by the decision to drink the remainder of the wine and replace the fluid with fresh water. Amal agreed to take the first watch and she gratefully drifted off to sleep using the rolled up carpet as an improvised pillow.

In its time the wadi had been a splendid place. Emmaline thought as she walked amongst the brightly decorated buildings. Tall pillars stood at regular intervals honoring strange gods that seemed part animal part human. Emmaline saw the familiar face of Asaph among the various idols, each lit by a bowl of flaming oil. Though empty now, the carefully tended baths allowed pilgrims to this place to bathe in the healing waters of the spring which gave the oasis its wealth.

A womans’ scream split the dreamscape and Emmaline spun towards the dunes to the south. Skeletal riders appeared on the crest, nothing more than sunbleached bones and tatters of ancient weapons and armor. Their skeletal steeds were bedecked with whisps of what must once have fine silk or cloth. The leader, distinguished by his vast size and the glowing witchlights in his eyes, raised a verdigris copper sickle and let out a souless bellow. Something clamped across Emmaline’s mouth and she awoke to find Amal’s hand across her lips.

“I dreamed of…”

“Not important,” the thief interjected, pointing to the dunes. Dark shapes were appearing against the night sky, silhouetted by the moonlight.The presence of the water was a comfort at a level so basic it was difficult to put into words. In the back of her mind Emmaline had been fearing the long slow death of dehydration that their sudden and unexpected flight into the desert and the weight of that lifting away was a considerable relief.

Common sense dictated that travel be undertaken by night so after drinking their fill, they set to exploring the wadi. It quickly became apparent that at least part of the spring had once been given over to some sort of ritual bathing. The remains of ancient walls ran down into the oasis at regular angles before disappearing beneath the waters. The ruined structures contained little of interest, although Emmaline did find several more or less intact clay pots, each about the size of her clenched fist. Given the regular size of things, she imagined they had once been oil lamps, though any fluid had long since evaporated. She gathered the best of them up nonetheless, an alchemist's unthinking need for some kind of specimen jars more powerful than any conscious reasoning.

Date palms fringed the oasis and Amal proved to be extremely adept at scampering up the trees to retrieve the ripe fruit. They laid in a considerable supply of them, wrapped in green fronds which Emmaline stripped and wove into simple packages that she strung together to make rudimentary packs. It was unlikely they would hold for longer than it took for the fronds to dry out and fall apart but that would likely be long enough. Although she had intended to make some study of the markings she had found in some of the ancient structures, by mid afternoon Emmaline was drowsy and ready for sleep, a condition only improved by the decision to drink the remainder of the wine and replace the fluid with fresh water. Amal agreed to take the first watch and she gratefully drifted off to sleep using the rolled up carpet as an improvised pillow.

In its time the wadi had been a splendid place. Emmaline thought as she walked amongst the brightly decorated buildings. Tall pillars stood at regular intervals honoring strange gods that seemed part animal part human. Emmaline saw the familiar face of Asaph among the various idols, each lit by a bowl of flaming oil. Though empty now, the carefully tended baths allowed pilgrims to this place to bathe in the healing waters of the spring which gave the oasis its wealth.

A womans’ scream split the dreamscape and Emmaline spun towards the dunes to the south. Skeletal riders appeared on the crest, nothing more than sunbleached bones and tatters of ancient weapons and armor. Their skeletal steeds were bedecked with whisps of what must once have fine silk or cloth. The leader, distinguished by his vast size and the glowing witchlights in his eyes, raised a verdigris copper sickle and let out a souless bellow. Something clamped across Emmaline’s mouth and she awoke to find Amal’s hand across her lips.

“I dreamed of…”

“Not important,” the thief interjected, pointing to the dunes. Dark shapes were appearing against the night sky, silhouetted by the moonlight.

"We need to move," Amal whispered, taking his hand off of her mouth once he knew she wouldn't make a sound. The woman got to her feet, and even at the insistence of Amal, the carpet stayed coiled and barely moving. The rogue sighed. "Magic...how I am so getting tired of it!" and lifted the carpet up to plot along his shoulder. At once they fled down further into the wadi, and as Emmaline glanced back she would see the same skeletal riders from her dreams, to her horror.

At the lead was a great being, mummified and made of skin like dried leather, with a headdress that looked very much like the overseer they had escaped from the night before, only made of bronze and ivory. Inside his pupils, pale light shined. It only made his visage, with his perpetually gaping maw more terrifying. He rode not a horse, but drove a chariot of what looked to be gilded iron. Amal saw them as well and hoped beyond hope they had not yet been spotted.

Fleeing across the grass, Amal found three ways they could go. Forward out of the oasis, two the left into a dyke, or into the right archway of a ruin. He halted, and after turning left he suddenly decided right, yanking Emmaline toward the archway. Unfortunately, their hands slipped, slick with nervous sweat and the woman stumbled onto the grass. Amal turned to try and help her, but the Skeletal riders had made it into the wadi, and Emmaline quickly rolled down into the dyke. Amal quietly slipped into the archway as the hoof beats grew audible.

Damn, he thought as he sunk into the gloom of the arches shadows, watching the figures from without halting at the behest of their great leader. The horses, thin patches of skin hanging off their thick bones, stamped like live ones, though they made no noise and didn't even look at the water as if to drink. The riders seemed slightly animated as well, staying still as if they were bid to rather than being lifeless and completely without sentience.

The only one that truly moved was the leader, who let go of the reins of his horse and gazed to and fro, the brightness of his eyes growing exponentially as he searched for something Amal could not know. He passed by Amal's hiding space, and turned toward the dyke. A raspy hissing breath escaped what was once lips, and Amal's eyes widened when he knew the thing sensed Emmaline in some form or fashion.

In all of his long years as a thief, he had risked his life often. But risking certain death? He had never been one to lay his life on the line, and by Allah he did not know why his muscles were suddenly in motion. He pinched himself, and even the carpet on his shoulder perked up as if it sensed something palpable occurring. It was just when the leading aberration was about to step off his chariot and look into the dyke did the daring thief step out of the shadows.

"Hello my friends."

The entire contingent of Skeletons turned to look at him, including the great figure. Even though their expressions didn't change, he could almost fancy they were taken aback by such an entrance. Amal casually leaning beside the wall, arms crossed and a glint in his eye. "So...I took a wrong turn at Martek. Do any of you know how I may make it back home?"

"Izsh ranak mahak nul," a voice whispered from the leader's open mouth, and his eyes flared brilliantly. Somehow, Amal knew something had nearly happened, but his ring blazed instead. Not one to pass up being insufferable, Amal shrugged. "I get that a lot."

"'Ant last eurusi. 'Ayn althaeban!" he croaked, and that took the bluster out of Amal. Even Emmaline understood it. It translated into "You are not my bride. Where is the serpent?" Almost before the thief could register the significance of the statement, the skeletons on the horses threw spears and loosed arrows. It was just as much luck as instinct when Amal leaped to the side, a spear striking the ground just at his feet as the arrows bounced off the stones.

Amal tore the spear out of the ground, feeling its gnarled wood, still surprisingly strong. "'Iinah abn awaa, walays althueban aldhy yjb 'an tahtama bih!" the cutthroat said. "It is the Jackal, not the serpent you must concern yourself with!" He finished the sentence by savagely throwing the spear at the leader, hoping to end this here and now. His aim was true and the bronze head flew straight at his chest. However, Amal felt very foolish when the mummy grabbed the shaft out of the air before it struck, as if he had merely tossed it to him.

Amal chose this moment to flee further into the Wadi.
@Penny

Emmaline let out a squeak of panic as the bolt of concentrated dark magic flew at Amal. She didn’t even have a moment to call a warning before it struck the thief. To her shock and delight the bolt seemed to fly wide somehow, desiccating a patch of rushes rather than sucking the life from the thief as it ought to have done. She didn’t understand the shouted exchange between the creature and Amal and she crouched down behind the dyke racking her brain for something to do. The only method of escape she could see was the carpet, but the thing had been too sluggish to give her much hope it could carry them any distance.

Magic seemed the only answer, but she didn’t know any spell that might turn the tables. Grimly she resolved to try anyway, casing aside her staff and squatting down on the moist earth to gather her energy. To her surprise the staff shimmered into the form of the cobra that had bitten the bandit back in the cave after the caravan attack. It raised its head slightly and hissed worriedly before ducking back down out of sight. It glanced left and right and then struck at a patch of earth perhaps five feet from Emmaline. It looked at her critically and then struck again, batting it wedge shaped head against the dirt. Emmaline arched an eyebrow, risking a quick glance over the dyke to see Amal racing full tilt around the edge of the oasis pursued by the chariot rider and his skeletal horsemen. She looked back at the snake that was worrying the dirt with its face.

“You want me to dig?” she asked in Reikspiel. The snake nodded emphatically, bobbing its hooded head up and down. Emmaline sunk her fingers into the dirt, scooping up a handful of the mud. To her surprise there was something solid in it. Quickly she scraped away the muck to reveal a rusted piece of iron, perhaps a wheelwrights nail the top of which still glimmered with gilding.

“How is this supposed…” Emmaline began but even as she did so she understood. Amal was shouting obscenities at his pursuers as he fled around the wadi. On a straight course the skeletal horseman would have caught him in moments, but the curve and the boggy soil kept him ahead of his pursuers for a few more moments. Emmaline sketched an arcane design into the soil with a muddy fingertip and set the nail in the center of it before beginning to incant.

Amal’s lungs burned as he raced, pondering his chances of leaping into the oasis to escape his pursuers. The thunder of skeletal hooves reverberated off the half ruined walls turning the dozen or so pursuers into a brigade about to ride him into the dirt. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see the chariot only twenty paces behind him. It would have been an easy spear cast for the rider, but the mummified creature clearly intended to finish the business in a more personal fashion. Suddenly, the chariot itself was limbed in golden light and it seemed to fall away behind Amal. He watched in amazement as it flew backwards along its path, dragging the skeletal horses attached to it like boat anchors, its wheels a foot above the ground. The remaining horsemen flowed around it like a tide, intent on ending the impudent thief. Amal drew in a shuddering breath and ran onwards. To his utter amazement the chariot continued to fly backward around the oval of the oasis, though by now it had turned broadside due to the steeds continued attempts to paw for purchase on the ground. It rocketed around the shore in opposition to he racing riders pursing Amal. He heard Emmaline yell something as the chariot raced towards him but Amal’s reflexes were already throwing him to the ground. The chariot flew over him, missing him by mere inches, the windrush obscuring the ancient obscenities being shouted by the mummy thing.

The noise was tremendous.

The metal body of the carriage and horses smashed into the onrushing cavalry, none of whom had been able to maneuver to avoid it. The sound of splintering bone was deafening as the chariot scythed the horseman down like new mown hay before a scythe blade. Pieces of ossuary rained down into the oasis with a pattering splash before, with a final violent convulsions, the chariot itself seemed to pitch into the center of the pool raising a vast geyser as the chariot, its horses shattered and gone but its rider still pinned in the mangled metal framework plunged beneath the water. The was silence broken only by the ripples washing ashore like waves. Behind him Amal could see a ruin of shattered jagged bone. Here and there a skeleton was trying to drag itself forward but for the most part the ruin was too complete to be believed.

Emmaline stood up from behind the dyke where she had been concealed, her hands muddy and with blood running from her right nostril. She leaned heavily on her staff, her golden eyes clearing to their usual blue.

“Tada…” she breathed and then her knees buckled and she sank to the ground.

Amal nearly fell over himself. He was as tired as he could be, his heart still racing. But he felt like keeling over with surprise more than his fading fatigue. The Arabyan man couldn't understand how she had done it, but the guardians were no more, save for a few crawling, disembodied arms. He recalled the times in his life when he had gotten out of the most insane situations. On when he had caused the most trouble. This woman had surpassed him in those endeavors in the matter of barely two weeks.

"This is the woman I will marry," He realized, whispering to himself.

Reality came rushing back when he saw her collapse, and he moved quickly, leaping and sliding across the grass to catch her before she planted face first into the ground. The Cobra Staff clanged hollow against the dirt next to them, and to his relief it did not transform into the serpent. Gently, he pulled her back up and set the back of her head to rest on his lap, ripping off a bit of his vest and wiping the blood from her nose.

"Now, I've saved your life..." He looked up at the sky as he began to calculate. He remembered their meeting, the slavers, and a few other instances. He smiled and looked back down at her. "Let us say five times. You are catching up though. Not one to be outdone, yes?" There was a 'pop' as he opened his water jug, and she looked conscious enough to drink. He pressed it to her lips and she sipped gingerly, taking it away after a few moment. "At this rate I'm going to start owing you, and you don't look like one who I'd be comfortable with being in debt to."

He saw her stirring, and he finally decided to see if her head had stopped spinning. "Come on." He breathed, helping her sit up, albeit very slowly. "We cannot-"

His words died in his throat when he looked around and realized they were no longer in an oasis. He felt the weight of his rump and feet slowly sinking into sand that was one fertile ground, and even the buildings and guardians had fled. All save the skull of the Patriarch that had chased them. It sat not two meters away, gazing at them with blue witchlight eyes, it's elaborate headdress still atop the skull.

Amal gazed at the skull, raising an eyebrow, annoyed at the turn of events and scenery. Even with him being glad he saw the Carpet sway into view as it lazily flew over from a far sand dune, Amal still didn't feel comfortable finding himself in the middle of nowhere again. As their gazes met, and Amal could tell there was the same intelligence there as earlier, the thief finally spoke up, raising a fist threateningly.

"If you do not tell me what it is you want, I will dig until my fingers are but bone and bury you in the sand to be lost to time, you worthless skull." He warned.

HEED MY WORDS. The skull said, his voice echoing in both of their minds. The Skull's mouth opened as it mentally spoke. FIVE THOUSAND YEARS HAVE PASSED SINCE SETTRA THE IMPERISHABLE HAS PLACED ME HERE TO GUARD THE ENTRANCE TO BEL-ALIAD. MY TIME IS DONE, AS IT WAS FORETOLD BY ASAPH HERSELF. YOU MAY ENTER, BUT WARE THE DANGERS WITHIN. THE MAGICS BOTH WONDERFUL AND TERRIBLE WILL BE GUARDED BY MORE TERRIBLE FOES THAN I.

As the thing spoke, Amal noticed something. He shifted his vision, looking past the skull to what he had first believed were distant dunes and mountain peaks. Swiftly, he began to understand that over the next dune, what lay before them were the ruins of a city more huge and terrible than any he had ever delved into before.
@Penny

Emmaline sat up, her head buzzing. Tiny flecks of gold drifted across her eyes for a moment as the disembodied voice of the skull echoed in her head. The spell she had just performed had taken nearly everything out of her, it had only been possible at all because she found the small bronze pin which had once been a part of the skeletal leaders chariot and thus provided her with a link to him.

The skull finished its oration and then seemed to waver for a moment before vanishing. The chill night wind blew for a moment as Emmaline beheld the ancient city beyond, perplexed by the powerful enchantments that had hidden the city for thousands of year. Even as she watched the eastern sky began to grow lighter, heralding that dawn was not far off. Sluggishly Emmaline pulled herself to her feet, leaning against Amal as they half hobbled, half walked up over the dune.

By the time the receached the crest of the dune the sun had broken the horizon and they had to squint to see the city beyond. It was vast and spawling with dozens of large buildings which might have been palaces or temples. At the center stood massive pyramid of white stone, taller even than the colleges of magic in Altdorf. The morning sun blazed around it like a halo as they staggered down the far side of th dune and onto the ancient and dust choked streets. By mutual agreement they staggered into the nearest building, finding relief from the already sweltering sun in the white washed stone edifice.

Already, the sun's rays pushed onto Amal's skin with a tingle of fire as he half hobbled/half carried Emmaline into the first building. It was a tall structure that looked like a foreground outpost to overlook both the city and the surrounding area in ages long past. He wasn't certain what to expect when they entered, but the shadows and the air that would remain cool were welcome to his senses. He might not fret from Arabian heat, but it wasn't good to begin a journey in, let's say.

Inside, the sand piled high along the walls like crashing waves, as if the very grains themselves wished to snake higher along the stonework. A simple skull of stone and brass allayed itself along the right wall, while the left wall held aloft a well formed staircase that spiraled upwards, hugging every wall as it climbed into the shadows above. Skeletons lay on the ground, some broken as if by massive blunt trauma and others simply collapsed, holding their ancient weapons in death.

"Well, we're in a tight spot, but we are in a very fortunate place, my friend." Amal told her as they stepped carefully over the bones and small bits of broken masonry. Carefully, he let her down onto the large stairs of the stairway, and then plopped down beside her heavily. "Have you ever heard of Bel-Aliad?" He asked her, producing an apple for her to eat. He slid it down his arm and caught it, before handing it to her waiting hands. She shook her head, happily (as could be) biting onto the fruit.

Amal leaned back on the upper stair behind him with both elbows, looking across the room. The place, no the city had an aura of dread, but he seemed in his element. It was that suicidal wanderlust and restlessness that she had come to learn about Amal. He spoke as if he was looking into a mirror of scrying. "Long ago, it was a city of ancient Nehekhara, said to house the most illustrious and amazing treasure in the southlands, if not the world. Of course...any who come here perish but-"

He gave her a wink. "That's what they say about every accursed, ancient city." He remarked, clearly having robbed such ruins as this before, on a smaller scale. "After we rest here, what do you say to a little plunder? Perhaps then our friend here is well rested." The carpet's brushy hand peeked out from under its rolled form. "And we may travel to wherever we wish." He did want to add, however. "There are likely dangers here. Talking skulls do not often lie, and he did mention that part..."
@Penny

Emmaline pushed herself up against one of the cool adobe walls, blowing a lock of blond hair out of her face as she did so. She couldn't have imagined that she would ever find herself in an ancient Nehekaran city, a year ago she would have considered an exciting night escaping from a card game gone wrong.

"Talking skulls do have an excellent reputation," she agreed before closing her eyes and promptly falling asleep.

The cool touch of night air awakened her and she opened her eyes to find that the scene hadn't changed much during the hours she had slept. The blazing heat of the day had passed and the cool of night was stealing over the land. Carefully she stood up and stretched her aching muscles. A small pile of items lay on the earthen floor, evidently household nicknacks Amal had been able to find while she slept though there was nothing very remarkable about them. An ancient knife, a small figurine that might have belonged to a child and a few fragments of pottery.

"Sleep well," Amal asked appearing as if from nowhere out of the shadows. She shook her head ruefully feeling embarassed.

"You should have woken me so I could watch while you got some sleep," she half scolded him. Amal shrugged as though this was of little import.

"You obviously needed it," he replied simply. Ever fibre of his being seemed to convey an eagerness to be off and exploring the greater mysteries of the city and so Emmaline pulled herself to her feet, taking a couple of dates from the back and popping them in her mouth as she did so. She retrieved her staff and looked out over the city. In the distance was the ruin of a pyramid, stark and white against the moon.

"Well," she said simply, "one guess which direction we should go."

The two ate a light breakfast, as the sun was set to rise soon. After some arguing, Amal did take that short rest Emmaline insisted on, though he barely grabbed any sleep before his athletic body was thrumming with the energy to nab whatever treasures they could find.

"Come come, I've only looked so far," He told her, ready to explore in earnest. Truth be told, he had only delved into the initial ruins around the tower they were using for shelter. Emmaline had placed small, honestly pretty mundane wards around the place in case they came back to rest. But there was little doubt that their only goal was to move forward. Stepping out into the street, the moon was still bright, but close to the horizon.

They walked among the streets, doing their best not to drag their feet to cause as little noise as possible. After a few minutes, the city's street began to rise as if going up hill, due to an enormous pile of sand that looked to have created a natural hill in the cityscape. The buildings looked to have been built with the sand in mind and they were purposefully staggered, as every consecutive building of a floor because the next "first" floor, but after short walk they reached a level ground as the city continued, though it's buildings were more packed than ever.

The sun had begun to rise, and even after a mere half hour, the sun gleamed, sweltering and almost red in the sky. The buildings around them were made of a mixture of mudbrick and stone, sturdy even after millennia of misuse and lack of maintenance. They were incised and flatly modeled, yet there was a granduere in even the simplest of structures that spoke of wonders long since dead. Packed so tightly, the streets were still roomy enough to walk comfortable six abreast, and the catacomb-like windows left so many shadows from the rising sun across the street that Amal would not be able to tell from where they were coming from. More than once, he thought he saw a silhouette, one the shape of a man with the head of a Jackal. But whenever he looked, they were alone.

Emmaline looked at the pyramid on the horizon as they walked, and then glanced at Amal. He figured she was curious on if he knew anything about it, so he spoke. "Temples are the homes of the Tomb Kings," He said with a near cavalier attitude, though she could hear a modicrum of respect and even wariness in his voice. Perhaps he was simply trying to impress her. He suddenly stopped and spun, his face a mere inch from hers. "They are not something to take lightly!" He whispered dramatically, almost amused at her jumping. He didn't do it to be a complete ass, though. If she didn't keep that in mind, she could end up dead, or worse. Far worse.

He took a step back, his eyes holding hers for a moment, before breaking contact as he continued forward. "Just be glad the pyramid is not black." He said simply. "Not for all of the gold in the world would I enter the Black Temple of Nagash."

Before she could ask further, they turned the corner of the street they had found themselves in so suddenly be met with a sight too fantastic to behold without warning. If there was a musical score, now would be the crescendo! Even Amal gasped, as the two found themselves in a plaza of stone pillars that seemed to have been built with a roof in mind, and yet there was nothing but open sky. Filling their vision however, was standing at the end of the plaza. Massive stone statues of long dead Kings, standing what must have been two hundred meters tall, carved with such meticulous detail that he believed for a moment that the craftsmen themselves were of comparable size. Even their stone eyes bade Amal and Emmaline to grovel, and it took Amal reminding himself they were nothing but statues to keep that instinct at bay.

Swiftly, as they both felt very vulnerable undernearth the roofless plaza, they entered a Temple on the northern side as they continued on their path to the Pyramid. The Temple itself was a smaller pyramid, only the stone was far smoother than the other buildings, the structure flanked and framed by obelisks. Within, the air was far cooler. Two more obelisks, larger than the ones outside stood beside twin fountains of clear, cascading water. However, the remarkable aspects of the temple were two contrasting objects.

A great statue of a panther crouched, not nearly as large as the monuments outside, and yet still five times taller than a man even in it's lowered position. Its ears were flat and its visage menacing, with claws carved so sharp even the stone looked as if it could cut steel. Below it's fanged maw was a small dias, where a magnificent Opal was clutched by scarab claws at the head of a small pole, just tall enough to be eye level to a normal man. Amal was no magician, but Emmaline would be able to sense that the Opal held a magical, shimmering quality to it. It bespoke of being able to help further one's magical aptitudes, and as it beckoned them closer, they found they had stepped too far.

At a moment's notice, the fountains ceased flowing with water. The ground began to shake, and stone cracked and flecked onto the stone floor as the blackrock panther began to come to move! Amal caught Emmaline as she fell back in fright, for they looked into the eyes of the stone guardian of the Forbidden Temple. Amal stepped between Emmaline and the ferocious guardian, and that surprised him. He had protected Emmaline before, but never against something so dauntless. An impossibly deep voice emanated from the Panther as it lowered its head, following a growl exhumed by power.

"To seek the Opal of Amanrah is to court your very soul, Thief and Daughter of Asaph..." It said. Its eyes found Amal. "You do not bear the mark of Gods. Move aside, Thief." Amal didn't know if he should move, but slowly Emmaline poked her head out from under his arm, and then wiggled to the front. The thing opened its mouth, letting out a hiss that penetrated the very mind. "Daughter of Asaph, do you seek the Opal?"

Emmaline swallowed, clutching her staff. "Yes."

"If you desire its power, then speak the truth." It intoned, and raised itself great head up as if opening a portcullis to grab the treasure. "You desire the Opal, but that is not all...What three things do you desire most, before you entered this temple? Answer truthfully, and you may have your prize. Answer with a lie, and I will devour you."
@Penny

Emmaline tried to control her terror as she stepped forward to confront the strange animate statue. There were magics swirling around it that were far greater than any she could begin to comprehend. Her eyes darted between the creature and the opal alternately terrified and fascinated. Panic began to well up inside of her as she tried to come up with some sort of answer to the things questions. Over the years she had become so accustomed to lies and deceptions that she wasn't even sure she had the truth within her. There was no indication that the golem thing would accept her not answering though so she dredged through her soul to try to come up with an answer. Part of her wanted to say she desired gold, but some part of her warned her not to. Gold was a fine thing, but in and of itself it was a means to an end.

"I want to be safe, I want to be free and..." she stammered over the last thing reluctant to bring it up infront of Amal but she was commited now so she forced herself to speak.

"And I wish the Emir were alive so I could kill him again," she hissed savagely. The creature seemed to rear back and she closed her eyes preparing for it to strike, but instead it issued forth a low rocky chuckle that seemed to reverberate through Emmaline's spine.

"Simple wishes Daughter of Asaph," the creature growled.

"But honest ones," it concluded. There was a great billowing wind that whipped up blowing sandy grit in a veil across their eyes and then, as suddenly as it rose up, the wind died away and the statue was once again inanimate, its cat like grin just an artists rendition in stone. Emmaline blinked and then the opal rolled across the stones to rest at her feet. Somewhat reverently she reached down to touch it and rainbow light poured from it in a torrent running up her arm and into her open mouth like a faikr inhaling his vapors. She stood transfixed for a moment until the opal had sublimed away to nothing and then gasped. Half of the tattoed map on her arm was gone, clearing away the steps they had so far taken towards their goal.

To say Amal wasn't raised with understanding parents...or parents in general was an understatement. He was not good with dealing with his own inner problems, or perhaps he was too good. He'd turned all of his anger and abandonment issues toward greed, lust, and a thirst for danger. That might not be the healthiest way to go about it, but it had served him well.

Emmaline, on the other hand, hadn't quite gotten used to such a life. Yet she was likely more of a liar than even he. He could tell it took a lot to tell the truth, even to a stone abomination. Gingerly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "You did well," He said in his accented Reikspiel.

Her fair skin seemed to glow for a brief moment, and there was a simmer to her eyes that could only be magically related. It faded quickly, and was nearly gone when she turned to him. Emmaline wouldn't feel as if there was any great change, but the winds of magic flowed slightly more robustly about her, as if the cup where she kept her magic was filling a hair faster than usual.

Amal, ignorant to the change, smiled. "You know, if we did not have other things to attend to first, I would kiss you. Let us save that for the end, eh?" He bumped her hip with his own playfully. It was a moment later that he noticed the fountains were now flowing once more, and he laughed triumphantly, heading toward the flowing water and sticking his head within, supping great gulps.

His head whipped out after he had his fill, thick waves of hair now matted. "Emmaline, come here and drink. I know how much you northerners are not used to lacking water for any length of time."

Once the two had refilled their stomachs and waterskins, Amal and likely his lady companion now felt like doing nothing but sitting for a few minutes. Luckily, Amal was pleasantly surprised when the carpet flowed into the temple and twirled around them with joy."

"Oh now he wants to fly," Emmaline smirked, squeezing the water out of her hair.

"I say it is good timing." Amal replied, crouching and clapping for the fabric to approach like it was a stray dog. It didn't need to be told twice and flew over to him like lightning, twirling about until the thief caught it in a hug. "Ah, my friend it is good to see you. Can you take us to the temple at the far end of the city?"
@Penny

---

5 days later...

Amal awoke with a start, the words of the Tomb King echoing in his mind before they faded into nothingness. When he realized he wasn't face to face with the mighty king of old, he relaxed. It wouldn't be the first time he had been cursed by a dead man, though admittedly it was the most powerful deadman who had cursed him up to this point. So far the only real problem was the dreams, but with five rubies the size of his fist? It was worth it in his humble opinion, and he reached behind his pillow to pull one out, marveling at it once again.

He sat up now, sweat glistening off of his bare chest. The thief turned to gaze about the small cabin they had procured for themselves, finding Emmaline still asleep on her small cot, the day out of the window grey and lifeless. It was times like this he missed the unrelenting sun of Araby, but they had both agreed that angering the Tomb King was a sign they should leave the country for a small while. What with the Emirs and likely the Sultans after them as well, and with a hefty prize of priceless rubies they could sell on foreign markets...

The handsome Arabyan slid out of bed, moving as quietly as if he had intention of stealing something. He gazed out the window and drank in the sight of the vast ocean before him, the waves weaving about, up and down in strange patterns so much like the dunes of sand he had grown up in. Amal had been at sea before, but never to another land! Short trips on bare Arabyan boats were a farcry from this large, wooden and iron ship they found themselves in.

El Cargador was it's name, a large Estalian Frigate that made its business transporting goods and manpower to and from its homeland to varying nations. It was by pure luck Emmaline and Amal had found the ship just last night, having stumbled out of the desert half starved and covered in sand. It had been grounded on the barren coastline for repairs, and nearly shooed or shot Amal and Emmaline before Amal gave the captain one of the five rubies, and their hostility quickly changed to steadfast friendship. The two had been given baths in the Captain's quarters and feasted with the crew and a few other rich travelers, having been given this small, out of the way cabin to use during their trip up north. Marienburg was the next destination. Amal had no idea what to think, but Emmaline promised they'd find good prospects there.

Pushing away from the window, Amal treaded back to his cot to check his things only to pass by the room's mirror and realize he was stark naked. He almost laughed, imagining what Emmaline would think if she awoke when he was simply strutting about. He slid on his newly cleaned, still somewhat finely made clothes he had gotten back in the markets. He heard her stirring lightly as he wove his sash belt around his waist, still yet to put on his vest and light jacket. His muscled back was turned to her if she looked, and he spoke as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

"I hope your dreams were less trouble than mine, princess." He remarked, adding the last name playfully since that was her disguise. A lost princess of the Border Princes, and her Satrap companion who had been forsaken in the wastes after a vicious attack on their caravan by a djinn. The vest and jacket befitting a highclass Arabyan were on in a matter of seconds, and he ran his hands through his incredibly thick head of dark hair. Checking his belt to make sure his dagger was on hand, and the magic ring still on his finger, he glanced her way.

"I'll check on how long we're to remain cooped up in here." He said. "Maybe if I am lucky, I'll find something good to drink or smoke. Perhaps see a mermaid or two, eh?" The young thief gave a wink and stepped out into the hall, the boat shifting beneath his nimble feet. He hoped he was getting used to the constant movement. So far, so good. The hall was spartan and bland, as they were located on the lower decks of the ship. The further up one went, the more the halls had horses carved upon door frames and bronze tapestries and paintings of various city states array to marvel at.

Amal leaped up the stairs four steps at a time out of habit, having had to do so on many chases through the city. Two levels up he nearly bowled over one of the other guests, sir Brenly of the Empire. A portly man almost never without his comfortable robes and monocle. He had strong hands and had likely once been a great warrior before old age grey his mustache and ached his bones. Once Amal was face to face with him, he guffawed heartily.

"Ah, Satrap Ahar! Fine morning to see you." He said, seeming an earnest man. He wouldn't survive three hours in Al-Haikk, but in some way he respected the man's forthright manner. "I was just seeing if these Estalians had any of that strange brew they call coffee. Are you going to the mess hall?"

"Simply to find the Captain," Amal replied in Reikspeil, smiling. "Have you seen him?"

"Yes, yes, Captain Deigo is topside getting the men spurred into action. Apparently it will storm the next few days. Dreadful if you ask me. But what's life without a little excitement?"

Amal could not agree more.
@POOHEAD189

Emmaline awake languorously, still unable to quite credit all that had happened in the city of the dead. That Amal had managed to cheat a long dead king of of the jewels of his crown seemed to fantastic to credit but the fact that they still lived and that four of the large stones lay tucked away in the thief's pouch were more than proof enough. She paused for a moment and stretched, arching her back and thrusting her breasts upwards with a sigh of pleasure. For her own part she felt tired but exhilarated the brief glimpse she had seen of Apsath still lingered in the back of her mind, and the mark of the Goddess remained tatooed between her breasts, the only part of the mystical tatoo that hadn't vanished as they walked the path that had been planned for them by whatever arcane forces had guided their footsteps. Emmaline wondered if that made her a priestess of Apsath now. She belched in a rather unpriestess like fashion and sat up. Well if Apsath wanted her to be a priest then the Goddess was going to need to provide some instruction material at some point.

Amal had already left the cabin the shared. She have been secretly sneaking peaks at him while he was naked and rather an impressive sight he was. She pondered that as she pulled on her clothing over her silken shift. The ensemble, the best available for a 'princess' was a dress of finely milled linen, a skirt of finely milled linen in dark red with a dark gray leather corset over a white shirt with elbow length sleeves. The Captain had been rather evasive about where he had come by the garments and why he had them in his sea chest and after a few questions Emmaline had felt everyone would probably be more comfortable if she let the matter drop. Properly dressed she risked briefly opening her magical senses. That had been a change she had noticed almost immediately. Where once everything would have been bathed with the glowing ambiance now her vision was tainted with flickers of other colors, a soft white, a lambent green, a deep purple, a powerful blue, and even a flicker of purple. It was obvious that she was perceiving the other winds of magic, but she shouldn't be able to do that. Though she was powerfully tempted to see if she could twist the little vespers of magic into a spell she was worried that such a thing might be corrupting, the way Dark Magic was and, more pragmatically, she didn't know any spells that used the other winds. Hopefully when she reached Marienburg she could invest in a few books.

Fully dressed Emmaline headed out onto the deck. El Cargador was a fine ship, long and lean though broader of beam than a true warship, she was three masted and drove through the water like a charging horse. When they had first come aboard the captain had proudly showed off the twelve small cannon, six on each side, which he claimed were more than enough to see off the pirates that infested these waters. Emmaline who had grown up around cannon in Altdorf and Nuln, did not think they looked very impressive, but had to conceded that they were far more than all but the largest pirates would dare. The snap of canvas aloft was all but deafening and she immediately sensed they were no longer heading northwest to clear Brettonia. Glancing up she saw a dozen men aloft, sheeting home more canvas and unfurling sails on the tall yard arms. She had a momentary fear that a pirate was indeed chasing them, but dismissed it almost as quickly, though the men seemed tense they didn't seem afraid.

"What is going on?" she demanded of the first mate, a greasy looking Tilean named Garza with a receding hairline and a tar stained shirt. The man goggled at her, eyes fixed firmly on the bosom of her dress as though mesmerized, his pudgy face slowly transforming to a leer. Emmaline reached out and took his chin between her fingers and raised his eyes to meet hers.

"What. Is. Going. On?" she repeated, slowly as though to a very simple child. Garza seemed to shake himself then scowl at her.

"We are cracking on sail," Garza told her, glowering now his initial embarrassment had passed. Emmaline though he might have been a handsome man in his youth, but years of excess and bad diet had robbed him of any charm she could detect.

"I see," she said reasonably, "and why is that." Garza shook his head in amazement that anyone would need to ask such a question. It seemed to make him fell superior enough to mellow his irritation however.

"There is a storm comming, Captain can feel the damp he can and he is never wrong, not in ten years of sailing with him... why I remember this time..."

Emmaline resisted the urge to slap the man with a considerable effort of will. Garza seemed to notice this and returned to the point with another bristly scowl.

We want to get west of Cape Breton before it catches us see, the sea here is full of shoals and reefs and the wind might drive us onto the rocks. We are running for open sea so we can ride it out without worrying about that don't ya see?" Garza asked smuggly. Emmaline frankly didn't see, but neither did she think she could stand another moment of the first mates company or his onion reeking breath.

"I see," she lied.

"Well I am glad we are in good hands," which, she rather hoped, was less of a lie.

The ship catered to the left somewhat dangerously, which thoroughly messed up the crew member's game of knucklebones. The bearded Arabyan fellow had been winning thanks to Amal's whispered advice to him, but the dice had tumbled under the center table. As the men crawled to grab it, Amal felt he'd tarried long enough and gave an Arabyan handshake with his countryman, who held his hand in both of his and patted him. It was odd; back in Al-Hiekk he would never greet or say farewell to someone so politely, save for a priest or someone who got him off the hook from the chopping block. But here it was not only the part he played, but he found it easier to do with a kinsman among foreigners.

Passing through the dining hall, he turned left down the corridor to the very end where Captain Diego resided. Amal had already checked above a few minutes ago, else he would have run into Emmaline. He straightened his jacket and knocked on the oak doors three times.

"Dios mio, What is it?" a voice called, which Alim took as an invitation and opened the door. Captain Diego lifted his head from the map he had been viewing, annoyance turning to mirth. "Oh, lord Ahar! Forgive my manners, come in. Yes, what can I do for someone so rich and esteemed?"

The Captain wasn't necessarily a handsome man, but he had a magnetism about him. With long, greasy brown hair and a whisp of a goatee upon his face, he had the look of one that was both unscrupulous yet with the air of a fine leader. Amal had to keep his hands steady when he walked in, for there were items from across the Old World staged on the wall and leaning upon the cupboards. A sword of elvish design hung upon the wall above the skull of a beastman, which was set next to the ivory tusk of a bull elephant.

"I was wishing to know how long our trip will take, Captain." Amal said, trying to sound effete while having to simultaneously deal with his less than scholarly knowledge of Riekspiel. At least it was a handicap he and the Captain shared. "With the storms and all, I just wish to know." Diego rubbed the whisps of hair on his chin as he thought for a quick moment.

"Hard to say, hard to say... usually it would be less than two weeks. But since we have changed course, it could take up to three. That depends on the wind and rain." The Estalian replied. There was sudden thunder in the distance, and somehow it felt as if it shook the very face of the sea. Amal was foolhardy to a fault, but even he perked up in surprise and trepidation at the sound. Diego simply laughed. "Worry not, good Satrap. I have sailed through storms before. You look as if the ship has been cursed or something."

That gave Amal pause, and so as not to betray anything else he took his leave almost immediately, giving off some faint goodbye before shutting the door. Amal thought for a moment, and the implications of his dream seemed likely. "Damn," He whispered to himself. The thief calmed himself after a brief moment of panic, remembering the tales he had heard as a child. Settra was powerful, but he was no God, try as he might in the legends. If they sailed far enough away from the Land of the Dead, then they will go beyond his power.

The thief started back towards the dining hall, passing a new game of knucklebones to enter the hall. Stepping out, he felt a force shoving him into the wall, and it took a second for him to realize it was a large, barrel-chested crew member carrying a huge cask. Amal wasn't a small man, and he was lithe and powerfully built from having to climb and hold his body weight for most of his life. He knew he could kill the man in a mere heartbeat, and likely beat him in a brawl too. But as a decadent Satrap?

"Out of my way!" The Imperial crewmember growled, shifting his hands to get a better grip on the cask. "You might be able to buy your way onto the ship, but keep your bleedin' distance.

He needed to sound haughty and smart in his speech, but dammit he had not learned Reikspiel from any teacher. Hmmm, think of words Emmaline has used when she was lying he advised himself. What would a Satrap threaten a foreigner with? He straightened and said. "You cannot speak to me like that, pale skin! Lest I fine you for a...tremendously judicious amount! Inexplicably!"

He crossed his strong arms, eyeing the man who looked just as confused as Amal felt.

"Did you just insult me?" He grunted, anger and confusion on his stupid face.

"I... think I threatened you." Amal muttered.

The crewman's slow mind began to crank, but clearly it wasn't working fast enough. He decided to scoff and shrug his shoulders, walking away and muttering what Amal was certain were racial slurs. He didn't really mind himself, as he was too busy examining the new flintlock pistol he had taken off the fellow's belt. Maybe Emmaline knew how to operate it? "You know, I've always wanted to use one of these." He breathed.

He hid the weapon beneath the folds of his belt and went to find her.
@Penny