To Calliope’s ancient eyes Ubtar was a strange sight. It lacked the gold and lapis domed temples and fluted obelisks which marked a major city to her mind. Though several rather gaudy palaces were in view, there was no central sacred district around which the life of the city should revolve. Why did the city even exist if not for the worship and placation of the Gods? The center of Ubtar was, without a doubt, the port. It was sited on a natural bay from the shoulders of which two great break waters had been constructed from piled stone. The two arms partially overlapped to create a narrow channel for ships to pass. The arms were partially sheathed in cut limestone but the work had not yet been completed, giving them the appearance of partially peeled bananas or claws extended from their sheaths. A great copper cauldron stood at the point the two breakwaters crossed, a beacon to ships. And such ships! The harbor and its approaches were choked with them, larger and longer than those Calliope had seen in her own time. They had great triangular sails and banks of oars which propelled them through the water like skittering insects. The flocked to piers which jutted out from the shore like the fine hairs of a stinging lily. Teams of men were visible moving boxes of cargo or great amphorae two and from the ships.

 

The city lacked the grandeur of Direasaphon or Silvershod Tarais but it was big, especially if it was, as Beren implied, a regional center rather than a true metropolis. The smells were the same though, fish, and people, and the omnipresent smoke of cook fires. So many people gathered in one place. Given a large percentage of humanity had been annihilated on the Plain of the Black Ziggurat, the centuries since must have been prosperous indeed. That vaguely offended Calliope for some reason, how dare these cattle prosper while she was entombed in stone.

“Uhhh… Calliope…” Beren began, using her name with obvious trepidation. She whirled on him, eyes blazing and he stepped back holding his hands up in warding gesture which wouldn’t have saved him if he didn’t have a mystical bond with her that prevented her from boiling his blood where he stood.

 

“Maybe a little less of… whatever that is?” he suggested, pointing at her. She looked down to find herself covered in a coat of black dragon scale, great black wings sprouted from her shoulders and a wyrm-wrought war helm covered her head. She tossed her head and her clothing melted back into flowing robes of midnight blue, cinched at the waist with a silver chain.

 

“Fine,” she replied, her anger fading. If men had prospered, that simply meant more subjects to toil beneath her!