The Lion's Den

My eyes rapidly adjusted to the candlelight inside the windowless room. There were three men present around a round table stacked with drained bottles of wine. Two of the men were not wholly unfamiliar to me, though I had not yet met them in person. The remaining individual I knew quite well, and had once trusted like a brother. I wish I could say he thought likewise, for his recent actions had revealed quite a different outlook

"Aziz. You're looking well", I stated simply. As always, my presence had a rather sobering effect on the occupants of this room. Bottles and earthenware mugs clattered as the men jerked to their feet, like marionettes held by a palsied hand.

"Sir? I wasn't expecting you back so soon," he stammered, his way of apologizing. I waved him off, forgiving him his indiscretions, as I often had before. I had other, much more important things on my mind, than to be distracted.

"No matter," I said, meeting his gaze. "We have much work to do."

Lions of the Desert

As I walked away from Mundhir's shop, I had another destination in mind while I waited for nightfall. I strolled through the Market breathing in the heady scents of jasmine and saffron. Even through the shade of the dusty overhead canopies, my body drank in the heat of my homeland.

Past stalls of trinkets and spices and other supposed wonders, I stepped into an absolutely nondescript dead-end alley off the main thoroughfare. A dirty beggar was passed out in the corner, lying in a puddle of urine. There was a stout wooden door across from him.

As I walked towards the door, I hummed a short tune and spoke a few lines from a poem, "Lost are the lions of the desert, forever shall they wander."

The beggar opened his eyes, and lifted a long walking stick. He staggered to the door and tapped an intricate pattern in a specific rhythm. The door opened, and I stepped inside.

"Greetings, brothers. I am home."

Meeting Mundhir

Mundhir was with a customer when I arrived, so I began to browse his wares. Nothing particularly appealing was evident; although, there were some artifacts that, in an ealier time, might have interested me. Today, I had eyes only for my goal.

After the customer left, I turned on Mundhir. The blood drained rather quickly from his face upon seeing me. I took that as a good sign.

"Greetings, Mundhir. You're looking well"

"What do you want?", he replied.

"Now, now, where are your manners? Perhaps I'll stay here a while and teach you a bit of patience."

"No, no, I didn't mean that. I, uh, just meant to help you as soon as I could. To, uh, save you some of your valuable time."

"I'm sure you do. I require some information. You will provide it to me, and if you do not have it, you will find it before sundown."

Mundhir swallowed convulsively, "I'll do what I can."

"Good. I need the location of Ghazi Al-Tufayl."

Mundhir swallowed again. I could see him wringing his hands in my mind's eye, as I turned and left the cramped shop.

Connections

I have reached my first destination, the Market of Wonders. I have returned to find a merchant named Mundhir. Last season, I dealt with this unfortunate fellow, and warned him that I would extract a price from his flesh if he crossed me again. Unsurprisingly, he has been most helpful in providing me with additional information about events in the Market since that time.

To add to my good fortune, it would seem that Mundhir is fairly well-connected -- he simply knows who knows. I don't doubt that I should be able to obtain the information I desire in a very short time. After all, I did bring along one of my pets to ensure... cooperation.

Sands of Change

I thought I had lost it. It had been swallowed up in the sand clouds, hidden from sight; but there it is, down below. The cloud -- the storm -- is finally clearing.

The shimmer and glare from the coppery-gold towers are nearly blinding. I angle towards the ground and make my descent, weaving my way between the spires and collonades to light upon the polished marble streets. The bustle and noise of the City is unrelenting. Merchants and tradesmen clamor for my attention, trying to shout above the din. I ignore it all, as I roll up my carpet and strap it onto my back.

I reach into my pocket and withdraw a handful of sand, gathered from the storm. I toss it onto the ground, where it forms a roughly triangular shape pointing off to the east. I begin walking in that direction, even as the wind wipes away my guide.

Once again, I have returned to the City of Brass. And once again, I search for that which has been taken from me.