Kthaahthikha
One man, a word-processor, and too much free time.
28 June, 2005
Within the City Walls.
It was a single spark of light that announced that city, the destination which it had been three years' goal to reach. It hunched upon the shores of the Crimson Lake, red stones of kiln-crystal that shone like dry blood at noon. Broad, blocky buildings capped by polished domes, and long, winding streets that scribed the arabesque formulae of the sacred name of Ish. Around the gates a market seethed like ants upon a drop of honey, and through this mass of tents and huts and stalls I pushed my way to the gates, pausing only to purchase a flask of water and some greasey, ill-kept meat.
The creatures at the guardhouse accosted me. Feathered brutes, welding their heavy claws. I paid them a few of the coins which I had secreted before the assault, and was allowed ingress through the keep and into the heart of Khahir.
A dark, dense place. Everywhere the red hung above me as I walked through these strange canyons of sanguine stone. The people paid me little heed, outsiders being common from the west. I pushed through crowds of merchants and traversed desolate squares of academia, noting as I did the curious, twisting, winding nature of the streets. I was footsore, sought a hostel. The interpreter had been one of the first to die, shrapnel from a malfunctioning rifle shattering his skull. I made certain signs common to the Oceanic realms, and by them it came to be understood that I desired a bed.
I slept, I do not know how long I slept. I awoke refreshed but aching, my muscles taught like harp strings and my neck a tangled knot of sinew. Through the window came the cries of the souks, and the stutter and warble of fierkins as they spruked their eggs on the corners. My clothing had been laundered, and the bell-pull conjoured a young boy who provided me with fruit, cheese and an omelette. He offered me his services but I dismissed him, far to preoccupied with my various designs.
It had been three years ago that khahir had first been brought to my attention, a curious settlement raised out of the sands and bedrock of the sea bottom. Word coming from Baiyn and Coenos had spoken of some new caliphate, and in my role as chief advisor on matter of Science and Eldritch lore I had lost no time in absorbing all the information that I could. It soon became apparent that queer magics were astir, and rumours drifted from the plains of roadways that shifted like stirring serpents. I petitioned the Primate at once to be allowed an expedition, but relations were uncertain and my influence doubly-so. I convalesced three years in subterrean laboratories before word came that I might go. A pitiful knot of dishonored guardsmen and merchants formed my company, my designs buried amidst paltry but over-riding responsibilities to cement trade.
The cravan wound its way down from the mountains and shuddered into red upon the lip. I stood at the window watching the maketeers flow by.
In time my mission reasserted itself. I decided upon what to do. I took in hand my pitiful baggage and settled my accounts with the hotelier. From amongst the street urchins I aquired a twisted youth who possessed a smattering of Parvasi, in which I am conversent. We set away up the thoroughfare to the palace of the Caliph.
Tom Meade, 12:56 am
