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Message: <blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 5325991" data-attributes="member: 61094">Humbler-Than-ThouON THE FAR side of Tziwan, the two objects of Archmaster Kesh’ao’s hunt clamber out of the rubble-strewn alley where they encountered <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4853163-post111.html" target="_blank">Tchuchek the Ear</a>.   The tidal cliffs in this qohei  are lined with derelict houses; Atrix and Darren limp past roofless beggars’ nests, dense clusters of rhododendron, and garbage mounds picked over by feral pigs and chickens.  Hearing murmured voices from a nearby street, they quickly scramble into a vine-tangled ruin where they hope they won’t be seen.    “Where now?” Darren asks, his voice fraying with exhaustion but still determined.  “I doubt this place will stay empty for long, even in the middle of the day.”  And we can’t lose a minute if we’re going to <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4798550-post94.html" target="_blank">save Kay</a>.    Nose wrinkled, Atrix assesses how much of his skin has been effectively hidden by blood and sewage.  “If we’re lucky, we’ve got one friend in this city who’s not a slave.  We just need to find him.”    The two friends tie rags around as much of their bodies as possible.  With a few minutes’ work, their faces are almost entirely obscured, and they think they could plausibly pass as beggars suffering from a wasting disease.  They keep the thieves’ daggers concealed at their sides and waists.  Pushing back the fear of discovery, they emerge into the din of Tziwan’s back streets: a labyrinth of interlinked courtyards and alleys housing people from every nation in the Empire.  The soaring, dilapidated houses in this sector of the city are punctuated frequently with brothels, gambling dens, and shacks wafting intoxicating smokes.  Most of the passersby are intent on their sordid pursuits and don’t spare two battered vagabonds more than a passing glance.    Darren practices a crucial Xaimani phrase under his breath to get the accent right, and finally dares to try it on a bored-looking Chramic sailor.  “Honorable Master: we seek the <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4785492-post84.html" target="_blank">Sufza</a> qohei.”    The man glances at Darren, then quickly turns his face away and gives a disgusted wave northward.  “That way, go.  You’ll find the horse-takers where the Shanyang meets the sea.”    IT TAKES THEM the rest of the day to traverse eastern Tziwan.  Atrix and Darren try to keep the coast always in view, but stick to back alleys and shadows as much as possible.  By sunset, they finally reach the sheer headland that looks north over the River Shanyang.  Despite his fatigue, Darren is excited to see hundreds of tiny sails: intrepid fishermen plying the tidal wedge where the vast river enters the sea.  The Sufza qohei, a ramshackle but cheery warren of stables and garrets centered on a dirty canal, is backed up against the sea-cliff.  The disguised Northerners move through the horse markets on the outskirts of the qohei and enter a street where they are the only non-Sufza.    Atrix approaches one of the lanky barbarians and speaks hoarsely.  “Forgive me.  We seek one of your kin who was recently traveling in Arawai.  He is our friend.  His name is Nurak, but he called himself Humblest of the Sufza.”    The dark-eyed man grins, unfazed by the Northerners’ ghastly smell and appearance.  “In this place, for that title, your comrade will find copious competition among his cousins.  Will you accept this one’s even-humbler hospitality while I hunt for him?”    Trying to ignore their anxiety and pain-wracked bodies, Atrix and Darren and sit on a bench and drink hungrily from a shared bowl of mare’s milk.  The daylight is nearly gone by the time their host returns – with a blessedly familiar figure loping alongside him.      “Nurak,” murmurs Atrix, too overcome with relief to say anything else.    Nurak seems about to burst with elation.  As soon as they get inside, he embraces the two runaways and laughs with unrestrained delight.  “Most daring of Darrens, most audacious of Atrices!  To find you here is the most unexpected good news.  Of all our friends, I had harbored the least hope of being able to devise your deliverance.  And then today your notorious and most intrepid departure from the Imperial Palace was the tidings on every tongue in Tziwan!”    “Well, actually, we only overheard it being discussed ninety-two times as we crossed the city today,” Atrix demurs.    “Thank Ii we found you, Nurak,” Darren says fervently, unwrapping his face and leaning against the wall.  “I don’t suppose you have any priests you trust among your cousins?  Not to detract from the heroic gossip, but we’re only barely able to stand up right now.”    Nurak looks rueful.  “None of the simple Sufza Singers in this place have comparable clerical capabilities to your Ain-Priests, who are all so effortlessly erasing injuries.  But we do possess some potions and herbs that may help heal your hurts and restore some part of your strength.”  He glances to his cousin, who nods and makes a move to the garret door.    “Wait,” Atrix rasps urgently.  “I’m sorry, but we need to ask you for more than just potions.  Nurak: in the morning, we have to go to the mines of Graiqal to save Kay.  She’s in greater danger than any of our other friends.  We’ll need a much better disguise than this one.  And I’ll need a sword.”    ATRIX AND DARREN drowse off almost as soon as Nurak’s cousin leaves the room, only half-waking for a much-needed meal.  When their Sufza host returns around midnight, he brings healing herbs and elixirs that restore them to some degree of health and consciousness.  He also brings a sword for Atrix, a steel-shod club for Darren, well-cut freemen’s clothes, and tabal, a spice which (when applied in sufficient quantity) dyes pale skin a long-lasting light brown.  “You can pass as cunning Chramics with this – or perhaps even as far western Szianars, where the Xaimani influence is less.  This is a reliable ruse well known in the North, but we can be sure that few folk here are familiar with ways to stain Northern skin.”    The two Northerners throw away their filthy rags, bathe, and begin rubbing the brown powder over their bodies.  Atrix winces as the tabal stings the still-fresh wounds across his body and cheek.  When he’s done, he looks at the <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4766587-post76.html" target="_blank">slave brand</a> on his shoulder.  “We really need to do something about that, too.  Can’t run the risk that it gets exposed at the wrong time.”    Darren nods bleakly.  “Without priests powerful enough for a major healing, there’s only one thing to do.”    With help from Nurak’s steady hand, they heat the blade of the sword and sear their shoulders, leaving a suspicious-looking but unrecognizable scar.  Both nearly pass out again from the pain, but as the initial nausea fades, both begin to feel a giddy euphoria.  The removal of the slave brand makes it all feel real – for the first time in a year, they are not marked as property.    At first light, Atrix, Darren, and Nurak ride out of Tziwan toward the Mines of Graiqal.</blockquote>

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