Sarizaddi
04-13-2004, 01:38 PM
The ancient city Kazham, being a city on a far southern continent, was home to a race of cat-like tribal warriors surrounded by lush tropical jungles. The residents were a private and traditional people, and their hunting skills were exceptional. The monsters that inhabited the same continent were all untamable, most were territorial, and the rest hostile. There were, however, several resources and artifacts that could be found only in the Lands of Elshimo, so travelers frequently came with dreams of lost civilizations and great treasures. Traders also came, seeking to exchange cloth and practical goods for the exotic spices and mysterious relics to take back to their home cities. These traders and travelers also brought with them stories of their own homes and lands, and when they left occasionally had room for a stowaway.
Sailing from the ancient city of Kazham to the industrial port city of Bastok was a long voyage, taking many months and usually full of many dangers. The weather this particular voyage had been unseasonably rough, strife with storms and squalls, as well as littered with many sea aberrations that had attacked the ship in hopes of an easy meal. In addition, the ship itself had been a very old cargo vessel. It groaned with each dip into the water, and creaked with each wave that splashed against the hull. The sailors minding the vessel had to make constant repair to leaks in the hull from barrels of tar that had been brought for just that reason. The nauseating odors of tar as well as the musty smells of the sea kept most off kilter for the majority of the trip.
For Sarizaddi, the passing had been even harsher. With little money to prepare with provisions, and no skills on sailing vessels, she had gone quite hungry for a large portion of the trip. She had natural skills for liberating others of their possessions, and had had to exercise those skills quite regularly to survive these past three months. The only thankfulness she gave was that marauders had not accosted the ship, but even then a pirate vessel would have been more favorable than this ship had been. It struck her as likely, though, that perhaps even pirates had standards, and this vessel might well be the absolute scourge of the sailing route.
She had not so much been exiled from her home in Kazham as she had chosen to leave because she wasn't welcome, but her hopes for survival outside of the jungles had been growing dim. Her people, the native-born mithra of Kazham, were a proud feline hunter race. Their senses were acute, their reflexes were sharp, and their instincts were absolutely pure. The Mithra of Kazham had prided the best warriors and rangers, and those with the greatest skills with bows and knives and with the finest of honed instincts were well respected. Of these, Sarizaddi was clumsy, dull, and to this point in her life anything but pure, so had never even had a friend, much less a real home. Her aspirations were to be a great craftsman; and her skills lent more to slyness than to grace. These skills and ambitions were not at home to Kazham, and even as a child she was accused of being born away from where she was supposed to be. Not by her parents, as she never even known either of them, but by everyone else, her chieftaness especially.
As a child, she had heard many tales of the peoples from the far off nations, the Humes with their pride and their machines, the Galka with their strong backs and indomitable wills, the Tarutaru with small size but unbelievably strong magics, and had dreamed of seeing their cities. In one of their cities, Bastok, there was said to be brilliant machina, machines of industry and magic. They were said fill every home, litter every street, each going its on way and performing a new function. There were tales of great forges where the most skillful metal workers in the world toiled to make new devices of all functions. These stories had always struck a very magical chord with the young mithra. She dreamed repeatedly of making glistening and complicated devices to fulfill her every dream, and it made perfect sense to her that that was where she belonged. So at last, she had found a ship that was willing to offer passage to Bastok at little cost.
Sarizaddi detested seawater; even the smell of the sea mist disturbed her. But all of these months later, as the ship was pulling into the bay of the city of Bastok, she was grateful for her decision to leave Kazham. She could not help leaning over the edge of the ship, almost wishing she could leap off of the ship and run on the cresting waves to what would be her new home. She was absolutely full of excitement, and wanted to be the first to see the sandstone streets and steel machines. Her ears and tail twitched playfully, as though she could not stand being still, her long blonde hair danced in strands in the breeze from the land. From here, she could only see billowing pillars of smoke rising over the mountains surrounding Bastok, flowing up to the clearest of blue skies. If she were not familiar with the reputation of the forges, she might have been inclined to believe the city lie in ruin under the clouds. As the ship turned into an alcove, she began to see the faces of great white walls adorned with long blue banners. The sounds of thundering metal and stone and the low rumble of fire in the forges began to fill the air around her. Sarizaddi’s light blue eyes were seeing exactly was she had expected them to see, the city was exactly as she had envisioned from the stories, an industrious dream come true.
From one of the port towers, a canon sounded, perhaps as a call of arrival to the ship in the bay. As the ship pulled further into the alcoves and the docks came into sight, Sarizaddi could make out droves dockhand workers scrambling with ropes and pulley machines, preparing for the ship to dock. The young blonde mithra grabbed up her bag, which housed all her earthly belongings, and began to pace the rail of the ship trying to get a better view and perhaps gauge the fastest way off the ship and onto the dock. Shipmates were also gathering together their belongings or preparing for docking, forgetting each other it seemed from the long voyage here. Everyone looked eager to make land.
From the docks, lumbering figures, what must be a shoulder length taller than Sarizaddi, and dressed in full silver and gold armors, paced the docks and the buildings beside. They must be Galka, she thought to herself, and at once admired that the stories did little to tell of how large these brutes were. Large as the stories had said they were, as she was seeing them now, they appeared to be giant machines themselves. Their armors shined in the bright sun, and the plates of their musketeer armor clanked loudly as they marched.
Shouts filled the air as the sailors and dockhands made their last preparations for arrival, and finally at last the ship was close enough for departure. Sari wasted no time, jumping the few feet to the dock, ready at last to be in her new home. Her feet had barely touched the planks of the docks, however, when she was grabbed by the back of the neck and lifted well off her feet. One of the Galka guards had appeared from seemingly thin air and picked her up, effortlessly from what she could tell. At the very least, it had no trouble detaining her though she struggled.
“Amused as I am at your eagerness to land, all visitors must pass through customs before disembarking,” it’s deep voice rumbled slowly. “Customs…is that way.”
The Galka placed Sarizaddi on her feet pointed towards a large round building connected to the docks. The goliath then gave her a small push, which propelled her a few feet in that direction. Sarizaddi quickly snatched up her pack and started towards the building that she was indicated, not taking her eyes off the Galka until she was safely out of its reach. As she entered the building, she was welcome by the fragrances of fresh fish and spices, and voices in various tongues conducting casual business.
Sarizaddi forgot her hunger temporarily and absorbed her surroundings. This was the magic of travelling and the trade and business in the customs house was an overwhelming sight for one who never knew much more than caves and jungle. All of the people here were bigger than she was, some a head taller, some almost twice her size, and all of them were vividly alive. Crates and packs littered the floor, with men going through them seeking out possible forbidden imports.
She proceeded towards one of the counters, and graciously waited a turn with a customs agent. When at last one gave her notice, it turned out to be a much older Hume man, dressed as regally as possible in the uniform of a customs agent.
“Welcome to Bastok, childling. What’s the business of your visit?” he asked her.
“I’ve come to live here,” was the only reply she could think of.
“Aye, applying for residence, then? From what nation are you coming from and what is your craft?” he asked, writing down her response.
“Um, from no place, and I guess no craft. Kazham, I guess,” she answered. The older man stopped for a moment to gauge her response, then to examine Sarizaddi.
“Very well. Do you claim yourself as an adventurer, exile, refugee, or as the servant of another persons?” he asked, writing again on the form.
“Um…” she responded. She wasn’t sure how to answer, at the moment none of the answers seemed quite right. The customs agent stopped writing and peered at her from the tips of his glasses.
“Adventurer, then,” he said finally. “That’s what everyone else says.” He wrote a few lines and then, “Now place your luggage on the counter, I need to verify you do not carry contraband.”
Sarizaddi placed the small sack on the counter and opened it, pulling out all she owned. The agent took stock of a set of tribal separates and a vegetable cutting knife, then gave her a disgruntled look.
“Where are the rest of your belongings?” he asked.
“Um, this is…that’s everything,” Sarizaddi answered blushed. The old man took another long pause, and Sari could only guess he was being dramatically sarcastic with his silence.
“Here, take this coupon to the guard by the residential area, they’ll arrange for temporary lodging. I would like to suggest you start by looking for work.” The agent slammed a stamp on the papers he was writing and handed them to Sarizaddi. “These are your residence application papers, do not lose them. Have a nice afternoon. Next.”
Sarizaddi took up her knife and change of clothes and tucked them back into her sack, then carefully folded her papers and wandered off into the streets. Within a few hours later, Sarizaddi was quite hungry, and entirely lost in the city, but not willing to stop her exploration.
Parts of the city were very well maintained, and nobles walked the streets in their fancy clothing and pointy shoes. Sari could overhear bits of conversation in proper tongue, some foreign and domestic gossip, others about trades and commerce. The walls in these parts of the city gleamed white, the stone was polished to a fine crystal surface. Banners of the nation of Bastok hung proudly everywhere, waving in the breezes that danced through the labyrinthine streets. In many places travelers in velvet robes or dark steel armors hustled through on their way to some unknown task. Trumpets frosted the morning air, celebrations in music to champions called from all directions.
At every street in the city, huge Galka guards in gleaming armors stood as statues, ever vigilant about keeping the peace. One could almost believe their actual purpose was to decorate the paths of Bastok, as not one sign of disturbance ever was shown. Assumedly, the presence of these mammoths was enough to discourage outbreaks of violence or crime, as not a single person seemed fearful to walk the streets despite the adornments of jewels and fine cloth they carried. Children happily bounced up and down stairs and ran through the courtyards, some even played in the fountains as though this city was nothing less than a paradise of civilization for all ages. In some places, the wealthy and the poor alike fished in the city’s great aqueducts, socially and for sport more than Sari would ever believe actual food.
Other parts of the city she came to were much more rugged, and showed their strength and durability, as the soot covered the walls like a coat of paint. In some areas like these, massive pile of rocks and ores from the nearby mines was amassed like man-made mountains. These were testaments to the strength and devotion of the Galka and Humes that had founded the city, she thought to herself, proof in stone that said to a passerby that Bastok had the power to move the earth. She witnessed an occasion of a Galka miner carrying a large boulder into the Metalworks building, looking like a great hermit crab with the rock strapped to his back as he lumbered slowly through the entrance.
Everywhere throughout, shops offered raw ores to crafters and tinkerers seeking to advance themselves. Some craftsmen weren’t even constraining themselves to the forges, instead using magical synthesis with crystals to create their goods out in the streets. At these craftsmen, Sarizaddi stopped in awe and wonderment, hypnotized by the tornadoes of fire and ores that came together, and bent to the crafters’ will.
As she was watching one craftsman, a passing stranger stopped and shoved a piece of cooked meat in her hands. She looked at the stranger with wonderment, but he hadn’t stop for conversation, instead continuing on, putting one of his meats in the hands of everyone in his path. Sarizaddi didn’t argue with the thought of devouring the meal whole, and was more thankful towards that disappearing stranger than she was sure he would ever know.
“He does that a lot,” said the craftsman, stopping from his crystal synthesis. “He uses synths to make culinary goods, but doesn’t bother with trying to sell his craft in the markets. He makes too much to ever sell, so gives it away on his way home for the day.”
“It’s good,” she said, licking her fingers.
“I doubt it was, he never makes nothin but grilled rabbit meat. Moreso I’d believe ya just hadn’t eaten anything in, what, the past week?” the crafter said, gathering up his materials to pack up his crafting. Sarizaddi turned her eyes away and feigned an attempt to wander off.
“C’mere, what’s your name?” he asked from the short distance.
“Sarizaddi,” she stopped and responded.
“Sarizaddi? What is that, some sort of slug?” chided a nearby stranger in Bastokan leathers.
“Quiet, Flaco, no one started a conversation with you. Until someone asks for your opinion, why dun ya keep your mud-hole shut,” said the crafter. Flaco appeared as though he was going to respond until the craftsman’s glare silenced him. Wisely, apparently, Flaco chose not to respond. The crafter opened a warehouse door he was near to and set the boxes inside on the floor.
“Come on, kid. Inside,” he commanded.
Sarizaddi didn’t question the man, instead following into the darkened warehouse. Inside there were several shady individuals, looking as though they weren’t fond of clean clothes, much less baths, and just as predisposed against a shave. Sarizaddi never got over how much hair and smell most Hume males amassed. Mithran males by comparison were very rare, and by rarity were nobles by default. In addition, the males of her society were not allowed to ever leave the village, even for a hunt. Instead they were kept safely indoors and pruned for mating during the season for it, and educated for positions as advisors. Humes, on the other hand, were usually dirty, rough, coarse, and often, she found, much less educated. The men in this warehouse were no exception to that rule.
“What do you want, kid? This is no place to store goods, and we aren’t hiring. Scram,” said a tall dark man from the corner near a set of shelves.
“She’s with me,” the crafter said. Organizing a few boxes against the wall. “Go downstairs, kid.”
Sarizaddi looked back and forth, measuring up the safer of the two commands to obey, and chose to go downstairs. Leaving might have been closer to the right choice, she thought for a moment, but aside from exploring, she really had no where to go. Besides that, she thought, murderers and thieves generally didn’t ask someone their name before they robbed them; usually those offering charity asked names. The steps down to the lower warehouse creaked loudly, bowing even under her light weight, and she tightly held the hand rail on the way down in fear the steps might have given way beneath her.
There were more Humes in the warehouse below, slightly less unkempt. As she inched slowly into the lower warehouse, she heard voices from the above office. The craftsman came down the steps followed by a young brunette girl, perhaps even younger than Sari but dressed in pristine velvet and silk garb.
“I know you said four, Talib,” she was saying as she came down the steps following the man. “But there aren’t four to be had. The guilds have sold out, and strangely the auction house has none. I wouldn’t rule out you had something to do with that, but regardless to circumstance, I still need to get the ancient lumber.”
“Businessmen do not welch on deals. I said four. You agreed to four. I want four. Where or how you get them is none of my concern,” he said. “Don’t worry about the log, it’ll be here till then.”
Talib stopped for a moment and looked a Sarizaddi, apparently making considerations of a new idea. Without a word, the young girl also looked to Sarizaddi, then back to Talib.
“Or how about this idea, instead? This young girl is hungry, and I’m expectin’ is going a walk-about without a gil to her name. I was going ta give her a little work, in exchange for a little of meh generosity, but how about you hire her up in my stead?” he suggested.
The young girl thought for a moment, her eyes catching Sarizaddi’s a few times.
“And if I may, what exactly are you implying I employ her with? That I should take her as a servant?” She asked. The man smiled slyly.
“No, that you should employ her to find the ore I desire. Pay her to find it for you. I don’t care what you do with her, just saves me the trouble,” he explained. “Not that I’m not a nice guy, ya know, I could employ her myself. Just that maybe you need all the help you can get, keep’n with the way you yell ‘n’ scream for Galkan rights and all.”
The girl seemed to think on this for a moment, then turned and left back the way she came without a response. She seemed to mutter beneath her breath as she left and Sarizaddi heard the door above slam as the girl must have gone out it. Talib seemed to go back about his business, taking a seat at a nearby table with a few of his companions, who, without conversation, picked up a set of dice and cards and began dealing out a game. Sari stood in silence for a few minutes, trying to remain somewhat still, in wonder of why exactly Talib had called her in here, and why he now left her to stand there alone.
Talib poured himself a drink and began playing in silence. As she had nothing else to watch, her keen eyes happened to notice Talib slipping a card that had been hidden in his sleeve into his hand. He was very careful as he did it and his companions didn’t seemed to notice in the least. But then Sarizaddi noticed, as she began to watch more carefully, all of the players at the table were expertly doctoring their hands with cards hidden here or there, or switching the dice on the table. It almost seemed the game of dice and cards was a game to compete in methods of trickery. At last Talib set his hand down to the table, and at once, all of the players set down their hands. Talib took a large drink from his mug and turned to Sarizaddi.
“Right about now she’ll be waiting outside for you. She knows better than ta question what I tellin her to do, so she’ll wanna hire you fer what I said she do. She’ll pay ya a few gil, methinks, when she does come bring me a portion for setting up your wage and I’ll find you more work then. In the meantime, take whats left of that bread right there on that table, and come back when you’ve done with what she wants,” he told Sarizaddi.
Sari looked to the table he gestured and there was indeed a half-torn loaf remaining on it. There were also fish scales and bones, so it looked somewhat like a fish cleaning station where someone had left their lunch. Were she not feline in nature, she was sure the offer would have been an insult, but as it were the offer was for a loaf of bread, and Sari did not mind in the least the mild flavor of fish. She took up the stale loaf and glanced to Talib, but he had already gone back to his drink and gaming. As she climbed back up the steps and entered the above office, she saw a older man speaking with the ruffian that had accosted Sari when she entered, arguing quietly over what looked like a decorative knife.
Sarizaddi opened the front door and stepped out, shutting it lightly behind her. Just as Talib had said, the young girl was waiting nearby, and a Sari exited, she approached. She stopped before Sarizaddi and took a breath, composing herself. She was very pretty, and now that Sarizaddi was out of the musty warehouse could smell the girl’s light fragrance of lilies. In the light, Sarizaddi also caught the glint of a jeweled ring with the Bastok emblem adorning her finger.
“Good day,” the girl said regally.
“Hello to you,” Sari responded, smiling lightly. Both paused for a moment, Sarizaddi unsure how to carry the conversation further.
The girl turned to walk off and got a few steps before stopping again. She then turned back and forth to Sarizaddi once, displaying indecisiveness. At last she returned to the place just before Sari and extended her hand.
“Okay, my name is Cornelia. I do not normally make habit of employing anyone, much less someone with ties to the Tenshodo, but Talib was right. I need help,” she said.
“Ties with the what to who?” Sari returned, her eyebrow raised in slight confusion.
“Ties to the…nevermind. Listen, if you need the work, I’ll help you and you can help me. But really and truthfully…”she continued, “we will need to get you cleaned up. If you work for me, you become a representative of Bastok, and that can never be taken as a light matter. We can’t have you looking and smelling like a cat someone fished up out of the sea. Oh, and what’s your name?”
“Sarizaddi. Sarizaddi of Kazham,” the mithra responded.
Cornelia took Sari by the hand and began leading her back up the alley toward the Markets District.
“Nice to meet you, Sarizaddi,” Cornelia greeted. “Sarizaddi of Bastok.”
Sailing from the ancient city of Kazham to the industrial port city of Bastok was a long voyage, taking many months and usually full of many dangers. The weather this particular voyage had been unseasonably rough, strife with storms and squalls, as well as littered with many sea aberrations that had attacked the ship in hopes of an easy meal. In addition, the ship itself had been a very old cargo vessel. It groaned with each dip into the water, and creaked with each wave that splashed against the hull. The sailors minding the vessel had to make constant repair to leaks in the hull from barrels of tar that had been brought for just that reason. The nauseating odors of tar as well as the musty smells of the sea kept most off kilter for the majority of the trip.
For Sarizaddi, the passing had been even harsher. With little money to prepare with provisions, and no skills on sailing vessels, she had gone quite hungry for a large portion of the trip. She had natural skills for liberating others of their possessions, and had had to exercise those skills quite regularly to survive these past three months. The only thankfulness she gave was that marauders had not accosted the ship, but even then a pirate vessel would have been more favorable than this ship had been. It struck her as likely, though, that perhaps even pirates had standards, and this vessel might well be the absolute scourge of the sailing route.
She had not so much been exiled from her home in Kazham as she had chosen to leave because she wasn't welcome, but her hopes for survival outside of the jungles had been growing dim. Her people, the native-born mithra of Kazham, were a proud feline hunter race. Their senses were acute, their reflexes were sharp, and their instincts were absolutely pure. The Mithra of Kazham had prided the best warriors and rangers, and those with the greatest skills with bows and knives and with the finest of honed instincts were well respected. Of these, Sarizaddi was clumsy, dull, and to this point in her life anything but pure, so had never even had a friend, much less a real home. Her aspirations were to be a great craftsman; and her skills lent more to slyness than to grace. These skills and ambitions were not at home to Kazham, and even as a child she was accused of being born away from where she was supposed to be. Not by her parents, as she never even known either of them, but by everyone else, her chieftaness especially.
As a child, she had heard many tales of the peoples from the far off nations, the Humes with their pride and their machines, the Galka with their strong backs and indomitable wills, the Tarutaru with small size but unbelievably strong magics, and had dreamed of seeing their cities. In one of their cities, Bastok, there was said to be brilliant machina, machines of industry and magic. They were said fill every home, litter every street, each going its on way and performing a new function. There were tales of great forges where the most skillful metal workers in the world toiled to make new devices of all functions. These stories had always struck a very magical chord with the young mithra. She dreamed repeatedly of making glistening and complicated devices to fulfill her every dream, and it made perfect sense to her that that was where she belonged. So at last, she had found a ship that was willing to offer passage to Bastok at little cost.
Sarizaddi detested seawater; even the smell of the sea mist disturbed her. But all of these months later, as the ship was pulling into the bay of the city of Bastok, she was grateful for her decision to leave Kazham. She could not help leaning over the edge of the ship, almost wishing she could leap off of the ship and run on the cresting waves to what would be her new home. She was absolutely full of excitement, and wanted to be the first to see the sandstone streets and steel machines. Her ears and tail twitched playfully, as though she could not stand being still, her long blonde hair danced in strands in the breeze from the land. From here, she could only see billowing pillars of smoke rising over the mountains surrounding Bastok, flowing up to the clearest of blue skies. If she were not familiar with the reputation of the forges, she might have been inclined to believe the city lie in ruin under the clouds. As the ship turned into an alcove, she began to see the faces of great white walls adorned with long blue banners. The sounds of thundering metal and stone and the low rumble of fire in the forges began to fill the air around her. Sarizaddi’s light blue eyes were seeing exactly was she had expected them to see, the city was exactly as she had envisioned from the stories, an industrious dream come true.
From one of the port towers, a canon sounded, perhaps as a call of arrival to the ship in the bay. As the ship pulled further into the alcoves and the docks came into sight, Sarizaddi could make out droves dockhand workers scrambling with ropes and pulley machines, preparing for the ship to dock. The young blonde mithra grabbed up her bag, which housed all her earthly belongings, and began to pace the rail of the ship trying to get a better view and perhaps gauge the fastest way off the ship and onto the dock. Shipmates were also gathering together their belongings or preparing for docking, forgetting each other it seemed from the long voyage here. Everyone looked eager to make land.
From the docks, lumbering figures, what must be a shoulder length taller than Sarizaddi, and dressed in full silver and gold armors, paced the docks and the buildings beside. They must be Galka, she thought to herself, and at once admired that the stories did little to tell of how large these brutes were. Large as the stories had said they were, as she was seeing them now, they appeared to be giant machines themselves. Their armors shined in the bright sun, and the plates of their musketeer armor clanked loudly as they marched.
Shouts filled the air as the sailors and dockhands made their last preparations for arrival, and finally at last the ship was close enough for departure. Sari wasted no time, jumping the few feet to the dock, ready at last to be in her new home. Her feet had barely touched the planks of the docks, however, when she was grabbed by the back of the neck and lifted well off her feet. One of the Galka guards had appeared from seemingly thin air and picked her up, effortlessly from what she could tell. At the very least, it had no trouble detaining her though she struggled.
“Amused as I am at your eagerness to land, all visitors must pass through customs before disembarking,” it’s deep voice rumbled slowly. “Customs…is that way.”
The Galka placed Sarizaddi on her feet pointed towards a large round building connected to the docks. The goliath then gave her a small push, which propelled her a few feet in that direction. Sarizaddi quickly snatched up her pack and started towards the building that she was indicated, not taking her eyes off the Galka until she was safely out of its reach. As she entered the building, she was welcome by the fragrances of fresh fish and spices, and voices in various tongues conducting casual business.
Sarizaddi forgot her hunger temporarily and absorbed her surroundings. This was the magic of travelling and the trade and business in the customs house was an overwhelming sight for one who never knew much more than caves and jungle. All of the people here were bigger than she was, some a head taller, some almost twice her size, and all of them were vividly alive. Crates and packs littered the floor, with men going through them seeking out possible forbidden imports.
She proceeded towards one of the counters, and graciously waited a turn with a customs agent. When at last one gave her notice, it turned out to be a much older Hume man, dressed as regally as possible in the uniform of a customs agent.
“Welcome to Bastok, childling. What’s the business of your visit?” he asked her.
“I’ve come to live here,” was the only reply she could think of.
“Aye, applying for residence, then? From what nation are you coming from and what is your craft?” he asked, writing down her response.
“Um, from no place, and I guess no craft. Kazham, I guess,” she answered. The older man stopped for a moment to gauge her response, then to examine Sarizaddi.
“Very well. Do you claim yourself as an adventurer, exile, refugee, or as the servant of another persons?” he asked, writing again on the form.
“Um…” she responded. She wasn’t sure how to answer, at the moment none of the answers seemed quite right. The customs agent stopped writing and peered at her from the tips of his glasses.
“Adventurer, then,” he said finally. “That’s what everyone else says.” He wrote a few lines and then, “Now place your luggage on the counter, I need to verify you do not carry contraband.”
Sarizaddi placed the small sack on the counter and opened it, pulling out all she owned. The agent took stock of a set of tribal separates and a vegetable cutting knife, then gave her a disgruntled look.
“Where are the rest of your belongings?” he asked.
“Um, this is…that’s everything,” Sarizaddi answered blushed. The old man took another long pause, and Sari could only guess he was being dramatically sarcastic with his silence.
“Here, take this coupon to the guard by the residential area, they’ll arrange for temporary lodging. I would like to suggest you start by looking for work.” The agent slammed a stamp on the papers he was writing and handed them to Sarizaddi. “These are your residence application papers, do not lose them. Have a nice afternoon. Next.”
Sarizaddi took up her knife and change of clothes and tucked them back into her sack, then carefully folded her papers and wandered off into the streets. Within a few hours later, Sarizaddi was quite hungry, and entirely lost in the city, but not willing to stop her exploration.
Parts of the city were very well maintained, and nobles walked the streets in their fancy clothing and pointy shoes. Sari could overhear bits of conversation in proper tongue, some foreign and domestic gossip, others about trades and commerce. The walls in these parts of the city gleamed white, the stone was polished to a fine crystal surface. Banners of the nation of Bastok hung proudly everywhere, waving in the breezes that danced through the labyrinthine streets. In many places travelers in velvet robes or dark steel armors hustled through on their way to some unknown task. Trumpets frosted the morning air, celebrations in music to champions called from all directions.
At every street in the city, huge Galka guards in gleaming armors stood as statues, ever vigilant about keeping the peace. One could almost believe their actual purpose was to decorate the paths of Bastok, as not one sign of disturbance ever was shown. Assumedly, the presence of these mammoths was enough to discourage outbreaks of violence or crime, as not a single person seemed fearful to walk the streets despite the adornments of jewels and fine cloth they carried. Children happily bounced up and down stairs and ran through the courtyards, some even played in the fountains as though this city was nothing less than a paradise of civilization for all ages. In some places, the wealthy and the poor alike fished in the city’s great aqueducts, socially and for sport more than Sari would ever believe actual food.
Other parts of the city she came to were much more rugged, and showed their strength and durability, as the soot covered the walls like a coat of paint. In some areas like these, massive pile of rocks and ores from the nearby mines was amassed like man-made mountains. These were testaments to the strength and devotion of the Galka and Humes that had founded the city, she thought to herself, proof in stone that said to a passerby that Bastok had the power to move the earth. She witnessed an occasion of a Galka miner carrying a large boulder into the Metalworks building, looking like a great hermit crab with the rock strapped to his back as he lumbered slowly through the entrance.
Everywhere throughout, shops offered raw ores to crafters and tinkerers seeking to advance themselves. Some craftsmen weren’t even constraining themselves to the forges, instead using magical synthesis with crystals to create their goods out in the streets. At these craftsmen, Sarizaddi stopped in awe and wonderment, hypnotized by the tornadoes of fire and ores that came together, and bent to the crafters’ will.
As she was watching one craftsman, a passing stranger stopped and shoved a piece of cooked meat in her hands. She looked at the stranger with wonderment, but he hadn’t stop for conversation, instead continuing on, putting one of his meats in the hands of everyone in his path. Sarizaddi didn’t argue with the thought of devouring the meal whole, and was more thankful towards that disappearing stranger than she was sure he would ever know.
“He does that a lot,” said the craftsman, stopping from his crystal synthesis. “He uses synths to make culinary goods, but doesn’t bother with trying to sell his craft in the markets. He makes too much to ever sell, so gives it away on his way home for the day.”
“It’s good,” she said, licking her fingers.
“I doubt it was, he never makes nothin but grilled rabbit meat. Moreso I’d believe ya just hadn’t eaten anything in, what, the past week?” the crafter said, gathering up his materials to pack up his crafting. Sarizaddi turned her eyes away and feigned an attempt to wander off.
“C’mere, what’s your name?” he asked from the short distance.
“Sarizaddi,” she stopped and responded.
“Sarizaddi? What is that, some sort of slug?” chided a nearby stranger in Bastokan leathers.
“Quiet, Flaco, no one started a conversation with you. Until someone asks for your opinion, why dun ya keep your mud-hole shut,” said the crafter. Flaco appeared as though he was going to respond until the craftsman’s glare silenced him. Wisely, apparently, Flaco chose not to respond. The crafter opened a warehouse door he was near to and set the boxes inside on the floor.
“Come on, kid. Inside,” he commanded.
Sarizaddi didn’t question the man, instead following into the darkened warehouse. Inside there were several shady individuals, looking as though they weren’t fond of clean clothes, much less baths, and just as predisposed against a shave. Sarizaddi never got over how much hair and smell most Hume males amassed. Mithran males by comparison were very rare, and by rarity were nobles by default. In addition, the males of her society were not allowed to ever leave the village, even for a hunt. Instead they were kept safely indoors and pruned for mating during the season for it, and educated for positions as advisors. Humes, on the other hand, were usually dirty, rough, coarse, and often, she found, much less educated. The men in this warehouse were no exception to that rule.
“What do you want, kid? This is no place to store goods, and we aren’t hiring. Scram,” said a tall dark man from the corner near a set of shelves.
“She’s with me,” the crafter said. Organizing a few boxes against the wall. “Go downstairs, kid.”
Sarizaddi looked back and forth, measuring up the safer of the two commands to obey, and chose to go downstairs. Leaving might have been closer to the right choice, she thought for a moment, but aside from exploring, she really had no where to go. Besides that, she thought, murderers and thieves generally didn’t ask someone their name before they robbed them; usually those offering charity asked names. The steps down to the lower warehouse creaked loudly, bowing even under her light weight, and she tightly held the hand rail on the way down in fear the steps might have given way beneath her.
There were more Humes in the warehouse below, slightly less unkempt. As she inched slowly into the lower warehouse, she heard voices from the above office. The craftsman came down the steps followed by a young brunette girl, perhaps even younger than Sari but dressed in pristine velvet and silk garb.
“I know you said four, Talib,” she was saying as she came down the steps following the man. “But there aren’t four to be had. The guilds have sold out, and strangely the auction house has none. I wouldn’t rule out you had something to do with that, but regardless to circumstance, I still need to get the ancient lumber.”
“Businessmen do not welch on deals. I said four. You agreed to four. I want four. Where or how you get them is none of my concern,” he said. “Don’t worry about the log, it’ll be here till then.”
Talib stopped for a moment and looked a Sarizaddi, apparently making considerations of a new idea. Without a word, the young girl also looked to Sarizaddi, then back to Talib.
“Or how about this idea, instead? This young girl is hungry, and I’m expectin’ is going a walk-about without a gil to her name. I was going ta give her a little work, in exchange for a little of meh generosity, but how about you hire her up in my stead?” he suggested.
The young girl thought for a moment, her eyes catching Sarizaddi’s a few times.
“And if I may, what exactly are you implying I employ her with? That I should take her as a servant?” She asked. The man smiled slyly.
“No, that you should employ her to find the ore I desire. Pay her to find it for you. I don’t care what you do with her, just saves me the trouble,” he explained. “Not that I’m not a nice guy, ya know, I could employ her myself. Just that maybe you need all the help you can get, keep’n with the way you yell ‘n’ scream for Galkan rights and all.”
The girl seemed to think on this for a moment, then turned and left back the way she came without a response. She seemed to mutter beneath her breath as she left and Sarizaddi heard the door above slam as the girl must have gone out it. Talib seemed to go back about his business, taking a seat at a nearby table with a few of his companions, who, without conversation, picked up a set of dice and cards and began dealing out a game. Sari stood in silence for a few minutes, trying to remain somewhat still, in wonder of why exactly Talib had called her in here, and why he now left her to stand there alone.
Talib poured himself a drink and began playing in silence. As she had nothing else to watch, her keen eyes happened to notice Talib slipping a card that had been hidden in his sleeve into his hand. He was very careful as he did it and his companions didn’t seemed to notice in the least. But then Sarizaddi noticed, as she began to watch more carefully, all of the players at the table were expertly doctoring their hands with cards hidden here or there, or switching the dice on the table. It almost seemed the game of dice and cards was a game to compete in methods of trickery. At last Talib set his hand down to the table, and at once, all of the players set down their hands. Talib took a large drink from his mug and turned to Sarizaddi.
“Right about now she’ll be waiting outside for you. She knows better than ta question what I tellin her to do, so she’ll wanna hire you fer what I said she do. She’ll pay ya a few gil, methinks, when she does come bring me a portion for setting up your wage and I’ll find you more work then. In the meantime, take whats left of that bread right there on that table, and come back when you’ve done with what she wants,” he told Sarizaddi.
Sari looked to the table he gestured and there was indeed a half-torn loaf remaining on it. There were also fish scales and bones, so it looked somewhat like a fish cleaning station where someone had left their lunch. Were she not feline in nature, she was sure the offer would have been an insult, but as it were the offer was for a loaf of bread, and Sari did not mind in the least the mild flavor of fish. She took up the stale loaf and glanced to Talib, but he had already gone back to his drink and gaming. As she climbed back up the steps and entered the above office, she saw a older man speaking with the ruffian that had accosted Sari when she entered, arguing quietly over what looked like a decorative knife.
Sarizaddi opened the front door and stepped out, shutting it lightly behind her. Just as Talib had said, the young girl was waiting nearby, and a Sari exited, she approached. She stopped before Sarizaddi and took a breath, composing herself. She was very pretty, and now that Sarizaddi was out of the musty warehouse could smell the girl’s light fragrance of lilies. In the light, Sarizaddi also caught the glint of a jeweled ring with the Bastok emblem adorning her finger.
“Good day,” the girl said regally.
“Hello to you,” Sari responded, smiling lightly. Both paused for a moment, Sarizaddi unsure how to carry the conversation further.
The girl turned to walk off and got a few steps before stopping again. She then turned back and forth to Sarizaddi once, displaying indecisiveness. At last she returned to the place just before Sari and extended her hand.
“Okay, my name is Cornelia. I do not normally make habit of employing anyone, much less someone with ties to the Tenshodo, but Talib was right. I need help,” she said.
“Ties with the what to who?” Sari returned, her eyebrow raised in slight confusion.
“Ties to the…nevermind. Listen, if you need the work, I’ll help you and you can help me. But really and truthfully…”she continued, “we will need to get you cleaned up. If you work for me, you become a representative of Bastok, and that can never be taken as a light matter. We can’t have you looking and smelling like a cat someone fished up out of the sea. Oh, and what’s your name?”
“Sarizaddi. Sarizaddi of Kazham,” the mithra responded.
Cornelia took Sari by the hand and began leading her back up the alley toward the Markets District.
“Nice to meet you, Sarizaddi,” Cornelia greeted. “Sarizaddi of Bastok.”