“A tavern sounds good. We can see what passes for mead halls in this stinking cesspool.” Eirik looks at the strange goblin. “We’re apparently going to this mercenary’s guild. You can join us little one.”

Antar grins.  'Yes, yes, so many mercenaries have found that the way to their guild lies through the Wing Lung Tavern.  And I have your promise, now?  You will put in a good word for me?"  With that, he happily falls in to the middle of the group, completely ignoring his role as ostensible guide to the tavern.  He replies to any inquiries on the subject with, "Just follow the sign.  You can't miss it.  Not that we make or don't make any claims about there being or not being anything to miss when you get there."  Up close, you notice that what you took at first to be severely sunburned skin is in fact a close-fitting qamiiS  of hardened leather he wears under his jubbeh.  In contrast to his clothes, this is impeccably cared for; not even a scratch shows.  And up close, you note that the beggar's stench you half expected is absent; his outer clothes may be tattered and stained, but they are spotlessly clean.  His short black hair is also precisely barbered, but as this is common among Wazifi you don't take as much notice of it in itself.  It does, however, highlight the fact that in certain lights there is a strange blueish cast to the black of his hair; and that is definitely uncommon among any of the three nations.  Although you can't help thinking it sets off the vermilion hue of his face quite becomingli.

Aamira will approach Antar and ask him in Arabic, "Where are you from, and why are you in the town of the infidels?  I'm Aamira, a Sword of the Grand Mosque."

As soon as he hears Aamira's question and identity, the goblin's eyes go wide in alarm.   "Did the Caliph send you?,' he asks nervously in Arabic.  "It wasn't my fault!  You can tell him I obeyed his commands to the letter!  He said, "thou art exiled from al'Wazif to die in the desert", and I did!  Only there was this marid, see, one of the believing jinneyeh, and he had other ideas.  I've always tried to obey the orders of those more exalted than me, that's why I trusted that slime Basha Qadim when he told me he was only helping the Caliph try how secure the measures were he took to guard his jewel-encrusted lamp!  I never thought he was trying to have me actually steal it!  Say ... if he wants evidence against the Basha, my being miraculously preserved by the marid could be very convenient!"

[Hello, everyone. I gave us all a week for Thanksgiving. I am posting here to bump up the thread. The party was discussing whether to head to the tavern. Let's pick up there.]

Aamira's eyes go wide for a moment, since the answer was so far beyond what she was expecting. "That sounds like quite a tale," she replies, still in Arabic, "and I'd be very interested to hear more about it in the future, but you may rest assured that I was not sent here on anyone's behalf." She points to Aegnor. "I merely came to meet my friend, and now it appears we're on our way to the merchants' guild."

Aegnor snaps back to reality after taking a quick, standing snooze. He needed one of those. "Eh.. well, lookit what we have 'ere!" He chuckles to himself, offering a respectful nod to Antar before turning back to Aamira. Noticing she was motioning to him, he smiles. "Indeed! Hey, Aamira, can you tell yer friend here that I'm pleasured to meet him? Unless he speaks my tongue, to which..." Clearing his throat, he turns to Antar. "I'm pleased to be of yer acquaintance!"

“A tavern sounds good. We can see what passes for mead halls in this stinking cesspool of a city.” Eirik looks at the strange goblin. “We’re apparently going to this mercenary’s guild. You can join us little one.”

As he listens to Aamira's answer and the subsequent assurances, Antar relaxes noticeably.  "I see.  Good.  Thank you.  And in any case, it is true.," he replies to her in Arabic before going on in the tongue of the infidels, "The goblin I was did die in the desert, and one of the believing jinneyeh did give me a new life serving Her, rather than ... I'd rather not have to spit, so I won't say his name again.  But since my Lady sent me to the town of ... to Tredroy, I've heard naught from Her either."  He shrugs, half helplessly, half comically.  You are beginning to wonder how quirky his humour was even before he was exiled to the desert.  "And all the Guilds just laugh at me, but I'm sure I'm just as good an astrologer now as any of the sages the Mercenaries' Guild welcomes with open arms!  I just need a chance to prove it!  So thank you all, a thousand times."

When he mentions a thousand times, you try your best not to think back to the graphic malediction he pronounced upon Basha Qadim earlier.  Some may, of course, be more successful than others ... 

Dorilis Road, the path to Wing Lung Tavern, is not the most hospitable street you’ve ever seen. At face value, it’s like any other side street in a bustling commercial hub: quaint boutique storefronts alongside tenement houses and alleyways of variable hospitality. People of all sorts bustle about on the way to the main intersections, using Dorilis Road as a shortcut rather than a destination.

But there is just something … off … about it. 

"Something feels off about this street," Eirik says. He keeps his guard up, ready for anything this gods forsaken city might throw at him.

[perception check? Rolled 17]

Aamira puts her hands on the hilts of her scimitars as she looks around the street.  Even for the infidels' town, something doesn't seem right.

Perception check, if allowed: 8

Aegnor looks around, sensing something wrong with the street. Putting his hands behind his back, he huffs. Best be prepared.

Perception, if permitted! 17

"There's something off about this street at all times.," Antar comments grimly, his usual crackpot humour suddenly completely gone. "But when something's visibly off ... when you're allowed to see that there's something off ... "  His eyes begin a careful examination of the surroundings while the rest of his face stays absolutely still.  Boutique storefronts and shadowy alley mouths receive equally careful attention from his subtly flickering gaze.

===========================

Perception 21

(aaargh, wha' happen?  Could hsve sworn I didn't edit this post since I first posted it with the dice roll.  ???)

Aamira & Eirik notice that there are no city guards patrolling this street. The patrol routes of all the nearby guards skip over this street entirely... as if it doesn't exist to them.

"Be on your guard," Aamira says in Common. "The city watch are avoiding this street for some reason."

Does she see anything else out of the ordinary, or any suspicious-looking folks?

Quote from bird94 >>

"Be on your guard," Aamira says in Common. "The city watch are avoiding this street for some reason."

Does she see anything else out of the ordinary, or any suspicious-looking folks?

 Aamira sees nothing obvious. It's more of an ambience, a feeling, a spiritual overlay. Perhaps, a spell?

After making his not-very-reassuring comment, Antar has stood muttering to himself in a mixture of Arabic, Goblin and the trade patois of Tredroy.  Gradually he seems to lapse into a light trance, and the syllables he utters grow more fluid and musical.  His eyes seem to fill with a strange mist about the same moment you notice that a breeze none of you is able to feel is starting to stir the dust of the street into an ever-thickening cloud.  Only, as it rises to the level of your nostrils and you are forced to breathe it in, you find to your pleasant surprise that it is not choking you or making you cough and sneeze as you had feared it would.  It has somehow melted into a grey cloud of thick, cool mist that expands from a point a short way ahead of the group ... perhaps ten feet ... and swells in all directions until all are hidden amid the billowings of a cloud of fog which stretches from side to side of the street and reaches as high above and as far ahead as any can see in the thick white billows.  The pearly glow from behind, though, gives promise that Antar has tried to position the cloud so that you are just within its outer reaches and can emerge by retracing your steps just a few paces backwards to be able to see ... and be seen ... clearly.

===========================

Casting fog cloud

Aamira will back up until she's out of the cloud. "Some kind of magic is at work here.  Since our goal is either the tavern or merchants guild, should we avoid this street and continue on?"

She'll glance at Antar. "Can you control the position of that fog?"