4 strangers now united in purpose leave the weathered turquoise door of Salma al-Hakim's home behind. The streets are winding curves that are occasionally interrupted by straight roads only to bend once more.
The scent of jasmine is soon overladen by the tang of sea salt on the warm afternoon air. Children dart past with the recklessness of midday heat-drunk swallows, chasing a hoop between brass-studded doors and low archways. An old woman mutters a prayer as she sweeps her stoop with a date-palm broom, her eyes shaded by the striped linen of her headscarf. Somewhere above, the dry creek of a rooftop Badgir (wind-catcher) stirs, catching the sea breeze and channeling it downward into the sleeping rooms below. A white cat watches from beneath a spice rack as you step into the busier streets—where shadow gives way to sun, and voices rise like a muezzin’s call.
The Bazaar begins gradually—first with lone vendors beneath hanging carpets, then with the bloom of awnings and market tents in every hue imaginable. The scent of cardamom, cumin, sweat, and hot brass coils thick in your nostrils. Calls echo in every direction: “Fresh fish! Still twitching!” “Silk from the Southern Pass!” “Legal scribes—honest, discreet, swift!” You move past a fruit stall where figs are split open like hearts, their pulp glistening. Merchants haggle with veiled noblewomen and sand-crusted camel drivers alike. The sea glimmers in the distance—a thin blue ribbon visible down the winding slope of the city, where the old stone gives way to sun-bleached docks and gull-swept waters.
But you seek something quieter. Past the leatherworkers’ row and beneath an arch tiled with forgotten poetry in broken blue glaze, you find a crooked alley of offices with iron plaques. You count the doors and look to the plaques: A feathered quill, needle and spool of thread, and the third door down the Scales of Justice with the name Malik al Hakim Legal Advocate above it.
There are few scattered date pits by the threshold of the door and there is a small window covered by an iron grill in a geometric star pattern. A curtain of indigo covers the window.
Tied around the iron knocker of the door is a for lease placard printed in blocky merchant's script.
Inquiries may be made to Scribe Hadiya Bint Faraaj at the House of Deeds and Testaments.
Rent negotiable. Discreet tenants preferred.
No Money Lenders, Apothecaries, or Cult Matters.
In the corner of the placard is a small wax seal of a wave bisected by a quill.
Krakan looks up and down the street, making sure the coast is clear, then he holds his hands together in a pattern to allow a foothold, saying “Lucan, do you want a boost up, to have a look in the window?” The Goliath looks more than willing and able to lift him up to that height to have a look.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Krakan looks up and down the street, making sure the coast is clear, then he holds his hands together in a pattern to allow a foothold, saying “Lucan, do you want a boost up, to have a look in the window?” The Goliath looks more than willing and able to lift him up to that height to have a look.
Lucan smiles and accepts the generous offer of assistance, "Let's take a peek then shall we."
Lucan moves to place his foot in Kraken's hands for the necessary boost. Thankfully Lucan is a light 155lbs and he leaves his backpack on the ground.
Lucan will move the curtain aside just enough to peek in giving his eyes a moment to adjust to any lighting changes. Lucan Perception: 17
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Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
Lucan peers into the window and finds the indigo curtain blocking most of his view. Through his limited view he sees part of a well-cared for wooden desk and part of a bookshelf behind the desk that is still filled with legal tomes and scrolls. There is a fine layer of dust on the window as it was most likely not opened for some time. That is then when you look back and sees the desk and bookshelf don't have any dust on them. Most likely this office has been cleaned recently.
Salty looks at the locked door with a raised eyebrow and a sigh. "Made me a fair livin' preventin' this sorta business," he grumbled to himself. "Got me a new job now. Any of ye skilled with locks and gettin' into spots folk don't want ye in? I'm not fer havin' such a talent." He kept his eyes open for any other folk in the area.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Lucan hops down and relays the information to the others.
"The window hasn't been opened in some time or has been made to look like that to hide how someone gained access to the room. My own 2 copper pieces mind you. Now the desk and bookshelf don't show any signs of dust at all so probably cleaned up so it can be rented. We could approach the renter as a legal team interested in renting it out if we want to investigate the room proper like. Or we can pose as investigators needing to go re-examine the office. Our any idea the group might have. Last but not least, I can use my tools here to see about working that lock open. What do you folks think?"
Lucan looks around pacing a bit real slow as to not draw attention to his movement while looking around the area for activity.
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Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
Samir does not see anyone of note but if interested he could inquire from the neighboring businesses. The ones you have seen is a tailor's shop and an inkmaker.
The pragmatic orc is not much of a long term thinker. See door. Open door. The methods matter less to him than the results, but he heard wisdom in Lucan's words. Besides, broad day breaking and entering was probably not a great way to begin their investigation. "I'm likin' yer thinkin'," he says to Lucan. "No need to be breakin' laws just yet. If ye can in with yer silver tongue, even better."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
“Perhaps let’s try the ink maker. They may have know something about Malik, out of convenience he may have purchased his inks there. I am not “silver tongued” as you say, but if you need the door bashed open, I’m your guy. I certainly would not go that route. Should we pay them a visit?” Krakan straightens up and stretches his arms, shakes out his hands.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Bayt al-hibr (House of Ink) reads the iron plaque next to the entrance. The scent of the place strikes you before the door opens fully: a mingling of bitter myrrh, dried rose petals, vinegar-thick iron salts, and something darker and more mineral, like riverbed clay warmed by sun. The interior is a sanctuary of organized disorder, shelves laden with glass jars of varying sizes, each containing a kaleidoscope of powders and pigments. These hues range from deep reds gleaned from mountain flowers to earthy browns derived from the city's clay quarries.
At the center stands Ibrahim himself, a slender figure with weathered hands perpetually stained with the ink of a hundred stories. His eyes, warm and knowing, reflect a lifetime spent perfecting his craft. He wears a traditional tunic and a keffiyeh headwrap. There is a worn wooden table where Ibrahim meticulously mixes his inks. His tools, ancient yet meticulously cared for, are a testament to a devotion that borders on reverence for the written word.
The shop's atmosphere hums with the rhythm of conversation and the occasional soft scrape of quill on parchment as Ibrahim attends to a customer's request, each ink bespoke to the writer's intent and the mood of their prose.
"Excuse me, sir" Samir bows slightly in respect. "One of your neighbor businesses, The Scales of Justice, seems to have recently closed. Are you familiar with the owner, Malik, and where he may have gone?"
Being a subtle as possible for an armor clad orc bristling with weapons Salty gives Samir a little elbow to the side. He leans in and whispers, "Dead he is, we're need'n to find his papers and such." Salty covers his supremely stealthy dialog with a mighty sneeze. "Beggin' yer pardon, good sir, the myrrh gets me sniffer a snifflin' every time. Ye has a fine shop, fine indeed." With that he offers an apologetic grin and glances around for anything that has a tie to the sea, not necessarily to buy, but out of curiosity.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Ibrahim raises a finger for patience as he finishes the transaction with a customer. Once done he says "Yes I knew him. A good customer. He always favored Adl wa Haqq ink. Oh, my you don't know. Malik al-Hakim is dead some weeks now. Were you one of his clients?"
4 strangers now united in purpose leave the weathered turquoise door of Salma al-Hakim's home behind. The streets are winding curves that are occasionally interrupted by straight roads only to bend once more.
The scent of jasmine is soon overladen by the tang of sea salt on the warm afternoon air. Children dart past with the recklessness of midday heat-drunk swallows, chasing a hoop between brass-studded doors and low archways. An old woman mutters a prayer as she sweeps her stoop with a date-palm broom, her eyes shaded by the striped linen of her headscarf. Somewhere above, the dry creek of a rooftop Badgir (wind-catcher) stirs, catching the sea breeze and channeling it downward into the sleeping rooms below. A white cat watches from beneath a spice rack as you step into the busier streets—where shadow gives way to sun, and voices rise like a muezzin’s call.
The Bazaar begins gradually—first with lone vendors beneath hanging carpets, then with the bloom of awnings and market tents in every hue imaginable. The scent of cardamom, cumin, sweat, and hot brass coils thick in your nostrils. Calls echo in every direction: “Fresh fish! Still twitching!” “Silk from the Southern Pass!” “Legal scribes—honest, discreet, swift!” You move past a fruit stall where figs are split open like hearts, their pulp glistening. Merchants haggle with veiled noblewomen and sand-crusted camel drivers alike. The sea glimmers in the distance—a thin blue ribbon visible down the winding slope of the city, where the old stone gives way to sun-bleached docks and gull-swept waters.
But you seek something quieter. Past the leatherworkers’ row and beneath an arch tiled with forgotten poetry in broken blue glaze, you find a crooked alley of offices with iron plaques. You count the doors and look to the plaques: A feathered quill, needle and spool of thread, and the third door down the Scales of Justice with the name Malik al Hakim Legal Advocate above it.
There are few scattered date pits by the threshold of the door and there is a small window covered by an iron grill in a geometric star pattern. A curtain of indigo covers the window.
Tied around the iron knocker of the door is a for lease placard printed in blocky merchant's script.
Inquiries may be made to Scribe Hadiya Bint Faraaj at the House of Deeds and Testaments.
Rent negotiable. Discreet tenants preferred.
No Money Lenders, Apothecaries, or Cult Matters.
In the corner of the placard is a small wax seal of a wave bisected by a quill.
The door is locked.
Krakan looks up and down the street, making sure the coast is clear, then he holds his hands together in a pattern to allow a foothold, saying “Lucan, do you want a boost up, to have a look in the window?” The Goliath looks more than willing and able to lift him up to that height to have a look.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Lucan smiles and accepts the generous offer of assistance, "Let's take a peek then shall we."
Lucan moves to place his foot in Kraken's hands for the necessary boost. Thankfully Lucan is a light 155lbs and he leaves his backpack on the ground.
Lucan will move the curtain aside just enough to peek in giving his eyes a moment to adjust to any lighting changes. Lucan Perception: 17
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
Salty
Salty moves to keep.an eye out for unwanted attention.
***Perception 6 , CHA roll was accidentally hit while swiping screens***
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Lucan peers into the window and finds the indigo curtain blocking most of his view. Through his limited view he sees part of a well-cared for wooden desk and part of a bookshelf behind the desk that is still filled with legal tomes and scrolls. There is a fine layer of dust on the window as it was most likely not opened for some time. That is then when you look back and sees the desk and bookshelf don't have any dust on them. Most likely this office has been cleaned recently.
Salty does not notice anything of note though he may be distracted.
Perception: 11
Samir stands nearby looking for someone in the area that may know of what happened to the owner, Malik, and when his business closed down.
Salty
Salty looks at the locked door with a raised eyebrow and a sigh. "Made me a fair livin' preventin' this sorta business," he grumbled to himself. "Got me a new job now. Any of ye skilled with locks and gettin' into spots folk don't want ye in? I'm not fer havin' such a talent." He kept his eyes open for any other folk in the area.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Lucan hops down and relays the information to the others.
"The window hasn't been opened in some time or has been made to look like that to hide how someone gained access to the room. My own 2 copper pieces mind you. Now the desk and bookshelf don't show any signs of dust at all so probably cleaned up so it can be rented. We could approach the renter as a legal team interested in renting it out if we want to investigate the room proper like. Or we can pose as investigators needing to go re-examine the office. Our any idea the group might have. Last but not least, I can use my tools here to see about working that lock open. What do you folks think?"
Lucan looks around pacing a bit real slow as to not draw attention to his movement while looking around the area for activity.
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
Samir does not see anyone of note but if interested he could inquire from the neighboring businesses. The ones you have seen is a tailor's shop and an inkmaker.
Salty
The pragmatic orc is not much of a long term thinker. See door. Open door. The methods matter less to him than the results, but he heard wisdom in Lucan's words. Besides, broad day breaking and entering was probably not a great way to begin their investigation. "I'm likin' yer thinkin'," he says to Lucan. "No need to be breakin' laws just yet. If ye can in with yer silver tongue, even better."
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
“Perhaps let’s try the ink maker. They may have know something about Malik, out of convenience he may have purchased his inks there. I am not “silver tongued” as you say, but if you need the door bashed open, I’m your guy. I certainly would not go that route. Should we pay them a visit?” Krakan straightens up and stretches his arms, shakes out his hands.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Samir nods to Krakan, "Yes I believe the Inkmaker would have sold to Malik. Perhaps he may know something of this business."
Samir goes to the ink business and looks for anyone inside that can provide some answers.
Salty
Salty follows Samir to the shop of the ink maker. As they walk, he begins to softly hum (off key) an old sailor song that he learned ad a boy.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Bayt al-hibr (House of Ink) reads the iron plaque next to the entrance. The scent of the place strikes you before the door opens fully: a mingling of bitter myrrh, dried rose petals, vinegar-thick iron salts, and something darker and more mineral, like riverbed clay warmed by sun. The interior is a sanctuary of organized disorder, shelves laden with glass jars of varying sizes, each containing a kaleidoscope of powders and pigments. These hues range from deep reds gleaned from mountain flowers to earthy browns derived from the city's clay quarries.
At the center stands Ibrahim himself, a slender figure with weathered hands perpetually stained with the ink of a hundred stories. His eyes, warm and knowing, reflect a lifetime spent perfecting his craft. He wears a traditional tunic and a keffiyeh headwrap. There is a worn wooden table where Ibrahim meticulously mixes his inks. His tools, ancient yet meticulously cared for, are a testament to a devotion that borders on reverence for the written word.
The shop's atmosphere hums with the rhythm of conversation and the occasional soft scrape of quill on parchment as Ibrahim attends to a customer's request, each ink bespoke to the writer's intent and the mood of their prose.
"Excuse me, sir" Samir bows slightly in respect. "One of your neighbor businesses, The Scales of Justice, seems to have recently closed. Are you familiar with the owner, Malik, and where he may have gone?"
Salty
Being a subtle as possible for an armor clad orc bristling with weapons Salty gives Samir a little elbow to the side. He leans in and whispers, "Dead he is, we're need'n to find his papers and such." Salty covers his supremely stealthy dialog with a mighty sneeze. "Beggin' yer pardon, good sir, the myrrh gets me sniffer a snifflin' every time. Ye has a fine shop, fine indeed." With that he offers an apologetic grin and glances around for anything that has a tie to the sea, not necessarily to buy, but out of curiosity.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Ibrahim raises a finger for patience as he finishes the transaction with a customer. Once done he says "Yes I knew him. A good customer. He always favored Adl wa Haqq ink. Oh, my you don't know. Malik al-Hakim is dead some weeks now. Were you one of his clients?"
Ibrahim gives Salty a smirk at his sneeze "Yes it's been known to happen"
Salty finds a glass jar filled with colorful seashells.