Of Uneven Cycles
Ninth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
Where most cities you have encountered, be it in the world under the sun or upon the Infinite planes, were wrought of lines, channels and streets, passages and corridors, Dawa is a thing of circles and loops, wide paths threading through an ivory realm crossing each other at unexpected angles and closing off in strange snarls that make the back alleys of Drowned Town seem like they had been laid out with care and purpose. No, there is purpose here, there is order, you can see it in the way the locals navigate the paths with such ease and surety the same as in a thousand other cities, but it is not one imposed by the architect's string and ruler. Someone or something else had built this city...
"It's old," Lya says from besides you as she runs her hands over the cracked stone of an ancient mosaic, faded green and powdery blue, shards of amber barely seen. "It used to be part of something larger, grander. The stones remember the wind and they remember fire as well as the sea's embrace."
The words stir a memory of the legend you heard years ago from Sher. "The Marid never dwelt within the City of Gold that burned to Brass in hubris and hellfire, but they did live in cities in a time before the elements fell into strife, perhaps this was one of them." The thought of Efreeti and Marid dwelling together in the same realm feels strange. Every dream, every memory you can call up speaking against it, yet you remember in the spark or orange of
flame in the eyes of the Kelasi Emir. Perhaps not so strange. Either way, your task here is not to seek out the past but rather the present, the Emir of Dawa, the Lord Temporal they call him, and at first you think it a play upon the fact that the deathless genies rarely care for gods, but as you learn more than bazaar talk and idle rumor from dutiful merchants and serious scholars, you realize it is something more.
The Emir of Dawa is in a sense one of the oldest beings in the Boundless Sea, a genie who is said to recall the founding of the city, who had lived through the Sundering, yet at the same time he is only ninety three years old, a paltry number by the measure of the marid. Apparently the lord of the city goes though a sort of
renewal roughly every one hundred and three years emerging from the chamber transformed, empowered in magic, detached from the lives and loves they knew beforehand. Yet like a swift blooming flower, the power quickly fades, the petals wilts, and he must undergo the ritual again.
You get a strong sense that this ritual is a point of pride for the people of Dawa, high-born and low alike. The Marid see their lord as the ultimate expression of their power to shape the waves, flowing with the tide but never lost to them, while the mortals see him as more akin to them, an overlord who can understand their struggles, the urgency of their lives. Which is true, you could not say for certain, but one thing is clear, seeking an audience with the Emir in the waning days of his life is neither easy nor quick, or at least it should not be...
Just when you were beginning to wonder if you should leave this visit for next month also, a messenger bearing the Silver Spiral of the Emir's personal Household seeks you out. The deal he offers is simple. He will be more than happy to forge a trade link with your realm if you provide him with a 'small token of your esteem', a mage capable of casting a spell of reincarnation, available for a decade long retainer.
You politely explain that you cannot guarantee such a thing, that most such mages you know of serve the Old Gods besides, to which the herald asks instead if you would object to the Emir seeking such a mage in your realm through his agents?
What do you reply?
[] Accept the deal
[] Refuse the deal
[] Write in
OOC: Sorry this took so long, like I said before busy IRL and all this world-building is not something I can do without a good amount of time to think. Not yet edited.