The Guide
The Succubus Quarter is a riot of sensations. Not all of them are pleasant - the streets are dirty, and many of the houses are in tatters, but there are banners and pennants hanging from every ledge, strung across the streets from roof to roof, and there are tents, pavilions and striped awnings over merchant's stands, and this helps somewhat. Occasionally one may find some cambions attempting to sweep up a stretch of road, or board up a broken window, but for the most part the Quarter is a scene of urban squalor with a bright coat of paint.
Moishe steps around piles of undefinable refuse and ducks under banners as he weaves through a street that has been given wholly over to the markets. There is hardly even a definition between outdoors markets and houses, as a path through the Quarter can weave its way inside buildings and through them completely, business and pleasure mixing and meeting and spilling out into streets and back again. In the Succubus Quarter, all boundaries are obscured.
The smells of cooking food from a hundred different cultures wafts through the air. Some dishes are merely fried over open fires in their own grease, others are smoked or slow-roasted or stewed in massive cauldrons where spices and vegetables are thrown liberally. The street food in the Succubus Quarter is the best in the city. One will also find restaurants, catering to any palette and offering bizarre fusions of cuisine, from Moorish couscous to Serican stir-fry.
Moishe's guide continues walking, smiling back over her shoulder occasionally. The sensations are overwhelming, and he hurries to catch up with the succubus artist, ignoring the cooks hawking their dishes. He's fairly sure most of it isn't kosher anyway, although the latkes he sees being cooked on a ripping hot skillet smell incredible - then again, the same chef is also cooking a cat on a shawarma spit (the sign at their stand claims that it is a delicacy in Indica). The artist herself doesn't stand out from the crowd as she did on Penitent Street - the paint-stained smock and the wild hair simply become part of the riot of colors, though Moishe can't help but ignore the long whiplike tail trailing from her hips as it flicks back and forth, following her like a serpent as she weaves through the crowds, completely at home.
There is music here, too - ecstatic performances of original compositions, ancient hymns, recitations of epic poetry, and wild, freely improvised sessions between musicians come together for the sole purpose of making harmonic noise. The styles and instruments are just as disjointed as anything else about the Succubus Quarter, and some are impossible to place. They fade in and out as one walks through the street, and all together they blend together with the clamor of the street, becoming the cacophonous background noise of the Succubus Quarter.
Each and every succubus lives their own life first, each striving to be achieve the superlative mastery of whatever they desire. The race is defined by their monomaniacal pursuit of talent and skill - their lust, as their poets call it. Some succubi lust for knowledge, others for art and music, others for food, and of course some lust for more typical pleasures of the flesh.
And, so Moishe has been told, there is at least one who lusts for travel.
"You're very, very lucky," the succubus painter says as she skips up a set of stairs and into a house that seems to be a library hosting a dinner party, "I'm fairly sure she's in town, but you know, she's in and out so often..."
He nods and jerks to avoid bumping into a Marid woman holding a wine glass. There are of course more than just succubi here: there are Djinn, especially Marids with their music and art influenced by the many cultures they have interacted with; there is the occasional Nephilim; there are a few ghouls cracking morbid jokes and cackling over some garish and provocative art piece; cambions, those half-succubi, though hard to tell from humans, are common in the Quarter; and of course there are humans of every race, creed, and nationality, here for research, or artistic appreciation, a good deal, for love, or simply looking for food, a fun party, or an evening with a responsible and discreet partner.
Looking for partners in crime as well, because in the Succubus Quarter the arm of the city guard cannot reach, and the succubi do not have the inclination to police their own streets, so cutpurses, pickpockets, conmen, and fugitives are thick on the ground, while deals in drugs, stolen goods, black magic components, and more obscure contraband are done in the open, while behind closed doors conspirators, cults, and spies gather. Robberies and muggings occur constantly, and fights nearly as often.
Succubi, though, are naturally the most populous inhabitants of the Quarter. They are everywhere - walking or flying, in and out of doors or windows or even taking off and landing in crowded streets and squares, on rooftops, on balconies. They chatter in a hundred tongues, eagerly and animatedly, gesturing with hands and tails and wings, goods and coins traded between deft hands, gathering in groups that split apart just as quickly based on some obscure social calculus that only a race of ardent individualists can form when forced to do business
Their appearances are as varied as anything else they do, with skin colors ranging from the human to the unnaturally vibrant, red and greed and blue and gold, horns in any number of shapes. Some are more human, some seem almost like Djinn, others are unmistakably succubi. Hairstyles, clothing, and even makeup each serve to distinguish individuals, so that no two succubi are alike in form or presentation - and given the propensity for succubi to change their appearance even day to day on a whim, a given group of succubi can be wildly impermanent in appearance. Succubi also possess every range of body type, and identities seem just as obscure as anything else, ranging from male to female to individuals who make no distinction, or who blend features of both genders completely. As shapeshifters, they can change from one to the other at will, and their partners are no less diverse.
As mentioned, in the Succubus Quarter all boundaries are obscured.
To Moishe's surprise, their trail leads them upstairs and onto a balcony, apparently hosting a different gathering entirely. Down below, a parade of Marids wind their way through the neighborhood, accompanied by flutes, bells, and cymbals. Moishe is tempted to ask if there is some sort of festival being held, but in Jerusalem there very well might be.
Finally, they arrive at their destination. The house itself appears to be a gathering for vagrants, itinerants, and the homeless, who wander in and out as they wish. The succubus asks after a "Deborah", and they are led through a kitchen occupied by two succubi. Squeezing past them, Moishe is left at the door.
"She's all yours, alchemist."
The artist winks at him before slipping off into another part of the house. Moishe swallows and grips his walking stick in both hands before entering the room.
Within, he finds an incubus half-asleep on a couch. He pauses, not sure if he's been led to the wrong room, but his artist guide seems to have disappeared, so he clears his throat and speaks tremulously.
"Um...Deborah?"
The incubus' eyes snap open, and he lazily turns his head to look at Moishe.
"Yeah?"
"Sorry, I was just expecting..."
He trails off. The incubus looks down and sighs. With olive-colored skin and black hair, he looks like he could be Greek or Italian, save for the wings, tail, and the small black horns on his forehead.
"I forgot you people get hung up about that. Yeah, I'm Deborah. You can call me by a different name, if it helps."
"...Barak?"
The incubus stares at him, evidently not getting the reference.
"How about 'Deb'," he says dryly.
"Hello, Deb. I am Moishe ben David, alchemist's apprentice," he says, regaining his stride. He elects not to mention his recent initiation into an ancient order of wizard-rabbis.
"Right. Moishe, what can I help you with?"
Moishe smiles and pulls up a nearby stool.
"I'll make it quick. I'm with the crew of a ship, and we're charting a course for Indica. I understand you're...rather interested in travel, and our mutual acquaintance says you've been there before."
Deb nods.
"Kingdom of Prester John. Last trip was 1486. What's the catch?"
Moishe spreads his hands.
"No catch! Well...it's the ship."
"Mmmh, leaky tub, is it?"
Moishe shakes his head.
"Oh no, it's quite new...in fact, it's still being built."
Deb's eyes widen and a small smile crosses his face. Moishe may not be intimately familiar with succubi, but he has heard that succubi are innately curious, especially when they sense something that can feed their interests.
"Is that so? What kind of fancy ship could an alchemist be trying to invent?"
"One that can fly," Moishe says simply, then sits back to let that sink in. Deb chews his lip.
"You're pulling my leg."
"Not at all. I can prove it, if you come to my benefactor's mansion."
Deb shakes his head.
"I don't believe this," he says, but Moishe senses that it's not that Deb disbelieves his story, but rather that he is willing to go along with it.
"Alright," Moishe says, "We're looking for a guide, not just someone who knows the route, but someone who's familiar with the whole territory between Jerusalem and Indica, all the landforms and cities, the dangers, the people..."
"Stop, stop, I'm already sold!" Deb says, springing to his feet, "Do I know it? Like the back of my own hand, I do! I'll be your guide, and you don't even have to pay me if I can see all that from a flying ship!"
Moishe laughs and takes the incubus' hand.
"Then welcome to the crew of the
Aliyah!"
