Al'Mamlaka Farsaan

[Al'Mamlaka Farsaan]

Kurgan Coastline
Small Fishing Village
Corsair Ship "Basir"

---

Bosun Mukhtar al'Najid gently caressed the edge of his fine saber. The gulls yelped loudly over the crashing sound of the tides as the waves shuddered against the hard wood of the Basir. The cloying smell of sulfur and ash filled his nostrils as he breathed in deeply. Before him lay the remains of a once serene Goblin Fishing village, now burnt to ash and dust. The screams of the injured and dying filled the air, eclipsed only by the sounds of those in the custody of the Basir's crew.

To the Bosun's right walked a large Afrizarian(1) who clomped up the platform leading to the ships deck. In his left hand he held a cruel looking whip with shards of obsidian embedded in the head. In his right he pulled a thick metal chain of black iron. Attached to this chain were two dozen or so goblins, all in their adolescent ages. The Bosun grinned.

"Nasim! A fine catch I am thinking, yes?" he yelled, his pearly white teeth glowing with mirth. The large Afrizarian turned and returned the smile, multiple piercings of bone making his grin far less friendly.

"Aye Bosun! The markets will pay high for such a bountiful harvest! Young ones like these are easy to mold!" He bellowed in return, laughing as he yanked on the chain, causing several of the young goblins to tumble onto the hard wood.

"Get up! You will lie down when instructed!" The lash of his whip raked across the back of one of the prone Goblins, gaining a yelp from the others and a scream of pain from the victim. This continued for several more strokes before the Goblin forced itself up. As it raised it's head it's eyes swelled, the large Afrizarian's form eclipsing the sun.

"Too long!" Nasim smashed the hunched Goblin with one swing of his over sized paws. The Goblin crumbled as grey matter spattered the deck. Nasim growled at the whimpering goblins and kicked another for good measure.

"You will clean this up when we are away pig things!" He said, continuing to drag them under the deck. The entire crew burst with laughter as the Goblins were forced to climb over the broken body of their friend. Mukhtar gave a sly sneer then returned to looking at the burning village. On this hills above he saw dust clouds forming and small shapes slowly becoming more defined. With a smile he clanged the bell next to him and yelled out orders.

"It is time to set sail brothers! Alert the Kaptan we are setting off! The Goblins have finally sent aid I am thinking!"

With that the black sailed ship set sail, slicing through the water like a barracuda. By the time the Goblin Militia had come to save it's village the ship was long gone, only the shrill cries of the gulls and the smell of smoke keeping them company as their village burned to ashes.

---

Oruc'
Slave Markets

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Apothecary Rashid al'Sahir stood calmly over the prone body of one of the many slaves brought before him every day. His wooden Apothecary Mask gazed dully down at the corpse below him, the pallid still bearing the bruises and marks often seen among the slaves of Farsaan. The tattoo on the corpse told Rashid everything he needed to know about what the slave had once been.

It told him that this was one of the many catches made by the Oruc Corsair Kaptan Silah Al'Rasmi. It also told him that it had been on route to the Fighting Pits in Hizir. However while in transit it had died for some reason or another. It was Rashid's duty to find out why. With knife in hand, Rashid slowly cut the corpse's chest open down the center.

The Apothecary's nose was overwhelmed by the smell of disease and rot. As he opened up the corpse he saw the cause of the slave's death. The slaves lungs had almost completely decayed, along with spreading a black material to it's heart, liver, and one kidney. The Apothecary waved in his aid, a large South Islander, whom lifted the corpse and quickly disposed of it, throwing it out the window into a large pit. Come the end of the day, all the bodies inside would be lit ablaze, their corruption removed from the islands of Farsaan.

---

--Corsair Slavers busily attack any coastal village in search of slaves.
--Disease and similar issues are swiftly dealt with within slave populations in order to halt the spread of plague.
(1) Afrizaria is the most Northern Island, it's population known for having darker skin compared to the tan of the main Farsaan Islanders.

[Al'Mamlaka Farsaan]

Hizir
Fighting Pits

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The crowd bellowed and screamed in pleasure as steel clashed against steel. Sparks spats from the weapons of war that slammed against each other in combat. Dust and sand sprayed as feet fought to gain the better position, more leverage for their hands to shed the blood of their foe. All the while the crowd went wild.

The Fighting Pits were alive with the sound of combat and citizens egging the battling warriors on. The day was hot, the scorching sun of the Farsaan Islands blistering the skin of the duelings slaves. With a crack like thunder the two slammed their weapons together then parted like wolves sizing up their intended prey.

The first bore the mark of Kaptan Sifet, a well known Kaptan who frequently raided the Elven Coastline for fresh slaves. The Slave Warrior was an Orc of huge stature, it's waxy green skin sweating under the murderous sun. It's body was clad in leggings of plated steel and one shoulder pad while it's head was surrounded by a metal mask holding the likeness of a screaming sea monster. In it's hands it bore a massive war ax made of black iron, it to designed to be as fearsome as possible, the edge shaped into the maw of a sea serpent.

The warrior compared against the massive orc seemed weak in comparison. The warrior was an Elf of thin stature, bearing simple leather leggings and a single pauldron, along with a gorget of simple steel. His head was clad in a leather skull cap covering his shaved head. In his hands he held twin simple sabers. On his shoulder he held the symbol of Kaptan Tajamal, a lesser known Kaptan.

The crowd bellowed once more as the warriors met in combat once more. With a roar the Orc swung his ax in a decapitating strike, the Elf dodging with a hairs length between himself and the vicious blade. The Elf dived forward, slashing in an arc at the Orcs piggish head. The orc raised the handle of his ax to deflect the swing, the pole handle slashed in half.

The Orc swung his fist, knocking the Elf to the floor and disarming him with one swing of his meaty fist. The crowd went wild once more, cheering their assent and respect of the Orcs prowess. With the ego born of countless victories the Orc turned from his opponent and roared at the crowd.

"Victory!" He yelled, holding up the twin swords of the elf in both hands. As the Orc turned around he stopped, eyes wide, the going silent as their Champion stumbled backwards, the splintered handle of his ax sticking out of his spine. The orc dropped, dust shooting up as a cloud. The elf stood, retrieving his blades and looking at the awed and silent crowd. With hesitant and shaking arms he raised his blades to the sky. The Crowd cheered.

"Ghazi al'Batal!" They hailed their new Champion, a new name his reward. Under the dirt, grime and blood the smallest flash of a grin reached his slave visage. Visions of success filled his mind.

---

Hizir
Palace of Pasha Hadi Mazhar

---

The buzz of the flying insects filled the night, the moon casting it's eerie glow across the wooden pathways of the port city. The whipping wind caused the many banners and pennants that dangled across the city. Standing as islands in the sea of wooden structures stood the stone Palaces of the Pashas.

The Palace of Pasha Hadi Mazhar was a stone structure of fine make, built from Slate and fine sandstone, rare materials on an island dominated mostly by much softer rock. The complex surrounded by a wall of sandstone, a geometrically perfect square. In the center of the complex was the mansion structure, a cross shaped building with a domed top.

Walking the perimeter were warriors in brass and black, the feared Black Turbans of the Pashas. The Black Turbans that patrolled the complex were the perfect example of their order, bearing the brass chain lorica's, red linen cloaks, and wearing the Black Cloth Turbans that they took their names from. The turbans obscured all of their face except for their eyes, giving them a fearsome image. In their hands they held the Halberds they were so well known for wielding.

They paced monotonously around their designated patrol route, meeting at the points of the square in sync with their brothers, each patrolling with a partner. Their weapons magnificent, their armor immaculate, they were the shining examples of their warrior culture. Even for their Martial Perfection they did not see the shadow that walked in their midst.

The Nazim crawled his way across the wooden rooftops surrounding the complex. With movements like a cat he slowly edged his way closer to a small strut of wood that had once been part of a mast that was closest to the stone wall. His planned movements hardly caused a moan from the wood. The Nazim crouched low then leaped across the divide between the wooden pole and the stone walls. The Nazim continued his hunt, crawling down the stone wall with spiked gloves.

The Nazim quickly closed the gap between the wall and the Mansion, slipping through a window with one quick dive, breaking his momentum with a roll. Not a single sound was made. The Nazim stalked deeper into the dark mansion, moving up the stairs to the domed roof. There he spotted his quarry. The Pasha lay sleeping on a pile of furs, snoring in relaxation. The Nazim grinned under his keffiyeh. The sheath of his blade rang quietly as his knife was drawn from it. Creeping forward the Nazim raised his weapon to stab. As he closed with the bed a shadowy form stepped from the wall and blocked his path, all the while it's blade swinging towards him. With a splutter the Nazim's head parted from his shoulders, a brass Halberd taking his skull from him. The Black Turban guard lifted the corpse and it's body from the ground, dragging it from the Pasha's room, all the while Hadi continued to sleep soundly.

---

Eastern Coastline of the East Continent
Corsair Ship "Nayab"

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Kaptan Niyaz gazed off the deck of his black sailed ship, eying the continent with a predators grin. In his eyes the Coastline was a fresh treasure, waiting for plunder. He and his ship had been hunting up and down the coastline for some weeks now, searching for something of more value then simple slaves or villages to plunder. He wanted something more. He was required to find something more.

Niyaz had been sent to the coast in search for something of true use. Trade. It had been a long time since the Farsaan Ports had been filled with anything more than Corsair Ships. Although this was not a problem, it was clear to the Pasha Kaptans that they could no longer sustain their power with wealth and slaves alone. Many more resources were required to have a working Kingdom.

Niyaz's instructions were simple. Either find land with proper materials to build some kind of settlement in order to better supply the Capital. Or, is such land couldn't be found, find the next best thing. Some kind of culture that could give it to them. He had been given a writ of trade, a rare thing for any Kaptan of his status, to bring to any nation whom could offer them proper trade. With the writ enclosed in a metal casket and enough supplies to last several months, Niyaz and his crew continued their search down the coast, looking for anything that represented proper society, not the Barbarians that Niyaz and his ilk enslave.

---

-- Example of Slave Combat fought in the Fighting Pits in Hizir.
-- Shows the Ability of the Black Turbans (Spearmen) as guards.
-- Shows the Nazim Assassin's Order.
-- A Corsair Ship is going down the coast in search of resource rich land to settle or a Nation to Trade with, whichever comes first.

[Tribes of Kurgan]

Corsair Ship Nayab:
The storm's had been rough, tossing the ship as it if it was a rag doll that belonged to a child and nearly smashing the crew within to bloody ribbons. The massive waves had nearly caused the light and fast pirate vessel to capsize. Four sailors had been swept from the decks and into the depths of the sea's cold and frozen embrace. The main mast was ripped off by gale force wind's only a jagged stump remaining where the mighty sail had once been. The Nayab was now relying on oar power in order to maneuver the men below decks laboring, cursing as the vessel groaned in agony. Hours would pass, uncertainty gripping every man's heart as to whether the Maker had decided that now was their time.

The first blush of dawn on the horizon however meant that the Nayab and her crew had managed to survive the night and the worst of the storms. Despite the loss of several men and injuries aboard the ship, the vast majority of the crew remained intact. The ship however was not. It was bloodied, bruised, and in need of a repair or the men would have to abandon her. They coasted for a time, using what was left of their oars to propel them with only the vast stretches of the deep ocean both behind and infront of them. It would take another two days before the ship came within sight of the coast and longer still until they saw signs of habitation. Kapitan Niyaz could make out the tell tale signs of villages, which meant that a larger city had to be close. While it might have made for a juicy raiding target, Niyaz and his men were on a mission of exploration not conquest (at least for now). Besides, the Nayab's hold had been practically flooded. It would take time before she was fit enough to handle cargo and many of the ships supplies had been destroyed from the storms.

The pirates would get their wish, they had made contact.. If Nayab was inclined to send a shore party to investigate he would find that these weren't the isolated settlements that the pirates had grown accustomed to attacking. The banner of the Mandate of Ainrii hung high in the wind, this village was under the protection of a nation and attacking it would certainly mean war. That nation was the Mandate of Ainrii. The next move belonged to Niyaz, he would need their help if he ever wanted to return to his homeland. Rations, a safe harbor to allow for repairs, and in the mean time..perhaps he could even negotiate for resources as his original mission intended.

Summary:
After a slew of bad storms, the corsair ship Nayab is thrown off course and down along the coastline of the Mandate of Ainrii. The Nayab is badly damaged and must be repaired if it is to return home. Negotiations will be needed to conducted with the local inhabitants to allow this or the materials will have to be commandeered with coin or by force by the pirates from the nearby small settlements.

[Al'Mamlaka Farsaan]

Mandate of Ainrii Coastline
Corsair Ship "Nayab"
Kaptan Niyaz

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Kaptan Niyaz walked unceremoniously up the dirt pathway leading from the beach to the small town, a small retinue of Corsairs in rich reds and blacks following behind him, scimitars belted at the waist. The Corsair Ship sat out at sea at anchor, Niyaz having used a small dinghy in order to reach the sandy shoreline. He himself wore his Shemagh untied so to not seem threatening. It had been decided long before they had made shore landing preparations that those going to meet with the mainlanders would be required to seem as unassuming as possible. Best if the commoners of the town didn't stab them to death with their simple tools. Niyaz quickly shook the horrendous idea from his head.

As the shore party reached the outskirts of the village he noticed that these weren't Goblins at all. Niyaz felt a wave of calm rush over him, quickly replaced by a wave of reserved fear. The creatures in the village were elves, well known to Niyaz's people for being witches and demon callers. He blinked back to stories told to him by his Grandfather of a massive war fought on the mainland. Al'Mamlaka Farsaan had stayed out of the conflict, preferring to raid and pillage each side equally, yet stories of glimpsed monstrosities did not go unnoticed.

As Niyaz's party reached the center of the village he noticed that not all the doors and windows had been boarded up. Several of the Elvishkind still walked the cobbled streets. This both horrified and astonished Niyaz. He wasn't used to mere peasants not fleeing in sight of him and his black sail. I guess my ship requires a black sail to be feared he thought sullenly as his day dreams went back to an image of the Nayab, it's once pristine black sails marred and torn. Returning to the town, he decided to just get this hell started with.

"Hail Elvishkind! Feel no fear! We are here to speak, nothing more!"

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