Blackroot tea. It was a luxury in these parts, sold to Shak'Ezel by the Kobold traders of the Eastern Isles; liquid gold was what they called it. I nursed the sweet brew under the shade of a palm tree, watching the day's spectacle unfold from the comfort of a café. Midday had come, and with it the commotion of the bazaar. It was an everchanging play of strangers, peppered with the usual faces of peddlers and stall owners. The cry of an advertising vendor. The low growl of a salamander as its Kit'lan rider eased the beast's temper. An urchin, his begging hoarse with age and thirst. The last sight, not uncommon for Shak'Ezel, served as a reminder: fate had been kind to me.
I'd all the trappings of a scholar, though I fancied myself an amateur historian; a 'collector of stories', if I was feeling romantic. While the journey across Tygris Dunes had been perilous, my time in Shak'Ezel had proved rather fruitful. I'd learned a great deal of lore regarding the ancient kingdom's origins. From Shak'Ezel's founding as a monument to the ancient Sand Elves, to the city's untimely conquering at the hands of the Sapphire Tyrant, the Blue Wyrm, Tyrianos. Shak'Ezel's history and customs had proven both rich and dangerously complex. It was an enchanting city, brimming with old magics and baroque architecture that outshone even the finest Dwarven Smith. I finished my tea, collecting my bags and eager to learn more of a particularly charming race native to Shak'Ezel: the Ny'Maren.
They were a felinid people, largely resembling humans, barring their cat-like tails and characteristically feline ears. History had not been kind to the Ny'Maren. Their homeland was long lost beneath the sands of time, only recently rediscovered thanks to one intrepid explorer. And while I'd never met any personally, the tales told by those who did spoke volumes about them. They were a proud folk, yet also humble when compared to other races in Shak'Ezel. I yearned to learn more of these enigmatic and noble people.