The 27th Scroll: Around the Campfire

[Gamemaster]

On the last evening before the caravan reaches Vahtov, the group is sitting around the campfire, relaxing, laughing easily after the adventures they've had.
Ya'qub reaches into his pouch and pulls out one of the jewels he has been carrying in the hopes of trade.
Holding it aloft for all to see in the flickering light of the campfire, he clear his throat jovially. "I have here an opal, the size of a sparrow's egg, which will be awarded to person here who shares the best story. It may be a story of your life before, or one you have heard from your mother's knee. But the best story earns the teller this jewel. Now," he adds smiling wide, the gaps in his teeth black as the night behind him, "who will go first?"
Ya'qub looks round that flame lit faces sitting around the campfire. They stare back, apparently unmoved by his proposal.
"No one has a story to share?" He asks, with a tinge of sadness in his voice, as he moves to return the opal to his purse....
Stretched out on the ground, Maarouf turned his smiling gaze from the star-filled sky above and called out to Ya'qub: "Don't be so hasty master Ya'qub! Let me be the first to try for your prize."
The lanky caravan laborer propped himself up on his elbows and grinned even wider. "Fate would have it that my tale begins on my mother's knee, though I wouldn't fault you for not believing it. I was but a child, barely weened from mother's milk and none to pleased about it according to my aunts and sisters. One glorious spring day, while she sat at the town well--discussing with the women such weighty matters as the fashions of Huzuz--mother was bouncing me on her knee to quiet my cries."
Maarouf's eyes beamed in the firelight as he warmed to his tale.

"Now my dear mother could talk the ears off a statue given enough time and a subject to her liking, so it was no surprise that she soon forgot about the little boy on her knee." Maarouf got to his knees and bobbed up and down, his head flopping side to side. "Soon I was bouncing high enough that some of the women tried to interrupt mother's condemnation of imported silks and cookware- to no avail. I'm afraid she took their insistance as disagreement and pressed on undetered."
Jumping to his feet, Maarouf raised and lowered his arms in exaggerated rhythm. "I'd not expect any of you to know this but I was a handsome, well-fed baby, but by no measure large." He suddenly stopped.
"Swooosh!" he yelled, his hand diving down and grasping. "At the zenith of my flight I was snatched from the sky by a hawk!"

[Gamemaster]

He paused, breathing deeply. "Who knows the ways of Fate," he pondered aloud as he stared at his sandaled feet. "That hawk belonged to none other than a prince and I was brought crying to the high walls of his palace."
Nodding sagely: "That is how I became a caravan laborer! For you see, the prince placated my distraught mother by promising her that when I was of age he would employ me in a task that best suited me."
"Ah!" Ya'qub says. A worthy first entrant! From this day forward you will be known as Maarouf Hawk's Prize!"
Waleed nodded when the tale was finished, but said nothing else. After a short while when no one else chimed in he cleared his throat and told his short tale.

"A woman stopped by unannounced at her recently married son's house. She knocked on the door and walked in. She was shocked to see her daughter-in-law lying on a spread of pillows on the floor, totally naked. The aroma of perfume and incense filled the room.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm waiting for my husband to come home from work," the daughter-in-law answered.
"But you're naked!" the mother-in-law exclaimed.
"This is my love dress," the daughter-in-law explained.
"Love dress? But you're naked!"
"My husband loves me to wear this dress," she explained. "It excites him to no end. Every time he sees me in this dress, he instantly becomes romantic and ravages me for hours on end. He can't get enough of me."
The mother-in-law left. When she got home, she undressed, bathed, put on her best perfume, lit only a few lamps and incense to set the mood and laid on a multitude of floor pillows waiting for her husband to arrive. Finally, her husband came home.
He walked in and saw her laying there so provocatively.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"This is my love dress" she whispered, sensually.
"Needs ironing," he said.
Maarouf exploded into a fit of laughter.
Ya'qub laughs as well, his shoulders shaking and his gap-toothed smile broader than it has been in recent days. Ah, it has been too long since I laughed like that,he thinks to himself. At last wiping the beginnings of a tear from his eyes, he looks over the group again. "Anyone else?" he asks, after catching his breath.

[Gamemaster]

Even the grim Ahmar allowed an explosive burst of laughter to escape his lips. "There is a tale I know of the city of Vahtov which may provide some entertainment." he says once the laughter of Waleed's story has subsided. "It a story well-known among many al-Badia of the High Desert. It was in this fashion that the tale was told to me, so it is in this fashion that I tell it to you now.
Once Vahtov was as great a city as any, even Tajar or Huzuz. Four hundred years ago a band of men, refugees from the House of Nasr, made a pact with a tribe of dwarves from the Mountains of the Lizard's Tongue. Their ambition was no less than to plunder the rich deposits of jewels and gold which many men believed lay beneath the Pit of Ghuls.
They established a settlement and called it Vahtov, which in the dwarven tongue means "fated fortune". As the dwarves struck their mines, askas and sorcerers among the men kept the creatures of the area at bay.
And so it was that both men and dwarves saw their wildest dreams come true. It is said that within a few years, a vast mountain of emeralds and turquoise had been recovered, along with enough gold to fill the sea. The builders of Vahtov carved their palatial homes from polished marble, laid streets in gleaming onyx, and raised silver watchtowers that touched the sky.
As is always the way, however, this paradise did not last. Men grew weary of risking their lives to guard the city and the dwarves in turn began to resent their sole servitude in the mines. The first violence occurred when an emerald mine collapsed and the men of Vahtov refused to help in rescuing the dwarven miners. In retribution, the dwarves destroyed the remaining mines. Sorcerers among the men struck down dwarven temples by calling lightning down from the sky. The dwarves poisoned an artesian used by the men of Vahtov. And so it went, the conflict continuing to grow, until within a year the city had been reduced to rubble.
A foolish and desperate man, perhaps a Sha'ir, summoned a djinn to end the conflict between the founders of the city. The sorcerer had his wish, but not in the way he had hoped. Instantly the city of Vahtov seemed to tower above the warriors on both sides like a city of titans. But the city had not grown. No! To their horror, the men and dwarves of Vahtov discovered that they had been shrunk to the size of mere insects. Thus ended the war between the men and dwarves of Vahtov.
But even that peace did not last. Not long after a flock of monstrous ravens from the Pit of the Ghuls swarmed into the city to feast on the tiny citizens, plucking them from the streets like berries from a bush.
For two centuries the ruins of Vahtov stood gaping and abandoned, a place cursed and haunted by mortal greed and hubris. Likely it would still be abandoned today had Fate not decided otherwise. Ali al-Adid, the leader of a group of exiles from House Tayif, came upon the hollow ruins of Vahtov after weeks of suffering travel across the open desert.
Ali claimed the city on behalf of the dispossessed and the powerless. "Let it be known that from this day forward," he said "They will never be without a home."
Vahtov soon acquired a reputation as a haven for outcasts. Exiles of every race and creed sought refuge in the village, where they were welcomed regardless of their station, appearance, or faith. Today, Vahtov is an unlikely melange of religious heretics and disgraced soldiers, the elderly and the infirm, the disfigured and the despised.

[Gamemaster]

Nothing remains of Vahtov's original wealth having been siezed long ago by fiends from the Pit of Ghuls. Yet some believe that not all of the city's original people perished with the ravens. It said many live even today, the tallest no larger than a man's thumb, in an underground realm beneath the ruined city of Vahtov. But whether this is true, I cannot say."
"Maarouf Hawk's Prize," Maarouf was still muttering to himself in a pleased sort of way. "Maarouf Hawk's... What? Dwarves?"

Stern glances from Old Rajib and Sahra silenced Maarouf until after Ahmar finished his tale.

"Honored Amir al-Ahmar," Maarouf smiled with a 'you're not fooling me' look. "Dwarves are creatures of fireside tales; they're not real like giant desert anhkegs and the walking dead!" Sahra looked like she was in agreement with Maarouf, but Old Rajab crossed his arms and jutted out his lower jaw. "Bah!" All who knew him well enough readied themselves for a tale.
"Who is to tell what is real in this world?" Ahmar shrugs. "Until a few days ago I had thought the seven cursed men of the House of Dhiíb a fireside tale, yet my bow and scimitar found them real enough."
"Ahem." Old Rajab scowled at the interruption. Once he had attention focus back on him he began.
"The village matchmakers hadn't even considered your parents for marriage when I was already an adventurous young boy. My days where spent tending the goats in the hills far north of Tajar.
"To satisfy my curious mind I'd wander the rocks in search of treasure and adventure while the goats grazed--much to my parent's dismay.
"'Mind the goats Rajab!' Father would insist as he whipped a lesson of responsibility into me with his camel stick. 'Stay out of the rocks or the dwarves will eat you!' Mother chastised as she shook me in a display of boundless love, may the gods bless and keep her."
"Disrespectful and ungreatful as I was, I heeded not their loving admonitions and earned my just reward. I discovered a small cave one day and determined to return the next prepared to explore it." He paused his tale long enough to deliver an admonition: "I've since gained enough wisdom to recognize curiousity is a thing to be avoided!"
"Borrowing a lamp from my father's house, I led the goats to the hills and after a scan of the horizon for bandits, white saluqi, and parents, I entered the cave. It was small, and even as a boy I was unable to stand comfortably. The floor was covered in blown sand that was disturbed by tracks," he raised a bushy white eyebrow, "Boot prints."
"Oh course you'd say 'bandits' or 'thieves' made the prints, as would I, had I not met with the print's maker. For you see I returned often to the cave, never going much beyond the entrance but enjoying its coolness and protection from the sun. Which was important because when I was a boy it was always much hotter..."
Old Rajab caught the exasperated look from Sahra and caught himself before wandering off-topic.
"Well, imagine my surprise when I found a gift laying in the sand just inside the entrance. A small stone carving of a goat. Realistic in detail that I've not seen matched. I was so impressed that I in turn left a gift of my own--a wood carving of two masted dhow."

[Gamemaster]

"The beating I received when my father found my gift was enough to convince me to stay out of caves, but I'll call a liar any who doubts the dwarves gave me that stone carving."
"You said you met the person who made the prints," Sahra pointed out, helpfully.
"No I didn't," huffed Old Rajab. "Never said such a thing."
After all the others have had the opportunity to share the stories, Ya'qub stands up where all can see him, clears his throat and tries with all his might to look commanding and noble (which is difficult to do when you are a balding, gap-toothed caravneer...).
Looking at every person gathered around the campfire, he begins.
"I have traveled far and wide, and it has often been my pleasure to hear stories from fabled countries and peoples. It is a joy for me to hear these stories. This is why I proposed this contest tonight.
"Maarouf, I have bestowed the name "Hawk's Prize" on you for your marvelous tale of how you came to be an invaluable member of the caravan.
"Noble Ahmar, you have given us great insight into the nature of our destination, insight that may prove priceless to us.
"Rajab, I thank you for your reminiscence of your youth, and for the glimpse into your wondrous past; there is certainly more to you than meets the eye!
"But my friends, to the one who has brought laughter to our group after so long and dangerous a journey into this hard mistress of a desert, I offer my opal to Waleed!"
He holds out the jewel to the winner of the contest, inviting him to receive it.
Waleed stood and graciously accepted the Opal, it was his only substance of wealth. "Thank you Ya'qub, and thank you others for saving me, it is only through your generous nature that I am here healthy and able to tell such tales. Thank you!"
Maarouf and Old Rajab congratulated Waleed on his victory and good fortune, then went to give a final check of the camels before turning in for the night.