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The Tourist: The Journeyman of Rao
The Journeyman of Rao
While perusing the vast marketplace of the most dignified city south of the Shallow Sea, I had the dubious pleasure of meeting a gentleman by the name of Sa’Fraha Felikeen. Even by the standards of Rao this man was collected, polite, and under spoken to an extreme. After helping me right a cart of over-ripe bog onions that I had inadvertently trampled, he inquired as to whether I might be inclined to a cup of cahje and a few stories of his homeland. After apologizing for my rough treatment of the native tongue I gave an affirmative reply.
We took a cushioned booth within the cool plastered walls of a nearby dkufah, a cafe of sorts, and Sa Felikeen (“Sa” being similar to “Mr.” but also indicative of a profession, the implications of which I was only to become aware of later) began with an overview of the city and the lands surrounding.
He spoke at length, touching a variety of topics. He spoke of ghost cane cultivation in the Silver Hills and territorial disputes with the Gormish in the marshlands to the southeast. He explained the difficulties inherent to cahje exportation and told of rumors of a plan to build a fortified canal across the Cur Grasslands.
It was only after some time that I noticed a rough scar-like blemish on his forearm. Not being nearly as polite as the locals, I asked him how he came to have such a mark. He seemed to study me as he took a long sip. Refilling his cup he asked, in a lower voice than he had been using, “What do you know of the island of Ithbar?”
“Not a great deal.”, I replied. “Only that it is the second largest island amongst the Isles of Rasta, that it is mountainous, lush and green. I have also heard rumors of an order of powerful mystics that make their home there.”
At my mention of the mystics, a smile crossed Sa Felikeen’s face. “I myself had also heard such rumors, but that did little to lessen my surprise when I first encountered them in the flesh.” Before he could continue, the arrival of another foreigner drew his attention. Judging by the gray cast of his skin, I decided that the man was most likely of Gormish descent. After watching the man take a seat at a small table, Sa Felikeen excused himself most politely, stating that he would return in a short moment. He crossed the room to where the Gormish was seated and instigated a conversation in hushed tones.
As I waited, I sipped my cahje and attempted to eavesdrop, to no avail. With little else to do I drifted into contemplation, primarily concerning my next destination, which I still had yet to decide upon.
I was pulled from my reverie by the sight of Sa Felikeen withdrawing a document, folded and sealed with wax, from within his robes. Before he could deposit the document on the table, the foreigner’s eyes grew wide with alarm and he attempted to rise from his chair. In a series of movements too fast for me to follow, Sa Felikeen rendered the man inert, his head left laying on the table with the document tucked beneath. There was a small amount of blood trickling from the man’s ear.
As I scanned the room for other witnesses to this act it suddenly occurred to me that the Bells of Reverence had sounded over a quarter of an hour ago. All the natives were on the rooftops, engrossed in prayer. All except Sa Felikeen.
My mind, working frantically to decipher the situation, managed to dredge up some features of the local language and customs that I had dismissed. Fraha Felikeen had introduced himself using the casual form of his name, however the natives never introduce themselves using the casual form; they always use the proper form. The prefix “Sa” implies that Fraha Felikeen is some sort of craftsman but in the proper form there should be an addition to the prefix specifying a particular craft, such as Sashee. That would imply that he is a maker of fine musical instruments. The ceremonial form of name includes an addition to the proper form, such as Sasheebodahn. This would describe him as being a maker of bodahns, a type of ritual drum with a very deep, smooth tone.
There was some clue I was missing, so when Sa’Fraha Felikeen returned to our booth I asked him, “Why aren’t you in prayer?”
“Let us walk.”, was his only reply.
From what I had seen, Sa Felikeen could have killed me right there if that had been his inclination. So, not believing that I had anything to fear I followed him out of the dkufa. The Bells of Renewal had sounded and the streets were beginning to fill with people once again.
We walked down streets, through courtyards and temples. We walked until the blanket of the stars was thrown across the sky. We walked and I listened. Here is a small part of what he told me:
“There are some who do not wish to have the taint of their acts forgiven by The Blessed One, for when she forgives it is necessary for her to absorb the taint herself. It would be very selfish and irresponsible if we were to attend prayer.”
“My brethren are known simply as the Sa, or Journeymen in your tongue. In our own lands we are respected, for it is considered a great sacrifice to deny oneself the light of The Blessed One. In other lands we are referred to as assassins, cut throats, and worse. But it is not that simple. While the Sa do work together occasionally, we most often act as individuals. Let me use the recently deceased Gormish as an example.”
“While on business in Tarmush I heard of a man, a very low sort of man, that stole and purchased young children for his employer. This employer was no plain individual but a Souldriver, a Gormish swamp witch.”
“I followed this man to witness for myself that what I had heard was the truth. Sadly, it was so. This very low man sold the souls of children. They would become the victims of the Souldriver’s wicked attentions. My next task had presented itself.”
“Before I could strike, the Gormish departed for Rao. I followed him back to my homeland, but to my shame I lost his trail two days ago. It was only by chance that the Gormish happened into the dkufa while you and I were there, for The Blessed One will not be party to an act such as killing. You bore witness to the rest. I approached him, recited the list of his crimes, and delivered the Letter of Condolences and Apology. The true weight of his fate became clear to him as I proffered the letter. When he attempted to draw his weapon I slew him.”
“Now I must enlist the aid of two of my brethren. The Journeymen are versed in many secret techniques of elimination but a Souldriver is an extremely dangerous adversary and chance would not be in my favor were I to confront her alone.”
“Once again I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you. May our paths meet again when the light of The Blessed One illuminates all the dark corners of the world.”
Sa’Fraha Felikeen bowed to me then, and as he walked away into the night I recited a small prayer for his soul, since he was unwilling to do so himself. Perhaps someday we will meet again, when light shines upon us all.
While perusing the vast marketplace of the most dignified city south of the Shallow Sea, I had the dubious pleasure of meeting a gentleman by the name of Sa’Fraha Felikeen. Even by the standards of Rao this man was collected, polite, and under spoken to an extreme. After helping me right a cart of over-ripe bog onions that I had inadvertently trampled, he inquired as to whether I might be inclined to a cup of cahje and a few stories of his homeland. After apologizing for my rough treatment of the native tongue I gave an affirmative reply.
We took a cushioned booth within the cool plastered walls of a nearby dkufah, a cafe of sorts, and Sa Felikeen (“Sa” being similar to “Mr.” but also indicative of a profession, the implications of which I was only to become aware of later) began with an overview of the city and the lands surrounding.
He spoke at length, touching a variety of topics. He spoke of ghost cane cultivation in the Silver Hills and territorial disputes with the Gormish in the marshlands to the southeast. He explained the difficulties inherent to cahje exportation and told of rumors of a plan to build a fortified canal across the Cur Grasslands.
It was only after some time that I noticed a rough scar-like blemish on his forearm. Not being nearly as polite as the locals, I asked him how he came to have such a mark. He seemed to study me as he took a long sip. Refilling his cup he asked, in a lower voice than he had been using, “What do you know of the island of Ithbar?”
“Not a great deal.”, I replied. “Only that it is the second largest island amongst the Isles of Rasta, that it is mountainous, lush and green. I have also heard rumors of an order of powerful mystics that make their home there.”
At my mention of the mystics, a smile crossed Sa Felikeen’s face. “I myself had also heard such rumors, but that did little to lessen my surprise when I first encountered them in the flesh.” Before he could continue, the arrival of another foreigner drew his attention. Judging by the gray cast of his skin, I decided that the man was most likely of Gormish descent. After watching the man take a seat at a small table, Sa Felikeen excused himself most politely, stating that he would return in a short moment. He crossed the room to where the Gormish was seated and instigated a conversation in hushed tones.
As I waited, I sipped my cahje and attempted to eavesdrop, to no avail. With little else to do I drifted into contemplation, primarily concerning my next destination, which I still had yet to decide upon.
I was pulled from my reverie by the sight of Sa Felikeen withdrawing a document, folded and sealed with wax, from within his robes. Before he could deposit the document on the table, the foreigner’s eyes grew wide with alarm and he attempted to rise from his chair. In a series of movements too fast for me to follow, Sa Felikeen rendered the man inert, his head left laying on the table with the document tucked beneath. There was a small amount of blood trickling from the man’s ear.
As I scanned the room for other witnesses to this act it suddenly occurred to me that the Bells of Reverence had sounded over a quarter of an hour ago. All the natives were on the rooftops, engrossed in prayer. All except Sa Felikeen.
My mind, working frantically to decipher the situation, managed to dredge up some features of the local language and customs that I had dismissed. Fraha Felikeen had introduced himself using the casual form of his name, however the natives never introduce themselves using the casual form; they always use the proper form. The prefix “Sa” implies that Fraha Felikeen is some sort of craftsman but in the proper form there should be an addition to the prefix specifying a particular craft, such as Sashee. That would imply that he is a maker of fine musical instruments. The ceremonial form of name includes an addition to the proper form, such as Sasheebodahn. This would describe him as being a maker of bodahns, a type of ritual drum with a very deep, smooth tone.
There was some clue I was missing, so when Sa’Fraha Felikeen returned to our booth I asked him, “Why aren’t you in prayer?”
“Let us walk.”, was his only reply.
From what I had seen, Sa Felikeen could have killed me right there if that had been his inclination. So, not believing that I had anything to fear I followed him out of the dkufa. The Bells of Renewal had sounded and the streets were beginning to fill with people once again.
We walked down streets, through courtyards and temples. We walked until the blanket of the stars was thrown across the sky. We walked and I listened. Here is a small part of what he told me:
“There are some who do not wish to have the taint of their acts forgiven by The Blessed One, for when she forgives it is necessary for her to absorb the taint herself. It would be very selfish and irresponsible if we were to attend prayer.”
“My brethren are known simply as the Sa, or Journeymen in your tongue. In our own lands we are respected, for it is considered a great sacrifice to deny oneself the light of The Blessed One. In other lands we are referred to as assassins, cut throats, and worse. But it is not that simple. While the Sa do work together occasionally, we most often act as individuals. Let me use the recently deceased Gormish as an example.”
“While on business in Tarmush I heard of a man, a very low sort of man, that stole and purchased young children for his employer. This employer was no plain individual but a Souldriver, a Gormish swamp witch.”
“I followed this man to witness for myself that what I had heard was the truth. Sadly, it was so. This very low man sold the souls of children. They would become the victims of the Souldriver’s wicked attentions. My next task had presented itself.”
“Before I could strike, the Gormish departed for Rao. I followed him back to my homeland, but to my shame I lost his trail two days ago. It was only by chance that the Gormish happened into the dkufa while you and I were there, for The Blessed One will not be party to an act such as killing. You bore witness to the rest. I approached him, recited the list of his crimes, and delivered the Letter of Condolences and Apology. The true weight of his fate became clear to him as I proffered the letter. When he attempted to draw his weapon I slew him.”
“Now I must enlist the aid of two of my brethren. The Journeymen are versed in many secret techniques of elimination but a Souldriver is an extremely dangerous adversary and chance would not be in my favor were I to confront her alone.”
“Once again I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you. May our paths meet again when the light of The Blessed One illuminates all the dark corners of the world.”
Sa’Fraha Felikeen bowed to me then, and as he walked away into the night I recited a small prayer for his soul, since he was unwilling to do so himself. Perhaps someday we will meet again, when light shines upon us all.
Recovered from the Gaming Outpost database backup. Original wording is preserved; damaged punctuation and presentation markup have been repaired. Historical links without a local match point to the Internet Archive.