The Baandari caravan at the desert town of Kozanset prepare their stalls for another busy day of haggle and barter under the ever mistrustful watch of the local Covenant Guard. They say that there are three things you will find in every town of Tamriel, a tavern, a wayshrine, and a Baandari peddling his wares. 

Having lost their own lands many years ago, the Baandari do not recognize boundaries or territories as the rest of us might. The Baandari’s only concern is profit, and nothing makes them purr more then salvaging one persons junk and selling it to another as treasure. They have little understanding or care for the politics of the Three Banners war, and would take equal pleasure from selling sand to a Redguard, snow to a Nord, or a mirror to an Altmer.

With starlight shining in their eyes, and the moonbeams of Masser and Secunda in their veins, the Baandari caravan follows the many roads of Tamriel at night to arrive before dawn to set their tents and stalls in the next town, heedless to the colour of the banners that fly above its gates.

They may have no land, no home, and no banner of their own, but perhaps because of this, the Baandari may just be the only people of Tamriel who are free.

S.K

The Jackals of the desert wastes prey upon those too weak and vulnerable to defend themselves from the pack. In the myths and legends of the Yokudans, the jackals were often associated with guileful brigands and shrewd sorcerers, who practised plot, ploy and ruse to exploit the most susceptible.

The Redguard city of Kozanset in the eastern Alik’r has fallen under attack by harpies who descend from their nesting grounds in the hills to peck and claw at both the residents and their livestock. The magistrate, short on guards, asked a recently arrived Colovian mercenary group for help. The mercenaries however soon turn out to be little more then a pack of jackals, bullying, exploiting, and extorting the defenceless locals. The townspeople now question which is the worse, the harpies or the mercenaries, and some even openly suggest that the mercenaries themselves may be responsible for the sudden harpy aggression.

Perhaps in the desert it is better the harpies you know then the jackals you don’t.

S.K