Fahara’jad, the High King of all Hammerfell, holds court at Samuruik, the Palace of Sentinel.  There were many in High Rock who felt given King Emeric’s recent displays of ‘vulnerability’, that the noble Fahara’jad might make for a better leader of the Daggerfall Covenant.  But in the short time since I arrived in Sentinel, it is already clear to me that the Redguard King faces enough instabilities in his own land that he needs to prove himself against first.

He knew of the Withered Hands undead assault upon the docks but did not act, it was an unexpected stranger who stopped the threat of the necromancers.  Fahara’jad suspects that the attack on the docks was but a rook, and that the Withered Hand have something far worse planed.

Many years ago, the arch-necromancer Suturah led an undead army against the Redguard people and but for the dishonoured Ash’abah, would surely have taken their capitol.  The Redguard believe it is a dishonourable sin to fight their ancestors, even those long dead and risen by foul magic, and that those who do so are forever cursed.

So Fahara’jad secretly called upon the Ash’abah for aid, but then publicly claimed it was divine intervention that saved them.  And now he tells me that the gods guided me here to save his city?!  Perhaps in doing so he is just employing the same device he used years ago to shroud his peoples’ weakness, or perhaps it is that he has told the lie so often, and for so long, that he himself now believes it true?

The Alik’r is divided by more than just the barren, inhospitable sands, it is a land cleft by the contrary ideologies of its people; the progressive Forebears, and the traditionalist Crowns.  Any sign of weakness from the court could be seized upon by either or both, making every move Fahara’jad makes a chary hop between the duneripper’s claws and the scorpion’s tail.

S.K

Merchants and peddlers from across Tamriel brave the harsh arid climate of the Alik’r to do trade at the great bazaar of Sentinel, which stretches across the sandy floor of the desert city from the docks to the front gate.  Brusque Orcs from the mountainous north, haughty Elves from the isles to the south, reptilian swamp-tillers of the Blackmarsh, and avaricious Khajiit from the forests of Elsweyr, all have crossed land and sea to seek fortune, curio and rare antiquities at the great market in the sands.

There is one group of travelling merchants however who are not especially welcomed by the cities authorities. The nomadic Baandari tribe have an unfortunate reputation for holding profit ahead of ethic, conscience, morality, and oftentimes local law.

Ildani, for example, was caught by the local guard attempting to smuggle skooma into the city.  Somehow, she managed to escape her binds and now seeks an accomplice to retrieve her contraband from the customs house and distribute it to her desperate clientele.  Whilst Unishi is a Baandari potion-maker staying at the Frozen Palms Tavern, whose literal interpretation of her customers’ requests she fulfils with little regard to consequence or decency.

It is difficult however to feel sympathy for the ‘victims’ of the Baandarii, for one thing all seem to have in common at this great market in the sands, is an improvident desire for quick profit and easy coin.

S.K