This the fourth day of Sorrow, in the Year of the
Priest’s Defiance of the One Hundred Ninetieth
King’s Age

To my dear and loving Uncle,

At long last my travels have lead me to the City of Tyr. I find the city under the grip of the Witch-King Kalak, and in a frenzy of enterprise. I was very impressed with the markets, bazaars, and caravans; both for the wares that were available for trade, and the tradesmen who owned them. Never-the-less, the city is an abattoir of filth and desecration where sentient life trades for little and less than a handful of grain or coin. Tyr is dominated by the tower of Kalak and its vassal structures, none so impending than the ziggurat in the center of town. A colossal structure of brick and blood, the ziggurat is near completion and the templars of Kalak have been furiously driving their chattel to finish the project post haste. What has caused this current wellspring of industry is unclear, only that the overseers appear compelled to squeeze every ounce of vitality from their charges so as to complete this monstrosity before the month’s end. A cruelty I can attest to first hand by the whip of one such catspaw of Kalak, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Having little to my name beyond the equipment I had on my back, I had planned on singing for my supper at a certain wine shop off the main square of the merchant district. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Honeyed Kank? In either event I was just settling in when templars charged into the Kank, weapons drawn and looking to expand the ranks of their slave labor force. Upon the flimsiest of pretexts, some supposed runaway girl, they proceeded to shackle the entire room ankle to ankle and cart us off to the pits.

It is from here I pen this letter, with the ichor of an eviscerated reptile upon a scrap of leather, with the hope that it finds you quickly. I have been deprived of my sword and my bow, and my shirt of bones, but not of my wits. Already I know more of this town and its denizens than I did a week ago. I have been charged to fight in the glorious gladiatorial matches to honor His Majesty Kalak. And I’ve met some interesting characters amongst the falsely imprisoned and destitute, none of whom I would endanger by writing of herein. Suffice to say that I may have found some friends in this city, friendship I hope will prove more valuable than iron.

I dare not write more, lest this note fall into perilous attention. However, dear Uncle, tell my family that I am come into the Kingdom of Kalak, the City of Tyr, am alive and well. Though currently play-acting this charade of enslavement, this too shall pass, and soon we shall see the revelations of the prophecy come into being.

As-Salamu Alaykum,

Ja’Amun