Within the crystal chamber atop Gateway Island, a frame of crystal glitters and flickers to life. A smooth, gray stone surface within the frame turns into a clear window to the dry and iron-rich world of Abaddon … and it ripples as a caravan begins to pass through it. A Khattan merchant's wagon is pulled through by a couple of Dromodons who seem far more used to the bizarre trip than the feline driver. It rolls on through, nonetheless, as human soldiers in heavy trench coats, gray uniforms and spike-topped helmets wave it on toward a tunnel leading down at a steep slope angling to spiral its way down and around the island.

The orange-and-white feline merchant almost reflexively slips a flask from his robes, and takes a quick sip, then looks sideways at the winged ki'rin seated next to him. "Ah, please accept your servant's humble apologies for not considering you first," he says, offering the flask. "It is a soothing elixir, that makes the journey less displeasing." It smells very alcoholic in content. At the very least, its proximity drowns out the disagreeable fragrance of the Dromodons – and, nearly worse, the rag-tag group of Off-World Legionnaires (newly transferred to Ashtoreth) that staggers alongside the wagon.

"Thank you, but I'll pass this time," Envoy tells the merchant. Instead of her usual robes (which were unfortunately shredded on Abaddon) the Aeolun is wearing a simple outfit of sturdy pants and a tunic, both brown and slightly modified to accommodate her wings. Her travel pack and repaired staff rest at her side.

The Khattan merchant doesn't seem the least bit offended by Envoy's refusal of his hospitality – as, after all, it means that he gets the rest to himself, as he aptly demonstrates with another swig that empties the contents of the flask. He puts it back in his robes, and takes up the reins, focusing on the Dromodons, though they seem to be finding their way just fine as it is regardless – After all, with the tunnel, there isn't much room to veer one way or the other, and though the slope is a bit on the steep side, the Dromodons are hardly in danger of taking it too fast just now.

Most of the Off-World Legionnaires keeping pace with the wagon for now are human or Khatta, but there are a few other species mixed in as well. A grimy-looking rat with fur that might charitably called white looks with his one good eye (the other covered with an eye patch) toward a horse-like Rhian beside him, and grumbles something about, "… I don't know which is worse, rotworms or Sirens … "

Envoy keeps her ears perked to eavesdrop, but otherwise pays more attention to the odd construction of the old Sifran installation, with it's strange windows and airlocks, as well as the modifications that have been made where the old technology seems to have failed.

Outside, the view is often obscured by water, as colossal waves pound at the island with presumably enough force to level a city … but the durable crystalline structures built by the ancient Sifra manage to weather it, just as they have for countless millennia – or, some say, even millions of years.

Veins of light trace through the crystals, illuminating the path, and where the Sifran technology has failed, battery-powered lanterns fill the gap. Though they may flicker somewhat now and then, they are far more steady than anything the Technopriests might employ back in the Temple on Rephidim.

The merchant's wagon continues its slow and careful descent, and alas Envoy is not able to pick up anything terribly intriguing from the occasional chatter of the Legionnaires – For the most part, they really haven't much to say, and it doesn't look as if any of them are particularly filled with awe at their surroundings. After all, the Legionnaires are generally moved from world to world, through the Sifran Gateways, at the whims of their Khatta and human masters.

Thinking of the specially made charts she carries in her pack, Envoy wonders how people navigate here when the surface is often so violent. She isn't very familiar with underwater travel… or anything underwater at all, really. "Are you heading towards one of the Embassies?" she asks the merchant.

"Yes, most honorable magess!" the merchant meows, with a bob of his head and a flick of his whiskers. "You will be meeting with your esteemed colleagues of the College Esoterica shortly, your humble servant is most certain! It is with many apologies that your servant takes you down to the city so slowly, but it would not do to trample even such humble ones as the Legionnaires under Dromodons' hooves. No, no, that would be most terrible indeed!"

As the wagon continues down, Envoy can begin to see more of a glow through the darkness outside – the rest of the city, no doubt. Down this far, the water continuously buries the tunnels, and evidence of the turmoil going on back toward the surface is far more scarce.

Envoy blinks several times. She still hasn't gotten used to the self-effacing speech style of the Emirates. "Yes… that would be unfortunate."

The merchant just nods in agreement with Envoy's agreement, and seems content to let the rest of the journey be quiet, until the tunnels stop spiraling down, and the way levels out. Instead of riding on rock, the Dromodon wagon rolls out onto a wooden platform in a much larger crystal dome, and a ramp leads down to a main floor where other wagons are being loaded and unloaded. "Ah!" the driver says at last. "Your humble servant has brought you to the underwater city! It would be unthinkable to make you go down to where the smell of stinky Dromodons would be multiplied several fold, so your humble servant will drop you off at the embassies, and prays that you would think kindly of him and perhaps even mention him in passing in the presence of the Emir. It would not be appropriate for him to mention that his name is Hajim the trader of lesser zolks, son of Gadastar, but you, being a mage, know many things without being told, so it is fortunate for your servant, yes?"

By the time the merchant finishes saying this, he has parted ways with the Legionnaires, and rolled his cart over to a side-tunnel that leads to yet another domed plaza, this one distinguished in that there are many banners hanging from poles affixed to the rocky walls, flying the colors of a number of nationalities that deem to have embassies here on Ashtoreth.

Save for the embassy of the Emir, they are all very small embassies – even that of Rephidim Temple, and the College Esoterica – but easily distinguished by the flags.

"Yes, I will certainly remember you for your aid, Trader Hajim," Envoy manages, as she tries to take in all the features of the domes, and the apparent status of the different Embassies. "Thank you once more, and may … good fortune take you … to her bosom in your tradings."

The cat nods, looking pleased at Envoy's well wishing, and tugs on the reins, prompting the Dromodons to roll to a stop outside the embassy that flies a banner showing the circular emblem of the Twelve Spheres of Magic – that is, the emblem of the College Esoterica. Double wooden doors have been set into the original Sifran passage-way, inscribed with intricate woodwork forming various runes and sigils that glitter faintly in the light of the crystal work on either side.

Envoy picks up her pack and drops down from the wagons bench, giving the merchant a wave before she heads over and knocks on the doors to the College embassy.

The merchant has already given Envoy some typically Khattan good-byes, and the wagon has rolled away long before Envoy actually gets a response to her knocking at the doors of the embassy. At long last, a panel slides open about halfway down, and a reptilian eye peeks through. "YeS? Oh! MageSS Envoy!" The panel slides shut, there is a sound of rattling, and then the door opens up, revealing a small garter Naga in the robes of a water mage. "Welcome to AShtoreth." His head bobs up and down in greeting. "I am MageSS Serenia." Oh. Rather, her head bobs up and down in greeting. It's really hard to tell with Nagai. They're all snakes, after all.

Envoy bows before the Naga, and asks, "You were expecting me?"

"Not in the leaSt!" the Naga mage says, closing the large door with some effort behind Envoy once she steps in. "What bringS you to AShtoreth?" She slithers along on her coiled lower-half, while her hands are folded together in voluminous (for a garter Naga) sleeves of blue-green with stylized wave patterns. The embassy doesn't look to be terribly large, really, though the garter Naga's short stature might make it look more impressive by comparison – There are only a few offices off to the sides, built in cul-de-sacs evidently provided by the Sifra themselves, and a few other room divisions have been implemented with wood-paneled sections. The Naga leads Envoy into a lobby/meeting room. "Tea? Mateh? YiffleS?" the little Naga offers, shuffling over to a serving table.

"Tea would be fine, thank you," the Aeolun says, taking a seat. She's still a bit taken aback at being recognized so readily. "I'm here on a bit of a personal quest, but it involves something you might be interested in yourself. I'm trying find a crashed starship of the Celestial Empire. I don't suppose you have an urgan outfitted for research, do you?"

"Our own urgan?" The Naga flicks her tongue in a bemused expression, as she pours some tea for the winged ki'rin into a little porcelain cup decorated with twining images of the Silver and Golden Sky-Serpents, then hands the cup to Envoy, going through the usual formalities of offering sugar and such. Once Envoy has her tea in hand, and the Naga has hers as well (and has seated herself on her coils), she elaborates, "An urgan of our own would be quite out of our budget. The KampfZengruppe haS little uSe of mageS here, nor the Emir, but plenty for urganS."

Envoy hmmms, and considers this as she sips her tea. "That is unfortunate. I'd hoped to keep this solely within the College, since I don't know if the Legionnaires could be trusted to not loot the Sutaranakh if we find it." She puts down her cup and retrieves the chart she had made on Abaddon, spreading it over the table and showing Serenia the general area the ship should have gone down in. "Do you know much about this area?"

The water mage almost drops her tea-cup … but manages to gracefully set it down before responding. "Sutaranakh? You Said … Sutaranakh?" She looks intently at the charts.

Envoy nods. "That was the name of the ship in the records. An ancient information device on Abaddon had the trajectory of the vessel, and they were able to pinpoint… well, within a hundred miles or so… where it came down. I'm hoping the natives there would know the exact location."

It's hard for Envoy to tell for certain, but the demeanor of the water mage seems to be the Nagai equivalent of a frown. "The nativeS are very hoStile. SirenS. I do not think they would be very cooperative in finding thiS Ship. But … Sutaranakh … that iS a legend here. The AbySSinianS Speak of it as holding the treaSureS of the NeSSianS … the 'SoulleSS OneS'." She hisses this last part with more than a faint touch of distaste or annoyance.

"Do you think the Nessians are descendants of the original crew then?" Envoy asks the garter. Nagai pride is legendary, she knows, and garters do tend to respect their larger kin. And Nessians are the largest of larger kin, supposedly.

"That haS been propoSed … provided the NeSSianS are more than myth … or that they haven't Simply died out long ago. They hold a plaCe in AbySSinian StorieS as monSterS … and correSpondingly, they think lowly of Nagai, as reSembling the demonS of their taleS. I waS not neCeSSarily the beSt choiCe to be our emiSSary here, but I had the diStinction of knowing BoSch and Khattan, aS well aS being a water mage and a good Swimmer."

Envoy sips her tea some more while she thinks. "Has anyone ever actually tried to contact the Nessians before?" she asks.

"BeSideS taking a Ship out and looking for them? No," the Naga responds. "It iS a big oCean, and it iS not Said that they enjoy company. It iS rather Said that they eat it."

Tapping her claws on the tabletop, Envoy sighs. "So, the ship is likely guarded by Nessians or Sirens or both, neither of which like visitors. Do you think the promise of treasure would be enough to get people to overcome their superstitions and the danger of the Sirens? The Sutaranakh could be the original source of the Mariners' splicing technology, or perhaps even the reason nobody has seen a male Siren before."

"Oh, I am Certain you would get intereSt," Serenia hisses. "Though the AllianCe haS control of thiS island, there are many adventure SeekerS who are minor nobility of the Emirate, or otherwiSe have letterS from the Emir to do buSineSS here, and who would no doubt be glad to go on a treaSure hunt, dangerS or no."

"What about you?" the Aeolun asks, watching the snake's expression. "Do you think an expedition would have a good chance of surviving to find the ship, and then making it back here?"

"Me?" The Naga flicks her tongue again, seeming to savor the idea, but then she shakes her head. "The DeanS would be diSpleaSed if I were to abandon my poSt. We have a very Small Staff here at any given time. Your chanCe of Survival would depend on how well equipped you are for your journey. The MarinerS would be your beSt allieS for Such a thing … but they would never agree to Seek out the plaCe of what they deem to be 'demonS', and they would Certainly never tolerate one Such aS me to come along. Your beSt bet would be to find an eXplorer here in the City, but be Certain not to Show thiS map around." To emphasize her point, she rolls it up and gives it back to Envoy. "No doubt you can impreSS them aS to your Superior knowledge in wayS that do not Sacrifice your edge. They may refuSe you, then Secretly go out without you, So as not to have to Split any priZe."

Envoy returns the chart to its scroll case, and frowns. "Where would you suggest I look for these explorers then?" she asks.

The little Naga pauses thoughtfully for a moment, then hisses, "I have done some buSineSS with a few, for my StudieS here before I waS promoted to the poSition of emiSSary. I Shall get a liSt… " With that, she gets up and slithers over to a desk, and – climbing upon it as a step-stool – pulls open a cabinet and starts leafing through several folders of parchment.

The cabinets and kegs behind the zebra-Rhian bartender similarly look like they're bolted down and water-tight – no open shelves or hanging hooks for anything. Most of the tables about the room are wooden cable spools surrounded by crates that serve as chairs – again, all bolted down. (No grabbing chairs and smashing them over each others' heads.) Some "chandeliers" hang from the ceiling – clusters of electric lights fed by sealed cables that run over to a rugged-looking generator that chugs away, piping its exhaust off somewhere else.

Behind the counter, a large Rhian with black and white zebra-stripe markings reaches for a tap, holding a glass mug tilted before it as fizzy amber liquid starts streaming down to fill the container. He clips the tap off while righting the mug, then sets it down before a patron, and looks around for other empty glasses or newcomers in need of a drink. He stops when he spies the winged ki'rin, who looks distinctly out of place amongst these ruffians.

But then, the one she's looking for is a bit out of place as well: former "Prince-Captain" Rashad, now merely "Prince Rashad". He is one of many sons of the Emir, from one of his lesser wives or concubines, and therefore not in line to succeed in the rule of Abu Dhabi and the Emirate, unless a great many relatives die before him. Nonetheless, princes of the Emir tend to be fairly wealthy … that is, unless they waste all their inheritance in out-of-the-way places like this. Given that Rashad is actually doing work for a puny little embassy for pay, he's quite likely in that latter category, or pretty close to it. A Khatta fitting the description from Envoy's list lounges at a table across the bar, accompanied by a couple of Khatta girls who don't look to be up to a prince's standards by their garb and generally unkempt state.

Rashad – if that's indeed who he is – is dressed in blousy, zolken finery – still in fairly good condition, thanks more to the amazing qualities of Himaatian zolk, rather than any statement on his welfare (except that he hasn't yet sold the shirt on his own back). He laughs at some unheard joke, swirling some cheap wine around in a dirty glass.

Casually resting her staff on her left shoulder (but nonetheless keeping a very firm grip on it) Envoy approaches the Khatta's table, and sketches a bow. "Greetings, sir. Am I in the presence of Prince Rashad?" she asks in Khattan.

Several pairs of eyes follow Envoy, with more than casual interest. Rashad is no exception, once he pries his eyes away from his drink – and his companions, who frown disapprovingly at Envoy's arrival. "Well, hello," he says in Bosch, then belatedly realizes that he has been addressed in Khattan, as he finally responds in kind, "What fateful wind has blown this fine flower of the skies into this shadowy place underneath the sea? A blessing for my eyes, but a horrible tragedy for you, no doubt. If you are a lady in distress, needing assistance from a prince, then yes, I am Prince Rashad. How may I bring a smile to your eyes?"

Envoy blushes slightly, sure she's being flattered. "Well … I had heard you were a man of adventurous mettle, one of the few brave enough to aid me in a small mission of salvage in somewhat unfriendly waters."

One of the prince's companions grumbles more than a little at Envoy's blush, and draws her hand away from Rashad's shoulder, but he seems too intent upon the winged ki'rin to react. "A mission? Oh … salvage." His whiskers droop in disappointment at such a less-than-romantic sounding word. "Ah, but yes, I have a very small urgan, hardly enough to be considered a snack to one of the great monsters of the deep … but sufficient, yes, to take you to any place under the waters that you should care to see. Mine is no beast of war, but fast and agile, and able to ply the deepest and darkest of waters, where the pressure is such that it would crush a Titanian's bones – if the monsters dwelling there did not do so first."

The Aeolun perks up at mention of the urgan. "Can it outrun Sirens?" she asks, looking hopeful.

The Khatta laughs lightly. "It can swim circles around them, my dear flower!"

"In that case," Envoy says, smiling, "perhaps we could go someplace less public to further discuss this?"

The prince's eyes light up. "Of course!" His companions, however, are less than enthusiastic, and promptly leave his side, strolling off to find better "friends". He evidences no notice, as he stands up.

Envoy feels encouraged by the Prince's apparent eagerness, figuring that he must have been extremely bored lately. And he hasn't even asked about payment!

"Perhaps your office at the Embassy then?" she asks. "Should I make an appointment with the secretary?"

The prince offers his arm to Envoy, and seems about to nod. "That's a very good i – ahhhhh, oh, wait, no, that won't do."

"You see," the prince says, waving one hand around vaguely, "my office … it's … being redecorated."

Envoy pauses as she's about to take the offered arm. "Oh, is there someplace else then? Perhaps at your urgan?"

The prince claps his hands together suddenly. "Ah yes! I can show you the urgan. The Coy Mermaid. Let us be going, then." Then, he notices Envoy paused in mid-arm-taking, and offers his arm again. "This way," he says, gesturing toward one of the many exits.

Envoy smiles and takes the Khatta's arm, wondering what a mermaid that is half goldfish would look like.

After ducking through a small umbilical that runs to a lower dock, Envoy and Prince Rashad are on hands and knees as they crawl into the cockpit of the organic submersible. Membranes to either side vibrate, making a questioning moan as the creature recognizes that it has company. Prince Rashad pats on one of the ivory-like supports. "There, there, my sylph of the sea. Just bringing a friend to admire your beauty."

Given her own origins, Envoy feels immediately at home in the Urgan. "She is beautiful. I never thought I would encounter such a life form in my travels, you must be very proud of her."

Lighting is provided by small bluish orbs set within frames of shiny cartilage, and upon closer examination, it looks as if there is luminescent fluid swirling around inside. As the two crawl into the domed cockpit area, several of the orbs glow more brightly. "Ah yes," the prince says, with a voice tinged with both pride and a touch of sorrow. "I once commanded a much larger urgan … until the Sirens came. But the Sirens cannot touch my silver darter, can they?"

The creature-vehicle makes a warbling noise that reverberates faintly through the "walls" of the cockpit.

Envoy echoes the warble, and runs her palms across some of the inner surfaces. "How long can she safely stay submerged?" she asks.

"Connected to the umbilical, indefinitely," Prince Rashad says, as he settles himself into the leathery command chair. "Of course, I set her free to forage now and then. There are many ways to find air underneath the ocean, and the Mariners are particularly adept at the art. But barring such opportunities, she can go without surfacing for as many as several days – though I have never pushed her so far, nor would I dream of doing so."

"That should be sufficient," she says, smiling. "I only need to retrieve one item from the Sutaranakh, after all. And whatever items you'd like for yourself, if you agree to take me there. I'm sure the Nagai government would offer very good prices for anything you brought back."

Although the interior of the ship seems designed to mimic the controls of a mechanical craft that might be found on Abaddon (save that they likely don't have submarines there, per se), Envoy's intuition about bio-technology suggests to her that the controls actually have no direct connection to any of the urgan's motor controls – Rather, they are simply points that the urgan can probably sense, and – provided it is well trained and inclined to obey – can interpret as some sort of command.

"Just one item, hmm?" the prince says, nodding, and then he falls silent. He quietly looks back to Envoy, one eyebrow raised.

"Ah, you aren't superstitious about the Nessians are you?" the Aeolun asks when the Prince falls silent.

"You just said Sutaranakh. You are going to retrieve an item from the Sutaranakh," the prince repeats, and then, for good measure, "The Sutaranakh." There's a touch of anger to his voice, though he makes a show of trying to hide it. "The lovely flower has a dry sense of humor for such a wet world."

Envoy blinks. "Oh … I am quite serious. I have good data on where the ship went down, within a certain margin of error, from records on Abaddon. The vessel is quite real, I assure you."

The Khatta looks at Envoy directly for a long moment, as if trying to peer through the mask of her dolphin grin and large, expressive eyes. "It would be fit for a tale of epic proportions, for a prince and a fair lady to embark upon a quest to find the treasures of Sutaranakh … and a crude joke for him to fall for a ruse. What proof have you that you might know where the Sutaranakh lies?"

"Well," Envoy says, removing a scroll case from her pack, "I've got this chart made on Abaddon, based on trajectory data that was recovered from the Disc of Eras recently. They have very good telescopes on Abaddon, and with their computers they could calculate the orbital and rotational alignment of Ashtoreth at that time to come up with this." She unrolls the chart, which is clearly not hand-drawn, and points to a bull's-eye marking with various numbers attached to each nested circle.

The Khatta studies the chart intently, though his expression indicates that he is woefully unable to make any great sense of it. "And … would I be correct in assuming that you are not only beautiful, but also a skilled navigator, capable of interpreting this chart?"

Blushing for a different reason this time, Envoy says, "Well, I've never had to navigate a ship before. I don't know how it's done on Ashtoreth, since the surface can be so violent at times."

"… but you can read this, though?" the prince prompts.

"Oh, the chart?" Envoy asks. "Yes, it's marked in degrees of longitude and latitude, with the longitude zeroed on Gateway Island of course. The marked region here shows probability levels for finding the Sutaranakh within each circular region."

The Khatta looks at the map again, tracing his finger on it. "I … If I understand correctly, this will be a few days' travel." His eyebrows raise, his earlier sour expression gone entirely. "We will need supplies." His gaze drifts off to a wall, as he quietly entertains scenarios in his head. "Sutaranakh," he whispers, and despite the hand put to his chin in a thoughtful pose, he fails to hide the grin forming on his muzzle, nor the contemplative lash of his tail.

"I trust you can keep this secret?" Envoy asks. "I wouldn't want to get there and then run into pirates on the way back, after all. I do have a means of homing on the ship once we're near it, though … possibly."

"Absolutely!" the prince says. "My word is as binding if it were the Emir himself making a pledge to you. I will speak to no one of this thing you have told me. In fact, I shall not mention the sacred, blessed name again, until we are well underway. If you can be here again on the morrow, at daylight's break, I will be ready, and our grand adventure will begin!"

Envoy smiles brightly. "Good! In that case … can you tell me where I might be able to get a swimsuit made?"