Nawfar

Nawfar (Meaning Water Lily) was the capital of the Snobbite Regality. It was an opulent city also known as the "Land of Opportunity".

About

Written by the Gnome Bard Luskin Fretray

"When the sunlight first hit it, I see why some call it the Great Jewel of Dragon Turtle Bay. It's an accent on the grand spires that blanket the gulf; the sunlight reflecting each and every way. The sun-rays creating and spraying every spectrum of light. At night it serves as a sort of glowing beacon or even as a natural lighthouse. A welcome sight for a Snobbite sailor returning. Gold is a common petty thing here in contrast to the rest of the realm. It's weaved and worn about clothing as a simple trinket. I've even heard some put it in their food! Nawfar. What wonders will I see here? It's name means Water Lily. And I see now why. The sprawling docks seem to extend out from the main thoroughfares of the city on the cresting hills that roll down straight into the bay. Like long fingers that push their defiance to the sea.  

Strange voices and foreign barking coat the streets as I make my way to the trade district. Then as though a punch, my nostrils were assaulted by many different scents of spices and incense. Then to the left I saw a simple wedding being held down an alley, with just a cleric and a man and woman, in front of a small altar. They held hands looking longingly at each other, almost ignoring the chaos of the city around. My eavesdropping was abruptly ended by a march making it's way down the main street. The "Sloshway" they call it. By a funeral procession. With men and women singing a low mournful dirge. They continued until they met the shore, then giving the blue wrapped linen body to another group, where they seemed to dip the body in the bay and then load it on a small canoe to tow it out to open sea. They were not alone. For just as the inner sprawling of the city were bustling, the bay was no exception.  

Beautifully painted galleons and simple rowboats and everything thing in between made and tossed their way about each other in the waters. Seemingly a choreographed dance of seamanship as one docked and another left the bay going out between the great braziers that served as the entrance. Each vessel fighting for dominance in its ostentatious display. I'm sure each one has a story and each one a history unique to it's own.

Before too long I noticed with my trouncing about that I had only covered but a small part of the city. I found a little inn called the "The Deep End" where I think I'll make my headquarters for this part of my journey. There is much to write about here. In but one day I saw a whole experience of life. Marriages, funerals, business, grand displays of competition too. The Snobbite seem to have an understanding of the totality or the wholeness of life itself I think. I don't know what that exactly means now. But maybe I'll find out.  

Sitting at my little table I realized the staff were still moving as quickly as if the kitchen was on fire. I thought something was wrong or there was danger. And that's when I realized the fire that was in all of them for life. The fire was Nawfar itself.

Some other travelers stopped one of the staff to sing. She smiled, slapped one of them with her hand towel and stood before them and began. I've never heard anything like it. No instrument, just a meaningful song I guess. Some other patrons asked her to sing again and it went like this:

The Ides of Nawfar

It's all there in the gospels, the Nafari girl
Comes to pay her respects, but her mind is awhirl.

When she finds the tomb empty, the stone had been rolled, Not a sign of a corpse in the dark and the col

When she reaches the door, sees an unholy sight, There's this solitary figure in a Gold Band of light.

He just carries on floating past the Nafari Hills, In an almighty hurry, aye but she might catch him still.

"Tell me where are ye going Lord, and why in such haste?" "Now don't hinder me woman, I've no time to waste!

For they're launching a boat on the morrow at noon, And I have to be there before daybreak.

Oh I canna be missing, the lads'll expect me, Why else would the great sea itself resurrect me?

For nothing will stop me, I have to prevail, Through the teeth of this tempest, in the mouth of a gale, May the angels protect me if all else should fail, When the last ship sails."

Oh the roar of the chains and the cracking of timbers, The noise at the end of the world in your ears, As a mountain of oak makes its way to the sea, And the last ship sails.

It's a strange kind of beauty, It's cold and austere,

And whatever it was that ye've done to be here,

It's the sum of yer hopes yer despairs and yer fears, When the last ship sails.

Well the first to arrive saw these signs in the east, Like that strange moving finger at Balthazar's Feast,

Where they asked the advice of some wandering priest, And the sad ghosts of men whom they'd thought long deceased,

And whatever got said, they'd be counted at least, When the last ship sails.

Oh the roar of the chains and the cracking of timbers, The noise at the end of the world in your ears, As a mountain of oak makes its way to the sea, And the last ship sails.

And whatever you'd promised, whatever you've done, And whatever the station in life you've become.

For the love of their Mother, and all of their sons, And whatever the weave of this life that you've spun, On the Land or in Heavens or under the Sun, When the last ship sails.