Bruce Cordell - Darkvision

Warian Datharathi disembarked from the sleek watercraft in the city of Vaelan. The dissolute son returns, he mused. He turned and watched the small crew as they opened the hold of the courier ship.

First out was his horse, Majeed. Despite being on the outs with his family, being a Datharathi had its benefits anywhere Trade Authority offices or embassies operated. As one of the eleven most influential families in Durpar, Datharathi Minerals was partly responsible for paying Trade Authority upkeep. On the other hand, members of the Datharathi family enjoyed free passage on Trade Authority couriers.

Previously known as Vaelantar, and like its sister cities of Ompre and Assur, the city was overrun by monsters flooding out of the Curna Mountains. But Durpar finally expelled the invaders in 1096 DR. In the three hundred years since those tumultuous times, the name Vaelantar was shortened to Vaelan. More importantly, Vaelan grew into the crown jewel of Durpar's trading empire, and enjoyed status as one of the most preeminent destinations on the Golden Water, or indeed, in all the Shining Lands. The Dolphin Pier was one of nine piers exclusively reserved for merchant traffic. Of course, many smaller and larger piers filled the coast in either direction: the private piers reserved for the personal yachts of the very wealthy, as well as piers set aside for the highly profitable ship-building businesses. Datharathi Minerals had, like many of the most influential merchant families, maintained interest in the ship-building trade. Beyond those were the ramshackle piers used by the fishers. Warian walked down the Dolphin Pier holding Majeed's reins. Beyond a press of warehouses, innumerable offices, and nearly as many wharfside taverns, the towers of Vaelan pointed proudly at the sky. The towers housed the most influential "chakas," as trading families were sometimes called. Any family with aspirations to challenge the predominance of the eleven greatest chakas that made up the Trade Authority first built a tower-or purchased the tower of another family whose fortunes were declining.

Over a hundred pale towers pushed into the sky, some new since Warian had left the city behind. Chaka towers were generally confined to the Gold District, and enjoyed the protection of delicate-looking yet strong whitewashed stone walls. Beyond the ordered towers and their well-patrolled boundaries, the larger bulk of Vaelan hummed and buzzed, nearly as loud and well-lit at midnight as at midday. Aside from the towers, distinguishing discrete buildings amid the mass was a fool's game in Vaelan. Great connected complexes of white-plastered walls, balconies, stairs, galleries, promenades, and open courts stretched in all directions. Wide streets separated one press of mazelike architecture from the next, but high bridges, held up as much by minor enchantments as engineering, arched over the streets to connect rooftop bazaars. And the crowd! Everywhere Warian looked, people talked (in diverse dialects and languages), bartered (from countless windows, booths, wagons, and permanent storefronts), sought hard-to-find goods (such as philters guaranteed to bring the buyer true love, or cockroaches whose shells turned blue in the presence of magic), gossiped (about the future of Durpar if Veldorn's aggression wasn't checked), and enjoyed themselves (drinking from great glass vessels filled with weak but tasty beer-consumed nearly as fast as it was brewed). Warian was one of thousands of people thronging the streets, pushing his way forward as quickly and economically as possible. The trick of moving with the ebb and flow of the crowd came back to him with hardly any effort. He was elbowed in the side once, but ignoring such slights was part of getting where you wanted to go in a reasonable amount of time. He quickly found a public stable on the outskirts of the wharf district and paid a small sum to put Majeed up for several days. He hoped he wouldn't be around that long, but better to pay ahead than risk the stablemaster selling his horse.

Freed of worry about Majeed's well-being, Warian waved over a rickshaw pulled by a surprisingly short man with hair as red as fire. "Where to?" asked the redhead, as Warian settled into the seat. "West Gardens," Warian told the rickshaw driver. "It's a tenement district near Kazrim's Plunge." The Plunge was a statue commemorating a Kazrim, whose heroics three hundred years prior were considered instrumental in freeing Vaelantar from the monsters. The driver nodded at Warian and pulled the transport out into the throng. Warian was a little surprised that the driver did not give his crystalline arm a second glance. He was accustomed, at the very least, to eyebrows raised in surprise, if not outright amazement, and often enough, hostility.

Whoever had ridden the rickshaw before had left behind the redolent perfume of cherry tobacco. Smoking tobacco from a water-cooled pipe was a vice Warian tried to cultivate when he still lived in Vaelan-his family had a long-standing taboo against smoking for some traditional reason, and he'd wanted to prove his independence-but he'd never managed to enjoy the sensation. Probably just as well. Moving through Vaelan's busy streets was enjoyable when someone else's worry and effort forged the path. Sitting back in his seat allowed Warian a chance to absorb the ambience and study the various city dwellers and visitors who strode to and fro, each intent on his own unknowable business. Many were from outside Durpar, having traveled from countries like the Shaar, Dambrath, or Halruaa. Others hailed from even farther shores, such as the nearly mythical Sembia or Cormyr.

Warian had never personally met anyone from places so distant, but he'd heard stories. The sharp, glinting light of sun through crystal caught Warian's eye. A woman walking out of a stylish saloon on the high balcony to his left carried a prism… no… The woman's hand was clear, as if made of glass! More than that, delicate traceries of crystal writhed across her whole arm, and marked her face, too, with an elaborate embroidery. Warian gaped. As he pulled closer, there was no doubt-the woman sported a crystal prosthesis, and then some, just as he did! Her body art reminded Warian of an intricate tattoo, but never had he seen one laid down in glass. He didn't doubt the glass of her prosthesis and decoration was Datharathi crystal. Warian waved to catch the woman's attention, but she turned and moved down an elevated path, and a bridge intervened as the rickshaw continued to move forward. "Say," Warian called to the driver who plodded along ahead of him. "Do you see many people who have crystal like mine?" Warian tapped his arm even though the driver didn't turn. "Like my crystal arm?" The driver shrugged without turning, and said, "Sure. Plangents. Too rich for my blood."

"Plangents?" "Yeah." The driver craned his neck to fix Warian with an assessing eye. "Like you." The driver turned his attention back to his path. Warian searched his memory, but came up blank. "I'm sorry, I've been gone from Vaelan for most of the last five years. When I left, I was the only one who had such a… um, crystal prosthesis." "Hmph," the driver snorted, and turned down a high but narrow alley. "You're in good company now, eh? Datharathi's got the goods. They'll make you 'stronger, faster, smarter- better!' if you got the gold." Warian shook his head and said, "But this prosthesis is worse than a real arm. It's slow, weak, and I can't feel a thing through it! I have this arm because I lost my real one in an accident. Who'd want that?" But, indeed, what of the flash of potency, the reason he'd returned to Vaelan in the first place? "Well," the driver responded, chuckling.

"You got a bad deal. The plangents I've seen are none of that-you put a plangent against me in a pulling contest, and even though I've pulled this rickshaw every day for thirteen years, a plangent'd beat me every time, if he had a brand new overhaul." "What's this word you keep saying-plangent? Anyone who gets a prosthesis is a plangent?"