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A little over an hour later, the rescued young man woke up in a bed at the Snowforest Inn.
Aaron and Sandra Windrider sat beside the bed, watching him with concern.
"You're awake! Thank Tymora, that's wonderful." Sandra Windrider patted her chest in relief. "Are you all right?"
"Where am I?" The young man's looks were unremarkable, no better than average. He had close-cropped black hair and a short beard, stood a little over five feet seven, and was covered in wounds.
"You were the only survivor, dear. I'm sorry," the Harper said regretfully. "We did everything we could to get you out."
"...I never asked you to save me." The young man closed his eyes. "But regardless, as a son of the pashas, I thank you."
With that, the young man turned to face the wall. His meaning was clear: Anything else? If not, I need to rest.
"A son of the pashas?" Aaron caught the key phrase in the young man's words and immediately pressed him. "You're from Calimshan?"
"You know Calimshan?" The young man's eyes brightened considerably, and he rolled back over.
Aaron nodded.
Calimshan, a desert nation in the southwestern Realms, was predominantly human, but renowned for its Elemental Kin, genies, and powerful fire magic.
In ancient times, two genies with quasi-divine power had reportedly descended upon what was now Calimshan, one after the other: Karin, a djinni, and Manon, an efreeti. The two had waged a prolonged war for dominion over Calimshan, turning much of its present territory into a vast desert.
Eventually, the elves from beyond its borders could no longer stand by. With their arrival and intervention, the two genies were sealed away in turn, ending the