Compiled by Scholar Valerius Thorne, with commercial annotations from Factor Jeslin Marks of the Brightwater Trade Company
Written in Salvação, Year 289 Post-Breaking
I write this from the sixty-third floor of what the Najari call Salvação, which translates from their tongue as “salvation” or perhaps “salvage,” the words being deliberately ambiguous in their language in ways that I suspect are philosophically intentional. My accommodations are comfortable beyond anything I experienced in Hjarnsýr or even in the Confederation’s finest establishments. The air is cool despite the murderous heat of the desert outside. Water flows freely from taps that have functioned for longer than human civilization has existed in its current form. Through my window, I can see the curve of the city descending into sand, and beyond that, the Sundral Desert stretches to the horizon like a sea of gold and death.
I have spent eight months among the Najari, which they assure me is barely enough time to understand the surface of their culture, let alone its depths. I am inclined to believe them. Every time I think I have grasped some fundamental principle of how their society functions, I discover another layer of complexity that forces me to reconsider my assumptions.
I came to the Free Cities expecting to find a merchant culture, perhaps similar to the southern Lanx city-states I had studied previously. What I found instead was something far more sophisticated and far more troubling. The Najari have built a civilization that is simultaneously more egalitarian and more stratified than anything I have encountered. They practice slavery while maintaining what they insist is genuine social mobility. They wage war on each other with disturbing regularity while maintaining economic interdependence that makes prolonged conflict impractical. They have created a social safety net that would be considered utopian in most nations while funding it through an economic system built partially on the labor of the enslaved.
I cannot reconcile these contradictions, and I am no longer certain I am supposed to. The Najari themselves seem untroubled by what I perceive as paradoxes. When I press them on issues that seem to me to be ethical problems, they respond with variations of “but it works” or “but everyone prospers” or “but they can become citizens,” and I find myself unable to formulate counterarguments that they find compelling.
My field assistant Factor Jeslin Marks, a merchant of some experience in these regions, has been invaluable in navigating both the physical city and the cultural labyrinth. Her annotations appear throughout this text, providing practical context that my more academic perspective sometimes misses. She finds my discomfort with certain Najari practices amusing, which I suppose is fair given that I spent considerable time being horrified by northern customs that she considered perfectly sensible.
What follows is my attempt to document a civilization that has achieved something remarkable: a functional, prosperous, cosmopolitan society built quite literally on top of ruins so ancient and so advanced that their technology appears to modern eyes as something between magic and divine intervention. The Najari live inside the corpse of a dead civilization, and they have made it into something vibrant and alive.
I remain uncertain whether this is inspiring or deeply unsettling. Perhaps it is both.
— V.T.
The Najari Free Cities occupy the southern reaches of the known world, a region of extremes that should not, by any reasonable assessment, support the population it does. The land divides into two primary zones, each hostile to human habitation in its own fashion, yet both teeming with life through a combination of natural resilience and technological intervention.
The Sundral Desert dominates the western and central territories, a vast expanse of sand and stone that stretches for hundreds of miles in every direction from Salvação, the jewel city built within and upon the ancient arcology. I arrived at the height of summer, and the heat was unlike anything I had experienced even in the warmest regions of the Confederation. By midday, the temperature reaches levels that would kill an unprotected human within hours. The air itself seems hostile, dry enough to crack lips and throat within minutes of exposure. The sun is not merely bright; it is aggressive, a physical force that presses down like the hand of an angry god.
Yet the Najari move through this environment with an ease that suggests it is merely their natural habitat, which I suppose it is. Their physiology is adapted in ways that become apparent only after extended observation. They do not sweat as humans do; instead, they regulate temperature through behavioral means, seeking shade during the hottest hours, becoming active during dawn and dusk when the air cools to merely unbearable rather than lethal. Their scaled skin provides protection against both heat and the constant abrasion of wind-blown sand. I watched a Najari merchant conduct business in the open market during midday, apparently comfortable, while I was forced to retreat to shade after fifteen minutes despite protective clothing and regular water consumption.
The desert is not uniformly barren. There are patterns to the desolation, zones of greater and lesser hostility that took me weeks to perceive and months to understand. The radiation, as the Najari term the ambient thaumic energy that permeates the region, varies in intensity according to proximity to certain sites and according to principles I do not fully grasp even now. Near the great arcology of Salvação and certain other ruins scattered throughout the desert, the radiation reaches levels that would be immediately dangerous to unprotected individuals. These zones glow faintly at night with a sickly luminescence that I initially attributed to phosphorescent minerals but which Factor Marks informed me was the visible manifestation of thaumic saturation in the air itself.
Further from these epicenters, the radiation diminishes to levels that are merely chronic rather than acute. The Najari have mapped these zones with obsessive precision over generations, creating elaborate charts that show safe routes through the desert, locations where exposure can be tolerated for various durations, and the deadly cores where even protected salvagers venture only in dire necessity. I was shown one such map in the Cartographers’ Guild hall, a massive wall-sized document covered in overlapping circles and curves in different colors, each representing a different intensity level. The master cartographer who walked me through it spoke of radiation zones the way a sailor speaks of currents and tides: natural phenomena to be understood and navigated, dangerous but predictable.
The warded corridor connecting Salvação to the eastern rainforests is perhaps the single most impressive infrastructure project I have encountered in my travels. It extends for nearly two hundred miles, a raised road thirty feet wide with walls on either side covered in geometric wards so complex that looking at them for too long causes headaches. Factor Marks tells me that maintaining the wards requires a dedicated guild of specialists who walk the entire length of the corridor weekly, reinforcing sections that have degraded, replacing wards that have failed, and monitoring the ambient radiation levels to ensure they remain within safe parameters.
I traveled this corridor both directions during my time in the south, and the experience was surreal. The walls are high enough that you cannot see over them except from the backs of the tall reptilian beasts the Najari use as caravan mounts. What you can see is the shimmer of the wards, a constant ripple in the air like heat distortion, and through that shimmer, occasionally, the desert beyond. The temperature inside the corridor is perhaps twenty degrees cooler than the open desert, a difference sufficient to make the journey survivable for humans and other species less adapted to extreme heat. Even so, caravans time their travel for night when possible, and rest during the worst heat of day at way-stations built into the corridor walls at regular intervals.
The corridor is not merely a road; it is a lifeline. Without it, Salvação would be unsustainable. The agricultural land immediately surrounding the city, while productive through a combination of magical water provision and ancient desalination technology, cannot feed the population. Food, raw materials, luxury goods, and people flow constantly along the corridor from the rainforest cities to the desert and back again. Factor Marks showed me the manifests from a single week’s traffic: two hundred laden carts moving east to west, three hundred moving west to east, and that was considered a slow week.
The eastern territories transition gradually from desert to semi-arid scrubland to, finally, the rainforests that the Najari call the Verdant Wall. I spent less time in these regions, as my focus was primarily on Salvação and the desert salvage operations, but I made one expedition to the rainforest city of Sethara to understand the other pole of Najari civilization.
The rainforest is everything the desert is not: wet, cool, green, alive with sound and motion. The heat here is oppressive in a different way, humid and clinging rather than dry and aggressive. Rain falls daily during the wet season, torrential downpours that turn paths to mud and cause rivers to swell. The Najari living here are physiologically identical to their desert cousins, but their cultural adaptations differ. The cities are built vertically, structures climbing into the canopy where air flow is better and where the view extends over the endless green. The architecture favors materials that resist rot and insect damage: stone, treated woods, and increasingly, salvaged materials from the desert that simply do not degrade.
Sethara itself is a wonder, a city of perhaps fifty thousand souls built into and around massive trees, some of which must be centuries old. The Najari here have developed arboreal habits that their desert cousins lack, moving through the canopy with casual grace that made me dizzy to observe. I am told that there are even Najari who rarely descend to the forest floor, living their entire lives in the high branches where the air is clearer and the view extends to the horizon.
But for all the rainforest’s fertility and relative comfort, the wealth flows from the desert. Sethara is prosperous, but Salvação is magnificent. The salvage operations, the ancient technology, the materials that cannot be replicated, all of these come from the ruins scattered throughout the Sundral, and particularly from the great arcology itself. The rainforest cities grow food and timber and provide services, but the desert cities control the source of irreplaceable wealth. This creates a power dynamic that permeates Najari politics, a tension between the comfortable majority living in the green lands and the ambitious minority dwelling in the golden wastes.
[Factor Marks’s note]: The scholar understates the hostility of both environments. I have traveled extensively in the south over fifteen years of commercial operations, and I have seen strong men die from heat stroke in the desert and from fever in the rainforest. The Najari make it look easy because they were born to these lands and because they have infrastructure that took generations to build. Do not mistake their competence for the environments being safe. They are not. I have lost three partners to the desert and two to rainforest diseases. The Najari lose people regularly as well, though they speak of it less. Every week, someone does not return from salvage. Every month, someone succumbs to infection or exposure. They have simply accepted this as the cost of living where they do, and they have built systems to absorb the losses without allowing them to destabilize society. This is not callousness. This is realism borne of necessity.
I must address in some detail the phenomenon the Najari refer to as radiation, for it shapes every aspect of life in the desert and defines the parameters within which salvage operations are possible. The term itself is borrowed from ancient texts recovered from the ruins, though whether the modern Najari use it with the same meaning the ancients intended, I cannot say.
Thaumic radiation, as I understand it from consultations with Najari scholars and my own theoretical background, is unbound magical energy that has lost its structure and purpose. In normal circumstances, magic exists in either potential form, inherent in the world and in living things, or in actualized form, shaped by ritual or invocation into specific effects that then dissipate. Radiation is neither. It is magic that has been released from containment or purpose but has not yet dissipated, existing in a kind of energetic limbo where it remains potent but uncontrolled.
The practical effect is poisoning. When a living being is exposed to radiation, the unbound magic saturates their body, interfering with the natural magical flows that sustain life. The symptoms begin subtly: fatigue, nausea, a general sense of malaise. With continued exposure, they worsen: skin lesions, hair loss, hemorrhaging, organ failure. In extreme cases, the victim’s body begins to warp, mutations emerging as the unbound magic reshapes flesh according to no pattern or purpose, merely change for its own sake. I have seen salvagers who spent too long in the deep zones, and the sight haunts me still. One man’s arm had transformed into something resembling tree bark, hard and cracking, with what appeared to be fungal growths emerging from the fissures. He was receiving Albumantic treatment, and the healers were optimistic about reversing the damage, but the pain he was experiencing was evident despite his stoic demeanor.
The genius of the Najari response to radiation is their multi-layered approach to protection. The most common method is warding, ritual configurations inscribed on clothing, tools, and salvagers themselves that create barriers preventing radiation from entering the body. These wards must be renewed regularly, as exposure degrades them, but when properly maintained, they provide effective protection for moderate exposure durations. I commissioned a set of warded robes before venturing into the mid-level zones, and the difference was immediately apparent. Without wards, even brief exposure to these areas causes headaches and nausea. With properly functioning wards, I could operate for several hours before needing to withdraw.
For more intense exposure, the Najari employ void-glass, a material imported at great expense from the north. Void-glass has the remarkable property of absorbing unbound magic, effectively scrubbing the air of radiation in its immediate vicinity. Salvagers working in high-radiation zones carry void-glass lanterns or wear void-glass amulets, creating mobile safe zones around themselves. The material gradually saturates with absorbed energy, at which point it must be either cleansed through specific rituals or, more commonly, discarded as it becomes unstable. The cost is prohibitive for casual use, but for professional salvagers venturing into the most valuable and most dangerous sites, it is essential equipment.
The third method, which I find both fascinating and deeply concerning, is active magical suffusion. A skilled practitioner, particularly an Elementalist, can flood their own body with controlled magical energy, creating internal pressure that prevents external radiation from penetrating. This is exhausting and carries its own risks, as maintaining the necessary level of energy for extended periods can cause magical burnout or internal damage if not managed carefully. Nevertheless, many salvagers prefer this method for short, intense operations, as it allows for greater mobility and responsiveness than bulky protective equipment.
The Najari have also developed pharmaceutical approaches to radiation management. Certain alchemical preparations, consumed before exposure, provide modest protection by accelerating the body’s natural process of clearing magical contamination. Others, taken after exposure, help repair damage and reduce mutation risk. The Albumancers have refined these treatments over generations, and the medical wards in Salvação stock an impressive pharmacopeia of anti-radiation compounds, ranging from simple herbal concoctions to complex alchemical formulations that require rare ingredients and specialized preparation.
Despite all these precautions, radiation exposure remains the primary occupational hazard of salvage work. The Salvagers’ Guild maintains detailed health records for all licensed operators, tracking cumulative exposure and mandating rest periods when thresholds are exceeded. This is not altruism; it is practical recognition that allowing salvagers to accumulate lethal doses serves no one’s interests. A dead salvager cannot work, cannot train others, cannot contribute to the economy. Better to enforce conservative limits and maintain a workforce capable of long careers than to permit reckless behavior that might yield short-term gains but destroys future capital.
I asked a senior guild official what the acceptable mortality rate from radiation exposure was considered to be. She looked at me with what I interpreted as confusion, then said: “Acceptable? None. Every death is a loss. But realistic? Perhaps three percent annually among active salvagers. We work continuously to reduce this.” Three percent. In a profession with perhaps ten thousand active practitioners across all the Free Cities, that translates to three hundred deaths per year from a single cause. For context, that is higher than combat casualties in most military conflicts the city-states engage in. The salvagers know these numbers. They proceed anyway, because the compensation is extraordinary and because the alternatives available to those without significant capital or guild connections are limited.
[Factor Marks’s note]: The three percent figure the scholar cites is for licensed, guild-affiliated salvagers using proper equipment and following safety protocols. Independent operators, those working black market salvage, those who cannot afford quality void-glass or regular ward maintenance, their mortality rates are significantly higher. I have heard estimates ranging from ten to twenty percent annually. These deaths go largely unrecorded, as independent salvagers by definition operate outside guild oversight. The true cost of the salvage economy is higher than official figures suggest. I say this not to condemn the practice but to acknowledge the reality. The wealth of the Free Cities is built on golden sand, yes, but that sand is mixed with blood and bone. This is neither secret nor scandal; it is simply the price that has been negotiated between those who salvage and those who profit from salvage. Whether that price is fair, I leave to philosophers and moralists. I merely note that people continue to pay it voluntarily, which suggests either that the rewards justify the risks or that their alternatives are sufficiently grim that gambling with radiation exposure seems preferable.
The Najari, whom scholars formally designate as Serpentes in taxonomic literature, though this term is rarely used in casual discourse, are perhaps the most immediately visually distinctive sapient species I have encountered. Where humans might mistake a Lanx for a strange person at distance, or fail to immediately recognize the alterations in Deepfolk physiognomy, no one who sees a Najari has any doubt they are observing something fundamentally different from baseline humanity.
The Najari body plan is serpentine from the waist down, and something like a furless primate from the waist up, though this requires significant qualification. An adult Najari typically measures between twenty-five and thirty feet from head to tail tip, with considerable individual variation. The tail, which comprises approximately two-thirds of their total length, is muscular and powerful, capable of supporting the entire body weight when rearing upright or moving at speed. The scales are small and overlapping, providing flexibility while maintaining protection, and their coloration varies by individual and, to some extent, by region. Desert-dwelling Najari tend toward sandy browns, pale golds, and creams with darker mottling that provides camouflage against stone and sand. Rainforest Najari display deeper greens, browns, and occasional iridescent patterns that help them blend into the complex visual environment of the canopy.
The torso, while humanoid in general structure, shows significant adaptations. The spine is more flexible than our baseline, allowing for a greater range of twisting motion that facilitates both the transition from vertical to horizontal positioning and the complex three-dimensional movement patterns the Najari employ. The shoulders are broader and more heavily muscled than typical primate proportions would suggest, necessary for supporting the weight of the upper body during vertical positioning. The arms are long, with hands that possess six fingers rather than five, each tipped with a retractable claw that serves both practical and social functions I will detail later.
The head is perhaps the most unsettling aspect for those not accustomed to Najari appearance. The face is similar to that of a primate, although flattened, with recognizable features including eyes, nose, and mouth positioned similarly to facial depictions found in salvaged art and frescoes. However, the eyes are larger than primate proportions might suggest, with vertically-slitted pupils that dilate and contract dramatically in response to light levels. The mouth, when closed, appears reasonable enough, but opens to reveal a truly impressive array of dentition including prominent fangs connected to venom glands in the upper jaw. The skull is slightly flattened, with a more pronounced brow ridge than the artistic baseline, and the jaw is hinged in a manner that allows it to open wider than should be anatomically possible, a trait I am told is rarely used outside of feeding but which can be deployed for intimidation purposes.
The venom deserves specific attention. Najari possess a neurotoxic venom that, in sufficient quantities, is lethal to most mammals including humans. However, this is not a primary weapon in any sense. The venom serves primarily defensive and, historically, hunting purposes, though hunting is largely obsolete in modern Najari society given their agricultural and trade capacity. More importantly for social purposes, Najari can control both whether they envenom a bite and how much venom they deliver. A “dry bite” delivers no venom at all and is used in certain social and romantic contexts I will not detail here out of respect for privacy. Small amounts of venom produce localized pain and paralysis without systemic effects and are occasionally used in medical contexts or, in darker applications, for torture. Full envenomation is reserved for genuine threats and is, by cultural consensus, considered a last resort in conflicts between sapient beings.
Najari are warm-blooded, contrary to some scholarly speculation I encountered before visiting the Free Cities, and maintain a body temperature slightly higher than human baseline, approximately one hundred two degrees. They do not, however, thermoregulate through the same mechanisms humans employ. They do not sweat. Instead, they manage heat through behavioral adaptations, seeking shade or water during periods of extreme temperature, and through specialized structures in their respiratory system that allow for efficient heat exchange. I watched a Najari merchant conduct an extended negotiation in the open-air market during the afternoon heat and observed no signs of distress, while I was forced to retire to shade after less than half an hour despite being covered head to toe in reflective cloth.
The question of reproduction has obvious implications for demographics and social structure. Najari are oviparous, laying eggs rather than bearing live young. A typical clutch consists of three to five eggs, laid over a period of several days, though twins and larger clutches are not uncommon. The eggs are surprisingly large, approximately the size of a human head, with leathery shells that harden in air. Incubation requires warmth and takes approximately four months, during which the eggs must be kept at stable temperature and protected. In modern Najari society, dedicated facilities exist for communal incubation, allowing parents to continue their work and social activities rather than being confined to nest-guarding. These facilities are funded through the civic stipend system I will discuss in detail later.
Hatchlings emerge fully formed but helpless, requiring intensive care for the first year of life. They are smaller than human infants at hatching, perhaps two feet long total, but grow rapidly. By age five, a young Najari is typically eight to ten feet long and capable of basic self-sufficiency. Full adult size is reached around age fifteen, though social and sexual maturity is considered to occur around age twenty in most Free Cities, with some variation by local custom.
Life expectancy for Najari appears to be somewhat longer than humans, with individuals regularly living into their eighties and nineties in good health. The oldest Najari I interviewed claimed to be one hundred and seven, though record-keeping being somewhat inconsistent in earlier generations, this may be approximate. Regardless, barring violence or disease, Najari can expect long productive lives, which has implications for both their culture of accumulation and their long-term thinking in economic and political matters.
To observe a Najari in motion is to witness something that should not work according to the physics one expects from human experience, yet functions with fluid grace. On flat ground, they move in a distinctive serpentine pattern, the tail propelling them forward in smooth curves while the torso remains relatively stable. This mode of travel is efficient and, once you become accustomed to it, quite beautiful in its rhythmic flow. They can maintain a pace that a human would find challenging to match on foot for extended periods without visible fatigue.
When terrain becomes complex, the Najari advantage becomes even more apparent. They navigate obstacles with ease, flowing over and around impediments that would require humans to climb or detour. In the ruins of Salvação, I watched salvagers navigate collapsed sections and vertical shafts with confidence that bordered on recklessness by human standards but which they clearly considered routine. The tail provides stability and grip on surfaces that would be treacherous for bipedal species, while the arms remain free to manipulate tools or weapons.
The Najari can also rear upright, raising the torso to effectively stand at a height of eight to ten feet depending on individual size, though this position cannot be maintained indefinitely as it requires active muscular effort. This is used for enhanced visibility, for reaching high objects, for intimidation in confrontational contexts, and in certain social and ceremonial circumstances. A Najari merchant making a dramatic point during a negotiation will often rise to full height, and the effect is undeniably impressive.
Most remarkable is their climbing ability. In the rainforest cities, I observed Najari ascending trees with a speed and confidence that made clear this was ancestral capability, not learned skill. The tail wraps around branches providing stability while the arms reach for new holds, and the entire body moves in a coordinated flow that propels them upward. Even in the stone environments of the desert cities, this translates to impressive wall-climbing capacity, particularly in structures like the arcology where regular handholds and protrusions exist.
Swimming is natural to Najari, and they are faster in water than most humans, using their powerful tails for propulsion. The rainforest Najari in particular spend considerable time in rivers and lakes, and their cities often incorporate water features both for practical and recreational purposes. In the desert, swimming is less common simply due to water scarcity, but the public baths in Salvação, fed by the ancient water systems, see regular use and the Najari clearly enjoy aquatic activity when available.
[Factor Marks’s note]: Do not underestimate Najari mobility. I have seen them move at speeds that would exhaust a running horse over short distances, pursue prey through terrain that would stop a human cold, and climb surfaces I would swear were unclimbable. In commercial contexts, this translates to Najari couriers being the fastest method of moving urgent messages or small high-value goods through difficult terrain. In military contexts, it means Najari light infantry can be positioned in locations no human force could reach and can disengage from unfavorable encounters with ease. Anyone planning to do business with Najari, or gods forbid, engage them in conflict, should factor their mobility advantage into all calculations.
Despite the political fragmentation of the Free Cities, certain cultural traits appear to be genuinely universal among Najari, suggesting deep-rooted values that transcend local governance and economic systems.
The first and most obvious is their relationship with wealth. The Najari are, without exception, transactional in their thinking. Everything has a value. Everything can be traded. Everything is measured in terms of cost and benefit. This is not cynicism or materialism in the sense that those terms carry in human cultures. It is simply how Najari conceptualize the world. When I asked a Najari philosopher to explain this tendency, she said: “All relationships are exchange. You give time and attention and care, and you receive the same. We simply acknowledge this explicitly rather than pretending it is something else.”
This manifests in elaborate social customs around gift-giving, favor-trading, and debt acknowledgment. When a Najari does something for you, there is an implicit expectation of reciprocity, though not necessarily immediate or equivalent. The culture maintains informal ledgers of social debt, and a Najari who receives but never gives in return will find themselves excluded from social networks. Conversely, one who gives generously builds a web of obligations that can be called upon in times of need. It is a formalized system of mutual aid dressed in the language of commerce, and it functions remarkably well.
The second universal is competitive drive. Najari compete with each other constantly, over everything, with an intensity that humans often find exhausting. Who negotiated the better contract. Who acquired the rarer item. Whose children are more accomplished. Whose dwelling is more elegantly appointed. This is not hostile competition in most cases, but rather a kind of ongoing game that everyone participates in as a matter of course. Status is constantly being negotiated and re-negotiated through these micro-competitions, and the Najari seem to genuinely enjoy the process. They have a saying: “Still water stagnates; moving water lives.” Competition keeps the water moving.
The third universal is what I can only describe as radical pragmatism. If something works, it is good. If something does not work, it is bad. Moral arguments that do not reference practical outcomes are met with polite incomprehension. When I attempted to discuss the ethics of slavery from a Confederation moral philosophy perspective, the Najari I was speaking with listened politely and then said: “But does the system produce good outcomes? Do the slaves become citizens? Do they prosper? If yes, then it is a good system. If no, then we should change it.” The focus is always on results, never on abstract principles divorced from consequence.
These universals manifest differently depending on whether you are speaking with desert or rainforest Najari, and these regional variations are worth noting.
Desert Najari, particularly those living in Salvação and the other arcology cities, tend toward a certain hardness of character born of living in an environment that kills the careless. They are direct in their speech, quick to make decisions, and dismissive of hesitation or excessive deliberation. They value boldness, risk-taking, and dramatic success. Their stories celebrate the salvager who ventured into the deepest zones and returned with treasures, the merchant who made the most audacious deal, the guild master who seized opportunity while others debated. Desert Najari dress practically, favoring light fabrics in pale colors that reflect heat, and their aesthetic tends toward the austere.
Rainforest Najari are more patient, more willing to engage in extended deliberation, more concerned with consensus-building. This is partly environmental adaptation; the rainforest requires patience, as rushing leads to mistakes that can be fatal in a different way than the desert punishes haste. But it also reflects the economic reality that rainforest Najari are, in general, wealthier in terms of consistent resources if not in terms of access to salvage treasures. They can afford to take time. Their aesthetic runs toward lush decoration, bright colors, elaborate patterns, and their cities are works of art where desert cities are works of engineering.
These differences sometimes create friction between regions, with desert Najari considering their rainforest cousins soft and overly cautious, while rainforest Najari view desert-dwellers as reckless and lacking in proper consideration. Yet both recognize themselves as fundamentally Najari, sharing language and values and the common project of maintaining the prosperity of the Free Cities.
I must begin this section with what is perhaps the most remarkable aspect of Najari society, one that challenged my assumptions about economic organization so fundamentally that I spent my first month in Salvação convinced I must be misunderstanding something essential. I was not misunderstanding. The system functions exactly as it appears to, and it works.
Every citizen of the Free Cities receives a monthly stipend from the civic treasury, calculated based on household size and local cost of living, sufficient to cover basic needs including food, shelter, basic medical care, and education for any young in their care. This is not charity. This is not welfare contingent on behavior or means-testing. This is universal. The poorest salvager living in the lower levels of Salvação receives their stipend. The wealthiest guild master in her mansion on the sixtieth floor receives the same stipend. Everyone. Always.
The Najari call this the “foundation,” and they speak of it with the same matter-of-fact acceptance that humans might discuss roads or water systems. It is simply infrastructure, a necessary component of civilization. When I asked a civic administrator to justify the expense of providing funds to those who clearly did not need them, she looked at me with genuine confusion. “Why would we make it conditional? That requires oversight, verification, bureaucracy. Much simpler to give it to everyone. Those who do not need it will spend it anyway, which circulates wealth. And making it universal removes any stigma. No one need feel ashamed of accepting what every citizen receives.”
The practical implementation is surprisingly straightforward. Each citizen maintains an account with one of the recognized banking houses, a system I will detail later. On the first day of each month, the stipend deposits into these accounts automatically, transferred from civic treasuries funded through taxation and trade revenues. The amount varies by city-state, as each maintains its own treasury and sets its own stipend levels, but within each city the amount is identical for all citizens regardless of wealth or status. In Salvação during my stay, a single adult received approximately forty silver per month, with an additional twenty silver per dependent child or elderly family member. For reference, a modest meal at a working-class establishment costs approximately one silver, a month’s rent for basic accommodation in the mid-levels runs sixty to eighty silver, basic clothing costs five to ten silver, and a journey along the warded corridor to the rainforest cities costs fifteen silver.
The mathematics are immediately obvious: the stipend alone is insufficient for comfortable living in Salvação’s more expensive districts, but it is sufficient for survival and basic dignity. A family of four, two adults and two children, receives one hundred twenty silver per month. This covers food, basic housing, clothing, and medical care with modest margin remaining. Not prosperity, but security. The foundation beneath which no citizen can fall.
The philosophical justification, as explained to me by multiple Najari across various social strata, centers on flow. Wealth that accumulates and stagnates is wasted wealth. Wealth that moves, that circulates, that changes hands and facilitates exchanges, is productive wealth. By ensuring every citizen has funds to spend, the civic stipend guarantees constant circulation. The poor spend their entire stipend on necessities, putting money into food vendors, landlords, clothiers, and other providers of basic goods. The middle class spend their stipend on non-essentials, supporting artisans and entertainers and luxury providers. The wealthy may save their stipend or invest it or simply spend it frivolously, but in all cases it returns to circulation. The stipend is not a cost to the economy; it is a lubricant that keeps the economy moving.
The second justification is risk mitigation. Najari culture celebrates entrepreneurship, risk-taking, ambitious ventures. But such behavior is only possible if failure is not catastrophic. The civic stipend ensures that even total business failure leaves the citizen with basic survival secured. This encourages the kind of bold economic experimentation that produces innovation and occasional spectacular success. A merchant can attempt a risky trade venture knowing that if it fails, her family will still eat. An artisan can invest months developing a new technique knowing that even if it produces nothing marketable, he will not starve. This transforms the relationship between citizen and economy from desperate survival to genuine opportunity.
The third justification, which I find most compelling if also most cynical, is social stability. A population with basic needs met is a population unlikely to revolt. Desperation breeds radicalism, crime, violence. Security breeds compliance, or at least acceptance of the existing order. The civic stipend makes citizenship valuable enough that the threat of losing it serves as powerful deterrent to behavior that might destabilize the system. This is not spoken of openly in quite these terms, but when I pressed a particularly candid guild official on the matter, he acknowledged it with a shrug. “Why would anyone overthrow a system that guarantees their survival? They might want more, certainly. But wanting more and needing to tear everything down to survive are very different motivations.”
The funding mechanism is complex but surprisingly transparent. Each city-state maintains a published budget, available for citizen review, that details revenue sources and expenditures. In Salvação, approximately thirty percent of civic revenue goes to the stipend system. This is funded through a combination of progressive wealth taxes, guild licensing fees, tariffs on trade, and revenue from city-owned salvage operations and infrastructure. The wealthy pay more in taxes than they receive in stipend, creating a redistributive effect. The middle class pay roughly what they receive. The poor pay minimal taxes and benefit significantly. Yet the system maintains broad support across all classes because even those who pay more than they receive benefit from the social stability, the guaranteed consumer base, and the circulation of wealth.
I will note that the system is not without critics. Some argue that it creates dependency, that citizens become complacent knowing the foundation exists. Some claim it is unsustainable, that eventually the salvage wealth will run out and the system will collapse. Some contend it rewards indolence, that those who do not work should not receive support. But these voices are minority, and the practical success of the system makes abstract arguments difficult to sustain. The Free Cities are prosperous, crime is low, social mobility is high, and quality of life even for those at the bottom is remarkably good by the standards of other civilizations I have studied. Results matter to Najari more than theories, and the results speak clearly.
[Factor Marks’s note]: The stipend system is the reason doing business in the Free Cities is both easier and more profitable than elsewhere. Every citizen has money to spend. Not much, perhaps, but some. This creates a consumer base that extends all the way to the bottom of society rather than being concentrated at the top. A merchant selling basic goods can expect customers at all levels. An artisan can sell to the working poor as well as the wealthy, simply by offering products at different price points. This is why the markets in Najari cities are so vibrant, why small businesses thrive, why innovation occurs. When everyone has purchasing power, everyone is a potential customer. The alternative, which I have seen in the Confederation and elsewhere, is a tiny wealthy class buying luxury goods and a vast poor class buying nothing, with very little in between. That environment strangles commerce. The Najari system opens it up. As a merchant, I will take Najari customers over Confederation customers any day, not because they are wealthier individually, but because there are so many more of them with money to spend.
Before I address the more contentious aspects of Najari society, I must discuss something that occupies a central place in their culture and that surprised me with its sophistication: their relationship with food and drink. The Najari are, simply put, extraordinary in their culinary traditions, and meals serve functions far beyond mere sustenance.
The Najari are obligate carnivores, though this requires qualification. They can digest plant matter and often do, particularly fruits and certain vegetables, but they derive little nutritional value from it. Their diet must center on meat, fish, eggs, and other animal products to maintain health. This presents obvious logistical challenges in a desert environment, but the Najari have solved these through a combination of trade, aquaculture, insect farming, and what I can only describe as industrial-scale food production in the rainforest territories.
The morning meal, taken shortly after dawn when the day is still cool, is typically light. The Najari prefer not to eat heavily before the heat of day, as digestion generates internal warmth they do not need. A typical breakfast consists of a small portion of preserved meat or fish, perhaps some fruit brought from the rainforest, and tea. The tea culture deserves specific mention, as it permeates Najari society at all levels. They cultivate dozens of varieties in the rainforest territories, each with distinct flavor profiles and purported medicinal properties. Tea drinking is a social activity, and to refuse offered tea is a mild insult. Business negotiations frequently occur over tea, and I learned quickly to pace my consumption, as cups are refilled continuously and refusing a refill suggests you wish to end the meeting.
The evening meal, taken after sunset when the temperature drops, is the main event of the day. This is when Najari eat substantially, and this is when the true artistry of their cuisine becomes apparent. I was invited to perhaps two dozen formal dinners during my stay, ranging from modest affairs in middle-class homes to elaborate banquets in guild halls, and I came away with profound respect for Najari cooking.
The foundation of most evening meals is meat, prepared in ways that maximize flavor while minimizing waste. The Najari waste nothing. Bones are boiled for stock. Organs are prepared as delicacies. Skin and connective tissue are rendered for their fat and collagen. Blood is used in certain dishes I will not describe in detail, as they were challenging for my human digestion despite being perfectly safe. Every part of the animal is utilized, reflecting both practical necessity in an environment where food production is expensive and cultural values around efficiency and respect for resources.
The spicing is complex, favoring heat and depth. The Najari grow peppers in the rainforest that produce capsaicin at levels that would be dangerous to human consumption, yet the Najari eat them casually. I attempted one at a merchant’s urging and spent the next hour in considerable distress despite water and bread. My host found my reaction entertaining but not unkind, and thereafter ensured dishes prepared for me were modified for human tolerance. Other common spices include various dried aromatics, salts harvested from desert mineral deposits, and preserved citrus from rainforest cultivation. The overall effect is cuisine that is simultaneously simple in composition and sophisticated in execution, where the quality of ingredients and the precision of technique produce remarkable results.
Fish features prominently, despite the desert environment. Salvação’s ancient water systems include what appear to be aquaculture facilities, massive underground tanks where fish are raised in controlled conditions. These fish, pale and eyeless from generations in darkness, are harvested weekly and appear in markets throughout the city. They have a delicate flavor and a texture I found quite pleasant once I overcame my initial revulsion at their appearance. The Najari also import preserved ocean fish from the rainforest territories at considerable expense, and such fish appears at more formal dinners as a status marker.
Insects provide protein at all levels of society. Large beetles, crickets, and what I was told were termite queens appear in markets alive and are prepared in various ways. Roasted beetles have a nutty flavor not unlike roasted nuts, though the texture takes adjustment. Cricket flour is used extensively in what passes for Najari baking, creating dense cakes and flatbreads that serve as vehicles for other foods. The termite queens, each the size of a human thumb, are considered delicacies and are served at important occasions. I tried one at a guild banquet and found it had a rich, fatty taste with an almost custard-like interior. The other guests watched my reaction closely, and my genuine appreciation earned visible respect.
The presentation of food carries social meaning. Meals served family-style from communal platters signal intimacy and trust. Meals served in individual portions at formal settings signal respect and hierarchy. The order in which dishes appear, the arrangement on the plate, the specific vessels used, all communicate information about the relationship between host and guest, the importance of the occasion, and the resources the host commands. I spent my first month making errors in this complex language until Factor Marks provided me with a detailed guide to dining etiquette.
Drink beyond tea deserves attention. The Najari produce alcohol from various sources, and they drink with the same competitive intensity they apply to all activities. Wine made from rainforest fruits is the prestige drink, with elaborate systems for rating vintages and assigning value. I was shown wine cellars in guild halls that contained bottles worth more than a working family’s annual income. Stronger spirits distilled from grain or sugar are consumed more casually, often with meals or during business negotiations. There is also a fermented beverage made from insect honey that has a sweet, slightly medicinal taste and a remarkably high alcohol content. I made the mistake of matching drinks with a merchant during negotiations and spent the following day in my quarters feeling quite unwell while he conducted business apparently unaffected.
Water consumption is ritualized in the desert cities. In an environment where water is precious despite technological provision, drinking water in another’s presence carries implications of trust and shared resources. Offering water to a guest is not merely courtesy; it is acknowledgement of their value. Public fountains exist throughout Salvação, fed by the ancient systems, and citizens drink freely, but the ritual of offering and accepting water in private settings maintains its significance.
The social dimension of dining cannot be overstated. Meals are where relationships are negotiated, business is conducted, alliances are formed, and status is displayed. A merchant wishing to establish a relationship with a potential partner will invite them to dinner. A guild seeking to recruit a talented individual will host them at a formal meal. Families celebrate successes and mourn losses around the table. The evening meal is sacred time, and even the busiest Najari make space for it. I observed that business discussions during meals follow specific protocols: preliminaries and small talk accompany the first course, substantive negotiation occurs during the middle courses, and conclusions and agreements are reached over final courses and drinks. To attempt to conduct serious business before food is served or to continue discussing work after the final course is removed demonstrates poor understanding of propriety.
I must also mention the food vendors and street food culture that thrives particularly in Salvação’s mid and lower levels. For those who cannot afford or do not wish to prepare elaborate meals, the streets offer remarkable variety. Skewered meats grilled over charcoal, flatbreads wrapped around spiced insects and vegetables, bowls of fish stew served steaming from large pots, fried beetle larvae sold in paper cones as snacks. These vendors operate from dawn to well past midnight, creating a food landscape that ensures no one in the city need go hungry even if they lack facilities to cook. The civic stipend is sufficient to eat street food for all meals, and many working Najari do exactly that, treating their small dwelling spaces purely for sleeping while conducting the rest of their lives in public spaces.
The contrast between desert and rainforest food culture is less stark than one might expect, though regional variations exist. Rainforest Najari have easier access to fresh fruits and vegetables and incorporate these more extensively into meals. They also have a tradition of tree-dwelling prey animals that desert Najari cannot easily access, creating dishes that are regional specialties. But the fundamental patterns—the centrality of meat, the tea culture, the social significance of meals—remain consistent across the Free Cities.
[Factor Marks’s note]: Business travelers should be aware that declining a meal invitation is a serious social error. If you truly cannot attend, provide substantial excuse and offer to reschedule. During meals, eat at least a small portion of everything offered even if it is not to your taste. The Najari notice and remember social slights, and food refusal is interpreted as rejection of hospitality. I have seen promising business relationships collapse because a human merchant repeatedly declined dinner invitations or picked at food without making genuine effort to appreciate it. Conversely, demonstrating enthusiasm for Najari cuisine builds rapport remarkably quickly. If you have dietary restrictions or religious prohibitions, explain these clearly before the meal rather than refusing food when it appears. The Najari will accommodate religious requirements readily but interpret unexplained refusal as insult. Also, note that meals run long by human standards. A formal dinner can easily extend four hours. Plan accordingly and do not appear rushed or eager to leave.
I approach this section with considerable discomfort, knowing that what I describe will be controversial and that my attempt at objective documentation will likely satisfy neither those who will condemn the Najari system entirely nor those who will defend it as enlightened compared to alternatives. I can only present what I observed and what I was told, and acknowledge that my own biases inevitably shape the presentation.
The Free Cities practice slavery. This is not disputed or hidden. It is openly acknowledged, legally codified, and defended as both practical and moral by the overwhelming majority of Najari I spoke with. However, the Najari slavery system differs substantially from other slave systems I have studied, and these differences matter even if they do not fully resolve the ethical questions the practice raises.
First and most fundamentally, the Najari do not enslave each other. Taking a Najari citizen as a slave is among the most serious crimes in their legal code, punishable by permanent exile or, in extreme cases, execution. This is not merely legal prohibition but cultural taboo enforced through social mechanisms as well as legal ones. A merchant suspected of involvement in Najari slave-trading would find themselves unable to conduct business, excluded from guilds, and shunned by society. The principle is absolute: Najari citizenship is inviolable, and to enslave a citizen is to attack the foundation of the social contract that binds the Free Cities together.
Slavery in Najari society is explicitly a consequence of warfare. When city-states go to war, and they do so with disturbing regularity as I will detail later, the victorious side takes the defeated combatants and sometimes civilian populations from contested territories as spoils. These captives become slaves. There is no pretense that this is anything other than what it is: the defeated are conquered, and conquest includes the right to their labor. The alternative, the Najari point out with some justification, is killing prisoners of war. Slavery offers captives continued life and eventual citizenship. This is presented as mercy, and I confess I struggle with the term even as I understand the logic.
The duration of enslavement is legally limited. The standard term is seven years, consciously modeled on what the Najari understand of ancient practices from texts recovered from the ruins. At the end of seven years, slaves must be offered freedom and the choice of citizenship or repatriation. Extensions beyond seven years require formal legal proceedings and must demonstrate that the slave has committed serious offenses warranting continued servitude as punishment. I was told these extensions are rare, perhaps five percent of slaves, as maintaining slaves who actively resist or cause problems is more expensive than simply exiling them.
The treatment of slaves is, by law and apparently by common practice, required to meet minimum standards. Slaves must be provided adequate food, housing, medical care, and rest. They cannot be worked beyond reasonable hours, though “reasonable” is somewhat flexible and doubtless subject to abuse in individual cases. Physical punishment is permitted but regulated, with severity limitations and prohibitions on permanent injury or disfigurement. Sexual abuse of slaves is illegal and, I was assured, prosecuted when discovered, though I harbor skepticism about how rigorously this is enforced in practice given the power dynamics involved.
Slaves are employed primarily in manual and semi-skilled labor. I observed slaves working in construction, in manufacturing facilities, in agricultural operations in the remediated lands around Salvação, in maintenance of the warded corridor, and in various service positions. They are not, generally, employed in the most dangerous work such as deep salvage, both because slaves lack the training for such specialized work and because the economics do not favor risking valuable slave labor in high-mortality operations. Some slaves are taken into skilled trades as apprentices, learning crafts that will make them economically viable as future citizens. This is presented as investment in their future and, I suppose, is not entirely cynical. A slave who becomes a skilled artisan upon manumission is more likely to thrive as a citizen and contribute to the economy.
The path to citizenship is real, not merely theoretical. I interviewed several former slaves who had completed their terms and accepted citizenship. Their accounts were remarkably consistent. They described slavery as difficult but not unbearable, as a period of constrained freedom that nevertheless included decent treatment and eventual clear endpoint. They described the citizenship offer as genuine, with support provided for integration including housing assistance, guild connections, and even small capital grants to help establish themselves economically. They all said they would have preferred never being enslaved, but acknowledged that enslavement followed by citizenship was better than death on a battlefield or in a sacked city.
These interviews were arranged through guild contacts, and I must acknowledge the selection bias inherent in speaking only with those who accepted citizenship and remained in the Free Cities. Those who chose repatriation, I cannot speak to. Those who died during their enslavement, I cannot interview. Those who found the experience so traumatic they refused to discuss it, I did not meet. What I can say is that the former slaves I spoke with appeared genuinely integrated into Najari society, held respectable positions, and expressed no apparent bitterness about their past. Whether this represents successful assimilation or successful conditioning, I cannot determine with certainty.
The citizenship offer itself is comprehensive. Former slaves who accept citizenship receive identical legal rights to natural-born citizens. They can own property, enter contracts, join guilds, participate in civic governance, marry, and pass citizenship to their children. There are no second-class citizenship categories, no permanent marks of former slave status in legal terms. Socially, some stigma apparently exists, as former slaves mentioned occasionally encountering prejudice, but this appears to be individual rather than institutional. The law treats them as full citizens, and the formal structures of society follow that legal reality.
The children of slaves present a more complex situation. Current law holds that children born to slaves during their servitude are born free and are citizens. This is relatively recent reform, implemented approximately fifty years ago after extended legal and philosophical debate. Prior to this, children inherited their parents’ slave status, creating de facto hereditary slavery that contradicted the stated principle that slavery was temporary consequence of specific circumstances. The reform closed this loophole, though it created new complications around economic responsibility for children whose parents are enslaved. In practice, these children are typically raised in civic institutions funded through the stipend system, essentially becoming wards of the state until their parents complete their terms. Former slaves I spoke with who had children born during enslavement expressed gratitude for this system, as it meant their children never experienced slavery personally and began life as citizens.
The enforcement of slave welfare laws is inconsistent, as one might expect. Wealthy slave-owners with political connections can likely abuse their slaves with relative impunity. Poor or middle-class owners who mistreat slaves risk prosecution, both because they lack protective connections and because their slaves are more likely to come to authorities’ attention through neighbors or guild inspections. The Salvagers’ Guild maintains particular scrutiny over slave conditions in salvage-related industries, as poor treatment leads to accidents that endanger both slaves and free workers. Other guilds are apparently less vigilant. The overall impression I formed was that most slaves are treated adequately by their owners not from humanitarian sentiment but from practical recognition that healthy, reasonably content slaves are more productive than abused ones, and that legal troubles from slave mistreatment are not worth the marginal gains from more aggressive exploitation.
I asked many Najari, across various social positions, to justify slavery to me from an ethical standpoint. The responses were consistent. Warfare produces defeated enemies. Those enemies can be killed, expelled, or enslaved. Killing them is wasteful and arguably more cruel than enslavement. Expelling them may simply send them back to rearm and attack again. Enslaving them provides labor that benefits the victor while giving the enslaved path to citizenship and new life in a prosperous society. From Najari perspective, this is practical, efficient, and ultimately generous. They genuinely do not understand why I find it troubling, and my attempts to explain Confederation moral philosophy regarding human dignity and inviolable rights met with polite dismissal. “Does your philosophy feed people? Does it prevent war? Does it produce prosperity? No? Then why should we adopt it?”
I remain deeply uncomfortable with Najari slavery despite understanding their justifications and acknowledging that their system is less brutal than many others. That something is better than alternatives does not make it good. That slavery leads to citizenship does not erase that it is slavery. That most slaves apparently survive and some thrive does not justify the system. Yet I also recognize that the Najari are correct that defeated enemies in war must be dealt with somehow, and I cannot confidently say that their solution is worse than execution or forced deportation. The question haunts me, and I do not have satisfying answers.
[Factor Marks’s note]: The Confederation practices what it calls “indentured servitude” for debtors, which differs from Najari slavery primarily in rhetoric rather than substance. The Confederation also has no compunction about executing prisoners of war wholesale, which it considers more honorable than enslavement. I am not convinced that execution is morally superior to temporary slavery followed by citizenship, though I understand why it feels different. The Najari system is pragmatic, transparent about what it is, and provides genuine pathway out of bondage. Whether that excuses the practice is philosophical question above my expertise, but I will note that former slaves I have done business with seem no more traumatized than many free persons who have experienced other hardships. Perhaps that says something about Najari slavery being less terrible than we imagine, or perhaps it says something disturbing about how much trauma humans can endure and normalize. Likely both.
The guilds are the true power structure of the Free Cities, transcending individual city-state governance and creating networks of influence and control that bind Najari society together across political boundaries. To understand Najari economics and politics, one must first understand the guilds, their hierarchies, their relationships with each other, and their role in shaping the lives of citizens at every level of society.
A guild, in the Najari context, is simultaneously a professional organization, a regulatory body, a mutual aid society, and a political entity. Guilds control access to specific industries or trades, set standards for quality and practice, provide training and certification, advocate for their members’ interests, and accumulate wealth and influence that rivals or exceeds that of city-state governments. There are dozens of major guilds and hundreds of minor ones across the Free Cities, but power concentrates in perhaps a dozen truly influential organizations.
The largest and most powerful is the Guild of Northern Gates, which controls all legitimate trade in Lacuna materials including void-glass and void-iron. This guild maintains exclusive contracts with Diver operations in the north, operates its own Diver corps, and holds monopoly on import and distribution of these materials throughout the south. Given that void-glass is essential for deep salvage operations and that salvage drives much of the desert economy, the Northern Gates Guild effectively holds a chokepoint on the entire economic system. They leverage this ruthlessly, charging prices that would be considered extortionate if alternatives existed, which they do not.
The guild’s headquarters in Salvação occupies the entire seventy-fifth floor of the arcology, one of the highest accessible levels, a location that serves both practical and symbolic functions. The practical: that high in the structure, ambient radiation is lower and climate control systems function more reliably, making it genuinely pleasant to work and conduct business. The symbolic: everyone must look up to reach them. I was granted an interview with a senior factor of the guild, a meeting arranged through Factor Marks’s connections and requiring three weeks of preliminary negotiations to schedule. The factor, a Najari named Tessith of House Moonscale, received me in an office that commanded views over the entire city and much of the surrounding desert. The message was clear before she spoke a word.
Tessith explained the guild’s position with admirable frankness. “We maintain the Diver corps because no one else can or will. The northerners consider it taboo, yet they sell the materials readily enough when we show them coin. We take the risks, we manage the degradation, we transport the materials across thousands of miles of difficult terrain. The prices reflect these realities. If others believe they can do it more efficiently, they are welcome to try.” When I suggested that monopoly pricing might be considered exploitative, she smiled with the particular expression Najari use when they think you have said something naive. “Exploitative would be refusing to sell at any price. We sell to all who can pay, citizen and foreigner alike. That some cannot afford our prices is unfortunate, but we are not a charity. We are a business.”
The guild employs approximately two thousand people directly, from Divers to transport specialists to sales factors to administrative staff. Indirectly, through contracts and dependent businesses, they provide livelihood for perhaps ten thousand more. Their revenue is staggering, and they pay correspondingly vast taxes that fund significant portions of Salvação’s civic budget. This gives them enormous political influence, as any city-state that antagonizes them risks both losing access to essential materials and losing the tax revenue their operations generate. Tessith acknowledged this leverage without embarrassment. “Power is power. We have it. We use it responsibly. Could we charge more? Yes. Do we? No, because destroying our customers’ ability to pay serves no purpose. We seek sustainable extraction of value, not maximum short-term profit that collapses the market.”
The second most powerful guild is the Salvagers’ Collective, which regulates all salvage operations in the arcology and other ruins. Membership is mandatory for legal salvage work, and the guild sets strict standards for training, equipment, safety protocols, and operational procedures. They also negotiate salvage rights with property-holders, as much of the arcology is owned by various entities including other guilds, wealthy individuals, and city-state governments. The guild takes a percentage of all salvage value as licensing fees, creating enormous revenue streams that fund not only the guild’s operations but also extensive mutual aid programs for injured or degraded salvagers.
I spent considerable time with the Salvagers’ Collective, as understanding salvage operations was central to my research. The guild maintains training facilities in the mid-levels where aspiring salvagers learn basic skills: radiation recognition, ward maintenance, structural assessment, entity identification, combat techniques for dealing with active defenses, and emergency medical care. The training is rigorous and not all candidates complete it. Those who do receive provisional licenses that allow them to work under supervision in low-risk zones. Full licensure requires demonstrated competence over multiple supervised operations and passing comprehensive examinations.
The guild’s medical facilities are among the best in the Free Cities, staffed by expert Albumancers specializing in radiation treatment and trauma care. Salvagers receive subsidized medical care as part of their guild membership, and the facilities also serve as research centers for developing improved treatments. I toured one such facility and observed an Albumancer working on a salvager whose arm had been partially transformed by acute radiation exposure. The healer’s hands glowed with soft golden light as she systematically rewrote the malformed tissue back toward human baseline, a process she estimated would require multiple sessions over several weeks but which showed clear progress even in the single session I observed.
The Merchants’ Consortium functions less as a single guild and more as a federation of trading houses, but it maintains sufficient coherence to act as unified force when necessary. This guild controls most long-distance trade both within the Free Cities and between the south and other regions. They operate the caravans that move goods along the warded corridor, maintain warehouses and distribution networks, provide letters of credit and financial instruments, and set standards for weights, measures, and quality grading. Their influence extends beyond economics into diplomacy, as merchant factors often serve as unofficial ambassadors to foreign powers.
The Banking Houses occupy a peculiar position, operating as individual competitive entities while maintaining guild-like standards and mutual cooperation. There are seven major banks in Salvação alone, and dozens more across the other cities. These institutions hold deposits, extend credit, facilitate transfers, issue currency, and manage investments. The Najari invented or perhaps recovered from ancient texts the concept of paper money backed by institutional guarantee rather than intrinsic material value, and this innovation has revolutionized commerce both within the Free Cities and increasingly throughout the known world. Najari currency, backed by the major banks and ultimately by the salvage wealth that flows continuously from the ruins, is accepted in every major trading center I have visited.
The banking system enables the civic stipend through automated transfers, a process that still strikes me as remarkable despite months of observation. Each citizen’s account receives the stipend deposit without requiring any action on their part. They can withdraw physical currency if desired, but most transactions occur through bank drafts or credit transfers, creating a largely cashless economy at middle and upper levels of society. The poor still use physical currency more frequently, but even in the lower levels of Salvação, many small merchants accept bank transfers for convenience.
The Crafters’ Federation encompasses dozens of smaller guilds organized by specific trade: smiths, weavers, jewelers, glassworkers, ceramicists, and countless others. Each maintains standards for their craft, provides training, certifies journeymen and masters, and advocates for their members. These guilds are less politically powerful than the major ones but remain essential to daily life and to the production of goods that drive the economy. A skilled craftsperson can earn comfortable living and even achieve significant wealth if they innovate or produce work of exceptional quality.
The Albumancers’ Circle and the Necromancers’ Guild regulate magical practice in life and death magic respectively, while the Elementalists maintain a looser organization that provides training and certification without strict regulatory control. I will detail magical practice more thoroughly in later sections, but note here that magical guilds serve similar functions to craft guilds: training, standards, certification, and political advocacy. They also, critically, prevent unlicensed practice of dangerous magics through both legal prohibition and, when necessary, direct enforcement.
Guild membership operates on tiered systems. Apprentices pay minimal fees and receive training in exchange for labor. Journeymen pay moderate fees and gain permission to practice their trade independently while still working toward mastery. Masters pay higher fees but receive the full benefits of guild membership including political voice, access to advanced training, guild contracts and connections, subsidized equipment and materials, medical care, and legal representation when needed. Each tier has obligations as well as benefits, from apprentices maintaining guild facilities to masters serving on governing committees and training the next generation.
The political power of guilds manifests in several ways. First, through concentrated wealth and the ability to deploy that wealth for specific purposes including backing favored candidates in city governance, funding infrastructure projects that serve guild interests, or simply bribing officials when more subtle influence fails. Second, through control of essential industries and the implicit threat of work stoppages or supply disruptions if their interests are threatened. Third, through direct participation in governance, as many city-states reserve council seats for guild representatives or weight voting by economic contribution, giving guilds disproportionate voice. Fourth, through informal networks of influence built through decades or centuries of guild operations, creating webs of obligation and favor that extend throughout society.
This creates governance that is, in practice, plutocratic regardless of nominal political structures. Wealth buys power. Power protects wealth. The guilds, being organizations purpose-built to accumulate and deploy wealth, naturally dominate. The civic stipend and genuine social mobility prevent this from becoming entirely calcified oligarchy, as talented individuals can rise through guild ranks based on merit and can even establish competing guilds if they identify underserved markets. But the baseline reality remains: the wealthy have more power than the poor, and wealth concentrates in guild structures.
I asked multiple Najari whether this concerned them from a fairness or justice perspective. The responses were variations on a theme: the system produces prosperity, so it must be working. Those with wealth earned it or inherited it from those who earned it. Those without wealth can acquire it through work, innovation, or fortunate investment. The guilds provide structure and stability. What alternative would be better? When I mentioned more egalitarian governance systems, the reply was inevitably: “Do those systems produce better outcomes? No? Then why adopt them?”
The Najari are not, I think, opposed to fairness or justice. They simply define those concepts instrumentally rather than abstractly. A fair system is one that produces good results. A just system is one that rewards merit and punishes incompetence. By these metrics, the guild system is both fair and just, because the Free Cities are prosperous, citizens have opportunities for advancement, and society remains stable and functional. That this system also happens to advantage those born to wealth and connections is not, from the Najari perspective, a flaw requiring correction. It is simply a reality to be navigated.
[Factor Marks’s note]: For foreign merchants, understanding guild politics is essential to successful operations in the Free Cities. Every industry is controlled by a relevant guild, and attempting to conduct business without proper guild relationships will fail. You must either join the appropriate guild yourself, which requires time and significant fees, or partner with established guild members, which requires negotiating profit-sharing arrangements. There is no third option. Independent operations are illegal and will be shut down through legal means if discovered, or through less official means if they persist. The guilds are not evil or tyrannical; they simply protect their interests ruthlessly, as any successful organization must. Work within the system, respect guild authority, pay your fees, and you can prosper. Fight the system, and you will lose. I learned this at considerable expense early in my career. Do not repeat my mistakes.
The Najari relationship with money deserves extended discussion, as it reveals much about their values and their remarkable economic sophistication. They did not invent currency, obviously, but they have refined it into something approaching art, and their banking systems are the most advanced I have encountered anywhere in my travels.
The base currency is the silver mark, a coin of standardized weight and purity minted by the major banks under civic oversight. One mark divides into ten copper bits for small transactions, and ten marks combine into one gold crown for large transactions. The physical currency is well-made and difficult to counterfeit, with elaborate designs that vary by issuing bank but maintain consistent weight and purity. The Najari are scrupulous about monetary standards, as currency debasement would undermine the trust that makes their financial system function.
However, physical currency represents only a fraction of actual money in circulation. The majority of wealth exists as accounting entries in bank ledgers, transferred through written drafts or, increasingly, through magical authentication systems that allow instant verification of account balances and transfer authorizations. A merchant making a large purchase need not carry bags of gold; they simply write a draft against their account, the seller presents the draft to their bank, and the banks settle the transfer through their own interbank clearing systems. This reduces theft risk, enables transactions too large for practical physical currency exchange, and creates detailed records that facilitate both taxation and commercial disputes.
The banks themselves are remarkable institutions. They operate from fortified buildings in the upper levels of Salvação, structures that combine the security features of vaults with the accessibility requirements of public-facing businesses. I visited the Hall of Golden Scales, one of the largest banks, and was struck by both its opulence and its efficiency. The public areas featured marble floors, elaborate sculptures, and comfortable seating for clients waiting for service. The back areas, which I was permitted to see briefly, were all business: rows of clerks maintaining accounts, secure vaults for physical currency and valuable documents, and magical communication systems linking the bank to branches throughout the Free Cities.
The banks generate profit through lending. They pay modest interest on deposits, perhaps two to three percent annually, and charge higher interest on loans, typically six to ten percent depending on risk assessment. The margin funds their operations and creates profit for their owners. This is straightforward enough. What impressed me was the sophistication of their risk assessment and the variety of financial instruments they have developed.
A merchant seeking to fund a caravan to the rainforest cities can secure a loan based on the expected value of goods to be purchased and resold, with the caravan itself and the merchant’s other assets serving as collateral. A salvager wishing to upgrade equipment can borrow against expected future earnings, with the guild serving as guarantor. A young Najari with a business idea but no capital can seek investment from banks that specialize in venture lending, accepting higher risk in exchange for equity stakes in successful businesses. Families purchase homes through long-term loans that extend over decades, and businesses finance expansion through bonds sold to investors. The variety and complexity of available financial products rivals or exceeds what I have seen in the most sophisticated human markets.
The banks also issue letters of credit that function as guaranteed payment instruments, essential for international trade. A Confederation merchant wanting to purchase Najari goods can deposit funds in a Confederation bank that has arrangements with Najari banks, receive a letter of credit, and use that letter to make purchases in the Free Cities without physically transporting large amounts of currency across dangerous terrain. The Najari banks honor the letter, trusting that the issuing bank will settle the debt through established clearing relationships. This system has transformed international commerce, making large-scale trade far safer and more efficient.
Interest-taking, which some human cultures prohibit on religious grounds, faces no such restrictions in Najari society. They view interest as the time-cost of money; a lender who provides funds now deserves compensation for the opportunity cost of not using those funds themselves. This seems eminently logical to them, and the robust lending market suggests the practice serves social utility by enabling economic activity that would otherwise be impossible.
The Najari concept of bankruptcy is pragmatic and relatively humane. A debtor who cannot pay may petition for bankruptcy protection, which prevents creditors from seizing essential assets such as basic housing, tools of trade, or the civic stipend. Non-essential assets are liquidated and distributed to creditors proportionally, and remaining debt is either restructured as long-term repayment plan or, if the debtor truly has no means, simply discharged. This may seem generous to creditors’ detriment, but the Najari logic is sound: a debtor destroyed financially becomes a permanent drain on the civic stipend system and contributes nothing to the economy. A debtor given opportunity to recover may eventually repay partially and will certainly resume productive economic activity. The former costs society more than the latter, so bankruptcy protection serves collective interest even if individual creditors take losses.
The banking houses are intensely competitive with each other, offering better interest rates, superior services, more convenient locations, anything to attract customers and grow deposits. Yet they also cooperate extensively, sharing information about creditworthiness, maintaining interbank settlement systems, and collectively enforcing standards that maintain public confidence in the banking system. This paradoxical combination of competition and cooperation is very Najari: compete fiercely within agreed rules, but protect the system that enables competition.
I witnessed a banking council meeting, held monthly to coordinate interbank operations. Representatives from all seven major Salvação banks attended, along with delegates from rainforest banking houses participating through magical communication. They discussed issues ranging from standardizing new financial instruments to coordinating response to a fraud scheme targeting multiple banks to negotiating with the city government over proposed new regulations. The meeting was professional, efficient, and remarkably collegial given that these individuals represent competing institutions. When I remarked on this to Factor Marks afterward, she said: “They compete for customers, not for the right to exist. They all prosper more in a well-regulated, trusted banking system than they would in chaos where some might temporarily gain advantage but all would eventually suffer. They understand this. It is not complicated.”
The question of where Najari wealth ultimately comes from is worth addressing. At the foundation is salvage from the ruins, which brings genuinely valuable materials and artifacts into the economy. This generates initial wealth that circulates through the economy as salvagers spend their earnings, creating demand for goods and services. The civic stipend ensures this wealth circulates to all levels of society rather than accumulating entirely at the top. Trade, both internal and international, generates additional wealth through arbitrage and value-added services. Manufacturing and crafts create wealth by transforming raw materials into finished goods. Agriculture in the rainforest regions provides food that supports populations engaged in other activities. Magical services add value through Albumantic healing, Elemental environmental management, and other applications.
The system is not zero-sum. Wealth genuinely increases through productive activity. However, it is also true that some wealth is extracted rather than created, particularly through rent-seeking behavior by guilds with monopolistic positions. The Northern Gates Guild, for instance, creates value by importing void-glass, but they also extract value beyond the service they provide through monopoly pricing. Whether this extraction is justified by the risks and investments involved, or whether it represents exploitation of captive markets, depends on perspective. The Najari themselves seem untroubled by the question, viewing monopoly profits as natural reward for having secured monopoly position.
[Factor Marks’s note]: The Najari banking system is remarkably safe and efficient. I have maintained accounts with Golden Scales for twelve years and never experienced fraud, significant delay, or failure to honor commitments. The interest rates they pay on deposits are modest but reliable, and the fees they charge for services are transparent and reasonable. Compared to banking arrangements in the Confederation, where corruption is endemic and failures are not uncommon, Najari banks are paragons of reliability. This is not mere opinion; it is reflected in market behavior. Najari currency trades at premium compared to Confederation script, and letters of credit issued by Najari banks are accepted more readily than those from most other institutions. Trust is valuable, and the Najari banks have earned it through consistent performance over generations.
I must now turn to the physical and cultural center of desert Najari civilization, the structure that makes everything else possible, the source of wealth that funds the prosperity of the Free Cities, and the most remarkable building I have encountered in my extensive travels: Salvação, the great arcology.
The name translates from Najari as both “salvation” and “salvage,” a deliberate ambiguity that captures something essential about the structure’s role in their society. It is simultaneously the thing that saves them, providing water and shelter in a lethal desert, and the thing they salvage, mining it for ancient technology and materials. The dual meaning is, I was told, intentional when the Najari first established permanent settlement here approximately three centuries ago. They understood even then that the arcology was both refuge and resource, and that distinction would define their civilization.
The structure is immense in ways that challenge description. Approximately one hundred stories of the arcology rise above the desert sand, each story averaging perhaps fifteen feet in height, creating a tower that dominates the landscape for miles in every direction. What rises above ground is only half of the structure; geological surveys and exploration of the lower levels suggest at least another hundred stories are buried beneath accumulated sand and desert debris. The visible portions cover an area of approximately four square miles, though the irregular shape makes precise measurement difficult. The buried portions may be larger still; mapping of the deep levels remains incomplete despite centuries of effort.
The exterior is constructed from materials that have no modern equivalent, something that resembles stone but is stronger, lighter, and shows no signs of weathering despite millennia of exposure to the abrasive desert environment. The surface is smooth, nearly seamless, interrupted only by window apertures and what appear to be ventilation systems or perhaps energy collection arrays. The color is pale, nearly white, reflecting the brutal desert sun rather than absorbing it, a design choice that serves both aesthetic and practical purposes as it helps keep the interior cool.
The shape is not uniform. The arcology rises in irregular tiers and setbacks, creating terraces and external spaces at various levels. Some sections are broader, some narrower, some extend out at angles that seem to defy structural logic. Viewing the structure from ground level, one gets the sense of looking at something organic, something that grew according to internal logic rather than being built according to conventional architectural principles. This impression intensifies when you realize that much of the arcology’s internal organization makes no sense according to current understanding of how buildings should function.
I entered Salvação through the main southern gate, one of seven major entrances that pierce the ground-level exterior. The gate itself is massive, sixty feet high and forty feet wide, large enough to accommodate cargo wagons and mounted caravans. It stands perpetually open, as it has for as long as anyone can remember, because no one has figured out how to close it. There are mechanisms, visible but incomprehensible, that presumably once controlled the gate, but they no longer respond to any manipulation. This is true of many ancient systems throughout the arcology: some still function perfectly, some have failed entirely, and some operate in ways that may or may not align with their original purposes.
Passing through the gate, you enter a vast ground-floor atrium that extends upward for what must be fifteen stories, creating a space of cathedral-like proportions. The ceiling high above is not solid but is instead composed of some translucent material that admits diffuse light, illuminating the space without harsh shadows. This material is another mystery; it is not glass, not crystal, not any substance that modern materials science can replicate. It is simply there, doing what it was designed to do millennia ago, still functional when the civilization that created it has been dust for longer than written history exists.
The ground floor serves as primary commercial district, filled with market stalls, workshops, warehouses, and the controlled chaos of trade and manufacture. The space is divided by walls and partitions added by Najari over centuries, creating a complex maze of passages and small courtyards that bears no relationship to the original design. The only evidence of the ancient structure at this level is the floor, that same strange not-quite-stone material, and the massive columns that support the levels above, each column fifty feet in diameter and carved with patterns that might be decorative or might be functional or might be both.
Vertical circulation occurs through multiple means. There are ramps, wide enough for wagons, that spiral up through the structure providing access for goods and people to the first twenty levels. These ramps are original to the structure and show no signs of wear despite centuries of heavy use. There are staircases, both ancient and modern, providing more direct routes between levels. And most remarkably, there are the lifts.
The lifts are ancient technology that still functions, though imperfectly and unpredictably. They are chambers perhaps fifteen feet square that rise and descend through vertical shafts, apparently suspended by no visible mechanism. You enter, you speak a number corresponding to your desired level, and sometimes the lift complies, carrying you smoothly and impossibly to your destination. Sometimes it does nothing. Sometimes it takes you to a different level than you requested. Sometimes it simply stops mid-journey for minutes or hours before resuming. The Najari use the lifts regularly despite their unpredictability, because when they work they save enormous time and effort climbing dozens of levels. I used them myself, with considerable anxiety, and experienced both smooth operation and one instance of being trapped between levels for forty-five minutes before the lift resumed motion without explanation or apology.
The middle levels, from approximately twenty to sixty, contain the bulk of Salvação’s residential population. Here the ancient structure has been extensively adapted to Najari needs. Original walls have been removed or modified, new walls added, spaces reconfigured to create dwelling units of various sizes and qualities. The poorest citizens live in small single-room spaces in the less desirable sections, while the moderately prosperous occupy multi-room apartments in areas where ancient climate control still functions and where water access is reliable.
The organization of these levels reflects Najari social stratification. The lower you live within this range, the more basic your accommodation and the less reliable the ancient systems. The higher you climb, the better the living conditions. This is not arbitrary but reflects practical reality: the ancient climate control functions better at higher levels, water pressure is more reliable, ambient radiation is lower, and the views are superior. Wealth purchases height, literally and metaphorically.
The ancient systems that still function are remarkable and central to Salvação’s viability. Most important is water. Somewhere deep below the arcology, ancient machinery processes water from unknown sources, possibly underground aquifers or possibly through magical means that extract moisture from air or sand. This water rises through the structure via systems that pump without visible power source, filling reservoirs at various levels and flowing to taps throughout the occupied zones. The water is clean, cool, and unlimited. Without it, Salvação would not exist. The desert would reclaim the ruins and the Najari would be forced to retreat entirely to the rainforest territories.
The climate control, where it functions, maintains comfortable temperature and humidity regardless of external conditions. This involves both cooling, essential in the desert heat, and air circulation, preventing the interior spaces from becoming stale. The systems operate silently and without apparent maintenance, simply doing what they were designed to do millennia ago and continuing to do so despite the passage of ages. However, these systems do not work uniformly. Some sections maintain perfect comfort, some experience occasional failures, and some have not functioned within living memory. The Najari have mapped which zones have reliable climate control, and this mapping directly influences property values and residential desirability.
Lighting throughout the structure comes partially from ancient systems and partially from modern additions. In many corridors and large spaces, panels in the ceilings emit soft, uniform light that brightens when people are present and dims when spaces are empty, conserving energy through mechanisms no one understands. These lights never fail, never require maintenance, and provide better illumination than any magical or mundane light source the Najari can produce. In areas where the ancient lighting has failed, Najari install their own lamps and lanterns, creating patchwork illumination that serves function if not matching the elegance of the original systems.
The upper levels, from sixty to one hundred, are the domain of the wealthy and powerful. Here guild headquarters occupy entire floors, transformed into elaborate offices and meeting spaces. Wealthy families maintain luxurious residences with terraces overlooking the desert, taking advantage of the better climate control and lower radiation at these heights. The very highest levels, from ninety upward, are partially exposed to the elements, featuring terrace spaces that the ancient builders apparently intended for garden
s or gathering places. The Najari have adapted these as prestigious venues for social events, dining establishments that charge extraordinary prices for the experience of eating at cloud-height, and private estates for the most successful individuals.
The buried levels, extending down perhaps one hundred stories beneath the sand, are the frontier of salvage operations. These levels are progressively more dangerous as you descend: higher radiation, more unstable structures, active defense systems, and entities that emerge from the deepest zones. They are also progressively more valuable, as the deeper you go, the more intact the ancient technology tends to be. The surface levels have been picked over for centuries. The deep levels still hold treasures.
I was permitted to accompany a salvage team into the buried levels, descending to approximately the twentieth level below ground, which is considered moderately dangerous but manageable for experienced salvagers with proper equipment. We entered through one of the ramp systems, walking down into increasing darkness as the ancient lighting systems had long since failed in these sections. Our void-glass lanterns provided illumination, casting strange blue-white light that made shadows seem to move with malign intent even when nothing was there.
The temperature dropped as we descended, the desert heat above giving way to cool that verged on cold. The air smelled of dust and age and something indefinable, perhaps the scent of very old spaces that have not been properly ventilated in centuries. The architecture here was more alien than in the occupied levels, where Najari modifications had imposed familiar patterns on the ancient structures. Here you could see the original design more clearly, and it was unsettling. Rooms connected in ways that made no sense. Corridors curved without purpose. Spaces were too large or too small for any imaginable function. It felt like walking through a building designed by minds that did not think the way living minds think, following logic that is comprehensible but deeply foreign.
We salvaged a piece of equipment that the team leader, a scarred veteran named Kess, identified as potentially valuable. It was a box perhaps two feet on each side, made of that same not-quite-stone material as the arcology itself, covered in patterns that might have been decorative or functional. Kess handled it carefully, checking for radiation with a void-glass detector before wrapping it in protective cloth. “Could be a control node,” she said. “Could be a storage unit. Could be a weapon. Won’t know until we get it to the analysts. Whatever it is, it’s intact ancient tech, and that’s worth minimum fifty gold at auction, possibly ten times that if it’s something rare.”
The trip took four hours, two hours down and two hours back up, and we encountered no active threats. Kess explained that we were lucky; sometimes the defense systems activate without warning, creating danger that requires immediate retreat. Sometimes entities emerge from the deeper levels, necessitating combat or evasion. Sometimes structures collapse, radiation spikes without explanation, or salvagers simply disappear, never to be found despite extensive search. “Three percent annual mortality,” she said, echoing the statistic I had heard earlier. “Most years I don’t lose anyone from my team. Some years I lose everyone but me. Averages out to three percent. Acceptable odds for the pay.”
When we emerged back into the occupied levels, the contrast was striking. The markets, the people, the noise and light and life seemed almost overwhelming after hours in the silent, dark, ancient depths. Kess went immediately to one of the guild assessment offices to have her salvage examined and valued, beginning the process that would eventually see the artifact sold at auction to the highest bidder, who would then attempt to understand its function or simply resell it to someone who might.
This is Salvação: a city built inside ruins, lived in and loved and dangerous and profitable and utterly dependent on technology that no one alive understands, maintained by systems that could fail at any moment or continue functioning for another ten thousand years with equal probability. It is the heart of Najari desert civilization, the source of their wealth, and a constant reminder that they live in the shadow of something greater than themselves, something that built wonders they cannot reproduce and then vanished for reasons they cannot determine.
[Factor Marks’s note]: Property values in Salvação are absurd by standards of other cities I have operated in. A modest two-room apartment in the mid-forties levels, no climate control but reliable water, costs approximately six hundred gold to purchase outright or thirty gold monthly to rent. For comparison, a similar-sized dwelling in a human city would cost perhaps one hundred gold to buy. The premium reflects both the scarcity of space in the arcology and the desirability of living in Salvação itself, with its amenities, economic opportunities, and prestige. Guild-affiliated individuals can sometimes access subsidized housing, reducing costs significantly, but independent operators like myself pay market rates that are punishing. I maintain my residence primarily because establishing myself elsewhere would damage my business connections. The cost is painful but necessary.
Having addressed the occupied portions of Salvação, I must now discuss the buried levels in more detail, for it is here that the true salvage operations occur and here that the greatest wealth and greatest danger reside in uneasy proximity.
The transition from inhabited levels to salvage frontier happens gradually rather than abruptly. The lowest inhabited levels, around level twenty above ground, still maintain some population, though the residents tend to be transient, salvagers who stay there temporarily for convenience rather than establishing permanent homes. Basic amenities exist but are less reliable, and the ambient radiation begins to be noticeable even with standard warding.
Below ground level, the buried begins. The first ten buried levels are considered the Shallows, relatively safe territory that has been thoroughly explored and extensively salvaged. Most easily accessible artifacts have been removed, structures are reasonably stable, and active defense systems are rare in this zone. This is where novice salvagers train, learning to navigate the ancient spaces, recognize valuable items, and manage radiation exposure in relatively controlled conditions.
From ten to thirty levels below ground is the Middle Reach, where professional salvaging truly begins. Radiation levels require serious protection, structures are less stable, and defense systems activate with enough frequency to necessitate constant vigilance. The salvage here is substantially more valuable, as the zone has been less thoroughly picked over. Teams operating in the Middle Reach are experienced, well-equipped, and operating under guild licenses that specify their operational zones and require regular safety reports.
Beyond thirty levels is the Deep, and here we enter territory that fewer than one hundred salvagers in all of Salvação have explored. The radiation in the Deep requires void-glass protection for any extended operation. The structures are increasingly intact, suggesting this depth was better protected from whatever cataclysm befell the surface, but this also means more ancient systems remain active and potentially hostile. The salvage value is extraordinary; a single successful Deep expedition can earn more than a salvager might make in years of Shallow operations. The mortality rate is correspondingly higher.
I interviewed a Deep salvager named Thrace who had made seventeen Deep expeditions over a career spanning thirty years. She was heavily scarred, missing two fingers on her left hand from a defense system encounter, and showed visible signs of radiation exposure including patches of scaled skin that had taken on crystalline texture and one eye that had turned completely opaque. Despite these injuries, she spoke of the Deep with something approaching reverence.
“It’s more intact down there,” she said. “The ancient ones, they built in layers, stronger protections as you go deeper. Whatever killed them hit the surface hard, but the deep levels survived better. You can find rooms that look like they were just abandoned yesterday. Equipment still functioning, lights still on, everything just waiting. It’s beautiful and it’s terrible and it’s the closest any of us will ever come to actually meeting the ancients.”
I asked what she had found in her seventeen expeditions. She laughed, though it sounded more like a cough. “Control systems that I sold for three thousand gold. Storage devices full of information we can’t read. Weapons that we’re afraid to test. Medical equipment that Albumancers study for years trying to understand. Materials that shouldn’t exist according to current understanding of matter and magic. And rooms. So many rooms, each one a mystery. What were they doing down there? What were they building? What were they trying to become?”
The defense systems are perhaps the most dangerous aspect of Deep salvage. These are not guards or living creatures but automated systems that respond to intrusion with force. They vary widely in form and function. Some emit directed energy that causes instant severe radiation exposure or simply kills through mechanisms that leave no visible wound. Some deploy physical barriers that trap salvagers in sections where radiation accumulates. Some release entities, though whether these are stored biological weapons or manifestations created by the systems is unclear. Some simply alter the environment in ways that make survival impossible: removing air, raising temperature to lethal levels, or collapsing structures in targeted ways.
Thrace described an encounter with what she called a “seeker,” a floating sphere perhaps three feet in diameter that emerged from a wall and pursued her team through multiple corridors. It emitted no apparent attack, but simply being near it caused their void-glass protections to crack and fail. They fled, and the seeker followed for what Thrace estimated was twenty minutes, though time becomes uncertain under such stress. Eventually it simply stopped, hovering in place, and did not pursue when they retreated further. When they returned to that corridor days later, it was gone, and they never encountered it again.
The entities that emerge from the Deep are different from the defense systems, though the distinction is sometimes unclear. These appear to be biological or perhaps quasi-biological organisms that inhabit the deepest levels. Salvagers report seeing movements in the shadows, hearing sounds that suggest large creatures, and occasionally encountering things that attack with apparent purpose and intelligence. Whether these are descendants of ancient pets or experiments, or whether they are something else entirely, remains speculative.
One entity type appears frequently enough in reports to be considered documented: the “collectors,” as salvagers call them. These are humanoid in gross shape but distinctly non-human in detail, standing perhaps seven feet tall with elongated limbs and smooth, featureless faces. They move in groups of three to five, and they collect items, carrying them deeper into the structure for purposes unknown. They do not attack salvagers unless attacked first, but they will take salvage that teams have gathered, simply walking up and claiming it despite any protests. Fighting them is possible but dangerous, as they are strong and apparently feel no pain, requiring complete incapacitation to stop. Most salvagers have learned to simply let them take what they want and retreat, as the risk of injury or death is not worth protecting cargo.
The deepest level anyone has reached and returned from is level eighty-seven below ground. This expedition, conducted fifteen years ago by a team of six expert Deep salvagers, reached a vast chamber that they described as a “control center,” filled with incomprehensible equipment and displays that still functioned. They reported that the systems in this chamber were not merely functional but apparently still doing something, processing information or managing systems or executing programs that continue running millennia after their creators disappeared.
The team attempted to document what they found, but their equipment failed for reasons they could not determine. They took no salvage, fearing that removing anything from this chamber might disrupt whatever it was doing. When they attempted a second expedition to the same location, they could not find it again; the passages had changed or they misremembered the route or something else had occurred that made the chamber unreachable. The expedition leader, when interviewed, could provide only fragmented account, as though the memory of what he had seen was degrading or being actively suppressed by something.
This raises the disturbing question: is the arcology merely ruins, or is it still alive in some sense? Are the ancient systems simply executing preprogrammed instructions, or is there intelligence still operating within the structure? The Najari debate this extensively, with strong opinions on all sides. The consensus, such as it exists, is that the arcology is probably not conscious but is certainly still functional in ways that go far beyond what is visible from the inhabited levels. Whatever the ancients built here, it was designed to last, and it is lasting, maintaining itself and operating according to purposes that may or may not align with anything the Najari would recognize as meaningful.
The question of what happened to the ancients themselves is one I asked repeatedly during my time in Salvação. The answers were uniformly speculative. War, possibly nuclear or magical or both, that destroyed their civilization. Plague that killed them all. Voluntary departure to another world or dimension. Transcendence into some non-physical form. Gradual decline and collapse. The evidence supports none of these conclusively and contradicts none entirely. What is certain is that they are gone, completely and absolutely, leaving only their buildings and their technology and the mystery of what they were and where they went.
[Factor Marks’s note]: The salvage market is volatile in ways that make commodity trading look stable. An artifact that sells for one thousand gold today might sell for ten thousand next month if analysis reveals unexpected capabilities, or might become worthless if similar items flood the market. Successful salvage trading requires either deep expertise to assess items accurately or very good intelligence networks to know what buyers are seeking. I dabble in salvage trading occasionally when opportunities arise, but it is not my primary business because the risk-reward profile is too unpredictable for my comfort. Those who specialize in this market make fortunes or go bankrupt with alarming regularity, sometimes both in the same year. Not for the faint of heart.
Before turning to magical practice, I must address the physical environment the Najari have created beyond Salvação’s ancient walls, and the ways they present themselves within these spaces. The contrast between the incomprehensible technology of the arcology and the traditional architecture of Najari construction is stark and revealing.
Outside Salvação, the Najari have established smaller settlements throughout the Sundral, though “smaller” requires qualification as even these secondary cities house populations in the tens of thousands. These settlements cluster around lesser ruins, natural oases, or strategic points along trade routes, and their architecture reflects practical adaptation to an environment that actively attempts to kill anything living within it.
The primary building material in the desert is stone, quarried from the rocky outcroppings that emerge from the sand at irregular intervals throughout the region. This stone is pale, almost white in the intense sunlight, and reflects heat rather than absorbing it. Najari masons shape it into blocks that interlock without mortar through precise cutting, creating walls that remain stable despite temperature extremes and the occasional earth tremors that shake the region. The precision required is considerable, and master stonemasons command high fees, but the result is architecture that can last centuries with minimal maintenance.
Buildings in desert settlements rise vertically, stacking multiple stories to maximize the use of limited stable ground and to take advantage of cooler air at height. The ground floors are typically commercial or industrial, housing workshops, warehouses, and market stalls. Upper floors provide residential space, with the highest levels reserved for the wealthy who can afford the climb or who maintain slaves to carry them. This vertical stratification mirrors Salvação’s organization, suggesting that Najari instinctively organize space hierarchically regardless of whether ancient technology or traditional construction is involved.
The walls are thick, sometimes three feet or more, providing insulation against both heat and the thaumic radiation that pervades the desert at varying intensities. Windows are small and few, positioned to provide ventilation without admitting excessive sunlight. Many buildings incorporate wind towers, tall shafts that catch breezes at height and channel them down into interior spaces, creating passive cooling through air circulation. These towers are architectural signatures of desert Najari construction, visible from distance and often elaborately decorated with carved patterns that serve both aesthetic and cultural purposes.
Interior spaces are designed around central courtyards open to the sky, creating private outdoor areas protected from the public streets while allowing light and air into the building’s heart. These courtyards often feature cisterns for water storage, as settlements outside Salvação lack the ancient water systems and must rely on either natural sources or magical provision. The wealthiest homes incorporate fountains and pools, ostentatious displays of water abundance that signal status more effectively than any amount of gold or jewelry could.
The roofs are flat and used as additional living space during the cooler hours of evening and night. Families gather on rooftops to eat, socialize, and sleep when the daytime heat makes interior spaces uncomfortable despite thick walls and wind towers. The roofscape of a desert city is thus a secondary street level, with neighbors visiting across narrow gaps between buildings, children playing on interconnected terraces, and entire social networks existing above the ground-level commercial bustle.
The city of Kheth-Am, which I visited briefly during my travels, exemplifies desert Najari architecture at its finest. The city houses approximately thirty thousand souls and clusters around a lesser ruin that provides water through ancient systems less sophisticated than Salvação’s but still functional. The central district features buildings five and six stories tall, their pale walls gleaming in the sunlight, their wind towers rising like fingers pointing accusingly at the sun. The streets are narrow, sometimes only ten feet wide, creating shade through most of the day and channeling what breezes exist through the urban canyon. The effect is surprisingly pleasant once you adjust to the enclosed feeling; the temperature in the shaded streets is perhaps twenty degrees cooler than in open desert.
The markets in Kheth-Am occupy ground floors throughout the commercial districts, with merchants displaying goods in small shops that open directly onto the streets. The shops are deep and narrow, extending far back into the buildings, cool and dim after the bright streets. I purchased supplies here and found the quality excellent and the prices surprisingly reasonable, as Kheth-Am competes with Salvação for trade and must offer value to attract customers away from the greater city.
The residential upper floors are accessed through steep staircases that spiral up through the buildings’ cores, often shared by multiple families. Privacy is achieved not through separation but through cultural conventions about when and how one enters another’s space. The Najari concept of private versus public space differs from human norms in ways that took me time to understand. What matters is not physical barriers but social agreement about boundaries, and these agreements are complex and context-dependent.
The architectural traditions of the rainforest cities differ dramatically from desert construction, adapted to an environment that is wet rather than dry, cool rather than hot, and where the primary threats are rot, insects, and disease rather than heat and radiation.
Rainforest Najari build with wood, harvested from the massive trees that dominate the landscape. The wood is treated through alchemical processes that render it resistant to rot and insect damage, creating material that can last generations despite constant humidity. The treatment gives the wood a dark, glossy finish that sheds water and apparently tastes foul to the various boring insects that would otherwise destroy it within years.
The architecture is vertical in a different way than desert construction. Where desert cities stack floors directly atop each other, rainforest cities spread vertically through multiple levels that are not strictly aligned. Buildings climb into the canopy, connecting to massive tree trunks through careful integration that does not harm the living trees. The result is architecture that appears organic, as though the buildings grew naturally from the forest rather than being imposed upon it.
Sethara, the rainforest city I visited, exemplifies this approach. The city lacks clear boundaries; it simply emerges from the forest, with structures appearing at various heights from ground level to perhaps two hundred feet up in the high canopy. Movement between levels occurs through elaborate networks of bridges, platforms, and staircases that wind around and through the trees. The wealthy live highest, where air is clearer and views extend over the endless green, while the poor occupy ground level where humidity is worst and where various unpleasant creatures dwell.
The buildings themselves are open in ways that would be impossible in the desert. Large windows and doors admit air and light freely, essential for preventing the damp from causing problems. Many structures are only partially enclosed, with walls that are more suggestion than barrier, creating spaces that are simultaneously interior and exterior. Roofs are steeply pitched to shed the frequent heavy rains, and eaves extend far beyond walls to protect open spaces from water intrusion.
Decoration in rainforest architecture runs to elaborate carving, with every surface that can be carved covered in patterns and images. This serves partially aesthetic purposes and partially practical functions, as certain carved patterns are believed to ward off spirits or insects, though I suspect the practical benefits are minimal and the true purpose is cultural expression. The carvings depict scenes from Najari mythology, historical events, abstract patterns, and occasionally surprisingly explicit sexual imagery that would scandalize Confederation sensibilities but which the Najari consider entirely normal decoration.
Water management is critical in the rainforest cities, but the problem is excess rather than scarcity. Buildings incorporate elaborate drainage systems to channel rain away from structures and living spaces. Streets at ground level are often elevated on platforms with gaps allowing water to flow beneath, preventing the flooding that would otherwise make ground travel impossible during heavy rains. Public fountains exist not for drinking water, which is freely available from the frequent rains, but for washing and cooling, serving social functions similar to the desert cities’ fountains but inverted in their relationship to scarcity.
The contrast between desert and rainforest architecture reveals different Najari adaptations to place, but certain constants remain. Both favor vertical organization. Both use courtyards or their equivalent as social centers. Both decorate extensively according to local materials and traditions. Both create spaces that work with their serpentine physiology rather than requiring them to adapt to human-proportioned architecture.
The question of Najari clothing is more complex than one might initially assume, as their relationship with attire is culturally specific in ways that differ substantially from human norms. The fundamental reality is that Najari are comfortable with near or complete nudity in ways that humans often are not, and their elaborate scale covering provides physical protection that makes clothing functionally optional in many circumstances.
In the desert cities, particularly Salvação, the majority of the population at most social levels wears minimal clothing. A typical working-class Najari might wear nothing more than a light wrap or harness that holds tools and pouches for carrying necessities. The wrap is usually pale fabric, often linen or cotton imported from the rainforest, designed to reflect sunlight without impeding movement or trapping heat against the body. The fabric hangs loosely, secured at the waist or across the chest, and extends perhaps a third of the way down the tail before ending in decorative tassels or fringe.
The wealthy dress more elaborately, not because they need additional protection but because elaborate clothing signals status through the resources required to acquire and maintain it. A guild master might wear flowing robes of fine silk in colors that require expensive dyes, carefully draped to showcase both the fabric’s quality and the wearer’s taste. These garments are impractical for physical labor but that is precisely the point; wearing such clothing announces that you do not engage in physical labor, that others work while you direct, and that you can afford to risk expensive fabric on daily wear.
Jewelry serves similar functions and is more common than clothing across all social classes. Najari wear elaborate necklaces, often multiple strands of precious metals and gems that drape across chest and shoulders. They wear rings on their six-fingered hands, sometimes on every finger, each ring telling part of their personal story through its design and the stones it incorporates. They pierce their ear-ridges, the small raised portions of cartilage that frame their faces, hanging elaborate earrings that chime softly with movement. They wear bands around their tails at regular intervals, precious metal or carved stone, creating patterns that flow down their length.
The jewelry is not merely decorative. Each piece carries social information. Wedding bands are worn on specific fingers. Guild affiliation is shown through particular pendant designs. Clan or family connection is displayed through patterns inherited across generations. Wealth is obviously communicated through the materials’ intrinsic value, but taste and discernment are demonstrated through the artistry of the designs and the appropriateness of particular pieces to particular contexts. A Najari can assess another’s social position, professional affiliations, marital status, and approximate wealth within moments of meeting simply by reading their jewelry.
For formal occasions, attire becomes more elaborate. A merchant attending a guild banquet might wear a full-length robe of richest fabric, perhaps velvet or brocade, with embroidered patterns depicting their professional achievements or family history. They might commission a jeweler to create pieces specifically for the occasion, coordinating metals and gems with the robe’s colors. They might employ cosmetic Albumancers to temporarily alter their scale coloration, creating patterns that complement their attire. The total effect can be breathtaking, and I witnessed several formal gatherings where the attendees’ presentation rose to the level of art.
Salvagers and other professionals who work in dangerous environments wear more practical gear. Salvagers typically don close-fitting garments that cover most of their bodies, made from materials that provide some protection against radiation and physical hazards. These garments are warded, covered in geometric patterns drawn in inks that contain materials with protective properties. Over these, salvagers wear harnesses that hold their equipment: void-glass lanterns, tools, supplies, weapons. The overall effect is utilitarian rather than aesthetic, though even salvage gear shows individual customization as practitioners mark their equipment with personal symbols or decoration.
In the rainforest cities, clothing traditions differ somewhat from desert practice. The higher humidity makes heavy fabrics uncomfortable, so clothing is typically lighter and more breathable when worn at all. However, rainforest Najari wear clothing more frequently than their desert cousins, as protection against the constant damp and the numerous biting insects that plague the region. A typical rainforest resident might wear a loose shirt or vest of light cotton, left open at the front for air circulation, and perhaps a light wrap around their lower tail to protect against thorny vegetation when moving through undergrowth.
The rainforest Najari also favor natural adornments more than worked jewelry. Flowers woven into elaborate arrangements that they wear as crowns or necklaces, fresh daily and discarded when wilted. Feathers from the brilliant birds that inhabit the canopy, arranged in fans or incorporated into armbands. Carved wood pendants, intricate pieces made from particularly beautiful or rare woods. Shells from river creatures, polished and strung. These natural materials signal connection to place in ways that worked metal and gems do not, and rainforest Najari often express mild disdain for desert Najari preferences for “dead” ornamentation over “living” decoration.
The elderly sometimes return to minimal attire, particularly in the desert where physical comfort becomes priority over social display. An aged Najari who has already established their status and reputation may choose to wear only simple wraps or even nothing at all, spending their days in comfort rather than constrained by elaborate clothing they no longer need to prove anything. This is considered perfectly appropriate, and the elderly who do this are respected for their practical wisdom in prioritizing comfort over appearance.
Slaves are legally required to wear identification, typically a collar or band that marks their status, but beyond this they dress similarly to free poor Najari, in simple wraps or minimal practical clothing. This visual similarity sometimes makes it difficult to distinguish slave from free citizen at casual glance, a fact that some find troubling as it supposedly undermines the clarity of social hierarchies. Others argue that this is appropriate, as slaves are potential future citizens and should not be marked in ways that would make integration more difficult after manumission.
Foreign visitors like myself are expected to respect local attire norms, though allowances are made for cultural differences. I maintained human standards of dress, wearing full clothing at all times, which marked me as obviously foreign but did not cause offense. The Najari seemed to find my insistence on covering myself somewhat amusing, occasionally making jokes about whether I was hiding deformities or simply couldn’t afford proper jewelry, but these were good-natured rather than cruel.
[Factor Marks’s note]: For human merchants, modest dress is advisable despite Najari comfort with nudity. Appearing in minimal clothing as a human will be read as attempted cultural mimicry and is more likely to cause amusement than build rapport. Dress professionally but not stuffily; light fabrics in neutral colors are appropriate. Invest in quality jewelry if you can afford it, as Najari notice and respect good craftsmanship in personal adornment. A few well-chosen pieces will serve you better than elaborate clothing ever will. And for the gods’ sake, do not remark on Najari nudity or make it obvious you are uncomfortable with it. They have heard every joke and every scandalized comment from visiting humans, and they find our prudishness tedious at best.
Having established the physical and social context of Najari life, I turn now to the magical traditions that are distinctively theirs, the three schools of practice that define Najari relationship with the supernatural and that have been refined over generations into sophisticated systems of power and knowledge.
The Najari practice three primary magical traditions: Albumancy, which manipulates life and living tissue; Necromancy, which interfaces with death and the dead; and Elementalism, which commands the fundamental forces of nature. These are not the only magical practices in the Free Cities, as Song magic exists here as it does throughout the world, and some Najari study Linear Magic or other foreign traditions. However, these three are considered the native Najari arts, taught in their institutions, regulated by their guilds, and integrated deeply into their cultural identity.
Albumancy, from ancient roots meaning “white magic” though the Najari etymology differs and relates to their word for life-essence, is the manipulation of living tissue through direct magical intervention. This is not healing in the gentle sense that some cultures understand it. This is rewriting the body, commanding flesh to be other than it is, reshaping life according to will and knowledge.
The theoretical foundation, as explained to me by an Albumancer named Sethis who served as informal tutor during my research, centers on understanding that living tissue is more malleable than we typically conceive. The body maintains its form through continuous processes of growth, death, and replacement at the cellular level. Albumancy simply accelerates and directs these processes, overriding the body’s normal regulatory systems with external will backed by magical force.
The practice requires extensive anatomical knowledge. An Albumancer must understand precisely what they are trying to change and how that change will affect the broader system. Attempting to heal a wound without understanding the tissue types involved, their natural healing processes, and the potential complications risks causing harm rather than benefit. This creates high barriers to entry; Albumancy training requires years of study before students are permitted to practice on living subjects.
The training begins with the dead, oddly enough. Novice Albumancers spend months working with corpses, learning anatomy through dissection and study, practicing tissue manipulation where mistakes cannot cause harm. They learn to identify different tissue types by touch and magical sense, to distinguish healthy from diseased, to recognize the subtle differences between various organs and structures. This work is considered spiritually neutral, as the dead are dead and the practice upon them serves education, though some religious traditions object to the use of corpses for any purpose.
Once basic knowledge is established, students progress to working with living animals, typically small mammals or reptiles purchased from markets for this purpose. They learn to sense the life force that animates tissue, to gently influence healing processes, to correct small injuries or ailments. The mortality rate among practice animals is high, as students make errors, but this is considered necessary cost of proper training. Better that mistakes kill rabbits than patients.
Advanced students eventually work with human or Najari subjects under strict supervision, beginning with minor ailments and progressing to more complex interventions as skill develops. The path from novice to licensed practitioner typically spans eight to twelve years, longer than most other professions, reflecting both the difficulty of the art and the potential for harm if practiced incompetently.
Licensed Albumancers provide medical care across a broad spectrum. They treat acute injuries, knitting broken bones, repairing damaged organs, stopping hemorrhages through direct manipulation of blood flow and clotting processes. They treat chronic conditions, removing tumors, correcting congenital deformities, managing degenerative diseases. They perform what amounts to surgery, but without cutting; an Albumancer can remove an internal obstruction by simply commanding the body to expel it, or repair a damaged heart by reshaping the tissue to proper form.
The practice extends beyond purely medical applications into areas that some might consider cosmetic or even unethical. Wealthy Najari employ Albumancers to alter their appearance, changing scale colors and patterns, adjusting body proportions, even modifying facial structure. These modifications are temporary unless repeatedly reinforced, as the body naturally tends to return to its baseline configuration, but the wealthy can afford regular treatments to maintain desired appearance.
More troubling are the applications in life extension. An Albumancer of sufficient skill can slow aging processes, repairing the accumulated cellular damage that leads to senescence, maintaining organs in youthful condition despite the passage of years. The wealthiest Najari employ personal Albumancers who perform regular rejuvenation treatments, extending lifespans well beyond natural limits. Sethis estimated that the truly wealthy, those who can afford the best Albumancers and the most aggressive interventions, might live to one hundred fifty years or more while maintaining physical vitality into their second century.
This creates obvious inequalities. The poor age and die according to nature’s schedule. The rich potentially live twice as long while remaining healthy and active. This strikes me as deeply unjust, a use of magical power to literally steal years from the finite mortal span and reserve them for those with resources to purchase them. When I raised this concern with Sethis, she shrugged in that particularly Najari way that conveys both acknowledgment and dismissal. “Life is unfair. Those with resources have always had advantages. At least we make no secret of it. And the life extension techniques, while expensive, are not reserved exclusively for the rich. Guild-affiliated Albumancers receive subsidized treatments. Retired citizens who have contributed significantly to society are sometimes provided rejuvenation through civic programs. It is not purely oligarchic, merely tilted in favor of wealth, which describes most aspects of our society.”
The treatment of radiation sickness and mutation is perhaps Albumancy’s most essential function in desert society. An Albumancer can reverse radiation-induced changes if caught early, carefully rewriting mutated tissue back to its proper form. The process is painful and requires multiple sessions, but it is effective, allowing salvagers and others exposed to radiation to continue working without accumulating permanent damage. This treatment is subsidized by the Salvagers’ Guild and is considered essential infrastructure for the salvage economy.
The darker applications of Albumancy exist but are officially prohibited. Using the art to torture, deliberately causing pain or deformity, modifying people without consent, these are all illegal under guild regulations and civic law. However, enforcement is imperfect, and rumors persist of wealthy Najari who employ Albumancers for sadistic purposes, or of slaves being modified to be more suitable for specific labor without regard for their consent or wellbeing. I have no direct evidence of such practices, only whispers and hints, but the possibilities inherent in the art are obvious and disturbing.
The Albumancers’ Circle, the guild that regulates practice, maintains strict ethical codes and investigates reported violations. Licensed practitioners found guilty of serious misconduct face permanent expulsion from the guild, loss of license, and in extreme cases criminal prosecution. Sethis insisted that most Albumancers take their ethical responsibilities seriously, that the art requires trust between practitioner and patient, and that violating that trust undermines the foundation of their profession. I want to believe this, but I cannot dismiss my concerns about what happens in private, behind closed doors, when power is available and oversight is minimal.
[Factor Marks’s note]: Albumantic healing is expensive but worth the cost for serious injuries or illnesses. I have employed Albumancers three times over my career: once for a badly broken leg that conventional healing could not address adequately, once for a fever that threatened to kill me, and once for removal of a growth that proved to be benign but worrying. In all cases, the treatment was effective and professional. The practitioners explained what they were doing, obtained my explicit consent for each intervention, and followed up to ensure proper results. The costs were substantial but not exploitative, and the alternatives were prolonged disability or death. I recommend identifying a trustworthy Albumancer shortly after arriving in the Free Cities, establishing a relationship before emergency need arises. Guild-certified practitioners are generally reliable; independent operators may be cheaper but carry higher risk of incompetence or misconduct.
Necromancy, the second of the Najari native arts, interfaces with death and the dead in ways that many cultures find disturbing or taboo. The Najari do not share these reservations. They view death as transition rather than ending, and they see utility in maintaining connections across that transition when purposes warrant.
The theoretical foundation of Necromancy, as explained by a practitioner named Kharvis who agreed to educate me despite my obvious foreign discomfort with the subject, rests on understanding that death is not instant cessation but gradual process. The body dies, yes, but the essence, the pattern of self that inhabited the body, lingers briefly before dispersing into whatever lies beyond. Necromancy arrests this dispersal temporarily, binding the pattern sufficient to enable communication or other interactions before release.
The practice is not about raising armies of undead to do one’s bidding, though that is theoretically possible and has occurred historically in ways that led to strict regulations. Modern Necromancy in the Free Cities is primarily investigative and consultative, used to gather information from those who have died and to manage the social and economic complications that death creates.
The most common application is post-mortem testimony. When a death occurs under suspicious circumstances, or when a deceased person possessed information important to living concerns, a licensed Necromancer may be employed to speak with the dead. The Necromancer performs a ritual that temporarily binds the deceased person’s essence to their remains, creating a state where communication is possible. The dead person can respond to questions, though their answers are often fragmentary or unclear, as the process of death disrupts memory and cognition.
This practice has obvious applications in criminal investigation. A murder victim can identify their killer. A merchant who died before revealing the location of hidden assets can direct heirs to the proper place. A person who died suddenly can communicate final wishes that were not otherwise documented. The legal system of the Free Cities accepts post-mortem testimony as valid evidence, though it is not considered definitive and must be corroborated by physical evidence when possible.
The practice also serves commercial purposes. Businesses maintain relationships with Necromancers to handle situations where key personnel die unexpectedly, taking critical knowledge with them. A master craftsperson who dies before fully training their successor can be briefly recalled to provide missing technical details. A merchant who dies mid-negotiation can be consulted about their intentions and the terms they were willing to accept. This is expensive and is used only when the value of the information justifies the cost, but it provides a safety net against knowledge loss.
The ethical concerns are obvious and were articulated clearly by Kharvis himself. “We are disturbing the dead, interrupting their journey, for our convenience. This is not without cost to them. The dead we summon universally report the experience as unpleasant, as being pulled back from something they cannot quite articulate but that they deeply wished to reach. We impose on them, and we compensate their spirits through ritual offerings, but fundamentally we are violating their rest for our purposes. This troubles me, and it should trouble anyone who practices our art.”
The regulations around Necromancy are correspondingly strict. The practice requires both guild certification and civic licensing. A Necromancer cannot perform post-mortem communication without documented reason and, in most cases, authorization from civic authorities or direct family consent. The dead have rights, or at least their families have rights regarding how their remains are used, and these rights are enforced legally. Unauthorized Necromancy carries severe penalties including potential enslavement or exile.
The binding of spirits to physical anchors, creating what amounts to undead servants, is legal under extremely limited circumstances. Wealthy individuals sometimes arrange to have their own spirits bound after death to serve as advisors or guardians for their descendants. This must be specified in legally binding documents executed before death, with clear terms about duration and release conditions. The bound spirits serve for specified periods, typically seven to thirty years, before being released to continue their journey. This practice is controversial even within Najari society, with some viewing it as legitimate estate planning and others seeing it as narcissistic refusal to accept mortality.
The creation of mindless undead for labor purposes is absolutely prohibited and is one of the few crimes that carries death penalty in the Free Cities. Historical incidents where Necromancers raised large numbers of undead for agricultural labor or military purposes led to disasters that the Najari remember with horror and use as cautionary tales about the limits of acceptable practice.
The training to become a Necromancer requires different knowledge base than Albumancy but similar duration. Students must learn anatomy, as working with remains requires understanding their structure, but they must also study theology, philosophy, and the nature of consciousness and identity. They must develop sensitivity to the presence of spirits and the ability to perceive and manipulate the boundary between life and death. The training is intellectually demanding and emotionally difficult, as it requires confronting mortality in immediate, visceral ways. Not all who begin the training complete it, as some find they cannot bear the weight of working so intimately with death.
The Necromancers’ Guild is smaller than other magical guilds but maintains significant influence due to their unique capabilities and the sensitive nature of their work. They command high fees for their services, though the guild subsidizes certain practices deemed to serve public interest, such as providing post-mortem testimony in criminal cases involving victims who cannot otherwise obtain justice.
I observed a Necromantic consultation performed on a merchant who had died suddenly, leaving unresolved business debts and uncertain asset locations. The Necromancer, Kharvis himself, arranged the body with care and respect, speaking softly to it as though to a living person preparing for unpleasant medical procedure. He performed a ritual that took perhaps half an hour, involving chanting in languages I did not recognize and the burning of specific incenses that filled the room with cloying smoke.
When the ritual completed, the body did not rise or animate in dramatic fashion. Instead, Kharvis simply began asking questions, and the body responded, though the responses came not from its mouth but as sounds that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere, a voice that was present without source. The dead merchant answered queries about his business dealings with obvious reluctance, his responses short and tinged with what I interpreted as resentment at being recalled. After perhaps twenty minutes, Kharvis thanked the spirit, released it through another brief ritual, and the presence that had filled the room dissipated like smoke in wind.
The experience left me profoundly unsettled, not from horror but from the casual efficiency with which the dead were employed for living purposes. Kharvis noticed my discomfort and addressed it directly. “You come from a culture that treats death as final and sacred. We do not. We see death as transition and tool. This makes us pragmatic but perhaps less reverent than we should be. I envy your culture’s ability to let the dead rest without needing them to solve our problems. But we are what we are, and this is how we manage the reality of death in a society built on information and exchange.”
The third native Najari art is Elementalism, the direct manipulation of fundamental forces and materials that comprise the physical world. This is the most widely practiced of the three arts, as it has the broadest applications and the lowest barriers to entry, requiring less specialized knowledge than Albumancy or Necromancy while remaining powerful and useful.
Elementalism in the Najari tradition focuses on six primary elements: earth, water, air, fire, lightning, and what they call the void-element, which is essentially the manipulation of magical energy itself in raw, unstructured form. An Elementalist develops specialization in one or two elements typically, though the most skilled can work with all six to varying degrees.
The theoretical foundation is simpler than the other arts. The elements exist, they respond to will backed by power, and with proper training one can command them to behave in desired ways. There is less emphasis on understanding why this works and more focus on practical technique. An Elementalist learns through repetition and practice, developing the mental discipline and power reserves necessary to impose will on material reality.
Earth Elementalism is perhaps the most common specialization, particularly in desert regions. Practitioners can shape stone and sand, creating structures without conventional tools, smoothing surfaces, cutting precise shapes, even liquefying solid rock temporarily to form it before allowing it to solidify again. This has obvious applications in construction and mining. Many of the desert cities employ Earth Elementalists to build and maintain infrastructure, and salvagers often include Earth specialists in their teams to clear rubble or create pathways through collapsed sections of ruins.
Water Elementalism is essential in the desert, though paradoxically it is more commonly practiced in the rainforest where water is abundant and easier to train with. Water Elementalists can locate underground water sources, purify contaminated water, create pressure to pump water to heights that natural pressure cannot reach, and even extract moisture from air or sand when necessary. In Salvação, Water Elementalists work continuously maintaining the ancient water systems, supplementing their function with magical intervention when natural flow proves inadequate to meet demand.
Air Elementalism finds applications in climate control, creating cooling breezes in the desert heat, dispersing stale air in enclosed spaces, and occasionally in transportation, as skilled practitioners can create winds strong enough to propel sail-ships at speeds independent of natural weather. Military applications include suffocation attacks and the creation of barriers of compressed air that can deflect projectiles.
Fire Elementalism is simultaneously the easiest to learn in basic form and the most dangerous to master fully. Anyone with modest magical talent can produce flame, but controlling significant amounts of fire without losing control or causing unintended destruction requires extensive training and discipline. Fire Elementalists serve as industrial workers, providing heat for forges and kilns, as military specialists, deploying flame against enemies, and as entertainment, creating elaborate displays of controlled fire for celebrations and festivals.
Lightning Elementalism is rare and feared, as lightning is among the most dangerous forces to manipulate. Practitioners can call down strikes from storm clouds, create arcs of electricity between their hands and targets, even generate fields of electrical energy that cause pain without permanent injury when properly controlled. The applications are primarily military, though some industrial uses exist for cutting and welding applications where precision electrical energy proves superior to conventional fire.
The void-element, the sixth element in Najari tradition, is the most abstract and controversial. This is not manipulation of physical substance but of magical energy itself, raw thaumic force shaped and directed according to will. The applications are diverse and not entirely understood even by practitioners. Void Elementalists can create barriers that block both physical and magical attacks, they can dispel other magic by overwhelming it with unstructured energy, they can sense and manipulate magical radiation, and in theory they can perform feats that transcend the other five elements entirely.
This last specialization is rare and is viewed with some suspicion, as it most closely resembles the kind of direct reality manipulation that the ancient civilization practiced and that led to the creation of the Lacuna in the north. The Elementalists’ association monitors void-element practitioners carefully, ensuring they do not experiment in directions that might prove catastrophically dangerous.
Training in Elementalism is more flexible than the other arts, as it does not require the same depth of theoretical knowledge. Many Najari learn basic Elementalism informally, taught by family members or through apprenticeship with practitioners, and never pursue formal guild certification. These informal practitioners operate legally within limits; they can use their abilities for personal purposes and for employment in positions where minimal certification is acceptable, but they cannot represent themselves as masters or take apprentices without guild approval.
Formal training for guild certification typically spans three to five years, shorter than the other arts but still substantial. Students learn control, precision, power management, and safety protocols. They learn to recognize when they are approaching their limits and to stop before causing harm to themselves or others. They study the theoretical foundations enough to understand what they are doing, though not to the depth that Albumancers or Necromancers must achieve. Upon completion of training and successful examination, they receive guild certification that qualifies them for professional practice.
The applications of Elementalism pervade Najari society. Every construction project employs Earth Elementalists. Every large building includes Air and Water Elementalists among its staff to maintain climate control and water flow. Every military force includes Fire and Lightning Elementalists among combat mages. Every salvage team includes specialists from multiple elements to handle the varied challenges of ruins exploration. The art is fundamental to how the Free Cities function, enabling infrastructure and industry that would be impossible or prohibitively expensive using mundane methods alone.
I arranged training in basic Fire Elementalism during my stay, as I wished to understand the practice from inside rather than purely through observation and interview. My instructor, a young Najari named Tessith, was patient with my human limitations and my initial incompetence. Over the course of six weeks, I progressed from being unable to produce any flame at all to being able to create a small, unstable fire in my palm that I could maintain for perhaps thirty seconds before exhaustion forced me to stop.
Tessith assured me this was respectable progress for a human my age with no prior magical training. She explained that the key was not raw power, which I lacked and likely could not develop significantly, but rather control and intent. “You must know exactly what you want to happen, visualize it completely, and then will it into being while channeling your power through the visualization. The fire forms because you insist it forms, because your will is backed by power and focused through proper technique. This is true of all Elementalism. We do not request fire; we command it.”
By the end of my training, I had developed genuine respect for Elementalism’s difficulty despite its reputation as the easier magical art. What appears simple in skilled hands reveals itself as requiring constant mental discipline, significant power reserves, and the kind of instant precision that comes only through extensive practice. I will never be more than a dabbler, but I understand now why certified Elementalists command respect and high fees for their services.
[Factor Marks’s note]: For visiting merchants, hiring Elementalists for specific tasks can be more cost-effective than many alternatives. Need something transported where conventional vehicles cannot go? An Air Elementalist can provide propulsion. Need something kept cool during desert transit? Water Elementalists can provide ongoing cooling. Need protection from magical threats? Void Elementalists can detect and counter magical attacks. The services are expensive but reliable, and established practitioners maintain professional standards. I keep contacts with several certified Elementalists in multiple cities and call on them when situations warrant. The investment in these relationships has repaid itself many times over through problems avoided and opportunities seized that would have been impossible without their assistance.
I must address now what is perhaps the most paradoxical aspect of Najari civilization: that the Free Cities are simultaneously a coherent cultural and economic unit and a collection of independent, frequently hostile political entities. To understand Najari politics, one must hold both these truths in mind simultaneously, for they are not contradictory from the Najari perspective but rather complementary aspects of their social organization.
The Free Cities number seventeen at present, though this count fluctuates as smaller settlements grow to city status or as existing cities are absorbed through conquest or merger. Each maintains complete political independence, with its own governance structures, its own legal codes, its own military forces, and its own foreign policy. There is no emperor, no central parliament, no overarching authority that can command obedience from the cities. When I asked why they call themselves the Free Cities if they frequently war upon each other, a merchant explained with patient condescension: “We are free from external domination. What we do to each other is our own business.”
Yet despite this political fragmentation, the cities function in many ways as a single economic and cultural unit. They share language, customs, currency, legal traditions, and the guild systems that transcend individual city boundaries. A citizen of Salvação can travel to Kheth-Am or Sethara and conduct business, own property, marry, and generally participate in society with only minor adjustments for local variations. The civic stipend is transferable between cities through banking arrangements. Guild certifications are recognized universally. A contract signed in one city is enforceable in all others through reciprocal legal agreements.
The governance structures vary by city but tend toward plutocracy regardless of nominal forms. Salvação operates under a Council of Merchant Houses, where the twenty largest guilds each hold one seat and vote on matters of city policy. The council members are chosen by the guilds themselves according to their internal procedures, creating a system where economic power directly translates to political power without even the pretense of broader democratic input. Decisions require simple majority for routine matters, two-thirds majority for significant expenditures or legal reforms, and unanimous consent for fundamental changes to the city’s charter.
Other cities employ different structures. Kheth-Am is governed by a single Merchant Prince, a position that is theoretically elective but in practice hereditary within a single family that has held power for four generations through a combination of economic dominance and strategic marriages. Sethara operates under a Complex Assembly where seats are allocated proportionally based on economic contribution, creating a body of perhaps one hundred members with vastly different voting weights depending on their wealth. The poorest member might control one vote while the wealthiest commands fifty.
What these systems share is that wealth determines power. The specific mechanisms vary, but the outcome is consistent: those who control the most resources control political decisions. The Najari do not apologize for this or attempt to disguise it through rhetoric about popular sovereignty or divine right. They acknowledge it openly as the natural and proper order of things. “Those with the most at stake should have the greatest voice in decisions,” a council member in Salvação explained. “We who own businesses, who employ thousands, who pay the bulk of taxes and fund the civic stipend, we bear the consequences of poor policy most directly. Why should those with no stake have equal say?”
When I raised the obvious counterargument that the poor also bear consequences of policy, often more severely, she acknowledged this but dismissed it as irrelevant. “They bear consequences, yes, but they have less capacity to mitigate bad outcomes and less ability to contribute to good outcomes. Governance requires resources and expertise. We have both. They have neither. This is not cruelty but realism.”
The civic stipend system moderates this plutocracy by ensuring that even the poorest citizens maintain basic living standards regardless of political voice. This prevents the most extreme abuses and removes desperation as a driver of unrest. The poor may lack political power, but they are fed, housed, and secure enough not to revolt. The system is brilliant in its way, providing just enough benefit to those at the bottom to secure their acquiescence while reserving actual power for those at the top.
The Free Cities wage war upon each other with disturbing regularity. In my eight months in the south, three separate conflicts occurred between different city pairs, ranging from brief skirmishes lasting days to a more substantial campaign that extended for six weeks before negotiated settlement. The causes varied, but the pattern was consistent: economic competition escalating to violence, pursued until one side gained sufficient advantage to dictate terms or until both sides tired of the expense and agreed to mediation.
The wars are formalized through elaborate declaration procedures that would seem almost comical if the consequences were not so serious. A city that believes it has legitimate grievance against another must first submit formal complaint to a neutral arbitration guild, typically the Merchants’ Consortium or one of the major banking houses. The arbitrator attempts negotiation, with both sides presenting their cases and the arbitrator proposing solutions. If negotiation fails, which it often does because neither side truly wants to compromise if they believe they can win militarily, the aggrieved city may issue a formal declaration of war.
The declaration must specify the casus belli, the objectives being pursued, and the terms under which the declaring city would accept peace. This is delivered to the target city with copies filed with all neutral guilds and cities, creating public record of the conflict’s justification. The target city then has three days to respond, either accepting the terms, proposing counterterms, or issuing their own declaration accepting the state of war. Once formal declarations are exchanged, hostilities may begin.
The actual conduct of war follows conventions that limit, though certainly do not eliminate, the destruction and suffering involved. Certain targets are prohibited: the warded corridor, water infrastructure, salvage sites that are actively being worked, and civilian residential areas that are not being used for military purposes. Violation of these conventions carries severe consequences, as neutral cities and guilds may impose sanctions or even intervene militarily against the violator.
The military forces are primarily professional, funded and maintained by the merchant houses that dominate each city’s politics. A typical force includes infantry equipped with conventional weapons supplemented by magical capabilities, mage-specialists in each of the three Najari arts providing combat support, and cavalry mounted on the large reptilian beasts the Najari favor for ground transportation. Naval forces exist in the rainforest cities where rivers provide transportation routes, consisting of shallow-draft vessels propelled by combination of conventional sails and Air Elementalism.
I observed military training exercises outside Salvação and was impressed by the professionalism and discipline displayed. The soldiers moved in coordinated formations, responding instantly to commands, executing complex maneuvers with precision. The mage-specialists demonstrated their capabilities through exercises that, while not employing full lethal force, made clear their devastating potential. Fire Elementalists created walls of flame that would be impassable to conventional forces. Albumancers showed their ability to heal battlefield injuries quickly enough to return soldiers to combat within hours. Necromancers, in the most disturbing demonstration, briefly animated recently deceased animals to show how they could gather intelligence from fallen enemies or even turn enemy dead against their own forces, though this last practice is prohibited by convention and would be employed only in extremis.
The actual battles I did not witness, as the conflicts occurred at distances from Salvação that would have required dangerous travel through contested territory. However, I interviewed multiple veterans and pieced together accounts of how these wars are prosecuted. The engagements tend to be brief and decisive rather than prolonged campaigns of attrition. The objective is typically to inflict sufficient losses on enemy forces that they cannot effectively defend their economic interests, at which point terms can be dictated. Prolonged warfare is expensive and disruptive to trade, so both sides have incentive to achieve quick resolution.
Siege warfare is uncommon, as the desert cities are generally well-fortified and supplied, making sieges long and costly. The preference is for open battle where superior tactics and magical capabilities can be brought to bear decisively. However, I heard accounts of one siege of Kheth-Am by a coalition of two smaller cities, which lasted fourteen months before the besieging forces withdrew having achieved none of their objectives while expending vast sums maintaining the siege. The defending city celebrated victory but had been nearly bankrupted by the economic disruption, a pyrrhic outcome that satisfied no one.
The treatment of prisoners follows the slavery conventions I discussed earlier. Defeated soldiers become slaves, with the standard seven-year term applying. Officers and specialists may be ransomed back to their home cities rather than enslaved, creating a system where wealthy individuals can avoid the consequences of defeat while common soldiers bear the full burden. This inequity is recognized but considered acceptable on grounds that officers and specialists are more valuable to their home cities than common soldiers and their families can afford ransom, while common soldiers have no such resources and thus must accept enslavement as the price of defeat.
Civilian populations in conquered territories face displacement or absorption depending on circumstances. A city that captures rival salvage operations or agricultural lands will typically displace existing populations, relocating them to neutral territory or back to their home city if ransom is paid. A city that conquers a smaller settlement entirely may offer the population choice of accepting citizenship in the conquering city or relocating elsewhere. The civic stipend system actually facilitates this, as absorbed populations can immediately access the stipend in their new city, easing integration and reducing resistance.
The peace settlements are negotiated through neutral arbitrators, typically the same institutions that attempted to prevent the war initially. Terms usually include reparations paid by the losing side, transfer of specific economic rights or territories, and occasionally requirements that certain individuals be turned over for justice if war crimes were committed. The settlements are formalized through written treaties that all neutral parties witness, creating binding obligations enforced through the threat of economic sanctions if violated.
What strikes me most about Najari warfare is its transactional character. War is viewed as extension of economic competition by violent means, costly and to be avoided when possible but acceptable when cost-benefit analysis suggests potential gains exceed expenses. There is remarkably little hatred or ideological fervor. Enemies today may be trading partners next year. Former slave-soldiers who complete their terms frequently return to their home cities without apparent trauma or resentment, having accepted their enslavement as consequence of their city’s defeat rather than as personal injustice.
I find this disturbing in ways I struggle to articulate. War should be horrible enough to be avoided except in extremis, driven by grievances so deep that no alternative to violence remains. The Najari have made war routine, almost mundane, a tool employed when convenient and set aside when not. Perhaps this reduces the overall violence, as conflicts end quickly rather than festering into generations-long hatreds. Or perhaps it simply normalizes violence to the point where it becomes acceptable cost of doing business. I cannot determine which interpretation is more accurate, and I suspect the Najari themselves would not see the distinction as meaningful.
Despite the regular warfare, the cities maintain extensive cooperation on matters that transcend individual city interests. The guild system is the primary mechanism for this cooperation, as guilds operate across city boundaries and have vested interests in maintaining stability and facilitating trade regardless of political conflicts.
The Northern Gates Guild, controlling Lacuna material imports, maintains strict neutrality in all city conflicts and refuses to favor one city over another in trade terms. This neutrality is enforced through threat of embargo; if a city attempts to manipulate the guild or interfere with its operations, the guild simply stops selling to that city, a consequence no city can afford given their dependence on void-glass for salvage operations. This gives the guild enormous power as arbiter and peacemaker, though they exercise this power quietly and prefer to work through influence rather than confrontation.
The Merchants’ Consortium serves similar functions for conventional trade, maintaining open trade routes even when cities are at war and mediating disputes that might otherwise escalate to violence. The banks cooperate to ensure the financial system remains functional, settling accounts and honoring drafts regardless of political tensions. The magical guilds maintain standards and certification processes that transcend city boundaries, allowing trained practitioners to work anywhere in the Free Cities regardless of their origin.
These institutions create a web of interconnection that makes complete rupture between cities practically impossible. A city that isolated itself from the guild networks would collapse economically within months, unable to access the goods, services, and infrastructure that depend on cross-city cooperation. This interdependence is intentional, designed to prevent conflicts from becoming existential while still allowing cities to compete and occasionally fight over specific issues.
The system works, after a fashion. The Free Cities remain prosperous despite their warfare, trade continues despite their conflicts, and the population generally lives well despite the imperfect governance. Whether this represents enlightened self-interest creating stable system from selfish motivations, or whether it represents failure to achieve something better than constant low-level conflict, I leave to philosophers to debate. The Najari themselves seem satisfied, or at least are prosperous enough that satisfaction with details seems secondary to success of the whole.
[Factor Marks’s note]: For merchants, the inter-city conflicts create both opportunities and risks. War disrupts normal trade routes and creates shortages that can be exploited for profit by those willing to take risks transporting goods through contested areas. Prices for essential goods spike in cities under pressure, and those who can supply those goods reap enormous gains. However, the risks are real. Cargo can be seized by military forces. Transportation routes can become impassable. Contracts can become unenforceable if one party is in city that loses war and faces economic ruin. I have profited from conflicts but have also taken losses. The key is diversification and maintaining good intelligence about which conflicts are likely to escalate and which will resolve quickly. Those who can read the political situation accurately make fortunes. Those who guess wrong lose everything. Not for the risk-averse, but the potential returns justify the dangers for those with iron nerves and good information sources.
After eight months among the Najari, I depart with mixed feelings and uncertain conclusions. I have witnessed a civilization that has achieved genuine prosperity, that has created systems ensuring basic welfare for all citizens while rewarding excellence and ambition, that has integrated former enemies into society through slavery that transitions to full citizenship, that maintains political independence while cooperating economically, and that has built functional cities in one of the most hostile environments I have encountered.
I have also witnessed a civilization that accepts slavery as normal, that concentrates political power in the hands of the wealthy without apology, that wages war casually over economic disputes, that extends life for the rich while the poor age normally, and that has built its prosperity by mining ruins of a civilization that vanished for reasons unknown, perhaps taking technologies that should not be disturbed from depths that perhaps should not be explored.
The Najari are not cruel people. They are pragmatic people. They are not evil. They are transactional. They measure everything in terms of outcomes and costs, and by those metrics their society functions extraordinarily well. The question that haunts me is whether there are values beyond outcomes, principles beyond pragmatism, goods beyond measurable prosperity. I believe there are. The Najari seem genuinely puzzled by this belief.
They have been generous hosts, patient with my questions, open with their information, and remarkably tolerant of my foreign judgments about their practices. They have taught me much, not merely about their culture but about my own assumptions. I came to the south expecting to find either barbarians or paragons. I found neither. I found people who have made different choices than my culture made, who value different things, who have organized their society according to different principles, and who have achieved success by their own metrics even if I find some of their methods troubling.
The arcology of Salvação dominates my final memories of the south. That impossible structure, ancient beyond reckoning, still functioning in ways no one understands, providing the foundation for an entire civilization while simultaneously being dismantled piece by piece by salvagers seeking profit. It feels like metaphor for something, though I cannot quite articulate what. Perhaps it speaks to how we all live in the shadows of greater things, how we build our small successes on the ruins of larger failures, how we mine the past for the materials to construct the future without truly understanding what we have lost or what we risk.
Or perhaps I am being overly philosophical, and the arcology is simply a building, the Najari are simply people, and I am simply a scholar who has spent too long away from home thinking too much about things that do not require such deep contemplation.
I will return to the north, to Hjarnsýr and eventually to the Confederation, carrying with me the knowledge I have gathered and the questions I have developed. I will write this account and others, attempting to document the extraordinary diversity of civilization in our world, the many ways that people organize themselves and create meaning and pursue prosperity and grapple with the fundamental challenges of existence. Whether this documentation serves any purpose beyond satisfying my own curiosity, I cannot say. But it is the work I have chosen, and I will continue it as long as I am able.
To those who read this account: the Najari Free Cities are extraordinary in their achievements and troubling in their methods. If you visit, go with open mind and coin purse, for both will be necessary. Respect their customs even when you do not understand them. Honor their transactional nature by being honest in your dealings. Appreciate their prosperity while acknowledging its costs. And do not attempt to judge them by the standards of your own culture, for they will find those judgments irrelevant at best and offensive at worst.
They are what they are: serpents in the desert, merchants in the ruins, pragmatists building paradise on foundations they do not fully understand. They are succeeding by their own measures, and that is perhaps enough.
— Scholar Valerius Thorne
Written aboard caravan, warded corridor between Salvação and Sethara
Year 289 Post-Breaking
[Factor Marks’s final note]:
Valerius judges too much and understands too little, but he tries, which is more than most foreign visitors manage. The Najari are not perfect, but neither is any culture. They have built something functional and prosperous in a place that should be uninhabitable, and they maintain it through systems that work even if those systems offend foreign sensibilities.I have worked in the Free Cities for fifteen years. I have made my fortune here. I will likely retire here, assuming I survive to retirement age. The Najari are my clients, my partners, occasionally my friends. They are honest in their dishonesty, clear about their self-interest, and reliable in their unreliability. You always know where you stand with Najari, even if where you stand is uncomfortable.
To merchants considering southern operations: come prepared, bring capital, hire local guides, respect the guild systems, and you will prosper. The opportunities are real, the markets are huge, and the profits are substantial. The costs are also real, the risks are significant, and failure is expensive. But for those willing to adapt, willing to learn, willing to engage with Najari culture on its own terms rather than demanding it conform to foreign expectations, the Free Cities offer possibilities that exist nowhere else in the known world.
Welcome to the south. May your scales shine and your trades prosper.
— Factor Jeslin Marks, Brightwater Trade Company
[End of primary documentation. Appendices containing trade route maps, guild contact information, and linguistic guides available upon request from the Threshold Archives.]