AZAG (LORDS OF MARS) GAME

With a slight bit of turning-about, Noxmorte find the very tired-looking cafe where a few people sit sipping coffee and tea. He moves into the open shopfront and goes to the counter, where he asks for Stombra and taps his right eyebrow with his thumb. The young man behind the counter nods and opens the door beside the counter, which leads to downward stairs.

As the youth closes the upper door behind him, Noxmorte descends one flight in dimness (there is some kind of indirect light in the stairwell) and comes to a landing before another door. As he begins to open the heavy lower door a sound of murmuring voices — and candlelight — emerges around its edge. Entering the basement of the cafe, he finds a room that is overwarm from all the candles arrayed along its four walls. Seven people in ordinary clothing (harness and loincloths) are seated cross-legged on the hard dirt floor, murmuring ancient words and facing an eighth person who kneels before them, conducting the chant with one hand.

With the other hand, the leader of the meditation gestures for Noxmorte to sit on the floor.

Noxmorte gleans no meaning from the sussurous chanting. But it is very soothing; the sounds echo gently in his mind and efface other thoughts. He is not sure how much time has passed … some of the candles have burnt out. He needs to pee.

The wall in the public latrine is painted with bright graffiti, some are pictorial and others are logos. The freshest-looking is a small picture of a blood crow, wings spread in flight. Noxmorte lightly taps it with his finger. The red paint still is tacky.

The meditation chant is quietly echoing in his mind, a faint background noise. It doesn't interfere with his thinking but it's definitely there.

Same people, Noxmorte thinks. Something about the chant dulls his senses, it's tricky to remember whether faces and clothing are the same as they were a few minutes ago.

Does he resume the cross-legged position and chant, or move on? The leader does not acknowledge his entrance.

Byzaron has plenty of sidewalk vendors selling pitas filled with grilled meat and veggies and yogurt sauce. There's other food to be had if Noxmorte's unhurried.

Noxmorte has a vague and fleeting sense that something's not right, but it passes like the fitful breeze that flits through the hot street.

The meal is satisfying, the wine is good, and Noxmorte eats and drinks at leisure.

A mendicant passes by and pauses by his table. "Spare a coin, sir?" the elderly man pleads.