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You watch his motions intently, then nod your head vigorously as he uses words that sound familiar. You raise your hands and mimic the same walking motion, point in the distance, then nod and smile encouragingly at him.
He nods, and seems to give you a patronizing smile.
You struggle into my wet--but no longer dripping--clothing and boots, and he seems instantly ready to walk.
“Khila amin.” He says, motioning for you to follow as he walks up incline toward the city. As you reach the top of the hill, you see the hardened ground of a caravan route. It leads directly to Ilarnek. You find yourself short of breath as you realize how immense the great golden city actually is. Its monumental size and appearance is beyond anything imaginable. And, as you walk, you realize it is further than you expected. By the time you reach the outer gates, your clothing has dried. The shadow of the moon falls over a great tower, whose top may reach unto heaven. And you are in awe.
The gate you pass through has a golden idol of a lizard embossed around its edge. It stands over 100 feet tall, looking down on all who enter. Inside, a river divides the city in two, with several canals feeding the city. You enter on the east side of the river, passing through a gargantuan market. Vendors sell chickpeas and sesame, barley and dates. Plants and animals you never knew existed are being bartered and sold. The scent of fresh fruit mixes with that of fish, caught only this morning. Hundreds of languages are being spoken, all blending together to form an almost familiar group-voice.
The man you follow continues to down the street toward a large ziggurat at the end of the street.
I follow the man towards the ziggurat.
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