Muhar

• The Oracle’s Temple: The spiritual heart of Muhar, this towering ziggurat houses the blind Oracle of Har’Akir, whose visions are said to be drawn from the breath of the gods—or from the dead themselves. Pilgrims brave the desert and the walking damned for a chance to hear the Oracle speak.
• The House of Reeds: Part temple, part school, part morgue, this institution is run by the Embalmers’ Guild, who guard sacred rites of mummification and funerary law. The living pay dearly to prepare for death here—and those who die unprepared are denied the afterlife.
• The Market of Sun and Sand: A labyrinth of canvas-covered stalls and mudbrick shops sprawls along the southern edge of the oasis. Trade caravans pass through rarely, but when they do, exotic wares and strange whispers follow.

Despite its harsh setting, Muhar is a center of artistry and ritual. Music drifts nightly from rooftops, woven carpets display sacred symbols, and murals are painted, repaired, and repainted on every surface. Yet the people’s joy is measured—always performed within the bounds of ancient law. To laugh too loudly or dance too freely is to invite the gaze of the gods—or their guardians.

• Festivals of Remembrance are held monthly, during which the city’s dead are paraded in silken wrappings to ensure they are not forgotten.
• Sand-priests, cloaked in linen and carrying golden staffs, read omens from the movement of dunes and the patterns of carrion birds.
• City Guards known as the Shenu wear ceremonial jackal masks and enforce the laws of Ma’at with ruthless efficiency.

Beneath Muhar lies a vast necropolis, sealed crypts, and forgotten tunnels where the past refuses to stay buried. The dead are both venerated and feared. Ankhtepot, the undying pharaoh of Har’Akir, is rarely spoken of aloud, yet his shadow looms over every ritual and law. His agents—silent mummified emissaries—sometimes appear to collect tributes or punish blasphemy.

Some claim the city is haunted by echoes of past dynasties, that ancient kings stride the streets in moonlight, watching the living fail to uphold their eternal codes.

Surrounded by cracked hills and dunes that whisper of forgotten graves, Muhar exists through careful balance: between faith and fear, water and waste, obedience and rebellion. The oasis sustains groves of date palms and modest plots of barley and flax, while cisterns carved in bygone ages draw up water from below.

Muhar’s skyline is a harmony of tapered minarets, whitewashed homes, and broad plazas inscribed with scarabs and sun motifs. Every building—whether a humble clay shop or the massive Temple of the Oracle—is decorated with intricate murals telling tales of the gods, of judgment, and of the land’s ancient rulers. Yet beneath the vibrant surface lies tension: the past is never truly past in Har’Akir.