Post by Gamemaster on Feb 6, 2007 12:18:16 GMT -7
PCs
Alexandros
Keesha
Maher
Saqir
Waleed
Ya’qub
NPCs
Adila: Cursed bearer of the Seal
Batul al-Reehan al-Dihlizi: Prosperous Trader. Keesha’s father
Jaheira, Wudei’a, Najiba: Waleed’s body guards
Liana al-Halal: Batul’s deceased first wife. Keesha’s mother.
Mabruk al Hanash: Wife of Batul. Keesha’s stepmother
Mamoun: Waleed’s servant
Noora abd Reehan: al-Reehan household servant. Keesha’s nursemaid
Omar bin Mabruk: Son of Batul and Mabruk. Keesha’s half-brother
Sahra: Ya’qub’s wife
9th of Saris
As the cock crowed to greet the rising sun, breakfast was ready at the al-Reehan household. You were led up several wide flights of stairs to a white and blue tiled terrace over looking the city. You sat crosslegged on the carpeted floor around the al-Reehan table and did not have to wait long before the sharp smell of coffee reached you, carried on trays by the servants as they emerged with that black nectar and trays of warm, green olive stuffed pitas.
Batul’s face was haggard and thoughtful, as if he’d been unable to sleep after the feast. He distractedly introduced a recent guest to the household as Alexandros Makednos; no explanation of who Alexandros was or how he’d come to his current position at Batul’s side. After a moment, Batul leaned forward and lifted the delicate white coffee urn.
“It is my honor to pour coffee to each of my guests and to each member of my house,” said Batul. His old hands trembled slightly, the occasional spilt drop causing his wrinkled face to twist in frustration. “It is a tradition as old as time immemorial and binds us to our culture and to our ancestors.”
Sahra held out her small cup to be filled, nodding her appreciation for the offering and in recognition of the wisdom of his words. As the old man moved on to fill Mabruk’s cup, Sahra squeezed Ya’qub’s hand lovingly. She glanced around the table, puzzled for a moment by an unoccupied place setting at the table. Saqir was missing.
“It’s a tradition not unlike the bond of salt,” Batul continued, pausing to look into the eyes of his younger wife. “When a guest takes the salt of the host he knows that no harm will befall him. He will be as safe and welcome in that house as one of the master’s own children.”
Batul broke his wife’s gaze and continued pouring around the table, pausing over Saqir’s cup.
“In this fashion the Caliph, the sheik, and the sheep herder share a common tradition that binds them, one and all. Breaking that tradition is unthinkable.” Moving on to the next guest, Batul continued around the table until everyone was served.
As he poured his own he fell silent. Raising the cup to his lips he sipped slowly, his thick grey eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Liana came to me again last night, as she has many times in the past… one of the reasons I have spent so much time away from here. The wise Alexandros has counseled me in this matter and assures me this is not the imaginations of an old fool or a madman. My dearest Liana has been trying to tell me what in my heart I’ve known is true.”
His countenance darkened and his unfriendly glare fell on Lady Mabruk. “You shame me with every breath your draw.”
Noora gasped, a pita hovering halfway to her open mouth. Omar’s unbelieving, wide eyes darted back and forth between his parents.
“How dare…” Mabruk’s indignant defense was cut short by the sight of Batul’s mamluk guards drawing their scimitars.
“I dare,” Batul replied, “and I have no doubt the Emira will judge you guilty. Seize her!”
As the mamluks closed in, Lady Mabruk snarled and rubbed the ruby ring on her finger. A smokeless flame flashed and there appeared above the table a great horned head. “Who shall I kidnap or assassinate for you now, oh most powerful mistress?”
Alexandros
Keesha
Maher
Saqir
Waleed
Ya’qub
NPCs
Adila: Cursed bearer of the Seal
Batul al-Reehan al-Dihlizi: Prosperous Trader. Keesha’s father
Jaheira, Wudei’a, Najiba: Waleed’s body guards
Liana al-Halal: Batul’s deceased first wife. Keesha’s mother.
Mabruk al Hanash: Wife of Batul. Keesha’s stepmother
Mamoun: Waleed’s servant
Noora abd Reehan: al-Reehan household servant. Keesha’s nursemaid
Omar bin Mabruk: Son of Batul and Mabruk. Keesha’s half-brother
Sahra: Ya’qub’s wife
9th of Saris
As the cock crowed to greet the rising sun, breakfast was ready at the al-Reehan household. You were led up several wide flights of stairs to a white and blue tiled terrace over looking the city. You sat crosslegged on the carpeted floor around the al-Reehan table and did not have to wait long before the sharp smell of coffee reached you, carried on trays by the servants as they emerged with that black nectar and trays of warm, green olive stuffed pitas.
Batul’s face was haggard and thoughtful, as if he’d been unable to sleep after the feast. He distractedly introduced a recent guest to the household as Alexandros Makednos; no explanation of who Alexandros was or how he’d come to his current position at Batul’s side. After a moment, Batul leaned forward and lifted the delicate white coffee urn.
“It is my honor to pour coffee to each of my guests and to each member of my house,” said Batul. His old hands trembled slightly, the occasional spilt drop causing his wrinkled face to twist in frustration. “It is a tradition as old as time immemorial and binds us to our culture and to our ancestors.”
Sahra held out her small cup to be filled, nodding her appreciation for the offering and in recognition of the wisdom of his words. As the old man moved on to fill Mabruk’s cup, Sahra squeezed Ya’qub’s hand lovingly. She glanced around the table, puzzled for a moment by an unoccupied place setting at the table. Saqir was missing.
“It’s a tradition not unlike the bond of salt,” Batul continued, pausing to look into the eyes of his younger wife. “When a guest takes the salt of the host he knows that no harm will befall him. He will be as safe and welcome in that house as one of the master’s own children.”
Batul broke his wife’s gaze and continued pouring around the table, pausing over Saqir’s cup.
“In this fashion the Caliph, the sheik, and the sheep herder share a common tradition that binds them, one and all. Breaking that tradition is unthinkable.” Moving on to the next guest, Batul continued around the table until everyone was served.
As he poured his own he fell silent. Raising the cup to his lips he sipped slowly, his thick grey eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Liana came to me again last night, as she has many times in the past… one of the reasons I have spent so much time away from here. The wise Alexandros has counseled me in this matter and assures me this is not the imaginations of an old fool or a madman. My dearest Liana has been trying to tell me what in my heart I’ve known is true.”
His countenance darkened and his unfriendly glare fell on Lady Mabruk. “You shame me with every breath your draw.”
Noora gasped, a pita hovering halfway to her open mouth. Omar’s unbelieving, wide eyes darted back and forth between his parents.
“How dare…” Mabruk’s indignant defense was cut short by the sight of Batul’s mamluk guards drawing their scimitars.
“I dare,” Batul replied, “and I have no doubt the Emira will judge you guilty. Seize her!”
As the mamluks closed in, Lady Mabruk snarled and rubbed the ruby ring on her finger. A smokeless flame flashed and there appeared above the table a great horned head. “Who shall I kidnap or assassinate for you now, oh most powerful mistress?”