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Author Topic: Fariq Husam al Din  (Read 2656 times)

Description: Purple Dusk to Green, Warlord, played by Tangled.

Offline Fariq Husam al Din

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Fariq Husam al Din
« on: Jan 07, 12, 06:55:11 PM »
The Basics

Character Name: Fariq Husam al Din
Nicknames: Riqi (“ree-kee”), the Sun King
Age: 66
Race: Short-lived
Caste: Warlord
Birth Territory: Pruul
Home Territory: Pruul

Birthright Jewel: Purple Dusk (Winsol gift from Phedre)
Offering Jewel: Green (Winsol gift from Phedre)
Appearance


Play By: Morgan Freeman
Distinguishing Features: He has the coffee-colored complexion typical for his race, with very dark freckling across both cheekbones. His features set naturally into an air of mild disapproval, but when he smiles, it transforms his expression to one of almost cherubic joy, and the black eyes literally dance as his round face crumples in on itself and flushes with laughter.



Personality

Personality:

Fariq is an intelligent man accustomed to life amongst uneducated thieves with minds only for gold. Born with the intellect and propensity to have been classically brilliant, he was instead forced to become a product of his meager environment, turning a well-ordered mind to the pursuit of infamy and chaos. He is fierce, in battles of muscle, magic, or wits. Raised on the hot sands of the Pruulian deserts, he developed an equally fiery passion, and that which he desires, he pursues with the tenacity of a starving dog on the scent trail of a feast.

In contrast, his temper is serene. Fariq is a thinker, never prone to quick or rash action. His lifelong experience with strategy in the midst of battle has made him a quick thinker, but in order to make good decisions quickly, he as a young man learned the uncommon skill of carefully binding and subjugating his temperament to make it a tool to work for him, not against him as with most Blood males. As a result, he sometimes seems less than human in conversation; far from being soulless, he feels deeply and wholly, and is simply a master of schooling his expressions and psychic scents.

His time in the mines initially were spent wrapped in a suffocating cloud of depression and hopelessness. He was brutally deposed, saw his most precious stud slaughtered and all his riches burned and stolen, and was repaid for his service to his country by being forever closed off from the vast desert wilds wherein lived the Warlord's very soul. However, in Erisian, he has found hope, and though he cannot formally serve her, he has dedicated his life to her nonetheless.



Likes:
  • 1 Horses -- As a Pruulian horselord, the hot-blooded desert mounts are as a part of Fariq as his heart and lungs. There is nowhere he is more at home than astride one of the fiery beasts.
  • 2 Strategy -- Fariq lives for making plans, and there is nothing so fulfilling as watching a good plan bloom to fruition.
  • 3 Numbers -- Some men are born with a natural inclination to despise all things mathematical. Others, like Fariq, were finding square roots in the womb. Fariq, more than the accumulation of wealth, loves the managing and balancing of money.
Dislikes:
  • 1 Ceremony -- From the day in his youth when tradition forced him to fight and summarily execute a man for whom Fariq cared more than his own sire, the Warlord has held a certain lingering distaste for outdated ceremonies and arbitrary senseless traditions.
  • 2 Pruul's ruling Prince -- In a day, he went from war hero to hounded criminal. Understandably, there is bad blood between Fariq and the Pruulian Courts.
  • 3 Close quarters -- Five years living in a network of naturally carved cave warrens, to enjoy a too-brief journey under open stars and land underground in the inescapable Salt Mines, and Fariq has had all he can bear of dank stone walls.
Fears:
  • 1 Erisian's madness -- Extricating not only Erisian from the mines but her Court as well is a time-consuming process. Fariq worries that her madness will consume her before he can grant her freedom.
  • 2 A coward's death – As a man born and bred for warfare, it is with an increasing sense of shame that Fariq comes to terms with the fact that he may truly die without ever again holding a sword in his hand or feeling the rippling steel of a galloping horse beneath him. This, he considers a great failing, to not die as he has lived.
  • 3 Snakes – Naturally bred into his native blood is an immediate visceral reaction to anything sleek and swift in the sand. Fariq is no coward, and has no qualms about grabbing, killing, and eating the deadly reptiles, but the flash of sun on scales out of the corner of his eye is enough to make the old Warlord jump a foot in the air.
Craft Strengths:
  • 1 Illusion – These talents he developed through disguising numbers in heat waves, making the tracks of a thousand horses vanish in the shifting sands, and concealing the angry psychic scents of an entire band of warmongers on the desert winds. This skill has translated to his daily life in the mines; he uses his strengths in illusion to appear weaker and less threatening than he really is, to hide his emotions and appear lackluster and dead. The less spirit his eternal guards see in him, the less they beat him, and the more he thrives in the cruel conditions of the mines.
  • 2 Reinforcing physical strength – Fariq is adept at tapping into his Jewels to reinforce his own strength, to fuel his needs for everyday tasks as his body's limits grow more stringent with every passing year, and to increase the power of his blows during combat. Many times during war, the horselord found salvation in this talent. From afar, he attacked with his bow and arrows, Craft guiding each shot to a well-placed and deeply-pierced artery. When charging through infantry, the stroke of a sword would often enough only maim, or the weapon becomes lodged in the victim; with Fariq's skill at swordplay, his careful Craft-enhanced work with the blade and the whetstone, coupled with the power of the Green behind every stroke, he more oft than not cleaved his enemies in twain and rode on to the next poor soul without pause.
Craft Weaknesses:
  • 1 Physical shields – This is an aspect of Craft that Fariq knows and understands, but has rarely practiced. He can wrap a shield around himself and his horse to protect legs and neck and chest from sword blows, but this is something he is able to do as a preliminary measure only. As he is usually charging through a mass of bodies, not standing on the field to fight one on one, he cannot maintain or adjust shields in the midst of combat.
  • 2 Offensive Craft – Fariq has no capability with power bolts of any kind. His years spent wielding the sword and the bow hardened him to the idea; he prefers to kill by his own hand, improved with Craft though it might be. Now, in the mines, with only a shiv to guard him, he regrets not having this skill; coupled with his inability to truly shield against opponents more adept with their Craft, he feels ever more vulnerable.
Life Story

Family:
Mother: Farah Jasmine al Melchior, Yellow - Summer Sky witch
Father: Balthasar Din al Gazsi, Tiger Eye - Summer Sky Warlord
Siblings: Laleh Nasim al Din, Yellow - Rose Healer; Parvaneh Mitra al Din, White - Tiger Eye Priestess; Saeed Val al Din, Purple Dusk - Green Prince

History:

Had he been born to a wealthy family, Fariq would have grown to be a great scholar. His mind was a steel trap, more capable of absorbing and retaining knowledge than a camel of holding water. From the beginning, he was fascinated by old histories and the satisfaction of solving difficult figures and number puzzles. Alas, it was not to be, for he was born to a nomadic Pruulian tribe, and destined for warfare from the moment he spilled onto the hot sands of his homeland. A passion for learning was channeled into the study of military tactics. He learned first at the knees of his elders, around night fires as their seer spun tales of mighty warriors who overcame impossible odds, and then at the heels of those selfsame warriors as he dogged them around the camps. Ever an insatiable learner, he was as much a pet as a nuisance to the older men; they tolerated his inquiries in short bursts, and sent him running on pointless errands when they tired of the game.

The oldest male of his siblings, he was put early to the task of attaining maturity. He was only eight when he received his Purple Dusk birthright, and his parents gave him over to the tribe immediately. There were other boys in the same place as he: middle children in families with too many mouths, with Jewels too dark to waste on poverty, sent to squire for the horselords of Pruul. The rude, boisterous men needed small hands to see to their horses, secure the straps on their padded armor, fetch them water when they thirsted, and generally serve as whipping posts for every real or perceived slight the proud warriors suffered at their peers' hands. Fariq did his duty willingly and solemnly, and each task he set to was completed with perfection. The horselords came to know which mounts had been groomed by Fariq's hands and which blades had been polished, for his horses' coats shined the brightest, and the edges of his swords sang the sweetest hymns.

When he was fourteen, the Warlord Chief of his band, Cyrus Dabir al Jespar, gifted Fariq with a filly. The Pruulian tribes bred their horses carefully, not for particular builds or to encourage a delicate head or ear, but rather they bred for strength, intelligence, resilience. The horses were a vast amalgamation of colors, shapes, and sizes, but each had conformation made to last, and eyes that were alight with fiery intelligence. The filly was no exception. Fariq named her Shatrevar, meaning “flower”, and from the day his palm first laid flat on her neck, the two were inseparable. It was the way of the horselords to bring their steed into their family; their mounts were more precious than their wives. Fariq felt no differently, and though he had no tent of his own to share, he bedded at night with his back to the sleeping mare's, feeling always more secure with her great hot mass guarding his back and warding off the desert's chill.

At fifteen, when Fariq and his mare had been tried and found ready, they rode their first raid. There was war brewing on the hot sands of Pruul, a war that threatened to pit tribe against tribe, and the Pruulian Court against them in turn. The tribes cried out in a fit of nationalism, their demands largely reformist in nature: greater educational efforts for the nomadic peoples of Pruul; more use of their native tongue in said education; and changes in the present structure of conscription—during peacetime, they wanted the opportunity to serve locally, not in districts far removed from their tribal territories. Lines had been drawn, and the chiefs were quickly choosing sides.

Cyrus, by this time an older Warlord whose blood still burned for the fight, rushed immediately to stand amongst the other tribals.  Fariq's first combat was a raid on the Pruulian supply chain; it was one wild rush of adrenaline and pounding hooves, the glint of sun on steel and the hot feel of blood on his cheek, and then it was over before he even knew who had died on his sword. With his mind still reeling, he walked away from that battle with infamy and a new name: the Sun King, for his little mare glowed in the sun like finest gold, and it appeared that the Day Star itself had come down to ride into battle with Cyrus' band of warriors.   

For six years, life continued in this way. Fariq earned great admiration amongst his people, not only as a precise and brilliant mind, but also as a fierce warrior and a merciless combatant. He amassed considerable wealth for himself and his family, and though he did not take a wife, his bed was kept warm most nights by creatures much sweeter than a horse. When, at eighteen, he made his Offering and came away wearing the Green, the Pruulian desert seemed to spread her legs before him. Every raid was a success, their losses few and their gains great. As his experience grew, so did his responsibilities. He began taking a greater hand in the strategics of the excursions, and found he had an excellent eye for weaknesses, and a talent at guessing their enemy's next move in a way that allowed the horselords to drive the Pruulian soldiers into traps, rather than wasting lives throwing themselves at the infantry lines until they broke.

So as Cyrus grew older, his mind and body grew more feeble, and simultaneously Fariq grew stronger, bolder, and more cunning. Soon it became clear who the favorite was for succession, and at twenty-five, there were none who could stand in his way. His Jewels were darker, his blade sharper, his mind and his feet quicker than any who might challenge him, and he sat a horse as if it were an extension of his own soul. When Cyrus's eyes began to cloud, and his strength grew weak, it was Fariq who faced him in ceremonial combat, and Fariq who speared him through the gut and left him bleeding in the dust, in the traditional way of his people.

But he was not a man born to kick up his heels and simply benefit from the efforts of his tribesmen; his was a mind made for plans. Where his predecessor had been blinded by the pull of nationalist loyalties and revolutionary ideals, Fariq's eyes were open to the opportunities inherent to war. What had begun a decade prior as a small-scale revolt had since raged into full warfare between the Pruulian Courts and the nomadic tribes they pretended to rule. While most of the desert lords had concentrated their efforts on wrecking supply chains and complicating border travel, Fariq noticed a distinct absence of tribal presence on the Pruulian side of the line.

He approached a lesser soldier, conscripted from his own tribe, and requested a meeting with a man of power. Carefully, loose allegiances were made; through the principle of asymmetric warfare, Fariq guaranteed to disrupt any concerted efforts of the tribes. There was no conceivable way for the nomads to launch attacks and defend their homes in equal force. They were already spread thin, their numbers swelling and shrinking as thw fighting drifted in and out of various tribal lands; most warriors held loyalty only to their own tribes, not to the overall ideal. Ever with a mind for money, however, Fariq did not fulfill his promise exactly—though he raided his own tribesmen, as agreed, it was only when they had turned home from a raid, saddlebags overflowing, riders and mounts weighed down and exhausted, that they found the Sun King's band of trouble waiting in their path, to politely slit their throats and redistribute their ill-earned wares.

Throughout the rebellion, he made his fame: the horselord who could not be caught. His stock was swift and possessed of unbeatable stamina; they rode hard to battle, and harder away, their tracks vanishing in the shifting sands before their dust had even settled. For a score of years, he led his men across the dunes and rocky crevasses of their formidable homeland. Though they dwelt in caves, they lived as kings, their hidden homes furnished with rich tapestries, their fermented goat's milk sipped from golden chalices. For a score, the Sun King ruled without challenge, for few men died who rode with the Warlord, and many more grew rich nursing the warrior's teat. For a band of nomads fighting against their own independence, there were few complaints.

In hindsight, Fariq realized, it was inevitable that the weakling who ruled Pruul would consider him a liability once his usefulness ran out. But to a younger, more brazen man, it came as a shock when the end of the tribal revolt resulted in a mass of Pruulian soldiers being dedicated to hunting and subduing the desert lord. It was another five long years of hiding in caves like bats, watching their wealth slowly trickle into nothing, before one of his own sold him to the Pruulian army. They set on him in the night, binding and collaring him before he had a chance even to reach for his sword. Shaharezad—the beloved grandson of his first sweet, pale mare—he saw slaughtered before his eyes. That night, the soldiers carved up the stallion and served him for dinner. It was the first time the sight of blood would make the Sun King sick, but unfortunately not the last.

He was dragged across the desert, back to Pruul's capital, where he faced immediate condemnation to the infamous salt mines. Already beaten and bloody, his aged body struggled to find the strength to survive the first few weeks. He had spent much of his youth fighting against the Pruulian army, and for every one trouble he had caused them, their soldiers seemed bent on causing Fariq ten times the pain and humiliation. The trials were suffered with silent dignity; he gave them not the satisfaction of a single cry.

His first few months in the mines were brutal. Salt got in every wound, causing blistering pain and preventing the flesh from closing up and healing as intended. The gruel they served was hardly enough to refuel what one lost in a day, much less fill the deficit his injuries had caused in his reserves. He was beyond his prime, and long since accustomed to a world in which his dominance was well-established; though his skill in combat was honed daily, he was unused to the squabbles that arose amongst the gangs of prisoners over who had a basic right to live and who did not. But above all things, Fariq was a survivor—he kept his head low and his mouth shut, and when his will to live was questioned, he answered with certainty, and with a shiv to the jugular. As in the unforgiving deserts, if there was one thing Fariq refused to relinquish, it was his life.

Five years passed with little variation, except the increasing intrigue around a powerful Queen entombed in the mines. Fariq did not seek her out, though the day he stepped underground, he sensed her. The power of the Black was intoxicating, and it refused to be ignored. Her scent seeped into the very rocks beneath her feet, and lingered for weeks, teasing Fariq every day as he traced the paths he knew she had taken. It was inescapable, the draw of her taste on his psyche. He was a man never before bowed by a woman, but as he followed the tendrils of her through the maze of tunnels, he knew it was only because he had never met a woman worthy of his knee. But here, in this weary sepulcher, he had found his Queen.

For five years, he followed that temptation—for five years, he waited, and watched, and listened. Ever a cunning man, he allowed his body to show the wear and tear of the mines—his steps hitched, his shoulders hunched—but his eyes remained alight with inner fire. Only once did he actually catch sight of her, the elusive Erisian Maboya, but it was enough. In that single moment of passing, he caught her eye, and her scent, and he knew her—of all the things that great mind had thought it knew, this woman, this Queen, was the only thing he felt in his bones as solid truth. He would serve this woman, and he would see her freed. The same passion that had kept him alive for more than half a century was turned, re-channeled to the effort of protecting Erisian's life—as quickly as he would have cut another man's throat for a piece of bread, so in turn would he slit his own to save hers.

After making the decision and solidifying a base plan, the steps were simple. Identify and integrate with the most influential gang—conveniently, Mad's Boys, already aligned with his Queen. Though it rankled Fariq to submit to rule after so many years as King, it was considered something of a necessary evil; he knew he was aging, and more vigorous boys would step to take his place, but he knew with an infernal certainty that he would not fall sacrifice to ceremony—his blood would not be spilled as a younger warrior took his place. He would step gracefully aside and be content to serve as the fount of knowledge for less experienced men. His nature did not approve, but his intellect demanded obedience, and as ever, his emotions submitted willingly to his rule. The goal would be accomplished—what else mattered?

Show Us What You've Got

Writing Sample:

Proud, tall, in his prime and at the peak of his condition, Fariq stood on the western side of a rock circle. Across from him, old, tired, bent over the weight of his sword, was his chieftain and mentor, Cyrus Dabir al Jespar. The elder Warlord wore the Sapphire, but Fariq could sense there were no shields wrapped around his frail, wasting body.

Features set in an expression of grim acceptance, Fariq unsheathed his scimitar. Old though he may have been, Cyrus raised his head when he heard that familiar sound, and shakily, he lifted his own sword before him. Fariq felt the surge of Jeweled strength from the other Warlord, though there were still no shields. He knew Cyrus needed every drop of his reservoirs to simply keep himself vertical.

This was no battle. It was just a stupid tradition, born in days when infighting was a too-common occurrence between rival chiefs. A man who could have spent a score of years advising the tribe was instead to be murdered here this day, all for the sake of ceremony. But in the dark young man who stood to take his place, there was no room for doubt or mercy. What must be done would be done.

Teeth gritted, Fariq attacked. 

The ease with which the brittle old man parried almost took him by surprise. The Green-Jeweled warrior spun and his sword arced low; again, the blow was deflected with the silk-smooth motion of arms so accustomed to war they had accepted the blade as an extension of themselves. Fariq disengaged and danced back out of reach, contemplating his mentor with fresh eyes.

For a moment, he was unsure of the other man's strength; perhaps his apparent weakness was a ruse, adopted to lure in a cocksure challenger to sacrifice themselves on his sword? But no, there, see him stumble as his power flags... Fariq ignored the nag in his heart that this was wrong, and rushed the man again.

This time, Cyrus did not even lift his sword. His cloudy eyes met Fariq's bright ones, and with resignation he stood like a statue with open arms as his best pupil buried the blade to the hilt in the old chief's stomach. The two men stood, nose to nose, Cyrus gazing calmly at Fariq as his arms fluttered closed in a loose embrace. For a single second, Fariq returned the gesture, even as the young man felt his blood spilling hot over his hand. Then, with a grunt, he withdrew the scimitar, and Cyrus crumpled to the ground.

Fariq knelt beside him, easing him into a comfortable position and cradling his head. He ignored the cries of victory that swelled through the men around them; his every thought was for a man who had been greater than his sire. The young warrior knelt low over his friend, and whispered the traditional death prayer for a chieftain of the horselords.

Cyrus Dabir al Jespar gave one shuddering breath, and passed, eyes fixed on the blinding desert sky. Fariq pushed his eyelids down, and stood, fine sand falling from his clothes like gold dust. With no joy, he raised the bloody sword to the sun, tilted back his head, and gave the primal roar of a conquering male. When his eyes had returned to his people, the black lips were pulled back to flash white carnivorous teeth in a vicious grin.

And so began the ill-fated rule of the glorious Sun King.




Player Name: Tangled


Offline Dani

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    • I have seen the throne of gods and it is empty.

Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #1 on: Jan 07, 12, 07:09:46 PM »
Weighed by Mother Night...

You've risen from the Darkness twice blessed with an uncut White birthright Jewel, and were gifted with a cut Tiger Eye Jewel at your offering.

&

Congratulations
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Contact me at: -email/gchat- dani@bloodrites.net -Discord- Dani#5222

Offline Dani

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #2 on: Jan 21, 12, 02:03:33 PM »
White to Tiger Eye has been officially banked. HAVE AT IT TANGLED! ^^
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Contact me at: -email/gchat- dani@bloodrites.net -Discord- Dani#5222

Offline Fariq Husam al Din

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      Tangled

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      Warlord

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      15

Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #3 on: Jan 21, 12, 02:16:51 PM »
Can I have a potential descent roll, please and thank you? :)


Offline Dani

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #4 on: Jan 21, 12, 03:02:39 PM »
Congratulations,

You will descend two ranks.
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Contact me at: -email/gchat- dani@bloodrites.net -Discord- Dani#5222

Offline tangled

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #5 on: Jan 21, 12, 03:56:16 PM »
oh, and, five family rolls please.


Offline Dani

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #6 on: Jan 21, 12, 05:18:24 PM »
1. Yellow - Summer Sky
2. Yellow - Rose
3. White - Tiger Eye
4. Purple Dusk - Green
5. Tiger Eye - Summer Sky
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Contact me at: -email/gchat- dani@bloodrites.net -Discord- Dani#5222

Offline Fariq Husam al Din

    • Character Sheet

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      Tangled

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #7 on: Feb 03, 12, 10:52:30 PM »
OK, so, I would like to use the Winsol roll gifted to me by Phedre for his Jewels, please. Thanks. :)


Offline Fariq Husam al Din

    • Character Sheet

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      Tangled

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #8 on: Feb 04, 12, 01:23:39 PM »
Fariq is ready for review. He needs approval from Gina, as he is for her plots, and from Roma, as he plays an integral part in Pruul's history. Also I know I need to fix my ratio, it will be correct once Frederique Sieve is finished and approved. Thanks. :)


Offline Reid

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #9 on: Feb 04, 12, 02:28:01 PM »
Looks good!






Offline Petrichor

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #10 on: Feb 04, 12, 06:00:48 PM »
Per Winsol Auction:

Weighed by Mother Night...

You've risen from the Darkness twice blessed with a cut Purple Dusk birthright Jewel, and were gifted with a cut Green Jewel at your offering.

&

Congratulations


This Character has been reviewed and feedback has been pm'ed to the lovely Tangled!

I can't wait to see this boyo in play. :3 ::squee::
mostly i am an absentee parent to all my fictional creations.
sometimes i have inappropriate public reactions by which i am later mortified.





Offline Fariq Husam al Din

    • Character Sheet

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      Tangled

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #11 on: Feb 04, 12, 06:33:59 PM »
Changes made, ready for re-review.


Offline Petrichor

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #12 on: Feb 05, 12, 12:51:24 AM »
mostly i am an absentee parent to all my fictional creations.
sometimes i have inappropriate public reactions by which i am later mortified.





Offline Jamie

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Re: Fariq Husam al Din
« Reply #13 on: Nov 02, 12, 06:30:47 AM »
This character has been marked as Inactive

If you would like to reactivate this character they will need to be submitted through the Keep's Registry again as a petitioned character using the Reactivation Petition.










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