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* Plot Information for Pruul

Seven children are destined to save Pruul and shake the traditions of the territory to their very core. In response, factions have broken the peace of a previously unified territory and violence has erupted across the dessert. It is a battle between the past and the future, the young and the old, and blood won’t stop seeping into the sand.
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Author Topic: New Eyes, Old Friends  (Read 354 times)

Description: Attn: Ziba

Offline Aahad al-Situla

  • Character Account
    • te2ss
    • pw
    • Role

      High Priest

    • Faction

      Arnadeth Temple

    • Territory

      Pruul

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Lochlan

    • Posts

      119

    • View Profile
New Eyes, Old Friends
« on: Mar 26, 19, 11:22:52 PM »
Location: Onn, Tabur Quarter
Following the events of New Craft for a New Age


Aahad was still resigned to bedrest. Delara was a Mother Hen of a Healer. He couldn't even do his daily regimen without her scolding, fearing that he would reopen his wound. No sneaking away here.

Unlike the Jinan Quarter, where he had some semblance of personage given his tribe's allegiance here within the bastion of the Tabur he was just a Priest and K'miar. No tribal leverage or contacts with Voices. Just a patient who was fortunate enough to have a competent healer be the one who found him washed ashore from the Oasis. The seminar with Fate al-Izar was an enlightening one. It opened his eyes to a new source of Craft he had not explored. Tendrils. Raw psychic force, like manifested extensions of the self that one could deploy for all manner of influence. He only considered them the domain of seduction tendrils. Fate suggested they could be used as a means of direct control, through deployment of a Healer's understanding of the body and their particular art. Aahad was no healer...but he could find unfathomable methods in which tendrils might be of some use.

Since Delara did not restrict him from doing anything in bed he opted to continue the lessons Fate supplied. He had one of his books open, a pen set aside that he used to take notes on his progress. How he could make them form, the type of concentration and focus it took to maintain a tendril. Experiments in having multiple tendrils at once and the stress it placed it on the mind to keep them all aligned. His exploration was giving him a renewed sense of respect for the Healer caste. The amount of focus it takes to perform their gifts was more and more respectable. His bandage was new, recently replaced with tinctures and medicines to prevent infection. Each passing day the pain hurt less and less. He suspected he would be out of Delara's care soon. Thinking on it, compared to the last time he was on bedrest a Khanjar to the gut was a cakewalk. He would have to double-check to make sure he could compensate Delara for her work.

Did he have any money on him? He hoped he did. If he didn't he would have to trade favors. He didn't want to trade favors. Not with these people. They don't deserve favors.

As soon as the thoughts entered his mind he took a moment and breathed. It had been getting worse since he emerged from the oasis like curtains being drawn back so someone may look through a window fully. The level of despisement he held for Pruul began as a simple sideways comment that was growing into a chasm seemingly endless. The thoughts pained him, but discovery of the self is not always pleasant and oftentimes always involves pain. That is what his Master told him once. It takes only the strongest will to be able to confront yourself and come out on the other side in once piece. Now was just when Aahad got a chance to see if he was in one piece? Or he shattered himself without knowing it. He felt sane...but insane people think that too.

"Master Situla." Came a word from outside. "Ziba al-Hague is here to see you."

He opened his eyes and looked toward the door. Worry painted itself on his features, worry and shock. Zeebs? She was here? The first thought that came to his mind was that he hadn't seen Ziba in...how long now? He didn't keep track. Additionally thinking of Ziba put her as a sweat-laden nudist whose nether regions were practically on fire. What would he do when he saw her? Gape? Stare at her body unceremoniously expecting her to flaunt around nude, or attempt to measure his imagination to the real thing? He wiped at his face. This was horrible. He would rather be one of Fate's experiments than be in the position he found himself in.

"J-Just a minute!" He practically fell off the bed to scramble to an adjacent washroom to use his canteen of water to splash his face to try to steel his focus. The last thing he needed to do was lose focus and start to feel the emotional undercurrent of his surroundings, especially in his given...state of mind. He put on some fresh clothes, needing to change anyway and ran his hand through his hair. "Okay! I'm safe now."



Offline Ziba al-Hague

  • Character Account
    • green2red
    • priestess
    • Role

      Aubdina

    • Faction

      Min Alramad

    • Territory

      Pruul

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Erica

    • Posts

      21

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Re: New Eyes, Old Friends
« Reply #1 on: Apr 04, 19, 02:50:23 PM »
"Safe are you?"  Ziba smiled, pulling her head scarf down in that old way she always did - as if she were a lady and not a Priestess that would just as easily wreck someone's day with a sword as with lessons on etiquette.

That smile spoke of laughter, and amusement, and concern as well as relief.  Aahad al-Situla was an old friend.  As two people from different tribes and clans were want to do she and he had not seen as much of each other as they once had - but that did not mean that she did not write or try to check in sometimes.  Having seen him be thrown into the waters of the Oasis and not seen him come back up?  She'd been furiously enraged.

Her fury that night had bothered her, a little.  She'd known that she could be fierce.  She'd known that she could be merciless.  She had not known just how deep that could run nor how long that fury could last.  To have heard that he survived, to have learned that her faith had not been incorrectly placed, had been a weight removed from a chest that felt as if it were going to crack.

Elenor al-Sabbah was not dead.  But most people seemed to think she was.  Elenor al-Sabbah was pregnant.  It was likely best that most believed her to be dead for now - and Ziba knew how to use that.  But those thoughts fled her mind as she moved forward, bringing her hands forward to clasp at both of Aahad's arms in greeting... before throwing her arms around him.

"My friend.. I have been worried for you." She whispered those words against his neck.  Oh how she wished she were able to reach out, mind to mind, as everyone else so easily could.  Never had she cursed her inability to initiate such things as much as she had in those eternal moments where she saw him crash into the waters of the oasis.  After a brief moment she straightened up, gently bringing a hand up to tug on his scruff.

"We need to clean your face up... you've let yourself go in your recovery, Aahad.  Whatever would your flock of beaufiul lady fans think?"

Offline Aahad al-Situla

  • Character Account
    • te2ss
    • pw
    • Role

      High Priest

    • Faction

      Arnadeth Temple

    • Territory

      Pruul

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Lochlan

    • Posts

      119

    • View Profile
Re: New Eyes, Old Friends
« Reply #2 on: Apr 05, 19, 11:09:26 PM »
On the one hand, Ziba was not a sweat-laden sex slave. His heartbeat slowed at the sight of it. Though seeing her, now, made him flush slightly. Not just because of his recent journey but because what he saw...subtly reminded him of just what he saw down in his soul.

Water clung to her like a cherished friend. Fear made her appearance cold and frigid, which contrasted with how utterly warm her smile was and in the Fire that gleamed in her eyes. Anger, righteous anger, flirted in her eyes that spread to her face giving her smile that warmth. With all of that, a depressing weight followed her. Air. It made the surrounds a bit heavier, a burden of the heart that was unseen, no doubt due to the True Sabbah's rampage. All of them, probably, because of it. It made for a woman of contrasts, the adjoining elements. They had not consumed her, external to herself...but then again, Ziba didn't require Aahad's training to keep herself centered. Not as long as he knew her.

When she hugged him it was like settling in a warm fireplace. The burning anger, tempered with the emotion of water to wash over him like bundling in a blanket on a cool night. He returned the greeting and then the hug. His hands wrapped around her as if he was wanting his body to swallow her whole. It didn't, but the closeness was a brief reprieve to the torment that experience had brought him the past days. "I'm glad to see your safe."

"I'm..." Aahad had the urge to comfort her worry, to tell her everything was okay. That he was fine and that it was just a flesh wound. But things weren't okay. He wasn't okay. And if anyone, anywhere, would be the person to tell...it would be her. Ziba never objectified him nor held him to any prophetic standard. Instead he was a friend, a cherished friend. What did he tell Lucky about learning how to trust? Tell people.

He pressed his lips to her neck in friendly greeting, then slowly withdrew from the full-body hug. His smile was depressive, worn, and haggard and not simply because of his beard growth. He let out a breath, a burden feeling lifted at the confession. "Not from the attack. The wound...well, Lady Latifh is a competent healer. She was the one who helped me through my poisoning. If anyone can get a Khanjar wound mended it would be her. It's just..."

While he spoke he took her criticism to heart. He looked at himself in a mirror. She was right. Aahad looked like he had just walked out of a nightmare. His hair was growing long, his beard was ragged and unkempt. He had forgotten he was in that place for far longer than a few days. He had learned, only after the fact, that he had been in seclusion for weeks. "Man. I really let myself go didn't I?" He ran his hand through his hair and beard.

He revealed his beautification tools. Aahad did his own hair and beard and throughout the years had made the process ritual. "After the attack, and I fell in the Oasis I was..taken somewhere. I don't know how, or why. But there is a Water Temple buried near the Oasis. Just like there is in the eastern and northern ranges. I was drained, couldn't leave without risking death so I sought inner wisdom while I let general first aid do the legwork and my Jewels to charge. Confronting myself to learn lessons. I don't like what I saw. No one would." Shame echoed his features, looking down at the ground.

Only to pipe back up shortly thereafter. "And then there is the True Sabbah attack. I was hunted, specifically. Even one of the K'miar tried to get me. Then I got the maniacal recruitment speech. Go speak to Shira al-Sabbah, hear her plan to save Pruul. Then I got stabbed and blown into the Oasis." So many questions, worries and burdens on his shoulders. Aahad wasn't cut out for this sort of thing. Research. Magical theory. That was his bag. Political machinations with the Sabbah? Not so much.

"I'm lost."



 

 

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