Post by Zaim al-Daleel on Jul 21, 2008 21:33:29 GMT -7
It's a dry summer day just beyond the northern border of Tajar, the City of Trade. You're returning from a successful caravan journey into the High Desert. The wealthy merchant Ashquar bin Fahesh had hired you to take gifts to his wife the beautiful Ghazale Almase, daughter of the most noble and wise Sheikh Ajan bin Najon al-Yaqud, leader of the al-badian House Bakr. The petulant Ghazale fled Tajar and returned to her nomadic family. You eventually found the tribe near Jamal Oasis and delivered the many extravagant gifts to her and her father- the customary method of winning back an unhappy young wife.
Young Barakeh bin Idris tried to stifle the feeling of pride that kept returning, sure that his father would no longer think him lazy; worthy of nothing more than trivial errands. The nearer to home, the harder to suppress the smile.
The desert guide Fahd Al-Taleb drank deeply from his goat-skin water flask. He wiped at the sweat on his face and scratched the skin under his eye patch. Fahd's little companion Skiz, dozed behind him in the saddle as the camel, this swaying ship of the desert, plodded steadily closer to home. Fahd absently fingered a small bite on his ear as he thought approvingly of his keen recognition of Skiz's agitation during the first days of the journey. Thanks to Skiz, and or course fate, may she guide and keep us, they'd weathered a sudden sand storm with no loss of life or materials. Well served was this caravan with Fahd's guidance served as the desert guide.
Ya'qub ibn Wahid al Kadir prodded Nasim into a trot, examining the caravan and calling out cheerfully to each member as he passed. Slowing at the lead, his thoughts turned toward the future. Surely, he, as the caravaneer of this successful venture, would soon be sought out by other wealthy Tajaran merchants for his skill and wisdom.
Zhalum Al-Jambiya shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, anxious to be back in Tajar and the Golden Gulf. So far this trip had been uneventful. His pay for protecting the caravan would be all the sweeter, having done nothing more than watching the horizon for danger. Zhalum's eyes rested upon the other caravan guard momentarily before continuing their methodical sweep.
Hassim's thoughts of the libraries of Tajar were incongruous with how he appeared astride his large war camel Achmed. Idly caressing his cutlass, Hassim pondered the mysterious writings of the ancients and learned men.
Young Barakeh bin Idris tried to stifle the feeling of pride that kept returning, sure that his father would no longer think him lazy; worthy of nothing more than trivial errands. The nearer to home, the harder to suppress the smile.
The desert guide Fahd Al-Taleb drank deeply from his goat-skin water flask. He wiped at the sweat on his face and scratched the skin under his eye patch. Fahd's little companion Skiz, dozed behind him in the saddle as the camel, this swaying ship of the desert, plodded steadily closer to home. Fahd absently fingered a small bite on his ear as he thought approvingly of his keen recognition of Skiz's agitation during the first days of the journey. Thanks to Skiz, and or course fate, may she guide and keep us, they'd weathered a sudden sand storm with no loss of life or materials. Well served was this caravan with Fahd's guidance served as the desert guide.
Ya'qub ibn Wahid al Kadir prodded Nasim into a trot, examining the caravan and calling out cheerfully to each member as he passed. Slowing at the lead, his thoughts turned toward the future. Surely, he, as the caravaneer of this successful venture, would soon be sought out by other wealthy Tajaran merchants for his skill and wisdom.
Zhalum Al-Jambiya shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, anxious to be back in Tajar and the Golden Gulf. So far this trip had been uneventful. His pay for protecting the caravan would be all the sweeter, having done nothing more than watching the horizon for danger. Zhalum's eyes rested upon the other caravan guard momentarily before continuing their methodical sweep.
Hassim's thoughts of the libraries of Tajar were incongruous with how he appeared astride his large war camel Achmed. Idly caressing his cutlass, Hassim pondered the mysterious writings of the ancients and learned men.