[center][color=tan] [b]Emirate of Alijabel Almuqaddas
[/b][/color][/center]
[center][i]Almutasalliqin Embassy, Acheona. Spring 1911[/i][/center]

[img]http://www.historyoftruth.com/images/history/art3/1601-3.jpg[/img]
[i][center] Last Remaining Photo of Hishaam Zamani circa 1911 [/center][/i]

The grizzled old man roamed the ornate halls the official embassy in Acheona, his pace slow yet determined. Even after all these years Hishaam Zamani never stopped being impressed with the pale-skinned people and their penchant to indulge in extravagant excess; what was concerned a luxury back home was common place here. When he was young he naively assumed that it was a trick used to shock and awe him, but after seeing a plethora he began to believe that exuberance was less of a facade and more a fact of life. Of course he realized that diplomacy was about fifty percent pomp and circumstance, but he learned to overcome his internalized prejudices. He chuckled as ruminated on a joke originally told to him by a strange disheveled man years ago in long forgotten hookah lounge in his homeland. 

The joke went something like this. A djinn comes across a  Almutasalliqin farmer and is coerced into granting the man a wish on the condition that whatever befalls the farmer will befall his neighbors twice-fold. Without hesitation the   Almutasalliqin farmer wished for one of his eyes to be gouged out. 

Zamani reflected that man's lisp coupled with his odd sniffing really elevated the joke. The diplomat mused on whatever happened to the strange fellow, from what Zamani could recall he was a student of some sorts that was impressed into national service. Or that is what the man claimed anyways. Zamani was never one to believe in the supernatural, but there was something off putting about the man; could be that he was in fact a djinn? Zamani shook his sweat beaded head attempting to clear those irrational thoughts from his head.

He focused instead on the recent dealings with the Achean King. From what the diplomat could gather King Bernhart was a king beholden to nobody and those self-imposed limits on his power were merely a ruse concocted to quell the plebiscite. The difference between King Bernhart and his impetuous niece was that Bernhart was a great man who would proverbially knell down to make himself appear equal to his subjects, while Emira Fathiyya lacked any such tact and would quash anyone that she perceived as more popular than her.

A voice in the back of his mind reminded him that at one point he could have been Emir instead of that degenerate. Once Fathiyya ascended the throne over the still fresh corpse of his brother there was a chance for him to united the tribes against her, but out of principle he did nothing. The aged diplomat was not a kin-slayer like her, the fact that his family was her last living blood relations was a testament to his usefulness  rather than a sign of appreciation for his inaction. 

He sighed, but continued his slow walk to the kitchen leaning on his cane for support. His late wife always disapproved of his dependence on Fuso tea, but since she was perpetually frazzled it's calming properties never took ahold of her. 

On days like this he missed her incessant nagging. 'Hishaam' she would chide, 'when are going to learn to clean up after yourself, I swear if I have to clean another one of your dirty teacups...'

"Did you meet the pale-folks King Grandpa?" A small timid voice cut short the elder man's musings. 

"Oh, I met him alright and he personally informed me how much it displeases him when little boys make him aware of his paleness. He is so sensitive about his white skin the he gobbles up anyone who even utters anything negative about it." Hishaam said with mock urgency and a mischievous grin plastered across his aged visage.

"Really?" the boy said softly before retorting "Grandpa, you must be joking as surely a King doesn't eat people."

"You are too clever for me boy, of course I was joking. Though I would probably address him as King Bernhart Van Siegmund just to be on the safe side. Also I hope you were not going around calling the nice people of this country 'pale-folks' They don't call you a 'dark-folk' do they?"

"No sir", the boy said shuffling his feet. 

Hishaam patted his grandson's head. "Just be more mindful, that is all. If you are ever going to be a diplomat like your grandpa you must put your prejudices aside...or someone might gobble you up."

"Grandpa!" 

"Alright, Alright. Let me compose a letter to the Emira informing her of the progress here in Acheona. Then we can have tea and you can tell me everything the tutor taught you today." Hishaam turned to continue his walk to the kitchen, but was stopped by a tug of his tunic.  

"Grandpa, does King Bern...Bernhart actually like the Emira or is he just afraid of her like everyone else seems to be. Does she have any friends Grandpa? I couldn't imagine living life without any friends. Is that why you go to different countries are you trying to find her a friend?" 

Hishaam let out a hearty laugh.