[center][h3]Vetros' Descent[/h3]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/vVKfCjO.png[/img]

[colour=f7941d][i]Level 7 Dormant-Goddess of Magic (Pacts)
[b]Might[/b]: 25
[b]Free Points[/b]: 9
[b]Concelmeant/Detection[/b]: 10[/i][/colour]

[color=0072bc][b]Vizier Ventus, Majordomo to Zephyrion, Most Supreme of All Djinn[/b]
Level 10 Hero
13 Khookies[/color]

[color=Tan][b]King Akthanos[/b]
Priest-King of the Firewind, Lord of Vetros, Sovereign of the Vetruvian Kingdom, Zephyrion's Prophet
Fifth Ruler of the Primurid Dynasty[/color]

[color=940099][b]Y'Qar[/b]
Scion of Vetros, Exile, Wanderer[/color]

[b]Shaqmar of the Sunlit Eyes[/b]
The [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i]
[/center]

Beauty mightn't have been his realm, but Zephyrion had always strived to achieve that precious state in all things. The Nature that he had helped to build was a virtuoso of its own right, and the Celestial Citadel was ever musical. One only had to listen.

A mighty gale pillowed through an open gale and down a spacious white hallway before it at last was met by a wall. The wind broke, but its breath was not gone: a draft echoed back to sing more of the dying wind's song.

In like manner, the words of his Master in their most recent quarrel still resonated within the Vizier's mind. [i]"So go, return to intervene directly with the mortals once again if ever you see fit. I implore you to see if it gives them any lasting benefit. In time you will see for yourself the truth in my words,"[/i] Zephyrion had promised, yet Ventus was not one to be so easily dissuaded. Now he descended from the alabaster turrets of the Celestial Citadel and down to the Firewind below, with nothing less than the intent of teaching mortal men the secrets of Nature herself.

It was his want to bestow upon the mortals...harmony. [i]Spirituality,[/i] a thing greater than raw and unearned power or purpose without meaning. That was the greatest gift that he could offer mortal men. Only the most meditative and serene could derive that enlightenment from their own hearts; to all others, it was as flighty and unattainable as soaring through the sky. In a way, Ventus was giving them wings.

Zephyrion might have held it that men were not meant to fly, but to the Vizier's mind it was a cruel sentiment indeed. What good were the heavens above if their sight could only ever taunt those bound to the earth?

Leaving his Master to brood in the spires above, Ventus skirted low to Galbar. He was a great wind billowing across  the Firewind's gleaming dunes. The sand eagerly joined him in his  flight, but destruction and storm were not what the windjinn sought to bring, so he stifled the forcefulness of his flight.

[center][h3][b]≈≈≈≈≈[/b][/h3][/center]

The sands rustled and shifted beneath the nomads' feet as they strode onward. Every step of his shamble a battle against the heat and his own fatigue, it was with relief that his band at last returned to the sanctity of the oasis. The one that led this band was the first to kneel before the cool waters. With weary hands he removed his headwrapping of white cloth. A wind rustled through his sweat-soaked hair just as the sand had rustled beneath his feet. In equally similar manner, this offered no respite; the scorching air that gave the Firewind its name meant that the wind could offer no refreshment.

Only the water could rejuvenate the weak and tired. Y'Qar plunged his head into the cool relief, then he cupped his hands and drank deeply. The other wanderers did likewise; some even stripped free from their white robes to bathe in the pool. Y'Qar, ever focussed, did not take such time to relax. He filled his waterskins, sat for a few moments to regain his strength, and then left to pace by the shores of the Firewind Resort in search of a spot to make their next camp. He found a small clearing near the waters, surrounded by palm and date trees. There would be the perfect place, with ample room and shelter from the harsh winds...

[i]Or so he had thought.[/i] It was just then that the trees began to sway and a wind suddenly broke forth from the small gaps in the treeline and into the clearing. Even with the trees to slow it, the gale still held enough force to knock up the sand and blow it into the youth's face. Y'Qar grimaced and pulled up a cloth facemask for protection. The wise men of Vetros said that this desert was a sacred paradise created by Master Zephyrion, the best place on this world, and the people believed such tales. Y'Qar, however, had wandered lands far beyond and witnessed places so fertile and green that it made these sandy wastes look dead, seen villages of strange bird-like beings that thrived off those green lands, felt winds that were cool to the skin...

It was hard to see such sights and maintain one's zeal. Y'Qar was hardly a godly man, for in his eyes the Master Zephyrion that condemned his people to live and die within this desert was more worthy of scorn than of praise.

Aye, and the seeds of that resentment had been sown long before! The youth had not always been a wanderer; he had a birth of great importance and privilege, and yet his purpose had been seized in its entirety by nature of primogeniture, another one of Zephyrion's accursed laws. Among his band of nomads were a diverse and many people: there were adventurers that wandered the world, merchants seeking profit, former outlaws seeking haven, Horse People that had been exiled from their tribes or separated from their warbands, but many a few were simply second sons. Y'Qar was one such second son, with his future stolen by an unworthy (yet elder!) brother. Whereas others were born onto a glorious path, it was for Y'Qar to blaze his own trail.

The wind moved in strange ways, buffeting the fronds of the nearby palms but leaving Y'Qar untouched, as if it were courteously keeping a respectful distance. When the vaporous visage of a djinn manifested itself before him, the youth was not surprised by its presence there; the signs had been telling. He [i]was[/i] taken aback by why it had chosen to appear before him in such a way and converse. It was rare for djinn to meaningfully go out of their way to interact with men.

[color=0072bc][b]"Before you is Vizier Ventus,"[/b][/color] the djinn lightly breathed, and Y'Qar felt that voice wash over him from all directions. Disconcerted, he realized that the face before him was but one facet of the expansive spiryt's mass. Its ethereal form was big enough to quite literally surround and engulf the entire clearing, perhaps.

Without thinking, the nomad responded in the way that men spoke to djinn in the tales and records of Vetros. The customary introduction went, "And this mortal was named Y'Qar."

[centre]
[hider=Stand for he with Abyss-Eyes]
[img]http://img11.deviantart.net/cf89/i/2015/348/b/8/bedouin_by_lazzzyv-d9k3loz.jpg[/img]
[/hider]
[i]This mortal, aye, this second son[/i][/centre]

The two found their gazes locked upon one another in silent contemplation. Y'Qar's face was one of youth but also hardship, skepticism, and...exhaustion, perhaps. The Djinni Lord's amorphous face betrayed little. Behind it was no roiling wind and raging storm; his being was the embodiment of calm, and that control over his own form demonstrated his power.

Of course, the nomad was no djinn and did not know such things. That name, 'Vizier Ventus', had a familiar ring to it, but whence his mind recalled memory of it he did not know. He could merely look on in captivation until that voice reverberated through him once more, [color=0072bc][b]"This leaf has been swept far from its branch. The desert sings with your heartbeat and the winds dance with your breath; you are of the tree of Primus. Have you lost your way?"[/b][/color]

"A wanderer is not always lost," came the Prince's answer as he stiffened; it had been many years since he had left Vetros, and so it was not oft that he was recognized. His name even eluded the speech of the Vetruvians now, and he was all but forgotten by all save kindred.

The djinn twisted its face into one that held a look of bemusement. He inquired, [color=0072bc][b]"Then what is it that this wanderer seeks?"[/b][/color]

"Glory. Fortune. Destiny," the Prince responded without a blink of hesitation.

[color=0072bc][b]"Is there no Glory in your name, Fortune in your birth, and Destiny in your home of sacred Vetros?"[/b][/color]

Scorn burned bright in the youth's eyes, as brazen as the sun.

"There be Glory only in the shade of another, Fortune at the mercy of others, Destiny to be forever beneath Heru - ah, my elder brother, undeserving and cruel as he may be, but nonetheless the lawful heir.

No; I am prince of only what I may claim for mine own: these far-flung sands, this lush oasis, these scattered people. Vetros no more, for I have abandoned it, and it done like to me."

Even embittered, Y'Qar left the impression of a great many things: eloquent, steadfast, and perhaps even noble and wise in his own strange way. The Vizier contemplated all this and ruminated upon those words for a pregnant pause, the playful eddies about his form brushing across his company.

To one so timeless as he, 'twas but only the blink of an eye. Yet for the mortal before him, the djinni had grown silent for an eternity. "Is your only course to billow before me and stare? I think our exchange over," Y'Qar finally spoke, a hint of contempt poisoning his tone.

The nomad turned his back upon the djinni lord and began to make his way back to his flock.

[color=0072bc][b]"No,"[/b][/color] the Vizir stated as though his command was law. A myriad of things swirled through the prince's eyes in that moment: confusion, derision, rage, perhaps curiosity. Before such emotion manifested as word or even refined thought, Ventus went on.

[color=0072bc][b]"Our exchange has merely begun. Your plight and your tale interest me, young one, so I offer you mine own,"[/b][/color] he continued. The scholar within Y'Qar was invoked, and at once the prince was a new man, or rather, perhaps an inquisitive youth; with childlike reverence he beheld the djinn anew and took in every word of his storyteller's vibrant voice.

[color=0072bc][b]"In the time before Time there reigned a great Void, a state of nothingness that yearned, nay, [i]begged[/i] for substance. It longed for Change but could not have it, for there was naught but a state of Oblivion so thorough that only the most divine of magics could conquer it, but alas, such magics were never capable of manifesting from nothing.

There finally came Creation from somewhere Else, and with it that divine energy poured into the void. Gods manifested, some from that same mysterious source where the divine magic was summoned whereas others simply exploded into existence for the first time as the magic coalesced.

But there was one great being that was born in its own way: so great was the Void's desire for Change that this longing came to life in the nurturing glow of the divines! From the amalgamation of magic and nothingness and a cry for Change there was formed Master Zephyrion, our noble and common lord, the Embodiment of Change, Master and Maker of Djinn, He Who is within All Things. Whereas the souls of other divines seeped in to this plane from gaps both wretched and heavenly, only Zephyrion was eternal and ever present, and so he alone claims the title of Supreme Being.

I begin with our Master's tale, for his is mine; it was from his own long breath that I was formed, and after me, all other djinn. I am eldest and eternal, for unlike the other Skylords it is not my role to maintain the cycle of nature and rule the winds; I must forever serve Zephyrion as Vizier.

The stars are my elder, but little else; I observed this world take shape, saw the birth of life, and even guided the Life-Goddess Slough as she walked these desolate lands and spawned from her own flesh all things living. I have seen the rise of men in these lands, and though their worship pleases Master Zephyrion he concerns himself with far greater things. In a way he recedes, higher and higher, ever farther detached from god, man, djinni, and earth alike. Serving as the Shepherd of the Faithful and Recepticle of Prayer now falls unto me; thus, I have descended to meet those that I would watch over.

It be my only wish that I teach men how to fly, that they soar e'er higher above and reach the heavens where their Master dwells. To bask in such divine warmth would make you whole, and so it must be done, but this is not something that I may force! By your own wings must you ascend, but by my guidance may you find the strength. So listen, Y'Qar the second son of Akthanos, and I shall tell you the world's secret lore."[/b][/color]

[center][h3][b]≈≈≈≈≈[/b][/h3][/center]

Broke merchants, transient criminals and beggars, paupers all. Those were all that made up the small crowd before the shaman now, and while he had come to speak with them, they had no worldly possessions to offer. No livestock or currency, for with it they would not be in the position that they were no in. No food, for if they had such things then thei own children would not be starving. This was of no import; even the poorest man could offer his time and his life, and it was precisely that which this stranger openly seeked.

Y'Qar needed a following, for though he had done as that djinn had willed and shared the secrets of shamanism with those other nomads of his camp, they had taken to the art as fled with it upon the wind. Many saw the gift as something of a second life; the chance to return to their villages and be welcomed as wise men, rather than spurned and turned away once more. Others had only been exiled by their own will, yet it was in the nature of those sorts to refine the new art in seclusion or perhaps wander the Holy Land to spread the teachings. In any case, they had not recognized Y'Qar for the great messiah and teacher that he had been to them, for the great scion that he was of all this land, nor for a man worth dedicating their futures to. No, the object of all their thanks and worship and eternal praise was not Y'Qar, but rather Ventus - that djinni lord that had taken the time to teach him all those things, yet then appeared before the rest of his following, if only briefly. In doing so he forced Y'Qar's hand - he could not have simply left without teaching the others, not once they knew. So he had been forced to stay and mentor them all, one by one, repeating the wisdom and lessons of the djinni lord. Y'Qar knew not whether those students of his were fools that took to the art painfully slow, or whether his own near-instant understanding had been the product of his own superiority or some such magic of Ventus. In either case, he wasted the better part of a year teaching those nomads, but he suffered through it nonetheless. He had hoped that they would remain as his following, growing only more loyal to him for having given them such power, and then he would be commander of a mighty force indeed - a man worthy of praise and glory and tale.

Yet for the reasons aforementioned, they had still scattered like so many grains of dust, and so be it. Rather than that man of greatness, Y'Qar remained [i]nothing[/i], and so he had muttered curses upon them all and then left without turning back. If they were to disperse like dirt, then they might as well be worth the dirt beneath his feet.

Here, he stood before a lot not so different from those nomads before, but now he would try a different approach.

"Witness," he proclaimed to the crowd of ragged men, women, and children, "my powers over the desert and the sands!"

After that, he made sesticulations and his face contorted as some primal utterances left his mouth. There were silent screams and mumbled words of some strange language that men could scarce do more than imitate, and the people looked on like a lunatic. But then, lo and behold, from the dry sand underfoot there burst forth a geyser of fresh and indescribably pure water. Beneath the noon, it reflected gold in the sunlight, and for people of the desert it was just that. When the wells grew dry, the rains scarce, and the Mahd receded, such pure water was a divine blessing.

They all rushed forward with cupped hands to drink from that geyser, and the taste of that water surpassed all expectation imaginable; it was like the sweetest honey, the most succulent fruit. And yet it was alive! With a start they all jumped back when the geyser itself twisted and warped into a humanoid form, its eyes meeting the shaman's only after glancing irritatedly over those that had tried to drink from its spray. It spoke in some strnge language, and the magical man before them answered it in kind. Whether he be begging or haggling or ordering the djinn they could not tell, but after some conversation the elemental nodded and then receded back into the depths of the sand, leaving that pool of water behind where it had first emerged.

Though the shaman seemed tired, his words nonetheless carried a new regality and authority behind them as he addressed the onlookers once again, "All this and more, I can do. And perhaps you could too, for I could teach you. You need only leave behind your lives here and follow me, swearing your loyalty to me."

Their eyes flickered back and forth. They owed their lyoalty only to the Priest-King in the great and faroff city of Vetros and to the Master above. Yet many of these people had never even laid eyes upon Vetros, and though there were fables of the King having great magic and performing similar miracles, none had ever witnessed such powers in person. This man before them [i]had[/i] demonstrated such power, and so all that awe and mystery that they attributed to the King fell upon this man, and he knew it. To them, he was a demigod. And because he stood before them and not the King, the choice was easy to make. Men always followed the kings and gods that they could see, believe, and touch. To a man, each of those homeless paupers knelt before him and swore their undying loyalty and promised to follow him to the sunset and beyond. When word spread, even some of the landed people that had lives and things that they would leave behind decided to follow Y'Qar. And so they went on to the next riverside village, and the one after that, and it was always the same.

He had managed to reach these remote villages before any of the other wandering shamans of his former nomad band had taught the arts of shamanism freely, and so to these people he was something out of myth, something they had never seen before. By simply tempting them with promises that he might eventually bestow upon them such powers, he had their undying loyalty. They would walk the blistering sands by his side and travel to the ends of the world for him, whereas those that he had actually shown the gift had become disillusioned and left. The Vizier Ventus had wanted Y'Qar to spread this wisdom and these gifts to all that he could, but do that he would not! There was far more to gain by hoarding such secrets to himself.

[center][h3][b]≈≈≈≈≈[/b][/h3][/center]

Shaqmar of the Sunlit Eyes was no philosopher. He was not known for his honeyed tongue - though it was honeyed! if but they knew - or for the depths of his mind - though it was deep! if but they could see. No, his tongue and his mind had long ago been eclipsed in the eyes of his people by the greatness of his frame and the width of his shoulders and the strength in each of his mighty arms. And though they, seeing the brightness and sharpness in them, named him for his eyes, it was the sharpness of his sword and its quickness that made his name known across the deserts and the plains; aye, that and his skill on the horse. Some heretics went so far as to say that when he first learned to ride, it was great God himself who came down - in the form of a horse - and challenged the young Shaqmar. And where none could tame the Eternal Sky, Shaqmar had wrestled the horse and gained its back, and gained the reins of power and authority over it. Aye, they claimed some wild things, some of them, but they were fools!

They heard, from afar, of the prowess and skill of a mere man and glorified him more than he deserved to be glorified. Before long they would declare him a god in his own right - and an own son of the Eternal Sky! By all things sacred, they were declaring one man or another a son of God every other week. But as it were, it was not Shaqmar's wit and tongue that gained him fame amongst his people, but his strength and skill with sword and horse. Even so, he had long known that neither strength nor great wit alone could get a man where he had gotten. To unite the disparate tribes of southern Rukbany under one banner, under one [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i], was not the result of pure physical strength - though that played a part - and it was not the result of pure wit - though that too played an important part. It was the result of both. Wit was like the back legs of a horse, and strength like the front legs, without both the great beast could not walk, let alone gallop. And that 
was the case with any man who was fated for glory - he had to have the means by which he could gallop! How many were those amongst men who thought themselves mighty and great when they were nothing more than legless horses? Too many, by God!

His great steed, Layl, took a few steps from side to side as he stood gazing across the glittering gold of the desert sands. Stroking the war beast’s lion-like mane, he whispered comforting words to it. It carried him on its back in life, and when he died it would go with him and he would ride it into the Eternal Sky and through the hallways of God's great palace and into his sublime court where sat all his illustrious ancestors. Aye, and Layl would carry him there.
The horse was a divine being. If you be one in search of all things beautiful, all things noble, all traits and characteristics sought by all who seek perfection; power and grace, elegance and strength, fearsome authority and unparalleled affability and dignity, supreme physical beauty and peerless spiritual splendour - look ye no further than the horse! Take for instance the foremost feature of the horse - its head. Look first into those onyx eyes which hold within them one thousand and one Rukbanian nights and numerous more tales. Look - aye, look! - to the shape and the natural kohl in those eyes, which would cause within the heart of the fairest maiden unbridled jealousy - Aye, even within the heart of his own wife Layla, who was amongst the women of God's land as the pearl to mud and sand. Stand a horse beside your wife, if you would subject the divine beast to such debasement - but let not Layla know that Shaqmar thought thus! -, and nine times out of ten you would be certain to glorify the beauty of the horse over that of the inferior human form. Why, if you be a maiden-warrior - and Layla was not, but still was she worthy of fear -, stand that same horse beside your husband or any of your co-wives (and Layla had no co-wives!), and ten times out of ten you would praise the God who created the horse for having created the perfect being. Look to the forehead of the horse, how it tapers ever so gently till it reach the nostril, and how in the finest of horses there is the most distinct upturned shape, as in the noses of the finest maidens. And look to the nostrils also. How can two holes on one's face ever look appealing, let alone beautiful? Go ask the God of the horse, for he has made it so!

Were you the most well-travelled of men, and had you seen all that the world had to offer and seen the delights and horrors of the mountainous north and the deserts of the south and the plains of the west and forests of the east, you would surely return crestfallen after a short while, having found on God's good earth no equal to the horse. And 'tis true, there are those foolish ones who are of the belief that the camel is a kind of horse whose beauty far surpasses that of conventional horses - but to them Shaqmar said: fools! What saw they in the lazy, goat-like chewing and lumpy form of the camel - and his toed foot - which caused him to surpass the horse in beauty and grace? There could be no comparison! Indeed, what could be said of those who, upon seeing a pearl like Layla, turned away and proclaimed the beauty of that star or that moon, or such and such a place at such and such a time? That was the example of those who preferred the camel over the horse, and Shaqmar merely used Layla here as an example - none could compare to the horse! Though let not beautiful Layla know, else the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] will not for long be! Indeed, were it not for the Eternal Sky, Shaqmar knew that he and all of Rukbany would have worshipped none other than the horse - but sanctified is the Eternal Sky! it sent down its Prophet and bid them worship none but it, and they were of those who obeyed.

[centre][hider=See with thine own eyes and judge]
[img]http://elelur.com/data_images/mammals/camel/camel-05.jpg[/img]
[i]Behold! a camel[/i]

[img]http://i.imgur.com/39vRxsa.jpg[/img][i]
Behold! a god[/i][/hider][/centre]

'There they are,' Shaqmar at last murmured to himself. For there, in the distance like a giant worm slithering swiftly across the desert, was a passing caravan of Vetruvians headed south. Though it was not the place of the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] himself to be leading such petty raids, it was custom. It was important to regularly hone the skills of the sons of Rukbany, and there was no better time to do so than during the hunting season. Even now hunting parties would be scouring the land for game deeper in Rukbanian territories, and elsewhere along the border with the Vetruvians hunting parties would be setting their eyes on bigger game as he did even now, and as did the eagle when it set its eyes on a wolf instead of a fox – indeed, Shaqmar’s eagle, Lalatai, had recently hunted its seventh wolf! It was only fitting that a lord of eagles like Lalatai should serve a lord of men like Shaqmar. Aye, it was custom to raid them during the hunting season and, which was more, one had to show those inferior heretics their weakness and the errors of their ways from time to time - for look at them, look how they build up great walled towns and cities, and plough the earth like fools, only to fall victim to those whose swords were sharper and steeds faster, and whose forms had been tempered by life in the desert and on the plains and upon the back of the horse. The Vetruvians believed themselves to be chosen of God, they believed that they had inherited the earth - but they realised very little that they only inherited the earth who were independent of it and self-sufficient! Just as he loved a woman who was ever independent of her and never let her for a second feel that he was overly in need of her. If only someone had told Shaqmar that before! for alas, he was, despite being master over all, a slave to Layla's wiles- but shush, lest the winds carry the silent thoughts to minds best kept unaware that Layla had robbed Shaqmar long ago of his heart and mind, so much so that he had proclaimed in the darkness and silence of the night, 'Oh Layla!- have mercy on those you have slain!' Aye, be quiet you ever thinking thinker whose mind is far away in another's arms.

'Come! Let the strong seize what the weak cannot protect; for that is the ultimate law of the world, the greatest force under our one, Eternal Sky,' and with that Shaqmar, some fifty horsemen at his back, led the assault on the hapless caravaneers. 

[centre]Layla has robbed me
Of my mind
I said: Oh Layla!
Have mercy on the slain[/centre]

On that night, in that tent, deep in the desert with his newly wed wife away from all other humans as was Rukban custom, he had poured forth his verses as the Mahd poured forth its life-giving waters. But with each verse that he poured out, life gushed forth into his soul, and with each sigh of desire love had nestled deep within and built a nest so firm that no great winds or storms could ever hope to unsettle it. And Layla sat across from him (though in truth, she was sat upon the aching chest of his feverish soul) as he poured forth his verses, her hair and eyes covered with an intricate [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/ed/83/88/ed83884eb0a9aa18bca234af28640fd8.jpg]headdress[/url], her bridal scarf draped around her neck and covering her bridal dress and upper body, and her eyes downturned.

[centre]'Torture with what you will, 
except distance! Ah! Distance from you
And torment with what you will, 
except severance! Ah! Severance from you
For you give life when you slay! Ah!-
Layla! Layla has robbed me
Of my mind
And so I said: Oh Layla! 
Oh! Oh Layla!
Have mercy on the slain.
Her love is concealed -
Stored in her depths.
Oh you there, you love-maddened one!
Rise you and lead the way
For indeed I am lost
And am ever her servant!
Ah me! Oh you! You mean man!
Wait up! Wait for me a while!
I stuck to the thresholds
And knocked upon the gate
And I said to the gatekeeper:
Do you see a union?
I said: Oh gatekeeper
You have lost your mind
For you deny lovers
From the love of Layla
He said to me: Oh Friend!
Her dowry is souls
How many lovers have gone
Enamoured of killers?
Oh you passionate one,
If you are sincere
Then this moment depart:
Your prize is arrival,'[/centre] and such was what gushed forth from his being at the time - but had he known what he now knew, and had he known the depths of his love for Layla, never would he have shown it. It was not that he feared it was not reciprocated, but he well knew that in this matter of love he was, as the Vetruvians, tied down and burdened by that which he most loved: for they loved the earth and so grew dependent on it, and so grew weak without it; and he loved Layla and had allowed himself to grow dependent on her, and so grew weak without her. And he realised also that his warmth and confession of unbridled love made it impossible thereafter to be cold towards her and distant. It became difficult to be the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] around her; he was her maddened Shaqmar and she the possessor of all he had given up to her willing and unwilling.

After he had exhausted himself utterly and dried his soul of all verses, he had fallen upon the furs and she had, after carefully removing her headdress, joined him. And in that state of supreme purity the newly-weds had fallen asleep. For it was considered forbidden among the Rukbans to consummate the marriage by engaging in physical intercourse on the first night. The first night was the night of spiritual intercourse; an intercourse of their everlasting, ever-living souls which - upon their falling asleep together - would rise up to the Eternal Sky together and be united there before their hallowed ancestors by God himself. And their union would be blessed, and their spiritual bonding completed. 

Unlike their Vetruvian cousins to the south, the Rukbans had no lengthy marriage process - it was a simple matter of the groom informing the bride's father and, given his acceptance, the marriage would go a head as soon as the respective clans could gather. It was what occurred after the marriage that was emphasised; the ritual of spiritual reunion on the first night, alone in a tent in the desert or on the great open grasslands, and the ritual of the hunt the next day. This was a simple matter of the new husband leaving the roundtent and hunting for food and bringing it to his wife. And the final ritual, on the second night, was the ritual of physical union. For just as the horse required its back legs and front legs to gallop, and just as great men required their wits and their strength, so too did any marriage require a spiritual and physical union to be perfected. But Shaqmar had broken the Law and had not gone through with the ritual, for Layla had wanted to simply lie together with him as they had done the night before. And who was that love-maddened Shaqmar to reject his Layla's command?

'I do not think,' she had whispered with a voice which, alone, was to him as the thousand and one herbs and drugs the witchdoctors claimed could bring one happiness and ultimate delight, 'that the God who created yesterday's experience would wish for us to experience anything less pure and pristine. Why drink from muddied waters when the source of the Mahd gushes before us that we may taste of it?''But what of our union and its completion?' he had asked, and she had turned to him and buried her face into his shoulder, and her muffled whisper reached his ears.
'And what unity after yesterday's unity does the lover's soul seek, Shaqmar?' he was silent and allowed himself to listen to the greetings each of their hearts sent the other.
‘The lover’s soul seeks nothing more, the lover’s flesh knocks at the door,’ he had muttered in response.

And that night, it was her who spoke. 
[centre]'The heart loves and the tearducts utter, 
The matter is unveiled and every organ does stutter
If I do conceal what I hide within my breast from the very ether
Then the paleness of my face - with love! - reveals
For your sake I have hidden my love from all that exists
And yet the tears expose what the tongue conceals...'[/centre] and so passed their second night, two nights as had rarely passed between them since - not because their love had waned, but because the tongue had since been forced to withhold its passions lest others should hear, and the heart in its stead conversed. Indeed, for all the years he and Layla had passed their days and nights together, never had they taken one another's ultimate purity. And Shaqmar would sometimes in exasperation say: 'But what is the clash of one purity with another but a greater and purer purity?' But despite his attempts to persuade her and his clear desire for a son and heir from her – ah! A son from Layla! -, she would never budge and they had not been able to leap together over that particular fire, though they had leapt together over many a flame every new year's eve as was custom. They jumped the flame and they beat the drums and they chased the evil spirits from themselves and from their camp and from their tribe and land, and they purified themselves with the flame, and all that was evil and of Y'Vahn in them was carried away into the Eternal Sky just as the smoke of the fire departed and left nothing behind but the purest light and hottest flame. And the people would play the [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/61/65/cb/6165cb038a8239746b575bc188231fd7.jpg]Igilir[/url] and sing traditional songs of all sorts. These were centuries-old traditions - they had been around even before the coming of the Prophet - but something new had come about in Shaqmar's own life, not many years before he had first lain eyes upon the beauty of Layla and known himself forever lost to her.

It happened one new year's eve as the drums were being beat and Shaqmar was preparing to leap over the fire for the seventh time that the winds calmed and the sands settled and all was still. So calm did it become that the flame died down and all would have been darkness were it not for the moons in the sky. And the witchdoctor Alqama had stepped forward, looking towards the skies and raising his walking stick into the air and beating his drum with it as he spoke.
'He comes! He comes!' he had shouted hysterically. And He - if it was He - did indeed come.

As Ventus descended, he fell lightly upon the clearing and a rush of wind kissed the faces of those gathered before him. Wordlessly, he drew the air about him like a cloak. The smoke that rose still from dead firepits was pulled into his breath and so gave him form for the eyes of men to see. The air churned slowly with Ventus' rhythmic breathing, but he controlled himself and did not manifest as some terrible and destructive vortex.
[color=0072bc][b]"Before you is Vizier Ventus,"[/b][/color] he spoke softly upon the breeze. Alqama gulped and brought his raised staff down and raised his drum-hand instead, in salute.
'Before you are the Azad, sons of Rukbany, sons of the Eternal Sky,' he brought his arm down and swept it sideways, gesturing to those who stood around him. Alqama once more gulped and stood there, slightly uncertain of what more to say. He had expected something more than a simple djinn, but that in itself was still something right? At this time, in this place - it had to be some kind of sign, even if a small one...
'What is our honour that a celestial son of God deems us worthy of his blessed presence on a blessed night like this, when the four great stars are aligned and the skies are as free of clouds as the head of a maiden is free of white? On a night when the innards of birds and the bowels of camels alike speak of great things coming our way, and the droppings of horses speak of a change in the fortunes of these humbled sons of Rukbany, and the seeds whisper in excitement upon being spat out, and the dried skull of the fox and the wolf both declare that victory is nigh.'

[color=0072bc][b]"I come bearing a great gift: wings that will let you soar,"[/b][/color] Ventus offered in answer to the witchdoctor. Alqama's eyes widened in excitement and he looked at those behind him before turning back to the Vizier and beating his drum expectantly.
[color=0072bc][b]"...for we djinn look unto men and see a people that walk without Sight and hear a people that speak without proper Voice. With such blessings, you will be at one with yourselves and in a grand communion with nature and the Master, as are we djinn."[/b][/color]
Alqama nodded slowly, looking at Ventus and wondering why he wasn't showing them these blessings. Was there some kind of process they had to go through? Did he have to say certain things maybe?
'Uh, that sounds...that sounds tremendous, my Lord Vizier Ventus. The Azad are your willing servants and loyal subjects, and shall treasure your blessings even as the new-born calf treasures its mother's milk,' saying this he looked behind him, nodding more to encourage himself than the others. Behind him, Shaqmar gave him a reproachful look - for Shaqmar, even then, refused to be enslaved. And yet such was his fate, and who could blame him when Layla was his slaver?

Alqama turned back to the Vizier, still nodding - if less enthusiastically than before.
[color=0072bc][b]"It is not something to be given by hand, nor explained by mouth, nor magically bestowed. You are the cocoon: it is already within. I only need help you find it."[/b][/color]
The golden mist of the Vizier's breath and the wind wrapped about his fingers flowed freely and found their way to Alqama and those others that were worthy of being the shamans to speak for their people. Knowledge of nature and spirituality was unlocked to their discovery; they needed only to look inwards and find that innate lore that they were born with.
[color=0072bc][b]"So I leave you with this final counsel: when the lonesome wind howls to you or whispers in your ear, speak back! When the flames of your pit fires roar, listen deeply. Hear and see all that is Nature, and you will learn the ways and tongues of the djinn, and in time perhaps you will look unto the shifting sands and see signs of the future ahead.

I go now to bring my gift to other tribes. Faretheewell, noble Azad,"[/b][/color] he finished. As the djinn's breath faded, so too did his form. Alqama stepped back and as the djinn disappeared, he raised his stick and drum-arm into the air and let loose his ululations and wildly beat his drum, and all others did likewise.
Shaqmar alone stood unmoving and unspeaking, the singular word and the briefest gaze of the djinn burning itself into his memory. Noble, it had said. And it had looked his way.

And noble he had indeed been, and noble had he proven himself. And with him the once weak Azad, who had been amongst the tribes of Rukbany laughing stocks and monuments to weakness and despair, rose to rule over all. Or at least all in southern Rukbany, for there were stubborn tribal confederations that resisted his power yet - such as the Ma'Erkoz in the north. But it would not be long before they too were brought low before his unconquerable destiny - they would come willing, and if they did not then the Eternal Sky would bring them against their will. They would fall before his undeniable, divinely granted nobility in one way or another. Ah, a noble slave who conquers and enslaves all! Was it not fitting that the greatest slaver of all should be slave to the weakest and most delicate of God's creations? Aye, it was most fitting indeed! Who was not in some way or another a slave, after all?

The raid over, Shaqmar sat upon Layl and watched as his riders gathered up the captives and the loot. The captives would be enslaved and sold off to passing merchants from strange and distant lands in exchange for other more useful goods, such as metal swords - after all, those of the Azad Confederation kept no slaves. It was not their way to do so and Shaqmar forbade it - keeping slaves endangered the lives of the vulnerable (who could trust a slave?) and endangered the purity of Rukbanian blood (there was always the danger that the weak heart would find within it something even for an inferior slave!)

Now, Shaqmar by no means differentiated between Rukbans and non-Rukbans, slaves or freemen, but there was no shame in wishing to preserve the purity of one's line from the blood of other peoples. Taking pride in one's culture and bloodline was only natural, and seeking to protect that did not mean to say that other peoples were truly 'inferior'. Inferiority was relative, after all. A Rukbanian man could on these deserts and plains be the greatest of men, and in the cities of Vetruvia the lowliest and most debased, despised by all. What woman would then wish to so much as approach him, let alone have his blood in the veins of her descendants? And likewise, the queens of Vetruvia could in their high castles lord over all and claim the purest and noblest blood, but what sane, dignified son of Rukbany would wish to have that self-same blood flowing in the hearts of his children? The matter was clear, no controversy was there in the inferiority and superiority of people, for the greatest of men were at the same time elsewhere the lowliest, and every man in his time is slave and slaver both.

With the newly captured slaves taken care of, and the caravan thoroughly looted, Shaqmar steered Layl away and rode with his men back into the desert. And as he rode his mind carried him to the last time he had spoken to Layla, when she had come to him as he stood beside Layl staring out to the horizon. And with none around to hear them, she had untied her tongue and let loose a little of what lay hidden in her heart.
'Shaqmar, I have come. It is I,' she had said, placing her two small hands on his back. But he had not turned to her in greeting, and merely continued staring into the skies, 'Shaqmar?'
At last he turned with a sigh, and moved away from her.
'Get thee away from me,' he had commanded her, 'for my love for you busies me from you,' and he had untied Layl from the tree and gotten upon the horse's back, and without a backward look had ridden away and was soon followed by his men. And he did not see the tears in his Layla's eyes, and he did not hear her lonely sighs and cries - for sometimes, it was the idea of Layla rather than Layla herself that occupied his mind and soul. After all, when souls love one another the physical body in which the soul is contained becomes irrelevant, and wherever one places their eyes they find there the eyes of Layla, and there her fragrance, and there her subtle sighs and there and there the shadows of her steps in the sand.

[centre]'Whenever you draw near, and your voice sings out, 
The fire in my heart blazes fiercely once more.
Union has done nothing but fuel my flames,
Thus is the plight of the lover!

Neither with my arrival do I take joy,
Nay, and nor with desertion can I forget.
There is no cure for this my passion,
So give up on both your mind and self!

I have thus surrendered and submitted my matter,
To this here passion in every meaning and sense.
Nothing remains for me but termination
Oh! it may be so that in love comes my end!

Indeed I am most content with death -
Thus is the plight of the lover -
Oh my love, upon your life!
Upon your life, my love!

Soften your heart a little and look at my state,
You are more aware than me of what is in me,
You are my disease, aye, and you are my cure,
So be merciful to me, oh witchdoctor!

If it pleases you that I should lie here and die,
Then make my killing (by your hand!) close at hand!
Indeed with arrival I must depart,
Thus is the plight of the lover!'[/centre]

One of his riders came alongside him and grinned at the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i].
'What is this that I hear? Do the Sunlit Eyes of Shaqmar find themselves blinded and his heart stolen?' Shaqmar turned his head towards Qaseer and laughed.
'Aye! For who can know the beauty of the Eternal Sky and not fall deaf, dumb, and blind to all other forms of beauty and love beside it?' Qaseer nodded with a stupefied look.
'Ah, yes yes, all praise the lovey dovey Eternal Sky and all that. You were saying earlier about the remaining rebels...what's the plan?'
'Rebels, son of my uncle?' Shaqmar asked, raising an eyebrow.
'Well yes, cousin, for they have rebelled against our just and well-deserved rule. Of the tribes of Rukbany, we the Azad have been chosen. And of the Azad, the clan of Irqa. And of Irqa, the line of Muharaq. And of Muharaq, the family of Buraq. And of the sons of Buraq, Shaqmar! And when I say they are rebels, it is true, for they have rebelled against the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] Shaqmar son of Buraq son of Muharaq son of Irqa son of Azad and refused to submit themselves to his justice. Why not call rebels rebels?'
'Cousin, they are not rebels who were never under our sovereignty to begin with, and enjoy supreme power in their lands and the obedience of many tribes and clans.'
'Aye, that may be so, but they are rebels who see that the very land beneath them submits to our sovereignty, yet remain unbowed.'
'They who live upon the land need not do as the land dictates - indeed, the land must do as they who are on it dictate. And so long as they are on it, it shall glorify their sovereignty, not ours.'
'Alright, alright. When will we at last break them, that is all I seek to know!' Qaseer finally snapped.
'It is not my intention to break anybody, cousin,' came Shaqmar's amused response. 
Qaseer gave Shaqmar a deathly stare, and the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] knew that the man's bald head was probably boiling red beneath his blue turban. He was a short stocky man, and as was the case with most short stocky men, he had a temper as short as a fair maiden's beard - that is to say, extraordinarily short. Be not fooled by the length of Qaseer's beard!- for there was little wisdom or patience behind those deep, pretty brown eyes; as each of the man's ten wives had swiftly learned subsequent to being wooed by the little devil! Aye, some fair maidens very quickly fall for the broad chest and silver tongue of a hot-headed demon - ere he flashes his sword and displays his prowess, the poor thing is all but panting with desire at his feet. Beware of devils, ye fair maidens; not all that shines with beauty shines all the way, and is it not said that the terrible beast Y'Vahn itself - which dwells on that dark moon Azmund-Y'Vahn - is viewed in the eyes of its slaves as the most beautiful of things? And he had a drop of divine wisdom who first realised that the eyes of mortal beings are the greatest of all liars, swiftly followed by that unseeing mortal heart!

'Shaqmar, you know what I mean. When will we launch our assault on them, when will I at last be able to sate my sword's thirst for Hunayra's blood?' Shaqmar rubbed his aching shoulder and shrugged.
'Your rivalry with Hunayra is no concern of mine, Qaseer. I will not launch a foolish assault on the Ma'Erkoz and their allies so that you can satisfy some whimsical desire to prove yourself against him. And truth be told, I am even less inclined to do so when I know that the only reason you wish to fight him is to get your hands on his wives, especially Arya. You will have me dishonour myself so, that all will say, "The [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] slew the Ma'Erkoz so that his cousin could get another woman"? Go pester someone else, you saucy boy,' Qaseer's face reddened significantly, and his eyes darkened. Without a word, he turned his steed away and joined a group of riders further back. 
Other than Shaqmar, none but Qulut - Qaseer's father and Shaqmar's uncle - could rein in the notoriously hot-headed Qaseer. He would be angry for a little while, that was true, but, as was always the case with Qaseer, he would soon forget. Left to his thoughts again, Shaqmar's eyes returned to the far horizon, and thoughts of Layla once more preoccupied his mind.

[centre]'And I have a countenance which, should torture lengthen,
Rises in yearning for she who tortures it.
And my eyes grew lost in the deserts of your eyes,
And my heart chose to dive in, and so sank.

And she lifted her veil so that her face shone,
Till the depths of the night awoke with morning's light;
The strikes of the sword in its sheath are no cause for fear, 
But the sword of your eyes is either way...keen!'

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lnxs_DMUDk&list=PLvsyUo3J6pFITq8a_JTvbvHMoJr6sDZLr&index=12]But there are blades[/url][/centre]

But there were blades that were equally keen - the sword of betrayal and its cousin the knife of treason. As their steeds rode the dunes, golden sand gave way to gold and green grasslands as far as the eye could see. Great rolling hills and wide plains merged into one another, forming a magnificent tapestry. Herds of horses could be spied making their way over the grass, and elsewhere riders with their yaks or goats or camels could also be seen. And dotted here or there was the odd roundtent or two.

[centre][hider=This is the Holy Land, for this is Home][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/9e/c0/17/9ec017960eb5996a217129f4572732d8.jpg[/img][/hider][/centre]

And as the hunting party came to the crest of a hill there came into view on the wide horizon an encampment with a stockade surrounding parts of it. It was not unusual for smoke to be drifting lazily from such temporary encampments, but Shaqmar felt that something was amiss and immediately reared Layl in. He looked with his sharp eyes towards his distant encampment, an ever-deepening frown growing on his face. It was burning.

[hider=Summary]
**Events involving Ventus take place just before Zephyrion's banishment, and long after the Ventus events concerning Vestec's Horde of Chaos and the stuff surrounding the Stand collab. The rest of the post is more ambiguous about its place in the timeline, but precedes the Realta invasion.

[center]~~~~SECTION ONE & TWO~~~~[/center]
Ventus sees fit to now offer men divine gifts as Zephyrion did, though unlike the god who gave them raw and unearned power, Ventus seeks to give them wisdom and a deeper spirituality. He goes first to the Firewind Resort, and there finds a camp of desert nomads.

Among these nomads is Y'Qar, son of Akthanos and brother to Heru, the kingdom's heir. In his partially self-imposed banishment, he has wandered the far wastes of the Firewind and on occasion even ventured beyond. Ventus encounters Y'Qar and they trade tales and eventually earn one another's favor. Thinking him worthy, Ventus decides to impart wisdom and power upon Y'Qar first.

He teaches Y'Qar how to speak with nature and in the strange tongues of spiryts, how to divine the future and past, and how to commune with djinn and implore their help. (-10 Khookies to create shamanism)

Y'Qar takes this knowledge and goes on another long journey, but this time with purpose. Ventus' forced his hand' in teaching the other nomads that he travelled with, and they all left him, so now Y'Qar defies Ventus' wish and zealously guards the secrets of shamanism from his new followers.

[center]~~~~SECTION THREE~~~~[/center]

Enter Shaqmar, the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] (Great Chief) of the Azad Confederation, a confederation of Rukbanian tribes located in the southern Golden Barrens aka Barrens of Rukbany.
He sits upon his great steed, called Layl, and is about to raid a Vetruvian caravan with his warriors.
He thinks about just how awesome horses are - damn, they're cool. Cooler than camels. Heck, if it weren't for God, he'd worship horses.
He thinks a lot about his wife, Layla. He is clearly quite deeply in love. Quite unhealthily so. Heck, if it weren't for God and horses, he'd worship her. He probably does anyway. Just a bit.

Flashback.
Shaqmar's marriage night.
We explore also the fire-leaping tradition.
On one such fire-leaping event, Ventus visits and blesses the Rukbans of Shaqmar's Azad tribe.
Shaqmar feels that Ventus has given him something of a secret message in his conversation with the witchdoctor Alqama; a message that he is noble and is destined for great things. And indeed, he turns out to be, for he eventually unites the tribes of southern Rukbany and becomes the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i].
Flasback end.

Qaseer, his cousin, comes and talks to him as they return from the raid on the caravan, and they discuss the possibility of attacking the last bastion of resistance to the Azad, the Ma'Erkoz and their allies. Shaqmar puts him down quite bluntly and gets back to thinking about Layla when Qaseer leaves him alone.
As they make their way back to their encampment, Shaqmar notices that there is a great amount of smoke rising up from the camp and realises it is burning
[/hider]
[hider=Khookie Usage]
-10 khookies from Ventus to create shamanism
+10 khookies because if this post isn't long I don't know what is
13 khookies remain
[/hider]