[centre][img]http://i.imgur.com/p2mnJ9x.png[/img][/centre]

[centre][hider=Summary]

Fikra, the Bato-Elyd Patriarch-to-be, is a very scary, unsmiling kinda guy
He's quite smart too and wants to heal the divide between Bato-Elyds and Eliads
How can such a thing be done, you ask? Marriage of course! Marriage solves everything, it makes the world go round, it brings people together and creates much love! Ye. (Is it just me or has this been a theme in my recent posts? Oh wait, you guys haven't even seen the CyKhollab yet.)

He goes to the old, dying Eliad Patriarch, Peral, and asks for his daughter's hand in marriage.
He's like: No, you monstrous man
Fikra's like: you'll die soon anyway then I'll ask her direct.

A few days later, it turns out Peral has decided to marry his daughter off quickly to her cousin or something
Fikra gets annoyed - but it doesn't show on his face as he always looks deathly serious. He goes and stares at them as everyone is congratulating the girl on her betrothal. He has one scary stare and everyone nearly poops themselves, but he leaves them. They still pee themselves a little even when he's gone.

His old, funny, weird aunt (her name's Ely btw) comes and talks with him and she's like: you act like you're alone, I talked with these two old ladies and they're gonna solve everything.
It actually happens.
Fikra's like: Well, shet. That was easier than expected.
He goes and talks with the guy who was gonna marry the girl who Fikra wanted to marry (his name is somewhere in the post, Iybar or something).
They're like: we cool bro, right? They are indeed.

Then a meeting takes place! Everyone is like: Lets go kill Peral for insulting you bro.
Fikra's like: Nah blad, world peace, peace out, nuclear disarmament ftw.
The classic big guy, Chief Fentig, isn't having any of it and tells him we need to kill stuff.
Ely is like: Bro, you're an oaf.
Fentig's like: This woman knows me! 
Then he reads a poem and says he'll sell it. 
Ely speaks for everyone: You're a terrible poet blad, no one will ever sell it.
Fentig is like: But you're a crone.
Fikra rolls his eyes, facewalls, and leaves.

[hider=Who supports 'em Bato-Elyds anyway?]Mentioned non-Eskanadran supporters of the Bato-Elyds:

[list][*] Sariqids of Qari'Ab [insincere supporters, controlling, manipulative]
[*] Gulawids of Qari'Ab [indifferent supporters, opportunistic]
[*] Agirawids of Qari'Ab [well-meaning supporters, controlling, paternalistic]
[/list]

Eskanadran supporters of the Bato-Elyds:
[list][*] The Meliwids of Qari'Maki [stalwart supporters]
[*] The Garids of Qari'Maki [following the Orifid uprising and Kaelin's role in it, the Eliad supporting faction of the Garids converted to the Bato-Elyd cause, powerful and stalwart supporters]
[*] The Amarids of Qari'Ab [immigrated from Eni-Elia with the Bato-Elyds, stalwart supporters]
[*] The Alawid of Qari'Ala [moderate supporters]
[*] Damids of Qari'Derk [stalwart supporters]
[*] Radids of Eni-Elia [fanatical supporters][/list][/hider]

[/hider][/centre]

[i]Year: 232 P[/i]

Fikra son of Ka'al, of the town of Qari'Ab, of the tribe of Eskandar, the Lato-Marid, was in all ways a most serious and austere man. His face, beneath his red-brown beard, was grim and forbidding, and his eyes held within them a certain severity rarely found in the living - aye, only the stern, unliving eyes of marble statues could muster such silent yet relentless censure. Add to that his imposing form and in all ways handsome features, and his penchant for dignified silence and traditional insistence on keeping up appearances in public, and he struck all who laid eyes upon him as enigmatic and closer to divinity than he was to man. Whenever his striking form emerged from his impressive mud-brick house, with its earthen plaster finish, all eyes turned upon him in awe and admiration. And when Fikra walked, he walked upright and dignity gushed from him and the very earth upon which he trod seemed saturated with it.

But Fikra was not merely a man who took pride in appearing grand to onlookers - though he felt that one's appearance in public was of much importance in order to avoid bringing dishonour upon oneself - for he was, above all appearances, an esteemed and leading elder amongst the people of Qari'Ab, and was also a scholar whose name was whispered even in the most remote villages in the Realm. Aye, and many were the pursuers of knowledge, coming from afar or nigh around, who sat upon the threshold of his home and waited upon the eminent scholar to rain upon them some drops of the wisdom hiding behind his scathing gaze. And what was more, the sanctified blood of the Prophet-Patriarch ran through his veins, being of the line of the tragic [i]Durghal[/i] through his daughter, the Matriarch-Superior [i]Nafzakia[/i].

Yet there was more to Fikra than even all that. For, being descended of the [i]Durghal[/i] and the [i]Nafzakia[/i], he was considered by a considerable body of the faithful as being the rightful Patriarch. After all, they argued, the [i]Durghal[/i] would have inherited the Patriarchate had he not been struck down in error, and the fact of his premature death did not preclude his ascension to the Patriarchate. It was simply the [i]Durghal's[/i] own heir who now had a right to the Patriarchate, and that was the [i]Nafzakia[/i]. And so, the entire dispute over to whom the Patriarchate should go, which took place following the Prophet-Patriarch's death, was wholly unfounded and was an instance of disobedience to the Prophet-Patriarch's command. And so Fikra was not merely an altogether impressive person, and he was not merely an elder and a scholar, but by many he was considered the rightful Patriarch, and not the Orifid Matriarch Inar at Darofid.

Over the centuries, there had been a long dispute between those who considered the line of the [i]Shohiqam[/i] to be the rightful Patriarchs and those who considered the line of the [i]Durghal[/i] through the [i]Nafzakia[/i] to be. The theological debate had created much division and hostility and had at times even broken out into bloodshed. And at times, they had been able to put aside their differences and rise up together in revolt against one Palowid Patriarch or another.

Fikra, incensed by the narrow-mindedness of his alleged followers and all too aware of what they had done to the [i]Shohiqam[/i] and [i]Nafzakia[/i] and many other Patriarchs and Matriarchs since, resolved to bring all his power and influence to bear and once and for all heal the rift. Gathering other prominent members of the Bato-Elyd line upon the death of his father and his ascension to the Patriarchate, he told them of his grievances and his resolution to bring about an end to the division and hostility during his time.

'And it is clear to me that the Moon-Mother has chosen to ease for us our undertaking, for the Eliad Patriarch Peral is aged and is already preparing for his union with the Moon-Mother, and his heir is his daughter Fihriyi, his only child. And I have determined to seek her hand in marriage - she a Patriarch-to-be and I a Patriarch, and so we unite the titles by our marriage, and forever through our heirs.'

Receiving the agreement of his two uncles, Qarish and Mobad, and his three aunts; Ely, Elia, and Riya, and his two younger brothers also, Bato and Liskanda, Fikra sent a messenger to the abode of Peral requesting the esteemed elder give him permission to visit on the morrow. And, despite his quickly failing health, Peral accepted.
Peral had been, in his youth, hot-headed and of extreme hostility to the Bato-Elyds, but age had tempered his hostility and experience had given him wisdom and foresight. Indeed, in his time he had overseen an unprecedented rise in tensions between the two lines, to the extent that neither Peral nor Fikra's father, Ka'al, could safely walk alone in Qari'Ab. And Peral had, in his old age, become increasingly repentant of having encouraged the hostility, and attempted to reach out. And Ka'al had not been unwilling to reach back, though anger amongst his own followers prevented him from doing so as much as he would have liked. Indeed, Ka'al had been a gentle and rather timid man, lacking the charisma and determination of a true leader. He was a worshipper and a mystic and a man of monumental knowledge, but he was not the man for confrontations or crises. He could not cut with a decision and have it enforced. He could not instil in his followers sufficient apprehension and respect that they would do as he commanded despite their own feelings on a matter. The steely-eyed Fikra could not be more different than his father.

Walking in upon the sickly Peral, who lay on a bed on the floor, Fikra saluted him and sent praise upon the Moon-Mother and the Prophet-Patriarch and their sanctified forefathers, and he wished the old man a swift recovery, which caused Peral to chuckle somewhat.
'This is the sickness from which there is no recovery,' he managed.
'Aye, the flesh may not recover, grandfather, but it is the soul which will at last recover, having rid itself of the greatest disease of all. And is not unity with the Moon-Mother the greatest of all recoveries?'
'It is indeed, a recovery after which are no more illnesses or pains or griefs,' the old man gestured for Fikra to come closer and sit by the bed, and the young man did so. And then the old man spoke, 'tell me, you noble son of my fathers, what is it that brings you here? It cannot purely be pity for a wretched old man.'
'Neither wretched nor old, grandfather. The soul is ever-young and you, either way, blessed,' came the young man's response.
'Rid us of these formalities,' came the old man's weakening voice, 'and cut to the heart of the matter, for you are known as a straightforward man, Fikra.'
'I have come, grandfather, to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage,' Fikra said shortly. The old man's eyes widened somewhat and he looked at Fikra for a few seconds.
'They say many things about you Fikra, but you are neither known for jests nor for madness, so I fear my ears have failed me. Can you say that again,' Fikra looked into the eyes of the old man and spoke once more. Certain that he had not misheard, the old man gave a small shout of anger and disbelief.
'You...what schemes! You hard-eyed devil, what schemes hide behind those deathly eyes of yours? My daughter? You would have me place Fihriyi in your hands - hands? Let me see those, are they hands or are they claws?' and he reached for one of Fikra's hands and raised it up so as to see it better, 'hands of stone and claws of sharpened teeth! You would have me place Fihriyi in these?'
Fikra was silent throughout the old man's reaction, but as he quietened and seemed to relax somewhat, the young man spoke.
'Grandfather, if they be claws that you see, then know that these claws will ne'er be raised against our own. Let me unite with her. Let the divisions which have scarred our communities at last come to an end.'
'Not...not...' the old man struggled to keep his eyes open, 'while I yet l...' and he was quiet. It seemed that the meeting had proved too much for his limited energy reserves. And it was clear that he was old and stubborn and would not agree. Fikra stood and turned to leave, but halted when he saw there by the door an unmistakably feminine form. He took a few steps forward, and his cold eyes met the strong - yet indefinitely warm - ones of Fihriyi. She seemed to shrink ever so slightly beneath the intensity and severity of his gaze - perhaps the fact that they were such a light brown that they were closer to yellow added to their intensity. Wordlessly, he swept past her and made his way back home. He would just have to wait on the old man to return to his creator and then ask the woman directly.

A few days later, as Fikra sat with four of his disciples in the grand temple-shrine where the Prophet-Patriarch was buried, a caller came by announcing to the people of Qari'Ab that Fihriyi was to be married in two days to her cousin, Iybar, and that all were invited to congratulate the bride and her family tonight, and to the auspicious occasion itself. Fikra's ever deadpan face remained so, and his hard gaze grew no harder than it already was - for he held it always at its utmost intensity, and so shocks could never cause him to look stonier than he always did. Rejecting a marriage proposal from a respectable individual whose status was second only to that of Peral himself was insult enough, but to then marry off Fihriyi to a man so far below Fikra's status was akin to an assault on his person. He had not thought Peral yet so unwise as to stoke the fires of unrest and further strife between the rival Patriarchates. 

'Qarqaz, is everything alright?' one of his disciples asked after their mentor's silence had grown longer than usual. Fikra glanced at him and nodded.
'Yes. As I was saying, one must understand that faith is not a simplistic concept, but is multifaceted and multilayered. Purely acknowledging the existence of the Moon-Mother and accepting the Prophet-Patriarch as Her chosen and blessed word and Law is only the first layer of faith. And there are some who say that it is the least of them, but to say that is not correct. For each layer builds upon the one before it, and one cannot reach the pinnacle of faith without having first established its foundational layer. 
And I have seen in some of the books of past scholars that "faith" is often conflated with "trust". They are entirely different conceptions and I want to emphasise that before anything else. And it is also important to distinguish faith as "belief" and faith as a state of being. Faith as state of being fluctuates - one can be in a state of supreme faith at one point, and in a poor state at another. Faith as belief, however, exists whether one is in a state of supreme faith or not - a fluctuating state of faith does not cause one to lose belief in the Moon-Mother. These are complex, and much of the time they will overlap. But keep the distinction in mind as I speak.

'So, the first layer is to believe in one's heart in the Moon-Mother and to proclaim Her glory, and in Her blessed Prophet-Patriarch and his chosenness. And one must believe that with conviction, and one must proclaim that, and one must live it. The truth of belief is evidenced through action - thus, one who has achieved this first layer will also follow the Law as told by the Moon-Mother through the Prophet-Patriarch, would visit the shrine of the Prophet-Patriarch and salute him, and would in all ways ensure that the faith is a living part of one's life.
The next layer of faith is intellectual. One must ponder and one must question and one must read the sayings and histories of our blessed forefathers. And one must, in their heart, be amazed and terrified of the Moon-Mother. For faith can exist without intellectual understanding - a shallow and weak faith, but faith nonetheless -, but intellectual understanding and knowledge create a deeper and stronger faith. Thus knowledge leads to greater faith, and greater faith leads to greater effort in worship and greater desire to please the Moon-Mother. And greater knowledge leads also to greater love and fear - a love tinged with awe and fear, and a fear pouring with love. And when one says fear, 'tis not a fear of the Moon-Mother's wrath - though she can indeed be most wrathful - but a fear that one's ignorance and shortcomings will mean that She will not love one back and will not allow one to be in Her presence upon death. What is more painful for a lover, and what do they fear most of all, than to be ignored and condemned by the beloved? And we will come back to this in a little while.

The third layer of faith is to...' and for a good hour or so, Fikra spoke on the layers of faith, and how one must take active and consistent measures to ensure one moves ever upwards through the layers.

Once the day's discussion was complete, Fikra rose and went to the shrine of his ancient grandfather, and he sent praises upon him and whispered a prayer before taking his wooden walking stick and departing. It was a stick that had been passed down from one Bato-Elyd Patriarch to another, and it was said that this stick had been the [i]Durghal's[/i] spear before he was elevated by the Prophet-Patriarch and given a different one. It was made by the [i]Durghal[/i] during his ritual of passage from childhood to manhood, a ritual which was as important to all the faithful today as it had been all those centuries ago. But the stone tip had at some point in the past broken off, and all that was left was the wooden shaft. 

The holy town, despite it being late in the afternoon, was alive after the earlier announcement, and people were streaming through the roads towards Peral's home. And yet, despite the congested roads, all parted before Fikra, muttering in reverence as they moved out of his way and looking upon him in awe and fear. He came to a halt at last not too far away from the entrance to the old man's home, and looked upon the husk that stood there, before him a flood which unceasingly reached for his hand and kissed it. Wave after wave surged forward towards the ancient hand, kissing it in respect and praising him and congratulating him on the happy occasion. His antique head rose and squinting old eyes met frigid youthful ones. And Patriarch gazed upon Patriarch as the tide of people ebbed and flowed around them. Fikra did not even look at Fihriyi who stood beside her father, or at her husband-to-be who stood beside her.

The stare-off did not go unnoticed, however. When the giants of Qari'Abian society stood glowering at one another, people tended to notice. And the flow came to a halt and a hushed silence came about.
'Have you come to stand and glare at us, Fikra, or will you congratulate our daughter as the people do?' Peral at last asked. But there came no response from the young Patriarch. At last, his gaze turned upon Fihriyi who met it unflinchingly. Fikra took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to think better of it and at the last moment changed his mind. Without a word, he turned and departed as silently as he had come, and the gathered and immovable sea of people parted before him and his walking stick.

Even when he was out of sight, there remained a deathly silence. Peral gulped and looked around at the shaken people, and then at his daughter, whose anxiety could barely be hidden, and at his nephew, who was not only anxious but quite visibly terrified. What dread face did Fikra have and what dread gaze! If horror were to manifest, it would take the shape of his eyes, and if terror were to choose a temporal form, it would be his towering frame! His very presence struck at the hearts of all onlookers, and his deathly gaze could not be at all good for an observer's health. Peral at last gestured for the people to continue, and the surge once more gained some life, though their overwhelming joy was now tempered by a trepidation that was not there before.

Arriving home, Fikra was met by his Ikarian slaveboy, Augalo. He handed the young slave the walking stick and removed his distinctive [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/e6/82/38/e6823872b1d4a60882adbc42cdf3ee06.jpg]red cloak[/url] which he then also handed to Augalo. Beneath the cloak, he was dressed in the traditional '[url=http://i.imgur.com/ik1NNwU.jpg]kop[/url]' worn by both men and women in Qari'Ab and many of the other towns and villages in the region. He removed the iconic '[url=https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/1e/Wassilij_Wassiljewitsch_Wereschtschagin_001.jpg/800px-Wassilij_Wassiljewitsch_Wereschtschagin_001.jpg]kapak[/url]' hat, another item which immediately identified one as being from Qari'Ab or the surrounding region. Fikra's own, like that of other chiefs and elders, was distinguished by the long piece of cloth that was repeatedly wrapped around its base. This variation was known as the [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/02/72/f4/0272f4da76f9c8a5aefa4fddf4c06f74.jpg]kapakel[/url].

The main reception room into which Fikra eventually walked was the largest in the house. An impressive square room, the walls were of earthen plaster, like the exterior. But rather than the brown of the exterior, the interior was white. On the floor, pressed against the walls in a square, were [url=http://austria-forum.org/attach/Geography/Asia/United_Arab_Emirates/Pictures/Hatta/Heritage_Village_of_Hatta_Majlis/B010_Majlis_Heritage_Village_Hatta_Majlis_Heritage_Village_Hatta.jpg]the seating arrangements[/url]. Here were guests hosted and meetings of the Qari'Ab council of elders sometimes held. When disputes arose and the disputing parties wished for Fikra to judge between them, he would judge between them here, and sometimes elders from other villages and towns came to visit, and Fikra had the honour of hosting them on behalf of his father and the town - and this all long before he ever became Patriarch, so greatly was he esteemed! Augalo had a duty to clean it daily and ensure that it was always prepared in case of any guests.

But there were no guests today, and Fikra sat down in the room on his own, brooding on this matter of Fihriyi. He was certain that his display just now had further damaged relations, but the insult Peral had intended had damaged them even more. A stubborn old man without the courage to end the division in the community and religion. They prospered on division and on the weakness of the faithful - and for what? For ranks of honour and the ability to claim that they had a direct link to the Moon-Mother? That they were more or less Prophets of the Moon-Mother while they lived? It was as frustrating for Fikra as it was ridiculous.
'Master,' Augalo's voice wrenched him from his revery, and he looked up, 'your blessed aunt, Ely, wishes to have an audience with you.'
Fikra nodded and signalled for him to allow her in immediately. He rose to his feet as the eldest of his father's siblings entered, and he took her hand and kissed it in respect, before accompanying her to her chosen seat and seating himself beside her. The old woman looked at her nephew and smiled her familiar wrinkled smile.
'How are you Fikra?' she asked, 'is all well?'
The young man nodded and assured her that all was well and that she did not need to worry about anything.
'Why are you in such a rush?' he asked, 'do you think Fihriyi will fly away?'
'Has she not already?' he asked.
'Don't rush, Fikra. You are of sharp wit, but you must not by hasty. Sit back and think on the matter, and with the Moon-Mother's aid you will come upon a solution to all issues,' Fikra was silent at her words, then looked at her.
'What do you recommend I do, beloved aunt? I see her slip away before my eyes and with her all the peace I would have for the people,' Ely smiled at his words and shook her head.
'Fikra, you are not alone. You have us all behind you, and many loyal followers. You forget that,' Fikra nodded guiltily. He tended to look upon these "followers" with suspicion. He knew very well what kind of followers they were. As his father had once so poignantly said, 'when one has companions such as these, who has need for foes or enemies?'
'I have spoken long with Fihriyi's aunts, Malha and Hela. And though we three are life-long friends, they were initially very hostile to the very idea of having their niece marry you. But I persisted and they seem to have been swayed. And they promised me to speak with Peral on the matter as well as Fihriyi, and even that boy Iybar to have him put an end to this marriage,' Fikra looked up in surprise at her words, 'and this you might not know, but the words of Malha and Hela are of strength and weight among the Eliads.'

And his aunt's words proved true - for the very next day, just when the sun had attained its zenith, a caller came out and announced that the betrothal had been annulled and the marriage cancelled at the behest of the groom. And Fikra made it his priority to visit Iybar that very day and spoke with him.
'I had no wish, son of my esteemed and honoured ancestor, to come between you and any woman,' Fikra was saying, 'but I only had the interest of our communities at heart, nothing more than that and nothing less. I know not whether you have any feelings for Fihriyi, or whether she has any for you, but it is my utmost belief that we are at a juncture where the emotions of people must at last give way before the direst need of the people.'
'I understand well all that you say, Qarqaz,' Iybar said, 'and though Fihriyi is a woman for whom a man such as I would fight long and hard, there is no fight if 'tis a matter of the wellbeing of all those who hold to the faith.'
And with that understanding between them, Fikra departed and returned to his abode. And that afternoon, his aunts and uncles and siblings came, and the rest of the Bato-Elyd clan, and along with them leading figures who professed their support for the Bato-Elyd Patriarchate and were of their so-called followers and partisans. As convention demanded that Fikra wait a month after his father's passing before assuming the Patriarchate, none of these followers had yet come to recognise him as their Patriarch and pledge allegiance, but for many it was seen as a simple formality.

'The word in Qari'Ab is that you have your eyes upon Fihriyi, honoured son of Prophets and Patriarchs,' Arkoz was saying. He was the chieftain of the Sariq clan, Karkids who had accepted the faith and immigrated to Qari'Ab some hundred years ago, and who had become amongst the most notorious of followers of the Bato-Elyds over time. Indeed, they had in the past held Patriarchs more or less hostage and increased their own influence through the manipulation of the sanctified figurehead. Fikra knew well that Arkoz had long been a strongman during his father's Patriarchate, and that he had a long-time rivalry with other leading partisans - most notably the Gula clan chief, Sarat, and the Agira clan chief Fentig. It was true that he was to soon become Patriarch by name, but seizing the true authority that came with the name was going to be an altogether different story. His intended marriage with Fihriyi was going to be another way to sideline these hypocrites.

Along with these was the chieftain of the Serid Amarid clan, Molfri. And they were considered of the sincere and stalwart Bato-Elyd supporters. Of the six Eskanadran clans which were known Bato-Elyd supporters, only the Amarids dwelled in Qari'Ab. The Meliwids and Garids, both stalwart supporters, were in distant Qari'Maki, and the Damids, stalwarts also, in distant Qari'Derk. The Radids, who were blindly fanatical supporters, had remained in Eni-Elia and the moderately supportive Alawids in Qari'Ala. And there were many other smaller clans elsewhere, and people who had no tribe or clan of their own. In a month, they would all flock to Qari'Ab to give their pledge of allegiance. And the Orifids would increase their military presence, as they always did, and would ensure that the whole thing is over within the week.

'I have my eyes on one thing only, Chief Arkoz, and that is the well-being of the people,' came Fikra's glacial response. Arkoz's smile seemed to freeze in his eyes, and the slightest shiver ran down his spine. He quickly looked away from the seated Patriarch.
'A-and was there any doubt about that, honoured son of Patriarchs? The meaning in our words was nothing less than what you say,' he looked around, maintaining an easy smile despite slightest hint of anxiety in his eyes.
'And how many have died over claims and counter-claims over what was meant and not said, and said but not meant,' it was more of a statement than a question, but the massive Fentig responded.
'Too many, by the Moon-Mother!' and a general murmur of agreement rose in the room before all quieted down again and Fentig continued in his booming voice, 'honoured son of Patriarchs, we have all learned of the severe insult dealt you by that...that...[i]poltroonish[/i] Peral. Were you to make it known that you wished it, we would this moment rise and smite him and all his heretical followers!' a louder murmur rose up at this, in support and opposition to the Agirawid chief's position. Fikra raised a hand and silence fell almost immediately.

'Your zeal is commendable, chief Fentig. 'Tis good to know that we have such a mighty ally in yo-'
'Slave, son of Patriarchs. A lowly slave I am, nothing more,' Fentig interjected. Fikra continued smoothly.
'It is good that we have that in you. But my only wish, if knowing it is the reason you have all insisted to gather here today, is that peace should prevail between our beloved Eliad cousins and we. Let there be no bloodshed, no abuse, no animosity whatsoever.'

There were a few moments of silence at this, and Fentig could be seen to be frowning rather deeply. The Gulawid chief, Sarat, took this chance to speak up.
'I could not have said it better myself. We need peace and...' he paused mid-sentence, seemingly searching for a logical end to his sentence, 'and all that,' he finally said, nodding his head while gesturing upwards and rotating his wrist quickly as he said it.
'But, honoured son of Patriarchs, they have insulted you most severely. Justice demands vengeance, does it not?' Arkoz was now saying.
'Justice demands it! Courage demands it! Honour and dignity demand it!' Fentig's voice boomed.
'Lower your voice in the presence of the son of Patriarchs, Fentig,' Molfri said with barely restrained anger. The Amarid chief had been sitting in silence and watching the other three and had finally found himself unable to remain silent. Fentig was about to respond, but Fikra interjected.
'It is no issue, Chief Molfri, no issue,' and next to Fikra, his aunt Ely turned her ancient head and gave Molfri [url=http://cdnpix.com/show/imgs/aa076886f7d265cf6e1850de38774199.jpg]a squinty smile[/url]. Fentig turned from glowering at the Amarid chief and spoke once more.

'Why do you not command us to take revenge on those who have treated you with such wickedness, honoured son of Patriarchs?' he asked, his booming voice sounding less harshly and loudly than before.
'And is it considered wise for one to bite the dog that bites him, Chief Fentig?'
'Chief Fentig would hit a rock for staying put when he bid it go, and would punch the rain for irritating him!' Ely suddenly laughed, and the previously-fuming Fentig broke out into laughter too.
'That I would! The woman knows me too well!' and thereafter the gathering descended into one of tales and jokes. At one point, Fentig rose and delivered one of his moving poems (for it was terrible enough to move all who heard to weep). He declared that he was going to the Word Market on the morrow and was going to sell it for a small fortune. Old Ely did not spare him.

'If you get anywhere near the Word Market with that, Morin the Market-Keeper will have you flayed. I've told you a thousand times, you're an oaf not a poet,' and Fentig waved his hand at her dismissively.
'You've no appreciation for good poetry, you've grown into a senile old crone. But worry not, once I sell this poem, I'll be rich enough to convince some poor slave to marry you! You can thank me later,' and having silently sat through the rather infantile affair for a good half hour, Fikra eventually got up wordlessly and left the gathering.