[hr] [centre][h2]A Letter in the Night[/h2] [img]https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/022/159/813/large/liu-qing-render1-6-s.jpg?1574329640[/img] [/centre] [b]Time:[/b] [i]17th of March, 634 AC (4907 YDC) - 02:11 in the night.[/i] [b]Location:[/b] [i]Amshadr, the Red City - the Red Gates.[/i] [hr] Oil braziers flared on the battlements of the Red Gates. Arquebusiers of the city watch flowed lethargically from tower to tower, the vibrant city life finally crawling away from the night markets and back into the cracks and crevices below loosely referred to as streets. The city was rarely quiet, but for a few hours when the night was darkest, its citizens could enjoy a warming, soothing taste of absolute peace. Tonight, however, the guards were not granted any such tranquility. Down by the gate, Ali Sahed, a barrel of a man clad in the pompous, cumbersome uniform of the city watch, supporting his snoring body on his trusty arquebus, was suddenly awoken in a start by the approach of cloven feet. The rhythm told him it had to be a camel, soft pads slapping against the floor of Sentinel Bridge over the Nahr before the gate. The rider soon appeared as a shadow among dimming braziers - robed and turbaned, hunched and bobbing with exhaustion. Ali blinked and followed standard procedure, picking up his arquebus and holding it ready, though not pointing it the stranger. He spoke, “Who goes there?!” and watched the stranger raise a quivering hand. “Peace of Aziz upon you - don’t shoot! I bring news from the north - news for His Leadership, sheikh Said!” By now, the guards atop the wall had noticed, too, and standard procedure was followed there, too, guns peeking over the battlements at the approaching stranger. Ali frowned. “That’s very good, sir. Hand over the message and we will have it delivered to the stewards by tomorrow.” The courier slowed his camel’s approach and brought it into the light. The brazier illuminated a red-dusted face with an unkempt black froth of a beard. His hands were blistered from the reins and his eyes were crusted with sand. Even though he had ridden, he panted as though he had ran the distance himself. He shook his head. “Please understand, brother - this message is -only- for the sheikh. I beg of you to give me entry into the city.” Ali sharpened his frown. “Brother, I understand that you may wish to see the sheikh - I do, too, sometimes, in hopes that he will raise me and my comrades’ salaries by another ten sahels. But--” “This isn’t something trivial like a plea for monetary support! Please, let me pass!” urged the stranger and Ali scoffed, bringing up the nose of his arquebus. Clicks sounded from the battlements above, as well. “I don’t think you understand the situation, ‘brother’. It’s the middle of the night, and the sheikh does not want to hear you yapping about your lost goats. Now find yourself an inn or something and wait until the morning.” The stranger grit his teeth and looked up at the top of the wall. “Allow me then at least to speak to your commander.” Ali lowered his gun, rolled his eyes and let out a sharp [i]tch[/i]. “... You’re asking me to wake up the captain?” After a brief moment of consideration and another visual scan of the stranger’s shape, Ali pulled out a white handkerchief, turned upwards to the battlements and gave it a wave. A symphony of clicks accompanied the disappearance of arquebuses behind the edge of the wall and the guardsman turned to the stranger. “Wait here.” He then stepped over to the gate, fiddled out a key and opened a small door in the larger door, stepping through it. Nearly an hour passed, and the stranger grew restless. He had dismounted his camel, which was now nibbling on the potted plants lining the Sentinel Bridge walls. He would look up at the battlements intermittently, being met by shadowed faces staring back down. Had the city always been on edge like this? At last, the door in the door sounded a creak and out came Ali followed by a lazily uniformed, pot-bellied officer with a brow so low it was a wonder that he saw anything at all. The commander offered the stranger a scoff for a greeting and muttered, “Well?” The stranger swallowed and bowed. “Peace of Aziz upon you, master. Forgive me for asking you to come out this late--” “You are damned right it’s late!” thundered the officer in response. “I will have you whipped if this is a prank of sorts, by Aziz, this I swear!” “Duly noted, duly noted,” the stranger replied and bowed lower. “Please, I beg of you, great master - I must see the sheikh! It’s a matter of life and--” “The sheikh is asleep.” “I am aware, master - your subordinate told me as much.” “Then why haven’t you left? What in the world can be so urgent that you, a faceless nobody, who comes to -my- city in the middle of the bloody night, have to see the sheikh? Are we facing an invasion?” The stranger grit his teeth. “Master, please, if--” The officer turned back to the door. “Sergeant Sahed, see this man to the nearest inn. Don’t bother to pay for his room.” “We might!” shouted the stranger finally. The officer stopped and sighed. “We might what, exactly?” The stranger swallowed. “... We might be facing an invasion.” The officer remained facing the door. Ali turned slowly to the stranger, who spoke, “My name is Khazim Homai… I’ve ridden from the fortress in Shoog with urgent news for the sheikh. You must let me see him - otherwise, we may all be doomed by the time the year is over.” The officer slowly turned back around and exchanged looks with Ali. On the battlements, the crowd had returned. Khazim sighed at his failure, but at least now he had their attention. The officer nervously righted the tall, leaning, cylindrical officer’s hat atop his head and dragged two fingers down his chin. “I must beg your forgiveness, brother Homai. I jumped to conclusions and assumed your intentions were otherwise.” He bowed curtly. “I am Akbar ibn Shaykhir, commander of the Amshadr city watch. Please, come with me.” He entered through the door in the gate and Khazim followed, towing his camel behind him. [hr] [img]https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/009/716/977/large/mohammx-danial-atoofi-final-02.jpg?1520491817[/img] [b]Time:[/b] [i]17th of March, 634 AC (4907 YDC) - 03:52 in the night.[/i] [b]Location:[/b] [i]Amshadr, the Red City - The Royal Palace, reception hall.[/i] [hr] The young sheikh Said abd al-Aziz ibn Fawzi gave his groggy eyes each a thorough rub. He would never get used to this job, he felt - his father had left him with too much to clean up, and now rumours of invasion were on the horizon. He had barely had time to get dressed before his servants and advisors had plopped him into his quia and had a dirty courier plant his unwashed feet on the floor of his fathers. The sheikh felt the acid of ennuie build up in his veins, but if this man had defied his watch and advisors to bring news to him, he either had no love for life or came in genuine interest of preserving the sheikhdom. The courier looked confused upon seeing him, but quickly cast himself to the ground before the sheikh and spoke, “B-blessings of Aziz be upon you, great sheikh of the four tribes of men. F-forgive me, I must not have heard of your father’s passing. I know it’s not in my place to say, but… Your father was a great man and you have my condolences.” The sheikh frowned and rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, that’ll do. Your thoughts and prayers are appreciated. Now, will you explain to me why you have pulled us out of our bed - us, your sheikh and master?” Khazim swallowed. “Of, of course, sultan of sand and stone. I bring word from the garrison in Shoog - I have ridden for a month to inform his gloriness about the activities of the Zikomel… And a new force.” The sheikh sucked in a breath. “Get to the point, messenger. Tell us about this new force.” “They call themselves the… The Unbroken Host, great sheikh.” The advisors exchanged glances and the sheikh narrowed his eyes. “You came all the way here to tell me that?” Khazim blinked. “Master, I’m not sure I--” The sheikh waved. “We have known about the Host for months. They are of no concern to us. The Zikomel and the other barbarians in the north have always skirmished and raided amongst one another - ever since the beginning of time. With the exception of the Jamal all those centuries ago, not once have they moved south on the warpath, and never will they again.” Khazim shook his head in disbelief. “... B-but great sheikh, this time it’s--” “Oh, it’s different now, is it? Have they made a move on the garrison in Shoog?” “W-well, no, but--” “Have they raided the homes of our subjects yet?” “Not yet, but--” “Are their armies gathering on our borders?” Khazim’s head fell forward in defeat. “N-no, great sheikh.” Sheikh Said rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh. “To think that you came all this way to tell us that the barbarians are at each other’s throats again… You may leave.” As guards came to collect Khazim, a flash passed through his eyes and the courier exclaimed: “A new faith has arisen among the tribes of Samermek!” The sheikh held up a hand and the guards stopped. “... A faith? What sort of faith?” Khazim nodded. “The scouts in Shoog report whispers of allegiance to a foreign God-Seer, one of immense power and wisdom. We think they are related to the Unbroken Host.” Said frowned and leaned over to one of his advisors, who whispered into his ear. The sheikh sighed again. “Oh, yes, the God-Seer of the Unbroken Host. We have heard of him, but assumed that he was no more than a pest in a distant land. However, if the garrison commander at Shoog believes the spreading of his faith to be destabilising to the region, then we will send missionaries northwards to correct their schisms.” The guards seized Khazim’s arms and the courier spoke, “Great sheikh, I don’t think--” “No, -we- don’t think you should be here anymore. You have utterly wasted our time with useless warnings of threats that are nothing compared to our nation’s current situation. We are trying to rule a country of millions with a billion different mindsets, and your naïve, paranoid observations of gnolls and pig people across the border are nothing less than irrelevant. Captain, find him a cell where he can spend the night.” The rightmost guard nodded and Khazim was dragged out of the room, all the while shouting, “Great sheikh! Please!” Once his yelling faded into nothingness, the young Said squeezed the bridge of his nose and groaned. One of his advisors knelt down next to him. “With all due respect, great sheikh, the royal coffers cannot afford to supply a mission to the tribes of the north. They are too spread out and our men will require higher wages to hire in the sowing season.” Said nodded. “Thank you for your wisdom, emir Mamun. We will wait until the dry season to move northwards. For now, we will return to rest. Tomorrow, we will once more plan the delegation to Al Rawiya.” Emir Mamum al-Saltan nodded: “As you wish, great sheikh.”