[center][h1][color=8E2BFF]ZASHEIR[/color][/h1][/center]


The general hubbub of conversation had faltered slightly as the lid of a barrel at the mouth of an alleyway shuddered, a thud coming from within. Even early in the morning, the bazaar was bustling with a kaleidoscope of colors and fashion as haughty coinpushers and lavish nobility conducted morning business over thimbles of trika and a beautiful orange-purple sunrise. One in particular, dressed in light brown and green silks, took an interest in the sudden thud from the nearby barrel. Removing its lid, he was buffeted with the sickly-sweet smell of rotted fruit. Deducing that there must be a rodent within, he gripped the rim with calloused hands and heaved, but found the barrel weighed astoundingly more than he anticipated. A few more fruitless tugs, and the merchant resigned to merely flagging down an amlak- or at least someone armed and more willing to deal with whatever oversized vermin had made this barrel its home. Zasheir will never forget the look on that merchant's face as he burst forth from beneath the fruit, yawning loudly and stretching his arms, dripping in rancid juices and putrid pulp. The bewildered merchant had run off in surprise, and seemed willing to keep his distance as Zasheir gingerly stepped out of the cask and stretched his bare arms, legs, and torso, a cacophony of pops and snaps singing as he did so. He blinked as he looked towards the sunrise, and his stomach dropped as he realized he had been in there all night. He had used his last bit of opium and clamored in there in search of insight the night prior, but sadly seemed to have dozed off. Retrieving his soaked tunic and boots from the depths of the fruity viscera, Zasheir's mood only soured further at the sight of his empty flask. He was without insight, and now without coin, as well. 

Zasheir pulled the reeking robe over himself and cinched it at the waist with his rope-belt. The confused onlookers were now back to conducting their businesses, and Zasheir merely sat by the road next to the barrel, unsure of what to do next. He glanced at those around him as pitifully as they glanced back at him- the Monk hated the wealthier sabbans and drudachs like the one he now found himself in. Though, perhaps "disappointed" was a more apt descriptor, he pondered. Hate often implied a level of desire to see or cause something's end. Zasheir wished not to see these people exterminated, but [i]liberated[/i]. As he looked around he saw lost, chained people, their  jewelry reminiscent of shackles. He wondered how many were truly [i]happy[/i] and [i]real[/i].

"Well, if you know anyone, we implore you send them to the esteemed Pasha Jakeem el Kalil's estate," the loud conversation perked Zasheir's ears. 

"That goes for you, as well," the armed and armored man proclaimed to another merchant on the other side of the road. "If you've a good arm and steel resolve, Pasha Jakeem el Kalil has an offer for you." He repeated, waving his hand in an annuv. He gave Zasheir a squinting look as he stormed past and absorbed into the growing crowd of the marketplace. 

[hr]

And so it was that Zasheir now found himself outside a prestigious looking estate of one Jakeem el Kalil. The only thing that burned more than the Monk's lack of coin was his desire for "material wisdom" as fingers drummed on the pipe tied to his belt. He largely resisted withdrawal symptoms, unfortunately, but the inner yearning for more reminded him of his old ways, when he was blinded by pride and wealth. For now, all he could do was sate it; perhaps with enough practice he would one day extinguish that, too, and he could finally be truly free and imbibe without worry. 

Zasheir was told to wait in the courtyard- after a few stern shakes from guardsmen that forbade him taking a delightfully uncomfortable seat in a bed of thorny flowers, he resigned to merely lying supine on the hard and hot cobbled road. He had nearly dozed off once more when an attending guardsman suddenly yanked him to his feet by the collar of his tunic- a guest of renown had arrived, and the guard stood at a respectful attention as she stepped off the slave-driven palanquin; Zasheir felt a gauntlet-clad fist nudge his flank in a bid for him to follow suit, but the Monk merely continued staring. Shortly thereafter, more guardsmen escorted Zasheir and the others gathered at the courtyard inside. 

The Monk smiled as he looked around the shaded reception room and the finery that decorated it. It had been a long while since he was near such luxury, and he was satisfied that his now trained resolve resisted wholly its allure. Indeed, as he had in the marketplace, Zasheir felt a pang of pity of all things as his gaze came to rest on the lustrous occupant of a padded throne- Jakeem Kalil. Zasheir watched as Brandon introduced himself, and quietly huffed at Samira and Sira's affectations.  

[color=8E2BFF]"Greetings, nadhar Jakeem,"[/color] the Monk loudly blurted in Alzhedo, placing one fist on his hip in lieu of performing an annuv, [color=8E2BFF]"I am Zasheir, but call me Lumal."[/color] He, too, bowed slightly, but only for a moment towards his underarm to ensure he was properly odorous.