[hr][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/q8hhsAV.png?1[/img][/center][hr][hr]The last time that Azar had been in Qadir, she'd left bodies in her wake. The plural made it sound worse than it was. There had only been two.

It had been freeing, at first: a place where she could walk the streets and... no, that was wrong. The people here loved ayiralites, or had brainwashed themselves into thinking that they did for the sake of mundane convenience or out of thinly-veiled mortal terror. Yet, even among her kind, there was a hierarchy. The Maatrho was water, and so they loved water best. Earth had always fallen closest to human hearts and kinship and was valued as well. Air jinnbloods were... inoffensive even if they were dead, soulless things inside. There had still been unease beneath the fawning: too much sweat in a handshake, subtle crossings to the other side of the street. Azar was young and uneducated, but she was not stupid. They always thought she was stupid. Damn them.

Almost three years had passed: enough time for them to have forgotten her. If not, things were about to get bad. She'd been around the outskirts when a small band of Jushites had materialized out of the dusty foothills and set upon a covered wagon. It had been cheap, on her part: an ambush, but Azar now had seven bodies to her name, not that the people around here knew that name. Officially, she was about to be a hero. Unofficially, she was and would always be a fire ayiralite. 

Crickets chirped and the air hummed with an arid sort of life as she walked, torches flickering along the walls of more noteworthy buildings, a near-full moon casting pale light upon the dusty ground. [b]"I cannot thank you enough, miss,"[/b] the old man from the wagon insisted. It was not the first time he'd tried to make conversation. [b]"And thank [i]Maatrho[/i] for sending one of his kin to save me in my hour of need. Your timing was not mere coincidence. You must believe it."[/b]

Azar clenched and unclenched a fist. [color=f7941d][i]Eight bodies,[/i][/color] she thought. [color=f7941d][i]I must not leave eight bodies.[/i][/color] She'd considered it when he'd insisted on reporting her deeds to the Imit's office. He'd promised she'd be rewarded but, from the youth's experience, rewards were not something that came to her much. She'd be content with being left alone, but he JUST. WOULDN'T. DO IT.

[b]"What is your name, so that I may tell them? My son, he works there! You will see: he is a good man - hard-working, keeps the Gods, serves Maatrho... through the Imit."[/b]

Some part of her wanted to talk to him, of course. She'd been two months out in the desert and spoken no more than a couple of sentences to any actual [i]person[/i] in that time. Speaking got her in trouble, though. Just thinking about it was starting to put her in a sour mood, so she opened her mouth to blunt her rising annoyance. Annoyance was the vanguard of anger. [color=f7941d][b]"Azar,"[/b][/color] she replied shortly. [color=f7941d][b]"Al-Hashimi."[/b][/color]

He bowed as he walked. It was almost - but not quite - obsequious. [b]"Then, tonight I shall honour Azar Al-Hashimi, with my wife and our servants."[/b]

She was about to tell him that it really wasn't necessary, despite the little warm feeling at her core. Then, they were there, and conversation ended. Guards parted, bowing a little deeper in her direction, a little more warily. Inside were... more guards in front of a pair of double doors, even in these early hours after sundown. Tawr was nothing if not... disciplined. 

[b]"I am Naseem Hamidi, a merchant."[/b] He marched up to the head guard and announced himself. [b]"I would like to report something to the Imit's scribe: My wagon was ambushed by Jushites."[/b] He pointed in Azar's direction. [b]"This one saved me. She killed them all, praise be Maatrho. Praise be Jhator. She said her name was Azar Al-Hashimi: a fitting name for how ferocious she was in protecting me."[/b] He twisted back and smiled at her. She nodded back. This place: she needed to get out of it. She knew it. The last time she'd been here, she'd only escaped a death sentence by virtue of her being the wronged party, even in an immoral act. More likely, she'd escaped by virtue of her jinnblood nature. [color=f7941d][b]"It was nothing, honestly. I was only..."[/b] [i]What do these people like to hear?[/i][/color] she wondered for a moment. [color=f7941d][b]"...serving as an instrument of the gods' divine wrath. I could not let harm come to a good man such as..."[/b][/color] She'd forgotten his name. [color=f7941d][b]"this one. I ask no reward and the hour is late."[/b][/color]

The guards bowed their heads momentarily in thanks. [b]"You may pass, Naseem and honoured Azar,"[/b] one said. [b]"Come come,"[/b] the old man waved her forward. [b]"What sort of fellow would I be if I did not return your generosity at least in part?"[/b]

For a moment, Azar thought about running. It was early nighttime and it was cool. She could be well into the Jushite foothills by daybreak. It beat meeting anyone higher up. It beat them remembering her. She was exiled upon pain of death. The fleeting fantasy passed, like many did, and the double doors creaked as they opened. Truth was that she [i]wanted[/i] the praise. Some part of her [i]needed[/i] it. The path of lesser resistance here was to hope that fate's dice would roll her way and the man she was about to meet - for it was usually a man - would be someone new who did not remember her.[hr][hr]