[@POOHEAD189]
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Okan’s peering orbs gleamed through the eyeholes of his mask, his upper one’s that is. “Well, I am told that I am quite a good friend.” Okan said, looking to the vile that Amal had lifted up. One of the guards took a single step forward but Okan raised his right hand slightly in a momentary gesture, the guard hesitantly stepping back.

“I must say I do admire your forward words,” Okan leaned forward, resting his hands on the counter, “most are far more stiff of the tongue and lips and often one such as myself must navigate a grand maze of hints and minced speech to reach understanding. But that is not so surprising.” Okan was speaking low but just loud enough for the man before him to hear every word he said over the bustle of the bazaar. “One must be careful in Arilquas. All manner of charlatans, thieves, and cutthroats dwell here beyond the reach of the kings of Esaad.”

Okan leaned forward, craning his neck out just enough to indicate for his would-be customer to come in closer, “Such as Taamir Adin, a useless lump of a man, a terrible forger and grave robber I hear.”

Okan suddenly reached for the vile in Amal’s hand, pulling it free with an indignant snatch. “[i]Amnhi wazahanir,[/i] but this is all that I have,” Okan snapped his voice rising slightly like any vendor growing impatient with a customer, “perhaps return tomorrow or a few days from now and I can have something brewed for you.” 

As Okan set the liquid back in place with a gentle [i]thump[/i] the guard to the right of Amal made a gesturing wave away from the stall, merely adding to the act of course. Okan maintained his eye contact even while acting as if he were straightening his wares back after dealing with a fussy buyer, sliding about bottles and rearranging various goods in a picky manner.

“There is a large house to the west outside of Arilqas near the river, a stone canopy sits atop it. A single hired sword protects the cowardly rat within - Taamir Adin. Kill him and I will pay you. Anything of value you pick up I would also be interested in trading for. I hope to see you in the morrow my [i]unknowing[/i] good man. I will be here.”

[i]”Yabahdeid!”[/i]
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[@Force and Fury]
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Mamuno the Grim was a man who considered trust to be a very strong thing, something earned not granted. Something that was not easily earned. Mamuno trusted few people and that was because few people proved worthy of such a granted faith - and such a vulnerability on his own part. Many would call him very overthinking and nervous by character and this was something he could concede, at least in his mind.

Mamuno had faced many dangers over the years, assassins and spies being just two names on the proverbial list. This careful demeanor had kept him alive and kept him in power, what little power he had in this sand heap of a dwelling of course.

This woman, Azar, Mamuno did not trust her. Her abilities as an Ayiralite were without doubt and to have a guest with her bloodline in his house was something of a boon in Tawrish society. Those with the blood of the jinn were seen as greaters over common [i]bitshi[/i] and to play host to a jinnkin showed that one was respected or at least acknowledged by those of a more prestigious lineage. Many would say that Mamuno should be thrilled and any suspicion on his part was inconceivable and foolish, even blasphemy. But Mamuno had never been one to care what the “many” had to say, at least not usually. Azar could prove to be a fine ally, and a fine wallflower as well the Imit admitted to himself with a smile in that moment. But Mamuno did not trust Azar and when one of his guards came to him in the night with a servant at his side babbling about the jinnblood guest moments later the three along with four others guards were stomping down the halls of the bedchambers.

The door to Azar’s guest room was thrown open, the smooth wood slamming hard against the wall with a sharp echoing [i]crash.[/i] When Azar wildly stirred from her sleep Mamuno shouted for the guards to take up positions. Two sped past the bed on either side hugged against the walls as they came around and blocked the windows, the other three stepped forward and left a thin space between them as they lined up in front of their master, hands tightly gripping their spears. 

Mamuno and the servant in question, a young ebony-skinned woman, stood behind the three guards. The servant obviously nervous but also holding a state of accusation on Azar. Mamuno stood silent, letting the jinnblood come to her senses for a moment before stating, “My servant here accuses you of stealing from me. That earlier when she brought you clean sheets that she saw pieces of jewelry much like mine under your pillow. Are these accusations true? Do you steal from me?”

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[@Gunther]
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Atabou Aksil had always done what was best for his people. When the animals of his peoples’ lands were driven away by the roc he lead the tribe to new hunting grounds. When the Jushites wished to make war with his people for encroaching upon them Askil peacefully lead the tribe farther to the south, after calming the tempers of his warriors. When he realized his tribe had grown too large and the desert too perilous to endlessly march across the sands he made the decision that it was time for his people to put down roots, to make a home where they could live, love, and grow. He chose a narrow mountain pass that was near a number of oasis’ and natural springs, a defensible position that also drew wildlife to hunt and proved a fine place to forage for herbs and wild fruits. The humble tribe named their new settlement Jalatha as a sign of their good fortunes and favor of the gods. 

Atabou Aksil loved his tribe and the people all admired and loved him as well. They always trusted in his guidance and in turn he believed in their devotions, vigor, and endurance. Life in the desert was far from safe and sound and in this treacherous land kinship and loyalty was all that mattered to the folk of Jalatha. 

Many moons back strangers had come, their messengers and gift-bringers approaching Jalatha with offers of peace. They presented trinkets of gold, incense and perfume, and weapons at the feet of Atabou Aksil - none of which impressed him. Gold was useless to his people, incense and perfume a luxury that he saw as only wasteful, and weapons the people of Jalatha had enough of. Despite his early rejections the emissaries continued to come, next they brought horses, clothing, and food which were welcomed by the people of Jalatha. Aksil was suspicious but entertained the foreigners over the months, in time peddlers came offering wares in exchange for Jalatha’s meager hospitality and the minuscule things they had to offer.

Aksil new all of nothing of these foreigners and his suspicion remained, he ordered his warriors to keep eyes on them and to never accept random gifts or outstretched arms so easily, which many of the younger tribesmen and women were doing. They saw these strange newcomers as exotic and wondrous and wished their company, to learn of their faraway land said to be a paradise of fertile colorful jungles and endless rivers. 

Aksil sat in his small hut, his only company two guardsmen on either side of the door and his soothsayer and concubine - the blue-skimmed [i]mazir[/i] spawn Tafrara. As one of the guards spoke of an approaching stranger the curtain over the door parted and in stepped a slender bald man in robes, his face and light colored flesh that of a foreigner.

Aksil said nothing, he merely sat cross-legged on the small cushion that acted as his “throne”, the hooded Tafrara close at his side, as he eyed the man before him toe to head and back down again. His sword lay next to him on the floor halfway sheathed though the chieftain made no reach for it. His hands rested limply on his knees, his shoulders somewhat raised in an aware position.

“Who are you? Speak.” Aksil said crassly in thickly accented Urkun.
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