Dreams, such things we try to determine their meaning when the morning comes and yet their slip away from our memory like sands through our fingers caught in the winds. A piece or two might remain but not enough to build from. Such dreams have you been plagued with. You can feel the heat of the sun on your skin and the rasp of the dry air in your throat. Wandering, trudging, dragging each step through the sands as they fall deeper and deeper into the endless sight before your tired eyes. Would would think that one would want to struggle free of a dream in order to get more rest from blinking their eyes than when their head rests on a pillow?
A voice caught on the winds but do you understand what it is saying? Some might but many will not. The language is not known to all but there it is, in your ears and in your mind. Turn which way you wish the vision is the same. Dunes of sands getting caught up in the wind. More and more as it curls in the air like snow dancing. How you long for such cold right now, a gentle reprise from the sweltering heat that bakes you currently.
The voice comes again.
"Wa'ana 'aelam 'annak tasmaeuni. Tajduni. Aikhtabarani fi alqahira."
It burns, your hand it burns. Look, look with those eyes that are searching to see anything but sand and sky. Do you see? Yes, yes you must see. There on your hand you see it, blazing in gold like the sun you see it upon your finger. It is there. Then it is gone. Then you awake.
You can barely recall what your dream was that first night. It happened before you even came to Cairo but perhaps it meant nothing then. For some you have had the dream for years, for some only days. Though once you settled in Cairo it came more often. Have some of you even slept through the night in the last week? Each time it is the same and now you can recall it as any other memory and you can still feel the heat on your skin when you do.
Why is this happening? Is it happening to others? No one is speaking about it. Why? It is just a random dream you are having, isn't it? It means nothing. Sure, people dream the same thing over and over again for days; for weeks... Yet some have been plagued for years. Perhaps it is just the booze.
Location Unknown: October 3rd, 1924 - 5:38P.M. Local Time
The winds kicked up around the make shift outpost, where it was few knew. Frayed threads moved back and forth against the posts as maps so gloriously old that could have turned to dust if one was not careful were pinned down carefully within the confines of the tent. Brazen hands pressed down on the parchment as such pale eyes gleamed over them. A dark hair man shook his head as he let out a dry breath, a hand reaching up and scratching the stubble on his chin.
"Nahn fi mawqie khati," he muttered under his breath. Closing his eyes and letting his lids moisten the dryness. This wasn't right, something was wrong and he knew what that was. A shadow fell across the interior of the tent, casting long in the setting sun the west. He looked up slowly as his hands rested against the edge of the table, turning back so his fingers could curl against the underside of the wood.
"Now I wouldn't be doing that lad," a low-browed British accented voice said as an older man with worn skin stepped into the tent. Sighing he pulled his hands out from beneath the table and held up the blade that had been resting beneath it before tossing it onto the table next to the treasure of maps and parchments.
"Did you acquire it?" the "Lad" asked as he lowered his hands.
"Oh I acquired it, where is me payment?" he snickered as he held it up. Then he gasped and withdrew his hand as cat clawed at his skin suddenly and took the item in its jaw before purring over to her owner. Pulling his gun he pointed it at the feline which now turned to hiss at him.
"Daeh yakun," her master said, his hand reaching and running down her back to smooth out the hairs standing on end as he cupped the pendant in his other.
"My payment..." the man whose hand was now bleeding demanded, only to be caught in the chest with a wad of bills. It was enough to sate him for now, turning and leaving while uttering curses on the cat and its owner as well.
Holding the pendent up, pale hazel eyes flickered and a smile curled along the line of his lips. "'Akhiraan."
Location: Egyptian Museum
"The great carved mace; heads of Hierakonpolis have been the subject of much careful study, especially in the case of the second and third, which are now in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. The first has received less attention, owing to its damaged condition. It is broken into several pieces, but though a great deal has been preserved, the surface of the stone is corroded in many places, and ﬂakes have split off, so that much of the sculpture is irretrievably lost. The sculpture thus left falls into three groups, of which two are on the largest fragment," Vera mumbled to herself as she walked through the main hall of the Egyptian Museum. Her nose firmly planted in the book which resided in her hand and pressed against a stack of more supported by her other underneath.
Ancient Egypt And The Rest, a book of course about Egypt. One that had been compiled by Achceol and Philol over the last three years was a collection of others research and observations. Currently she was on an excerpt about Hierakonpolis written by M.A. Murray. It wasn't her normal reading material, well the subject matter was, but normally she found more dated texts more to her liking; though she had to admit this one would do for a quick stroll down the hall. Stumbling over her own two feet she looked up quickly and glanced over her shoulder before she turned her attention back to the short work in her hands.
"Pity," she said to herself more than anyone around her about the condition of the artifact in which she was entrenched on learning about. So many items were poorly excavated that it was hard to find out as much as one would have if one could have just been a tad more gentile with them. Long she walked, turning down one hall way after another. That was until her face planted into a cool piece of rough pottery causing her to gasp out as he started rocking back and forth along its pedestal. Her books flying from her grip as her hands flung out to try to steady the ancient piece.
"Oh nononononononononono you don't." Grabbing the piece and stopping its near tumble to the marble floor below. "Whew..." she said with a quick breath as she glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed her collision and there was no damage done. All was right with the world. Kneeling down she began to gather her books one by one and stacking them back up.
"Sons of the Pharaoh! Can you not walk from one place to another without nearly destroying a priceless artifact?" a voice chimed in aggravated from behind her causing Vera to jump out of her skin and spill out onto the floor, lading on her rear as she once again dropped her reading material. Cringing inwardly she turned to look over her shoulder as she slowly pulled her glasses from her nose only to see that it was Dr. Senbu Khons, the museums curator standing there above her tapping his foot.
Standing up quickly Vera pulled her glasses down slowly. "I am truly sorry Dr. Kohns. I must have gotten caught up in my reading. It won't happen again," she said quickly before the curator leaned down and picked up her books; shoving them in her arms. He did not say anything else, knowing good and well it would happen again. As he walked away Vera let out a little huff which sent her bangs flipping out for a moment. Turning she nearly ran right back into the piece of pottery before stopping herself. "Ack," she exclaimed before stepping around it and continuing on her path, trying her best not to stick her nose right back into the book she wanted to finish reading.
Location: Prison Department: Cell 428
"Thlatht 'ashhur almutaeaffinat fi hadhih alkhallia," Abbas mumbled under his breath as he fiddled with the dirt. Sitting down on the ground, his only seat or bed for the last three months. Looking out of the bars of his cell he glared towards the noose that swung in the center of the courtyard. His and the rest of the cells circling it and overlooking it, a constant reminder that where he was actually sitting was better than where he was supposed to be. His neck in the noose and swinging lifeless from side to side.
Reaching up he rubbed his neck and cringed. He had to get out of here. He had to be careful though, the warden had forgotten about him: the only reason he was still breathing. He had been working on the guards over the days, weeks, and months. Listening to what they say, finding where their soft spots where. For most of them it was money and that was something he didn't have but that didn't mean he couldn't make them believe otherwise. The guards bored easily watching the prisoners. Playing a game of cards and loosing put him on their good side. Playing hands and winning put them in his debt.
Today would be the day, well tonight anyways. He would break free of this place, it was arranged. At least he hoped it was. He didn't trust a one of them. Not that they should be trusting him but it seemed a few of the younger ones were fools enough to believe his story. That he was falsely arrested, branded unjustly. Newer revolution types who wanted to break free from the past were more likely to listen. They worked there for money, like most, but they still tried to help a poor misjudged traveler. If they only knew just who he really was.
Oh well, was not his problem. Come morning he hoped to be free and he hoped them dead. Hey, don't judge him, he is just trying to survive. It isn't that he loves what he does to survive but he just doesn't have a problem if it is someone else's neck in the noose in place of his. They'll understand, they would do the same would they not? Well if they wouldn't that was their problem. Some people just had more balls than brains and Abbas made sure to exploit those types as much as possible.
Location: Alf Leyla Salah at Opera Square
With the sun beginning to set it was that time of day again. Aziza had spent most of the day relaxing or shopping out in the merchants square; always on the look out for something new. Nothing sparked her interest today but browsing was enjoyable enough for the most part. Pushing her way into the Alf Leyla Salah over on Opera Square she glanced around; nodding to her co-workers with a smile before she made her way into the back to change for the evening. She rarely spoke to anyone before her first dance, it was just her way to center and get into the right frame of mind.
Back behind the curtains and in her dressing room she changed; chiffon flowing layers for her skirt and her hip scarf, both which allowed just enough of her intricate ink work to be seen to be enticing. Each piece she dressed in was meticulously chosen and hand created these days instead of the rags she had begun in. That seemed like a life time ago some moments and then just as if it was yesterday at others. Slipping her feet into her sandals she checked the time before going back stage and waiting for the current act to complete their set.
Smiling as she watched, they were less experienced but they had a fire in them as they danced. It was ensemble dance before her set. One which Aziza had done many times before she became a solo act a few years back. No a days though she never went on stage with anyone, it was her and her alone; the only others were the musicians who were set up along the edge of the back end of the stage. She had worked hard to become the premiere act for the club, it was not something that the owner passed out lightly but Aziza had proven herself time and time again with the way she entertained the crowd that she was worth the decision.
As the act finished she slipped her shoes off and waited a moment before stepping onto stage, a gentle smile on her lips as her eyes flicked in the light of the stage. It was still early in the evening, so something less sensual and a little more fun was called for. She had made her selection the night before and as the music began so did she. The first dance of the evening was always one of her most treasured. Before the customers had to be smiled to, before the drinks had been overly poured. It was just her and the music right then. She would not sing with this number, that would come later. Right now it was her and the dance.
Aziza knew her art form well. A say of the hips, a flick of the wings, the way she would smile as she glanced this way and that as her skirt fanned out around her. Her hands would clap together to get the customers into the act, bringing them into the dance with her as it were. A bounce here, a spin there, snake like movements with her hips that slithered up her body. Each one precise. The dance went on, though only around eight minutes in length one could easily tell that the dance, while appearing effortlessly in his execution, was anything but as her body began to gleam with a thin sheen of sweat.
As the dance concluded she held the last movement for a moment, breathing deeply before a bright smile broke on her lips as she relaxed. Turning she bowed as she pressed her palms in front of her, the sound around her told her that the customers had enjoyed the dance. She could not see as of yet who was there besides the front row thanks to the lights. Turning she was gone from the stage as quickly as she had entered the light. Shaking out her body a little from the tense muscle contractions needed for the dance before drying off and slipping her shoes back on.
Moving passed the back stage curtain she wandered over to the bar, exchanging various greetings before she was able to get to the bar and take her seat on a stool near the end; perching on it as she waited for her after dance glass of water. "Sands of the Sahara, will be welcome when the heat breaks," she said as she looked over towards the bartender and smiled.
*Translations will not be provided in this RP - so do NOT use them - Those of you will characters that can read/write languages other than English, you will be provided with the translations via PM to what your character is able to figure out. If you end up using a foreign language in your post, PM only those that would understand it what the translation is. We want to keep this authentic and metagaming to a minimal. Those with R/W Ancient Egyptian, Decipher Hieroglyphics and such - PM for me your set of translators.
Each character will have had the first dream 1 month prior to coming to Cairo. Since the first dream they have grown in frequency. Just periodically at first but over the course of the last three nights; if you slept it was all you dreamt of.