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On the Eastern Dunes of Bedoa, over the outskirts of the furthest provinces of Egypt, punishment is due to be meted out upon a small group of young men accused of theft. The group are Bedoans, of the Zaire Gesin. As their brethren rested in the nearby dunes, ready to deal with their Egyptian neighbours, youthful abandon had seen these young fighters venture across the boundaries of law and steal from the grain store of Qalha. Now, the punishment for such an insult upon the Egyptian race is clear. For each must lose a hand...
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JD
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On the Eastern Dunes of Bedoa, over the outskirts of the furthest provinces of Egypt, punishment is due to be meted out upon a small group of young men accused of theft. The group are Bedoans, of the Zaire Gesin. As their brethren rested in the nearby dunes, ready to deal with their Egyptian neighbours, youthful abandon had seen these young fighters venture across the boundaries of law and steal from the grain store of Qalha. Now, the punishment for such an insult upon the Egyptian race is clear. For each must lose a hand...
Crime and Punishment Event - Bedoa
On the Eastern Dunes of Bedoa, over the outskirts of the furthest provinces of Egypt, punishment is due to be meted out upon a small group of young men accused of theft. The group are Bedoans, of the Zaire Gesin. As their brethren rested in the nearby dunes, ready to deal with their Egyptian neighbours, youthful abandon had seen these young fighters venture across the boundaries of law and steal from the grain store of Qalha. Now, the punishment for such an insult upon the Egyptian race is clear. For each must lose a hand...
Hasani did not like these moments when it come to his position of leier. The night had been a whirlwind of information and a flurry of pleading and begging from the parents of the young fighters that had been accused of stealing. Hasani had no doubts that they had commited the crime, as the evidence of the grain was so easily found within their gesin's camp. Theft was not something that the Bedoans too lightly, but neither did the Egyptians. Theft upon one was a theft upon all that even Hasani could not reward bad behavior with no punishment. So he allowed the Egyptians to perform their punishments.
But he had taken a moment for himself, leaving behind the pleading of the parents and the stoic weeping of the boys meant to be punished, and he had sunk back into the darkness of his hawe. Needing a moment to breathe, the leier ate a few bites of food that had been left over from the night before, his brows set in an almost constant scowl as he thought about the course of action he would be forced to witness.
He did not like the idea of taking the hands of any of these boys, but he knew that he would not be able to avoid it. They had made their decisions and the laws of the tribe were not loose in a way that would allow them to be let off the hook. It did not help that the Egyptians punished theft with the loss of limb, but it truly couldn't be helped. Hasani remembered Neena, knowing that she had gotten off easy with slavery and no missing hand. But the Egyptians could have if they had wanted to. Hasani could have, the Somalu could have. But to mete out a punishment that was not his to give was not something he had been keen on, nor had he really ever thought about doing so.
The leier paced about his tent, back and forth, not ignoring Tanishe's presence, but not inviting conversation. Each and every time something like this happened, a harsh punishment, he had to work himself up to it. The Egyptians were waiting for them. But that was because he was given time to debate, not that he would on behalf of the boys. Not at all a coward, if Hasani had not been given mere moments to make a choice, he would have made the same one.
The boys would lose their hands and then spend the next days in the medical tents while the healers tended to their wounds. Until their stumps healed and they were allowed back into the ranks of the tribe. It would not be easy for the boys, because their mistakes would follow them throughout the remainder of their lives, but none of them would ever be warriors again. They would be stuck with the more menial and boring tasks.
That was just how it was.
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Hasani did not like these moments when it come to his position of leier. The night had been a whirlwind of information and a flurry of pleading and begging from the parents of the young fighters that had been accused of stealing. Hasani had no doubts that they had commited the crime, as the evidence of the grain was so easily found within their gesin's camp. Theft was not something that the Bedoans too lightly, but neither did the Egyptians. Theft upon one was a theft upon all that even Hasani could not reward bad behavior with no punishment. So he allowed the Egyptians to perform their punishments.
But he had taken a moment for himself, leaving behind the pleading of the parents and the stoic weeping of the boys meant to be punished, and he had sunk back into the darkness of his hawe. Needing a moment to breathe, the leier ate a few bites of food that had been left over from the night before, his brows set in an almost constant scowl as he thought about the course of action he would be forced to witness.
He did not like the idea of taking the hands of any of these boys, but he knew that he would not be able to avoid it. They had made their decisions and the laws of the tribe were not loose in a way that would allow them to be let off the hook. It did not help that the Egyptians punished theft with the loss of limb, but it truly couldn't be helped. Hasani remembered Neena, knowing that she had gotten off easy with slavery and no missing hand. But the Egyptians could have if they had wanted to. Hasani could have, the Somalu could have. But to mete out a punishment that was not his to give was not something he had been keen on, nor had he really ever thought about doing so.
The leier paced about his tent, back and forth, not ignoring Tanishe's presence, but not inviting conversation. Each and every time something like this happened, a harsh punishment, he had to work himself up to it. The Egyptians were waiting for them. But that was because he was given time to debate, not that he would on behalf of the boys. Not at all a coward, if Hasani had not been given mere moments to make a choice, he would have made the same one.
The boys would lose their hands and then spend the next days in the medical tents while the healers tended to their wounds. Until their stumps healed and they were allowed back into the ranks of the tribe. It would not be easy for the boys, because their mistakes would follow them throughout the remainder of their lives, but none of them would ever be warriors again. They would be stuck with the more menial and boring tasks.
That was just how it was.
Hasani did not like these moments when it come to his position of leier. The night had been a whirlwind of information and a flurry of pleading and begging from the parents of the young fighters that had been accused of stealing. Hasani had no doubts that they had commited the crime, as the evidence of the grain was so easily found within their gesin's camp. Theft was not something that the Bedoans too lightly, but neither did the Egyptians. Theft upon one was a theft upon all that even Hasani could not reward bad behavior with no punishment. So he allowed the Egyptians to perform their punishments.
But he had taken a moment for himself, leaving behind the pleading of the parents and the stoic weeping of the boys meant to be punished, and he had sunk back into the darkness of his hawe. Needing a moment to breathe, the leier ate a few bites of food that had been left over from the night before, his brows set in an almost constant scowl as he thought about the course of action he would be forced to witness.
He did not like the idea of taking the hands of any of these boys, but he knew that he would not be able to avoid it. They had made their decisions and the laws of the tribe were not loose in a way that would allow them to be let off the hook. It did not help that the Egyptians punished theft with the loss of limb, but it truly couldn't be helped. Hasani remembered Neena, knowing that she had gotten off easy with slavery and no missing hand. But the Egyptians could have if they had wanted to. Hasani could have, the Somalu could have. But to mete out a punishment that was not his to give was not something he had been keen on, nor had he really ever thought about doing so.
The leier paced about his tent, back and forth, not ignoring Tanishe's presence, but not inviting conversation. Each and every time something like this happened, a harsh punishment, he had to work himself up to it. The Egyptians were waiting for them. But that was because he was given time to debate, not that he would on behalf of the boys. Not at all a coward, if Hasani had not been given mere moments to make a choice, he would have made the same one.
The boys would lose their hands and then spend the next days in the medical tents while the healers tended to their wounds. Until their stumps healed and they were allowed back into the ranks of the tribe. It would not be easy for the boys, because their mistakes would follow them throughout the remainder of their lives, but none of them would ever be warriors again. They would be stuck with the more menial and boring tasks.
That was just how it was.
Saro had heard news of what happened, and the punishment that was to follow the boys who had committed this theft. Thinking back on his own past, how absolutely insignificant a bit of grain was compared to the things he had taken, among them were lives. Lives he had taken for his own gain. He didn’t regret a second of it, he was who he was, and that was a pirate. But that didn’t make it any less solemn that this boys would lose their hands over a bit of grain. And with the loss of those hands, they would lose any hope of a real future they had. Saro didn’t know much a man could do among the tribe with just one hand.
He was sort of recovered from his own stay in the medical tent, though still bandaged, the worst of the pain had disappeared and he was now able to function on his own. Scars remained, as he suspected, including the large claw marks across his face, telling the story of his bravery for all to see. At this point, everyone in the tribe knew of what he had done, and for the most part, all had accepted him with open arms from that point on for risking his life to save Tanishe.
He had taken the feather from his hair, the one that had remained there for years, a memory of a love lost, and he had burnt it in a fire one night. Sitting alone, just outside his tent, he had used it as a moment to cleanse himself of his past love, to let go of the hurt inside him and to turn himself towards the future.
Now, where the feather normally would have been tied in his hair, instead was a strip of the hide from the cheetah he had killed, the one who had nearly killed him. He had been presented with the hide from the animal once it had been prepared, and while he had tucked most of it away for safe keeping, he had taken that strip to carry with him. A symbol of his victory over the beast, if his scars weren’t enough.
He wasn’t required to attend the punishment that day, he had chosen to. Out of support for his friend mostly, he and Hasani hadn’t spoken on the subject, but he knew that it had to weigh heavy on the leader to have to face such a thing. And it was also a show of strength for him, to show the Bedoans that he would not so easily be taken down. He had mostly remained in his tent for the past while, but now he felt ready to be out there, to stand on his own and show that no beast of Bedoa would claim his life so easily.
He stepped out of his tent, taking a moment to look around, he wondered if Hasani would be there yet, or if he remained in his tent. He thought to go and find out.
Saro made his way to his friends tent, standing a respectful distance away, he called out.
“Hasani, Tanishe?”
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Saro had heard news of what happened, and the punishment that was to follow the boys who had committed this theft. Thinking back on his own past, how absolutely insignificant a bit of grain was compared to the things he had taken, among them were lives. Lives he had taken for his own gain. He didn’t regret a second of it, he was who he was, and that was a pirate. But that didn’t make it any less solemn that this boys would lose their hands over a bit of grain. And with the loss of those hands, they would lose any hope of a real future they had. Saro didn’t know much a man could do among the tribe with just one hand.
He was sort of recovered from his own stay in the medical tent, though still bandaged, the worst of the pain had disappeared and he was now able to function on his own. Scars remained, as he suspected, including the large claw marks across his face, telling the story of his bravery for all to see. At this point, everyone in the tribe knew of what he had done, and for the most part, all had accepted him with open arms from that point on for risking his life to save Tanishe.
He had taken the feather from his hair, the one that had remained there for years, a memory of a love lost, and he had burnt it in a fire one night. Sitting alone, just outside his tent, he had used it as a moment to cleanse himself of his past love, to let go of the hurt inside him and to turn himself towards the future.
Now, where the feather normally would have been tied in his hair, instead was a strip of the hide from the cheetah he had killed, the one who had nearly killed him. He had been presented with the hide from the animal once it had been prepared, and while he had tucked most of it away for safe keeping, he had taken that strip to carry with him. A symbol of his victory over the beast, if his scars weren’t enough.
He wasn’t required to attend the punishment that day, he had chosen to. Out of support for his friend mostly, he and Hasani hadn’t spoken on the subject, but he knew that it had to weigh heavy on the leader to have to face such a thing. And it was also a show of strength for him, to show the Bedoans that he would not so easily be taken down. He had mostly remained in his tent for the past while, but now he felt ready to be out there, to stand on his own and show that no beast of Bedoa would claim his life so easily.
He stepped out of his tent, taking a moment to look around, he wondered if Hasani would be there yet, or if he remained in his tent. He thought to go and find out.
Saro made his way to his friends tent, standing a respectful distance away, he called out.
“Hasani, Tanishe?”
Saro had heard news of what happened, and the punishment that was to follow the boys who had committed this theft. Thinking back on his own past, how absolutely insignificant a bit of grain was compared to the things he had taken, among them were lives. Lives he had taken for his own gain. He didn’t regret a second of it, he was who he was, and that was a pirate. But that didn’t make it any less solemn that this boys would lose their hands over a bit of grain. And with the loss of those hands, they would lose any hope of a real future they had. Saro didn’t know much a man could do among the tribe with just one hand.
He was sort of recovered from his own stay in the medical tent, though still bandaged, the worst of the pain had disappeared and he was now able to function on his own. Scars remained, as he suspected, including the large claw marks across his face, telling the story of his bravery for all to see. At this point, everyone in the tribe knew of what he had done, and for the most part, all had accepted him with open arms from that point on for risking his life to save Tanishe.
He had taken the feather from his hair, the one that had remained there for years, a memory of a love lost, and he had burnt it in a fire one night. Sitting alone, just outside his tent, he had used it as a moment to cleanse himself of his past love, to let go of the hurt inside him and to turn himself towards the future.
Now, where the feather normally would have been tied in his hair, instead was a strip of the hide from the cheetah he had killed, the one who had nearly killed him. He had been presented with the hide from the animal once it had been prepared, and while he had tucked most of it away for safe keeping, he had taken that strip to carry with him. A symbol of his victory over the beast, if his scars weren’t enough.
He wasn’t required to attend the punishment that day, he had chosen to. Out of support for his friend mostly, he and Hasani hadn’t spoken on the subject, but he knew that it had to weigh heavy on the leader to have to face such a thing. And it was also a show of strength for him, to show the Bedoans that he would not so easily be taken down. He had mostly remained in his tent for the past while, but now he felt ready to be out there, to stand on his own and show that no beast of Bedoa would claim his life so easily.
He stepped out of his tent, taking a moment to look around, he wondered if Hasani would be there yet, or if he remained in his tent. He thought to go and find out.
Saro made his way to his friends tent, standing a respectful distance away, he called out.
“Hasani, Tanishe?”
Rubiah was annoyed. This was not an uncommon state for the girl but it was fairly unusual that the annoyance was at herself rather than the world around her. Generally confident and ready to take on just about anything, spitting fire wherever she went, Rubiah didn't like to admit weaknesses to herself. Her life had gone just fine thank you and she held a sort of rough pride that she had gotten there from the most basic of the streets. The lowest of the low rising to the point where she had drinks with the Queen of Egypt. Provided she slipped into the Courtly session with a good enough excuse. Life couldn't get much better than that unless you became the plaything of the Pharaoh. And whilst Rubiah liked to play, she was no plaything.
So why, when her life had followed all these wonderful routes and she was proud of the paths that she had taken, did she come back to Qalha? She felt no happy nostalgia for the place, no sense of 'home' that she might have a desire to feel once more. There was... familiarity, she guessed. But that would be the same for anyone who wandered streets that they knew so well. It wasn't compassion for the buildings and the roads. It wasn't a happy state of connection. It was just the fact that she knew where everything was. Like a customer in a preferred shop.
And yet here she was.
Having been in the capitol for several weeks and intending to go right back there as soon as she'd sated whatever this random curiosity was, Rubiah would only be in Qalha for perhaps a day. She didn't want to be there, let alone sleep there. But when mention of difficulties with thieves in the area had found their gossiping whispers all the way to Cairo, Rubiah had come to see for herself. For no apparent reason.
Stomping a little harder as she walked, as if she could punish herself for such a stupid choice by smarting the soles of her feet, Rubiah looked around the streets, not sure what it was she was trying to see. Was she looking for familiar ground? Was she looking for the clusters of street kids that would no longer be children - the ones that she had grown up with and suffered the taunts of or beat up herself...? She wasn't sure what she was looking for but, if it was people, she found very few.
With a frown on her face, Rubiah wondered where the heck everyone was, as the little town of Qalha seemed emptied than it should be at nearing noon.
The running feet of two passersby, calling to one another that they were going to 'miss it' gave Rubiah her answer. Something was happening over to the west of the town. It took her only fifteen minutes of walking in that direction for her to meet the provincial edge of Qalha and pass, technically, into the open sands of the Sahara. There was no line drawn, no wall stated. It was simply known by the residents of Qalha that over that particular rise was Bedoa. And that the kids weren't to go there and mix with the savages.
It seemed like a lot of people were refusing to follow that instruction today, however, because Rubiah found a shit ton of the townsfolk all clustered about, shouts and fists shooting into the air. The words were calls for justice and racial slurs against the foreigners of the west. They were demands to see the 'thieves' whoever they were. Rubiah suspected that they were being kept in the little hut that had been constructed of basic wood. Possibly to ensure that the people of Qalha didn't lynch them before whatever punishment they had been assigned was carried out. An Egyptian stood with a large khopesh, reading to carry out whatever dismembering 'justice' had been determined for the thieves and Rubiah stood a little back on the hill, where she could witness it all for herself.
Her hands came to her hips, her head was on the tilt of consideration, and she didn't join in the shouts just yet. She didn't know what the morons had done and whether they deserved the words. She wasn't about to get herself caught up between two kingdoms for no reason. She wasn't stupid.
For she knew it would be a clash of kingdoms in the end. She could see the hawes of the Zaire people, on the other side of the Qalha crowds from herself...
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Rubiah was annoyed. This was not an uncommon state for the girl but it was fairly unusual that the annoyance was at herself rather than the world around her. Generally confident and ready to take on just about anything, spitting fire wherever she went, Rubiah didn't like to admit weaknesses to herself. Her life had gone just fine thank you and she held a sort of rough pride that she had gotten there from the most basic of the streets. The lowest of the low rising to the point where she had drinks with the Queen of Egypt. Provided she slipped into the Courtly session with a good enough excuse. Life couldn't get much better than that unless you became the plaything of the Pharaoh. And whilst Rubiah liked to play, she was no plaything.
So why, when her life had followed all these wonderful routes and she was proud of the paths that she had taken, did she come back to Qalha? She felt no happy nostalgia for the place, no sense of 'home' that she might have a desire to feel once more. There was... familiarity, she guessed. But that would be the same for anyone who wandered streets that they knew so well. It wasn't compassion for the buildings and the roads. It wasn't a happy state of connection. It was just the fact that she knew where everything was. Like a customer in a preferred shop.
And yet here she was.
Having been in the capitol for several weeks and intending to go right back there as soon as she'd sated whatever this random curiosity was, Rubiah would only be in Qalha for perhaps a day. She didn't want to be there, let alone sleep there. But when mention of difficulties with thieves in the area had found their gossiping whispers all the way to Cairo, Rubiah had come to see for herself. For no apparent reason.
Stomping a little harder as she walked, as if she could punish herself for such a stupid choice by smarting the soles of her feet, Rubiah looked around the streets, not sure what it was she was trying to see. Was she looking for familiar ground? Was she looking for the clusters of street kids that would no longer be children - the ones that she had grown up with and suffered the taunts of or beat up herself...? She wasn't sure what she was looking for but, if it was people, she found very few.
With a frown on her face, Rubiah wondered where the heck everyone was, as the little town of Qalha seemed emptied than it should be at nearing noon.
The running feet of two passersby, calling to one another that they were going to 'miss it' gave Rubiah her answer. Something was happening over to the west of the town. It took her only fifteen minutes of walking in that direction for her to meet the provincial edge of Qalha and pass, technically, into the open sands of the Sahara. There was no line drawn, no wall stated. It was simply known by the residents of Qalha that over that particular rise was Bedoa. And that the kids weren't to go there and mix with the savages.
It seemed like a lot of people were refusing to follow that instruction today, however, because Rubiah found a shit ton of the townsfolk all clustered about, shouts and fists shooting into the air. The words were calls for justice and racial slurs against the foreigners of the west. They were demands to see the 'thieves' whoever they were. Rubiah suspected that they were being kept in the little hut that had been constructed of basic wood. Possibly to ensure that the people of Qalha didn't lynch them before whatever punishment they had been assigned was carried out. An Egyptian stood with a large khopesh, reading to carry out whatever dismembering 'justice' had been determined for the thieves and Rubiah stood a little back on the hill, where she could witness it all for herself.
Her hands came to her hips, her head was on the tilt of consideration, and she didn't join in the shouts just yet. She didn't know what the morons had done and whether they deserved the words. She wasn't about to get herself caught up between two kingdoms for no reason. She wasn't stupid.
For she knew it would be a clash of kingdoms in the end. She could see the hawes of the Zaire people, on the other side of the Qalha crowds from herself...
Rubiah was annoyed. This was not an uncommon state for the girl but it was fairly unusual that the annoyance was at herself rather than the world around her. Generally confident and ready to take on just about anything, spitting fire wherever she went, Rubiah didn't like to admit weaknesses to herself. Her life had gone just fine thank you and she held a sort of rough pride that she had gotten there from the most basic of the streets. The lowest of the low rising to the point where she had drinks with the Queen of Egypt. Provided she slipped into the Courtly session with a good enough excuse. Life couldn't get much better than that unless you became the plaything of the Pharaoh. And whilst Rubiah liked to play, she was no plaything.
So why, when her life had followed all these wonderful routes and she was proud of the paths that she had taken, did she come back to Qalha? She felt no happy nostalgia for the place, no sense of 'home' that she might have a desire to feel once more. There was... familiarity, she guessed. But that would be the same for anyone who wandered streets that they knew so well. It wasn't compassion for the buildings and the roads. It wasn't a happy state of connection. It was just the fact that she knew where everything was. Like a customer in a preferred shop.
And yet here she was.
Having been in the capitol for several weeks and intending to go right back there as soon as she'd sated whatever this random curiosity was, Rubiah would only be in Qalha for perhaps a day. She didn't want to be there, let alone sleep there. But when mention of difficulties with thieves in the area had found their gossiping whispers all the way to Cairo, Rubiah had come to see for herself. For no apparent reason.
Stomping a little harder as she walked, as if she could punish herself for such a stupid choice by smarting the soles of her feet, Rubiah looked around the streets, not sure what it was she was trying to see. Was she looking for familiar ground? Was she looking for the clusters of street kids that would no longer be children - the ones that she had grown up with and suffered the taunts of or beat up herself...? She wasn't sure what she was looking for but, if it was people, she found very few.
With a frown on her face, Rubiah wondered where the heck everyone was, as the little town of Qalha seemed emptied than it should be at nearing noon.
The running feet of two passersby, calling to one another that they were going to 'miss it' gave Rubiah her answer. Something was happening over to the west of the town. It took her only fifteen minutes of walking in that direction for her to meet the provincial edge of Qalha and pass, technically, into the open sands of the Sahara. There was no line drawn, no wall stated. It was simply known by the residents of Qalha that over that particular rise was Bedoa. And that the kids weren't to go there and mix with the savages.
It seemed like a lot of people were refusing to follow that instruction today, however, because Rubiah found a shit ton of the townsfolk all clustered about, shouts and fists shooting into the air. The words were calls for justice and racial slurs against the foreigners of the west. They were demands to see the 'thieves' whoever they were. Rubiah suspected that they were being kept in the little hut that had been constructed of basic wood. Possibly to ensure that the people of Qalha didn't lynch them before whatever punishment they had been assigned was carried out. An Egyptian stood with a large khopesh, reading to carry out whatever dismembering 'justice' had been determined for the thieves and Rubiah stood a little back on the hill, where she could witness it all for herself.
Her hands came to her hips, her head was on the tilt of consideration, and she didn't join in the shouts just yet. She didn't know what the morons had done and whether they deserved the words. She wasn't about to get herself caught up between two kingdoms for no reason. She wasn't stupid.
For she knew it would be a clash of kingdoms in the end. She could see the hawes of the Zaire people, on the other side of the Qalha crowds from herself...
Tanishe was not happy. Not happy in the least. She kept shooting Hasani uncharacteristic looks of alternating pleading and a little more forceful ‘do something’ but he wasn’t paying attention. She’d already made her arguments - they were set up. The Egyptians didn’t like Bedoans. Why would their warriors, boys of discipline and honor, steal grain? Why make it so obvious? She didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit. Hasani was resigned, she could already tell. That made her even more upset. Her eyes narrowed at him and she slowly shook her head, unable to stomach the thought of eating while their boys were sitting in some hut waiting to have their ability to live as productive human beings be stripped away to satisfy Egyptian bloodlust.
It was Saro’s voice that set her jaw and she moved past her husband and out towards their friend. She eyed him, not hiding the hard set to her jaw, her arms crossed over her chest, her stiff shoulders. “I cannot convince him,” she said to Saro. “Perhaps you can.” With a tilt of her head, she gave tacit permission for Saro to enter the tent. “I’m going to the Egyptians. I will not hide while our tribe is shamed.”
There were so few times in her life where Tanishe showed if she did not agree with Hasani but usually if they disagreed, the stakes weren’t as high. To remove a hand was to remove the ability for these boys to be warriors. They couldn’t even be proper slaves. What they’d be good for was begging and what use was it to beg in the desert? If they sent them into the city, and the tribe left, it would be as though they were being abandoned. This was no small matter and Tanishe was not done with it.
Moving past Saro, Tanishe headed out towards the crowd she could see in the far distance. Her long cyan kaftan fluttered behind her and her long earrings clinked with every movement of her head. She wondered if maybe she could trade something in exchange for her warriors. Give food, maybe? This wasn’t a trial. This was an accusation of guilt being immediately carried out and she only wished her husband would come as Leier and put a stop to it. She dipped past several people, walking up to the guard with the khopesh.
“Man in charge?,” she asked in her limited Egyptian. Saro had been teaching her Egyptian in exchange for the Bedoan lessons and of the two of them, the tribe’s guest was a much, much better teacher.
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Tanishe was not happy. Not happy in the least. She kept shooting Hasani uncharacteristic looks of alternating pleading and a little more forceful ‘do something’ but he wasn’t paying attention. She’d already made her arguments - they were set up. The Egyptians didn’t like Bedoans. Why would their warriors, boys of discipline and honor, steal grain? Why make it so obvious? She didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit. Hasani was resigned, she could already tell. That made her even more upset. Her eyes narrowed at him and she slowly shook her head, unable to stomach the thought of eating while their boys were sitting in some hut waiting to have their ability to live as productive human beings be stripped away to satisfy Egyptian bloodlust.
It was Saro’s voice that set her jaw and she moved past her husband and out towards their friend. She eyed him, not hiding the hard set to her jaw, her arms crossed over her chest, her stiff shoulders. “I cannot convince him,” she said to Saro. “Perhaps you can.” With a tilt of her head, she gave tacit permission for Saro to enter the tent. “I’m going to the Egyptians. I will not hide while our tribe is shamed.”
There were so few times in her life where Tanishe showed if she did not agree with Hasani but usually if they disagreed, the stakes weren’t as high. To remove a hand was to remove the ability for these boys to be warriors. They couldn’t even be proper slaves. What they’d be good for was begging and what use was it to beg in the desert? If they sent them into the city, and the tribe left, it would be as though they were being abandoned. This was no small matter and Tanishe was not done with it.
Moving past Saro, Tanishe headed out towards the crowd she could see in the far distance. Her long cyan kaftan fluttered behind her and her long earrings clinked with every movement of her head. She wondered if maybe she could trade something in exchange for her warriors. Give food, maybe? This wasn’t a trial. This was an accusation of guilt being immediately carried out and she only wished her husband would come as Leier and put a stop to it. She dipped past several people, walking up to the guard with the khopesh.
“Man in charge?,” she asked in her limited Egyptian. Saro had been teaching her Egyptian in exchange for the Bedoan lessons and of the two of them, the tribe’s guest was a much, much better teacher.
Tanishe was not happy. Not happy in the least. She kept shooting Hasani uncharacteristic looks of alternating pleading and a little more forceful ‘do something’ but he wasn’t paying attention. She’d already made her arguments - they were set up. The Egyptians didn’t like Bedoans. Why would their warriors, boys of discipline and honor, steal grain? Why make it so obvious? She didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit. Hasani was resigned, she could already tell. That made her even more upset. Her eyes narrowed at him and she slowly shook her head, unable to stomach the thought of eating while their boys were sitting in some hut waiting to have their ability to live as productive human beings be stripped away to satisfy Egyptian bloodlust.
It was Saro’s voice that set her jaw and she moved past her husband and out towards their friend. She eyed him, not hiding the hard set to her jaw, her arms crossed over her chest, her stiff shoulders. “I cannot convince him,” she said to Saro. “Perhaps you can.” With a tilt of her head, she gave tacit permission for Saro to enter the tent. “I’m going to the Egyptians. I will not hide while our tribe is shamed.”
There were so few times in her life where Tanishe showed if she did not agree with Hasani but usually if they disagreed, the stakes weren’t as high. To remove a hand was to remove the ability for these boys to be warriors. They couldn’t even be proper slaves. What they’d be good for was begging and what use was it to beg in the desert? If they sent them into the city, and the tribe left, it would be as though they were being abandoned. This was no small matter and Tanishe was not done with it.
Moving past Saro, Tanishe headed out towards the crowd she could see in the far distance. Her long cyan kaftan fluttered behind her and her long earrings clinked with every movement of her head. She wondered if maybe she could trade something in exchange for her warriors. Give food, maybe? This wasn’t a trial. This was an accusation of guilt being immediately carried out and she only wished her husband would come as Leier and put a stop to it. She dipped past several people, walking up to the guard with the khopesh.
“Man in charge?,” she asked in her limited Egyptian. Saro had been teaching her Egyptian in exchange for the Bedoan lessons and of the two of them, the tribe’s guest was a much, much better teacher.
Rekhmire didn't speak any language other than his native language, Coptic. He did not care for external politics, and even to some extent internal politics. And while he knew he would need to learn other languages if the Tempest of Set were to expand their route into other kingdoms, he also didn't often have the time to sit down and try to learn a language.
But despite these mindsets, Rekhmire found himself drawn to a particular event occurring in Bedoa not far from the Egyptian border. Call it fate, curiosity, what-have-you, but Rekhmire had taken it upon himself to travel to witness the event that was to transpire. From what he'd heard, there had been Bedoan thieves who had stolen something from Egyptians. Whether or not this information was entirely correct remained to be seen.
The only thing he knew for sure was that someone from Egypt was going to punish the person or persons by cutting off their hands. This was the part that drew him here. He was hoping that he would be able to volunteer his services as a doctor to help after the punishment was dealt with. Rekhmire had never been able to experiment with, or even see, the healing process that would help a severed limb. The slaves at the Tempest of Set had always needed to go back to work after his experimentations, so removing a limb was not allowed, unfortunately.
He walked amongst the people at a casual stroll, dressed in more modest attire than most Egyptian people. Unlike most Egyptians, who enjoyed in hedonism and revealing themselves, Rekhmire preferred keeping himself closed off, for he had a mantra that he told himself.
I will have no wife, I will take no partner. I will devote myself to the Tempest of Set until I breathe my last breath.
He cared not for the hedonism that Egyptians so enjoyed. He found more joy in the studies or medicine, or more specifically his experimentation.
He glanced over towards a woman who appeared to be distressedly approaching an Egyptian guard. Rekhmire stole closer, attempting to overhear any discussion that might happen, hoping for some information onto the event, as well as who might be in charge of healing the punished when their hands are removed.
"Man in charge?"
The accent suggested someone not of Egyptian origin. For a moment he pondered there, contemplating what he might do. He cared not for some Bedoan woman, nor for the leader she was hoping to speak to, however, there was the off-chance that there might be some link to what Rekhmire wanted.
He decided to go against his better judgment and walked up to the woman and the guard. "Excuse me, but would you perhaps know where the Head Doctor or Healer is around here."
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Rekhmire didn't speak any language other than his native language, Coptic. He did not care for external politics, and even to some extent internal politics. And while he knew he would need to learn other languages if the Tempest of Set were to expand their route into other kingdoms, he also didn't often have the time to sit down and try to learn a language.
But despite these mindsets, Rekhmire found himself drawn to a particular event occurring in Bedoa not far from the Egyptian border. Call it fate, curiosity, what-have-you, but Rekhmire had taken it upon himself to travel to witness the event that was to transpire. From what he'd heard, there had been Bedoan thieves who had stolen something from Egyptians. Whether or not this information was entirely correct remained to be seen.
The only thing he knew for sure was that someone from Egypt was going to punish the person or persons by cutting off their hands. This was the part that drew him here. He was hoping that he would be able to volunteer his services as a doctor to help after the punishment was dealt with. Rekhmire had never been able to experiment with, or even see, the healing process that would help a severed limb. The slaves at the Tempest of Set had always needed to go back to work after his experimentations, so removing a limb was not allowed, unfortunately.
He walked amongst the people at a casual stroll, dressed in more modest attire than most Egyptian people. Unlike most Egyptians, who enjoyed in hedonism and revealing themselves, Rekhmire preferred keeping himself closed off, for he had a mantra that he told himself.
I will have no wife, I will take no partner. I will devote myself to the Tempest of Set until I breathe my last breath.
He cared not for the hedonism that Egyptians so enjoyed. He found more joy in the studies or medicine, or more specifically his experimentation.
He glanced over towards a woman who appeared to be distressedly approaching an Egyptian guard. Rekhmire stole closer, attempting to overhear any discussion that might happen, hoping for some information onto the event, as well as who might be in charge of healing the punished when their hands are removed.
"Man in charge?"
The accent suggested someone not of Egyptian origin. For a moment he pondered there, contemplating what he might do. He cared not for some Bedoan woman, nor for the leader she was hoping to speak to, however, there was the off-chance that there might be some link to what Rekhmire wanted.
He decided to go against his better judgment and walked up to the woman and the guard. "Excuse me, but would you perhaps know where the Head Doctor or Healer is around here."
Rekhmire didn't speak any language other than his native language, Coptic. He did not care for external politics, and even to some extent internal politics. And while he knew he would need to learn other languages if the Tempest of Set were to expand their route into other kingdoms, he also didn't often have the time to sit down and try to learn a language.
But despite these mindsets, Rekhmire found himself drawn to a particular event occurring in Bedoa not far from the Egyptian border. Call it fate, curiosity, what-have-you, but Rekhmire had taken it upon himself to travel to witness the event that was to transpire. From what he'd heard, there had been Bedoan thieves who had stolen something from Egyptians. Whether or not this information was entirely correct remained to be seen.
The only thing he knew for sure was that someone from Egypt was going to punish the person or persons by cutting off their hands. This was the part that drew him here. He was hoping that he would be able to volunteer his services as a doctor to help after the punishment was dealt with. Rekhmire had never been able to experiment with, or even see, the healing process that would help a severed limb. The slaves at the Tempest of Set had always needed to go back to work after his experimentations, so removing a limb was not allowed, unfortunately.
He walked amongst the people at a casual stroll, dressed in more modest attire than most Egyptian people. Unlike most Egyptians, who enjoyed in hedonism and revealing themselves, Rekhmire preferred keeping himself closed off, for he had a mantra that he told himself.
I will have no wife, I will take no partner. I will devote myself to the Tempest of Set until I breathe my last breath.
He cared not for the hedonism that Egyptians so enjoyed. He found more joy in the studies or medicine, or more specifically his experimentation.
He glanced over towards a woman who appeared to be distressedly approaching an Egyptian guard. Rekhmire stole closer, attempting to overhear any discussion that might happen, hoping for some information onto the event, as well as who might be in charge of healing the punished when their hands are removed.
"Man in charge?"
The accent suggested someone not of Egyptian origin. For a moment he pondered there, contemplating what he might do. He cared not for some Bedoan woman, nor for the leader she was hoping to speak to, however, there was the off-chance that there might be some link to what Rekhmire wanted.
He decided to go against his better judgment and walked up to the woman and the guard. "Excuse me, but would you perhaps know where the Head Doctor or Healer is around here."
Rubiah was hardly a significant person in the current situation. She was the sister of a noble that resided in a capitol, miles away. She hardly held any kind of authority or power over those around her despite the fact that she (very) technically was superior in connections to they.
Instead, Rubiah was forced to fall back onto her more natural persona. Rather than behave as a noble adjacent individual that liked to turn her nose up and step on the toes of others, her scrappier self-came to the foreground. The young girl who had been bullied for the elements of Bedoan in her appearance, the street rat that had fought and clawed for a semblance of respect from others. All awkwardness or feeling of misplacement disintegrated around her to be replaced with a confidence that only those with nothing to lose could really embody. A skin of weathered stone had fallen over her and lightened her step. She smiled brightly and headed down the dunes to investigate further.
She cared nothing for public punishments or the carrying out of the law. If people were stupid enough to get caught in their thieving then they deserved everything they got. It cleared the field for those of the craft that were stealthier; opened more targets to their field of influence.
Instead, she was interested in the people that swarmed. Who they were and what they cared about. To know the hearts and motivations of others was to know what they wanted, how they could be influenced and how they were therefore possibly of use to her when in a situation that needed intervention came around.
Spotting the fine materials worn by a Bedoan woman nearby, and how her hair had been piled on her head, Rubiah's limited understanding of Bedoan society told her that the female was someone of import. She headed in that direction.
During her travels, Rubiah had picked up a few words in Bedoan languages and knew the accent a little, but she had never embraced the race of people that she so closely resembled. Instead, she had focused on her Egyptian heritage and knew Coptic far better. She knew enough to recognised the woman's accent as perhaps a Zaire? Or a Rwandi? But other than that, she was mostly lost as to her identity.
The others in her company was an Egyptian guard, and a man that was monstrously tall. Short in stature, Rubiah felt the man's height in a daunting manner but this didn't stop her from walking right up beside the little group.
"Should there be healers at something like this?" She asked, her tone open and friendly; inquisitive and innocent. She had overheard the words the man spoke as she approached and slipped into the conversation that had not been for her. "This is a punishment, surely, not a hospital?" If the boys died from blood-loss then the results of their actions had been even more severe. But that was surely for the Gods to decide? Didn't the Bedoan have their own healers? Why would Egyptians heal the thieves they were executing justice upon?
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Rubiah was hardly a significant person in the current situation. She was the sister of a noble that resided in a capitol, miles away. She hardly held any kind of authority or power over those around her despite the fact that she (very) technically was superior in connections to they.
Instead, Rubiah was forced to fall back onto her more natural persona. Rather than behave as a noble adjacent individual that liked to turn her nose up and step on the toes of others, her scrappier self-came to the foreground. The young girl who had been bullied for the elements of Bedoan in her appearance, the street rat that had fought and clawed for a semblance of respect from others. All awkwardness or feeling of misplacement disintegrated around her to be replaced with a confidence that only those with nothing to lose could really embody. A skin of weathered stone had fallen over her and lightened her step. She smiled brightly and headed down the dunes to investigate further.
She cared nothing for public punishments or the carrying out of the law. If people were stupid enough to get caught in their thieving then they deserved everything they got. It cleared the field for those of the craft that were stealthier; opened more targets to their field of influence.
Instead, she was interested in the people that swarmed. Who they were and what they cared about. To know the hearts and motivations of others was to know what they wanted, how they could be influenced and how they were therefore possibly of use to her when in a situation that needed intervention came around.
Spotting the fine materials worn by a Bedoan woman nearby, and how her hair had been piled on her head, Rubiah's limited understanding of Bedoan society told her that the female was someone of import. She headed in that direction.
During her travels, Rubiah had picked up a few words in Bedoan languages and knew the accent a little, but she had never embraced the race of people that she so closely resembled. Instead, she had focused on her Egyptian heritage and knew Coptic far better. She knew enough to recognised the woman's accent as perhaps a Zaire? Or a Rwandi? But other than that, she was mostly lost as to her identity.
The others in her company was an Egyptian guard, and a man that was monstrously tall. Short in stature, Rubiah felt the man's height in a daunting manner but this didn't stop her from walking right up beside the little group.
"Should there be healers at something like this?" She asked, her tone open and friendly; inquisitive and innocent. She had overheard the words the man spoke as she approached and slipped into the conversation that had not been for her. "This is a punishment, surely, not a hospital?" If the boys died from blood-loss then the results of their actions had been even more severe. But that was surely for the Gods to decide? Didn't the Bedoan have their own healers? Why would Egyptians heal the thieves they were executing justice upon?
Rubiah was hardly a significant person in the current situation. She was the sister of a noble that resided in a capitol, miles away. She hardly held any kind of authority or power over those around her despite the fact that she (very) technically was superior in connections to they.
Instead, Rubiah was forced to fall back onto her more natural persona. Rather than behave as a noble adjacent individual that liked to turn her nose up and step on the toes of others, her scrappier self-came to the foreground. The young girl who had been bullied for the elements of Bedoan in her appearance, the street rat that had fought and clawed for a semblance of respect from others. All awkwardness or feeling of misplacement disintegrated around her to be replaced with a confidence that only those with nothing to lose could really embody. A skin of weathered stone had fallen over her and lightened her step. She smiled brightly and headed down the dunes to investigate further.
She cared nothing for public punishments or the carrying out of the law. If people were stupid enough to get caught in their thieving then they deserved everything they got. It cleared the field for those of the craft that were stealthier; opened more targets to their field of influence.
Instead, she was interested in the people that swarmed. Who they were and what they cared about. To know the hearts and motivations of others was to know what they wanted, how they could be influenced and how they were therefore possibly of use to her when in a situation that needed intervention came around.
Spotting the fine materials worn by a Bedoan woman nearby, and how her hair had been piled on her head, Rubiah's limited understanding of Bedoan society told her that the female was someone of import. She headed in that direction.
During her travels, Rubiah had picked up a few words in Bedoan languages and knew the accent a little, but she had never embraced the race of people that she so closely resembled. Instead, she had focused on her Egyptian heritage and knew Coptic far better. She knew enough to recognised the woman's accent as perhaps a Zaire? Or a Rwandi? But other than that, she was mostly lost as to her identity.
The others in her company was an Egyptian guard, and a man that was monstrously tall. Short in stature, Rubiah felt the man's height in a daunting manner but this didn't stop her from walking right up beside the little group.
"Should there be healers at something like this?" She asked, her tone open and friendly; inquisitive and innocent. She had overheard the words the man spoke as she approached and slipped into the conversation that had not been for her. "This is a punishment, surely, not a hospital?" If the boys died from blood-loss then the results of their actions had been even more severe. But that was surely for the Gods to decide? Didn't the Bedoan have their own healers? Why would Egyptians heal the thieves they were executing justice upon?
Saro listened as Tanishe spoke before she walked away. What were the odds that he would be able to convince Hasani to take a stand for the accused? He doubted he would be able to. From what Saro knew of the other, Hasani was a stubborn man. But he also was a smart man. Saro had no doubts that the tribe leader had given the situation a lot of thought and had decided that this was in fact the best decision under the circumstances. As much as he respected Tanishe, Saro would not argue with Hasani.
He would respect his friends decision.
He moved to step inside Hasani’s tent, studying his friend. He felt that their bond had strengthened after the whole situation with the cheetahs, and though Saro did not know if Hasani felt the same, but to Saro, the man was a brother.
Though his opinion hadn’t changed, and he would still be leaving the tribe eventually, when his journey with them was truly over, he knew that his experiences here and the influence of Hasani would be with him forever.
He would come out the other end of this as a changed man.
“Leier.” He greeted, then gave Hasani a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“They’re waiting for you. As hard as this is, we should go. Things will be worse if you are not in attendance.” He said, though he was sure that Hasani was already aware of everything that Saro was saying to him. He was trying not to be pushy about it, but in truth the longer they made this drag on, the worse it would be. They might as well just go and get it done with and move on.
The young men in question would have their lives permanently altered, and if Saro knew anything about the tribe, they would have no future if they could not be warriors. It was expected of all young men.
Saro had been giving it some thought, of how he could help them. He had some ideas brewing, but he would deal with that later. For now, it was getting through all of this, and making sure that those young men even lived through the shock and blood loss that they were about to experience.
He left it there, there was nothing else that he could think of to say to Hasani. He would not try to change the man’s mind, and in this rather grim moment, it didn’t feel right to make small talk or joke around.
No, today was a serious day, and for once, the long haired pirate would take things seriously.
He turned and left the tent once more, a bit of a limp caused from the injury to his leg muscles from the fight with the cheetah, it wasn’t enough to slow him down, but it was enough that it was noticeable if someone were to watch him walk.
He headed towards the gathering of people who were ready for the punishment, looking out of place among the Bedoans due to his light skin, but clearly among the tribe as people greeted him as a friend.
He moved to the front of the crowd, taking his place near where Hasani would be when he arrived.
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Saro listened as Tanishe spoke before she walked away. What were the odds that he would be able to convince Hasani to take a stand for the accused? He doubted he would be able to. From what Saro knew of the other, Hasani was a stubborn man. But he also was a smart man. Saro had no doubts that the tribe leader had given the situation a lot of thought and had decided that this was in fact the best decision under the circumstances. As much as he respected Tanishe, Saro would not argue with Hasani.
He would respect his friends decision.
He moved to step inside Hasani’s tent, studying his friend. He felt that their bond had strengthened after the whole situation with the cheetahs, and though Saro did not know if Hasani felt the same, but to Saro, the man was a brother.
Though his opinion hadn’t changed, and he would still be leaving the tribe eventually, when his journey with them was truly over, he knew that his experiences here and the influence of Hasani would be with him forever.
He would come out the other end of this as a changed man.
“Leier.” He greeted, then gave Hasani a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“They’re waiting for you. As hard as this is, we should go. Things will be worse if you are not in attendance.” He said, though he was sure that Hasani was already aware of everything that Saro was saying to him. He was trying not to be pushy about it, but in truth the longer they made this drag on, the worse it would be. They might as well just go and get it done with and move on.
The young men in question would have their lives permanently altered, and if Saro knew anything about the tribe, they would have no future if they could not be warriors. It was expected of all young men.
Saro had been giving it some thought, of how he could help them. He had some ideas brewing, but he would deal with that later. For now, it was getting through all of this, and making sure that those young men even lived through the shock and blood loss that they were about to experience.
He left it there, there was nothing else that he could think of to say to Hasani. He would not try to change the man’s mind, and in this rather grim moment, it didn’t feel right to make small talk or joke around.
No, today was a serious day, and for once, the long haired pirate would take things seriously.
He turned and left the tent once more, a bit of a limp caused from the injury to his leg muscles from the fight with the cheetah, it wasn’t enough to slow him down, but it was enough that it was noticeable if someone were to watch him walk.
He headed towards the gathering of people who were ready for the punishment, looking out of place among the Bedoans due to his light skin, but clearly among the tribe as people greeted him as a friend.
He moved to the front of the crowd, taking his place near where Hasani would be when he arrived.
Saro listened as Tanishe spoke before she walked away. What were the odds that he would be able to convince Hasani to take a stand for the accused? He doubted he would be able to. From what Saro knew of the other, Hasani was a stubborn man. But he also was a smart man. Saro had no doubts that the tribe leader had given the situation a lot of thought and had decided that this was in fact the best decision under the circumstances. As much as he respected Tanishe, Saro would not argue with Hasani.
He would respect his friends decision.
He moved to step inside Hasani’s tent, studying his friend. He felt that their bond had strengthened after the whole situation with the cheetahs, and though Saro did not know if Hasani felt the same, but to Saro, the man was a brother.
Though his opinion hadn’t changed, and he would still be leaving the tribe eventually, when his journey with them was truly over, he knew that his experiences here and the influence of Hasani would be with him forever.
He would come out the other end of this as a changed man.
“Leier.” He greeted, then gave Hasani a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“They’re waiting for you. As hard as this is, we should go. Things will be worse if you are not in attendance.” He said, though he was sure that Hasani was already aware of everything that Saro was saying to him. He was trying not to be pushy about it, but in truth the longer they made this drag on, the worse it would be. They might as well just go and get it done with and move on.
The young men in question would have their lives permanently altered, and if Saro knew anything about the tribe, they would have no future if they could not be warriors. It was expected of all young men.
Saro had been giving it some thought, of how he could help them. He had some ideas brewing, but he would deal with that later. For now, it was getting through all of this, and making sure that those young men even lived through the shock and blood loss that they were about to experience.
He left it there, there was nothing else that he could think of to say to Hasani. He would not try to change the man’s mind, and in this rather grim moment, it didn’t feel right to make small talk or joke around.
No, today was a serious day, and for once, the long haired pirate would take things seriously.
He turned and left the tent once more, a bit of a limp caused from the injury to his leg muscles from the fight with the cheetah, it wasn’t enough to slow him down, but it was enough that it was noticeable if someone were to watch him walk.
He headed towards the gathering of people who were ready for the punishment, looking out of place among the Bedoans due to his light skin, but clearly among the tribe as people greeted him as a friend.
He moved to the front of the crowd, taking his place near where Hasani would be when he arrived.
Hasani did not want to cow to the Egyptians and their assertion that Hasani's boys had done something so damning. It was unlikely. With how many guards were on rotations at night, it was unlikely that the boys had been able to leave the tribe's camp in the dead of night as was asserted. The tribe had hardly even been in this place for very long, a few days at the very most, so the accusing of his warriors, disciplined and brave, was almost outlandish.
And he was thinking, suddenly resolved not to just let the boys go down for something that they very likely did not do. It was his job to ensure that his tribe was both safe and acting in a manner that befitted and benefited their entire tribe. A few hundred strong in numbers, Hasani still didn't think the tribe could handle the loss of two of their arguably best warriors and hunters. Young as they were, these two were skilled.
The only thing they should have been doing around those grain stores is hunting wild game, not someone else's food. To steal was a crime in their own tribe, why would these boys steal from another Kingdom on top of it?
His arms were crossed very firmly against his chest when Saro stepped into the tent, imploring that Hasani come out to the execution. His dark eyes lifted from the floor of his hawe, watching his friend with an expression that expressed how deeply he was thinking about all of this. Hasani breathed through his nose, knowing that Saro was right, and simultaneously understanding that the leierin was also right. He needed to do something, and that meant not just standing here idly, resenting the entire accusation toward his own people.
Breathing deeply through his nose, Hasani looked about his haw, knowing that he needed to look the part on this day. He needed to show the strength of the Zaire as a warning, potentially giving Hasani the chance to speak on behalf of his warriors who likely did not deserve such a punishment as was being doled out to them.
Dressed in a jet black djellaba and flowy white pants, both pieces of clothing were synched to his waist with his ornately colored fabric and leather belting. While the leier would usually only wear his agbaba for some very important ceremony, this was as good of time as any to make a show of both power and importance. The fabric was bright teal, decorated with crimson patterns. A gift from Tanishe years ago that Hasani had kept tucked away in a chest and away from the sharpness of the desert sunlight. Topping off his outfit with the little white taqiyah hat, Hasani also added quite a bit of his own jewelry, colorful and ladening him with the the appearance of sheer importance. Add in the weapons on his hips and in his belt, and the leier finally stepped out of his hawe with an almost determined, stern, and somewhat stoic expression on his features.
He was feeling many things today, but none of them were fear, and he intended to make a point, if the days events so allowed.
Hasani was relieved to see that many of his warriors had taken the same approach at himself. Colorful, standing out, and armed to the teeth. The leier nodded to them, stepping across the sands and toward the gathering crowds. The Zaire tribe noted Hasani's approach almost immediately, many of the people shouting "leier!" into the open air of the Sahara. His people parted to let him through, his gaze settling directly on his wife and the few people who had settled around her, asking her questions.
The man just hardly heard the words of the Egyptian woman, asking if there should be healers here. "Leierin," Hasani said firmly, and then slid his gaze toward Rubiah, "The Zaire are a tribe of healers and prophets," the leier said in perfect coptic, his years of practice working out well in this situation. "Our children will require the aid of healers," he said slowly, flicking his gaze away toward the wooden hut that his warriors were being kept in. "I am the leier of the Zaire and I request to speak with the man who has ordered the punishment of my kin," he said to Rubiah, if only because he did not know who he should be looking for.
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Hasani did not want to cow to the Egyptians and their assertion that Hasani's boys had done something so damning. It was unlikely. With how many guards were on rotations at night, it was unlikely that the boys had been able to leave the tribe's camp in the dead of night as was asserted. The tribe had hardly even been in this place for very long, a few days at the very most, so the accusing of his warriors, disciplined and brave, was almost outlandish.
And he was thinking, suddenly resolved not to just let the boys go down for something that they very likely did not do. It was his job to ensure that his tribe was both safe and acting in a manner that befitted and benefited their entire tribe. A few hundred strong in numbers, Hasani still didn't think the tribe could handle the loss of two of their arguably best warriors and hunters. Young as they were, these two were skilled.
The only thing they should have been doing around those grain stores is hunting wild game, not someone else's food. To steal was a crime in their own tribe, why would these boys steal from another Kingdom on top of it?
His arms were crossed very firmly against his chest when Saro stepped into the tent, imploring that Hasani come out to the execution. His dark eyes lifted from the floor of his hawe, watching his friend with an expression that expressed how deeply he was thinking about all of this. Hasani breathed through his nose, knowing that Saro was right, and simultaneously understanding that the leierin was also right. He needed to do something, and that meant not just standing here idly, resenting the entire accusation toward his own people.
Breathing deeply through his nose, Hasani looked about his haw, knowing that he needed to look the part on this day. He needed to show the strength of the Zaire as a warning, potentially giving Hasani the chance to speak on behalf of his warriors who likely did not deserve such a punishment as was being doled out to them.
Dressed in a jet black djellaba and flowy white pants, both pieces of clothing were synched to his waist with his ornately colored fabric and leather belting. While the leier would usually only wear his agbaba for some very important ceremony, this was as good of time as any to make a show of both power and importance. The fabric was bright teal, decorated with crimson patterns. A gift from Tanishe years ago that Hasani had kept tucked away in a chest and away from the sharpness of the desert sunlight. Topping off his outfit with the little white taqiyah hat, Hasani also added quite a bit of his own jewelry, colorful and ladening him with the the appearance of sheer importance. Add in the weapons on his hips and in his belt, and the leier finally stepped out of his hawe with an almost determined, stern, and somewhat stoic expression on his features.
He was feeling many things today, but none of them were fear, and he intended to make a point, if the days events so allowed.
Hasani was relieved to see that many of his warriors had taken the same approach at himself. Colorful, standing out, and armed to the teeth. The leier nodded to them, stepping across the sands and toward the gathering crowds. The Zaire tribe noted Hasani's approach almost immediately, many of the people shouting "leier!" into the open air of the Sahara. His people parted to let him through, his gaze settling directly on his wife and the few people who had settled around her, asking her questions.
The man just hardly heard the words of the Egyptian woman, asking if there should be healers here. "Leierin," Hasani said firmly, and then slid his gaze toward Rubiah, "The Zaire are a tribe of healers and prophets," the leier said in perfect coptic, his years of practice working out well in this situation. "Our children will require the aid of healers," he said slowly, flicking his gaze away toward the wooden hut that his warriors were being kept in. "I am the leier of the Zaire and I request to speak with the man who has ordered the punishment of my kin," he said to Rubiah, if only because he did not know who he should be looking for.
Hasani did not want to cow to the Egyptians and their assertion that Hasani's boys had done something so damning. It was unlikely. With how many guards were on rotations at night, it was unlikely that the boys had been able to leave the tribe's camp in the dead of night as was asserted. The tribe had hardly even been in this place for very long, a few days at the very most, so the accusing of his warriors, disciplined and brave, was almost outlandish.
And he was thinking, suddenly resolved not to just let the boys go down for something that they very likely did not do. It was his job to ensure that his tribe was both safe and acting in a manner that befitted and benefited their entire tribe. A few hundred strong in numbers, Hasani still didn't think the tribe could handle the loss of two of their arguably best warriors and hunters. Young as they were, these two were skilled.
The only thing they should have been doing around those grain stores is hunting wild game, not someone else's food. To steal was a crime in their own tribe, why would these boys steal from another Kingdom on top of it?
His arms were crossed very firmly against his chest when Saro stepped into the tent, imploring that Hasani come out to the execution. His dark eyes lifted from the floor of his hawe, watching his friend with an expression that expressed how deeply he was thinking about all of this. Hasani breathed through his nose, knowing that Saro was right, and simultaneously understanding that the leierin was also right. He needed to do something, and that meant not just standing here idly, resenting the entire accusation toward his own people.
Breathing deeply through his nose, Hasani looked about his haw, knowing that he needed to look the part on this day. He needed to show the strength of the Zaire as a warning, potentially giving Hasani the chance to speak on behalf of his warriors who likely did not deserve such a punishment as was being doled out to them.
Dressed in a jet black djellaba and flowy white pants, both pieces of clothing were synched to his waist with his ornately colored fabric and leather belting. While the leier would usually only wear his agbaba for some very important ceremony, this was as good of time as any to make a show of both power and importance. The fabric was bright teal, decorated with crimson patterns. A gift from Tanishe years ago that Hasani had kept tucked away in a chest and away from the sharpness of the desert sunlight. Topping off his outfit with the little white taqiyah hat, Hasani also added quite a bit of his own jewelry, colorful and ladening him with the the appearance of sheer importance. Add in the weapons on his hips and in his belt, and the leier finally stepped out of his hawe with an almost determined, stern, and somewhat stoic expression on his features.
He was feeling many things today, but none of them were fear, and he intended to make a point, if the days events so allowed.
Hasani was relieved to see that many of his warriors had taken the same approach at himself. Colorful, standing out, and armed to the teeth. The leier nodded to them, stepping across the sands and toward the gathering crowds. The Zaire tribe noted Hasani's approach almost immediately, many of the people shouting "leier!" into the open air of the Sahara. His people parted to let him through, his gaze settling directly on his wife and the few people who had settled around her, asking her questions.
The man just hardly heard the words of the Egyptian woman, asking if there should be healers here. "Leierin," Hasani said firmly, and then slid his gaze toward Rubiah, "The Zaire are a tribe of healers and prophets," the leier said in perfect coptic, his years of practice working out well in this situation. "Our children will require the aid of healers," he said slowly, flicking his gaze away toward the wooden hut that his warriors were being kept in. "I am the leier of the Zaire and I request to speak with the man who has ordered the punishment of my kin," he said to Rubiah, if only because he did not know who he should be looking for.
Her dark eyes were so trained on the guard that she didn’t notice the man advancing on her to the side. Whether or not the guard understood her, he did not answer her. His mouth twisted into a grim line and his dull gaze drifted over her shoulder, as though whatever was there was far more interesting than the Bedoan woman asking irritating questions. The deep voice behind her made her turn, frowning, lips parted and confused as to what he was saying.
“Excuse me, but would you perhaps know where the Head Doctor or Healer is around here?”
Her grasp on Coptic was extremely limited. She understood the ‘excuse me’ part and she understood the words ‘where’ and ‘doctor’ and realized he must need one. Throwing a last look at the guard and the shack in which the warriors were kept, she folded her arms delicately over her chest, looking him up and down for injuries or illness. Obviously she would help him if she could, but she needed to know how seriously he needed her, or if he could possibly wait for a few minutes while she sorted this mess out.
“I am Healer,” she said to him, when they were immediately approached by another woman. Like nearly all Bedoans, Tanishe spent most of her time in the desert lands and not in Egypt. That meant most of her connections were with her tribe. That she did not know Rubiah or this man was not uncommon and trying to follow the rhythmic roll of words off their tongues was growing ever more difficult with the din of voices trying to drown them out around them.
“Should there be healers at something like this? This is a punishment, surely, not a hospital?”
She caught enough of what Rubiah was trying to say to understand that the Egyptian woman felt the warriors should be punished and have no need of a healer. Her brows knit together. Her eyes moved from Rubiah to two people she knew very well; the tall, dark form of her husband and the shorter, pale one of Saro. Rather than her brow smoothing out in relief to see Hasani, she remained agitated. From what she’d gathered, he was ready to let the boys die. She did not immediately equate his presence and change of dress as his sudden change of mind, but rather a confirmation that he was going to see this through as their Leier.
Hasani spoke mostly to Rubiah, though as Tanishe looked her over, she did not see that this woman had much to do with the boys. To Rekhmire, Tanishe said, “What is wrong with you?” Her accent was heavy and words unsure, but she pointed behind her at the shack where the boys were being held. “You here for them? Or you?”
All at once, a chorus of male voices echoed from within the shack.
"Leier!" they cried in their native tongue. "Leier!"
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Her dark eyes were so trained on the guard that she didn’t notice the man advancing on her to the side. Whether or not the guard understood her, he did not answer her. His mouth twisted into a grim line and his dull gaze drifted over her shoulder, as though whatever was there was far more interesting than the Bedoan woman asking irritating questions. The deep voice behind her made her turn, frowning, lips parted and confused as to what he was saying.
“Excuse me, but would you perhaps know where the Head Doctor or Healer is around here?”
Her grasp on Coptic was extremely limited. She understood the ‘excuse me’ part and she understood the words ‘where’ and ‘doctor’ and realized he must need one. Throwing a last look at the guard and the shack in which the warriors were kept, she folded her arms delicately over her chest, looking him up and down for injuries or illness. Obviously she would help him if she could, but she needed to know how seriously he needed her, or if he could possibly wait for a few minutes while she sorted this mess out.
“I am Healer,” she said to him, when they were immediately approached by another woman. Like nearly all Bedoans, Tanishe spent most of her time in the desert lands and not in Egypt. That meant most of her connections were with her tribe. That she did not know Rubiah or this man was not uncommon and trying to follow the rhythmic roll of words off their tongues was growing ever more difficult with the din of voices trying to drown them out around them.
“Should there be healers at something like this? This is a punishment, surely, not a hospital?”
She caught enough of what Rubiah was trying to say to understand that the Egyptian woman felt the warriors should be punished and have no need of a healer. Her brows knit together. Her eyes moved from Rubiah to two people she knew very well; the tall, dark form of her husband and the shorter, pale one of Saro. Rather than her brow smoothing out in relief to see Hasani, she remained agitated. From what she’d gathered, he was ready to let the boys die. She did not immediately equate his presence and change of dress as his sudden change of mind, but rather a confirmation that he was going to see this through as their Leier.
Hasani spoke mostly to Rubiah, though as Tanishe looked her over, she did not see that this woman had much to do with the boys. To Rekhmire, Tanishe said, “What is wrong with you?” Her accent was heavy and words unsure, but she pointed behind her at the shack where the boys were being held. “You here for them? Or you?”
All at once, a chorus of male voices echoed from within the shack.
"Leier!" they cried in their native tongue. "Leier!"
Her dark eyes were so trained on the guard that she didn’t notice the man advancing on her to the side. Whether or not the guard understood her, he did not answer her. His mouth twisted into a grim line and his dull gaze drifted over her shoulder, as though whatever was there was far more interesting than the Bedoan woman asking irritating questions. The deep voice behind her made her turn, frowning, lips parted and confused as to what he was saying.
“Excuse me, but would you perhaps know where the Head Doctor or Healer is around here?”
Her grasp on Coptic was extremely limited. She understood the ‘excuse me’ part and she understood the words ‘where’ and ‘doctor’ and realized he must need one. Throwing a last look at the guard and the shack in which the warriors were kept, she folded her arms delicately over her chest, looking him up and down for injuries or illness. Obviously she would help him if she could, but she needed to know how seriously he needed her, or if he could possibly wait for a few minutes while she sorted this mess out.
“I am Healer,” she said to him, when they were immediately approached by another woman. Like nearly all Bedoans, Tanishe spent most of her time in the desert lands and not in Egypt. That meant most of her connections were with her tribe. That she did not know Rubiah or this man was not uncommon and trying to follow the rhythmic roll of words off their tongues was growing ever more difficult with the din of voices trying to drown them out around them.
“Should there be healers at something like this? This is a punishment, surely, not a hospital?”
She caught enough of what Rubiah was trying to say to understand that the Egyptian woman felt the warriors should be punished and have no need of a healer. Her brows knit together. Her eyes moved from Rubiah to two people she knew very well; the tall, dark form of her husband and the shorter, pale one of Saro. Rather than her brow smoothing out in relief to see Hasani, she remained agitated. From what she’d gathered, he was ready to let the boys die. She did not immediately equate his presence and change of dress as his sudden change of mind, but rather a confirmation that he was going to see this through as their Leier.
Hasani spoke mostly to Rubiah, though as Tanishe looked her over, she did not see that this woman had much to do with the boys. To Rekhmire, Tanishe said, “What is wrong with you?” Her accent was heavy and words unsure, but she pointed behind her at the shack where the boys were being held. “You here for them? Or you?”
All at once, a chorus of male voices echoed from within the shack.
"Leier!" they cried in their native tongue. "Leier!"
Rubiah watched as a handsome black man approached. It was easy to notice his clothing and the manner in which other members of the tribe behaved around him; how they avoided his straight gaze or shifted a few steps back to give him more room than his stride technically needed. They behaved with respect around him and he seemed perfectly content and used to the adjustments they made. Then there were the chants of 'Leier' that came up through the people. Rubiah knew that word at least. It was the Bedoan word for 'king' or 'leader'.
When the man approached, he spoke to Rubiah, correcting her address of the woman at his side. But even if he hadn't identified her as his queen, she would have guessed it all the same. There was something in the gaze of the woman when she looked towards the Leier. Something soft that Rubiah had seen in her sister's face whenever she looked towards Sethtah. It was sort of gross and always had Rubiah's stomach feeling uncomfortable. Bleugh.
When the woman glared at her, Rubiah had no issues with jutting out her lower lip and raising one shoulder in a - 'hey, everyone was thinking it...' - sort of gesture. She was then addressed by the woman's husband and found herself a little nervous - or maybe turned on - but his deep and rolling voice. He spoke to her as if she held the answers to what was going on around her. Despite her being just as ignorant as he.
Perhaps it was the confidence with which Rubiah moved, perhaps it was her appearance that spoke of a mix of cultures between the Bedoans and the Egyptians. But whatever reason he picked for addressing himself to her, personally, he would be disappointed in what she could offer.
Raising her hands, palms up and elbows bent at her side, Rubiah's head tilted on a classic, exaggerated shrug of ignorance.
"Hey don't look at me your majesty." She told him. "I only just got here and have no idea what is going on. I'd offer to play translator to help you figure it out but you seem to have a handle on that one." She smiled at him encouragingly. She then looked out across the crowds, squinting in the sunshine. It wouldn’t be bad for a king to owe her a favour…
“I can offer you some advice though. Egyptians love money. They don’t punish because someone has hurt their pride, they punish because they’ve heard their pocket. If you can pay for whatever it is your kin have stolen plus a good helping of gold on top for the trouble, you might be able to settle things without them insisting on taking your boys’ hands…”
Rubiah shrugged again.
“Just a thought…”
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Rubiah watched as a handsome black man approached. It was easy to notice his clothing and the manner in which other members of the tribe behaved around him; how they avoided his straight gaze or shifted a few steps back to give him more room than his stride technically needed. They behaved with respect around him and he seemed perfectly content and used to the adjustments they made. Then there were the chants of 'Leier' that came up through the people. Rubiah knew that word at least. It was the Bedoan word for 'king' or 'leader'.
When the man approached, he spoke to Rubiah, correcting her address of the woman at his side. But even if he hadn't identified her as his queen, she would have guessed it all the same. There was something in the gaze of the woman when she looked towards the Leier. Something soft that Rubiah had seen in her sister's face whenever she looked towards Sethtah. It was sort of gross and always had Rubiah's stomach feeling uncomfortable. Bleugh.
When the woman glared at her, Rubiah had no issues with jutting out her lower lip and raising one shoulder in a - 'hey, everyone was thinking it...' - sort of gesture. She was then addressed by the woman's husband and found herself a little nervous - or maybe turned on - but his deep and rolling voice. He spoke to her as if she held the answers to what was going on around her. Despite her being just as ignorant as he.
Perhaps it was the confidence with which Rubiah moved, perhaps it was her appearance that spoke of a mix of cultures between the Bedoans and the Egyptians. But whatever reason he picked for addressing himself to her, personally, he would be disappointed in what she could offer.
Raising her hands, palms up and elbows bent at her side, Rubiah's head tilted on a classic, exaggerated shrug of ignorance.
"Hey don't look at me your majesty." She told him. "I only just got here and have no idea what is going on. I'd offer to play translator to help you figure it out but you seem to have a handle on that one." She smiled at him encouragingly. She then looked out across the crowds, squinting in the sunshine. It wouldn’t be bad for a king to owe her a favour…
“I can offer you some advice though. Egyptians love money. They don’t punish because someone has hurt their pride, they punish because they’ve heard their pocket. If you can pay for whatever it is your kin have stolen plus a good helping of gold on top for the trouble, you might be able to settle things without them insisting on taking your boys’ hands…”
Rubiah shrugged again.
“Just a thought…”
Rubiah watched as a handsome black man approached. It was easy to notice his clothing and the manner in which other members of the tribe behaved around him; how they avoided his straight gaze or shifted a few steps back to give him more room than his stride technically needed. They behaved with respect around him and he seemed perfectly content and used to the adjustments they made. Then there were the chants of 'Leier' that came up through the people. Rubiah knew that word at least. It was the Bedoan word for 'king' or 'leader'.
When the man approached, he spoke to Rubiah, correcting her address of the woman at his side. But even if he hadn't identified her as his queen, she would have guessed it all the same. There was something in the gaze of the woman when she looked towards the Leier. Something soft that Rubiah had seen in her sister's face whenever she looked towards Sethtah. It was sort of gross and always had Rubiah's stomach feeling uncomfortable. Bleugh.
When the woman glared at her, Rubiah had no issues with jutting out her lower lip and raising one shoulder in a - 'hey, everyone was thinking it...' - sort of gesture. She was then addressed by the woman's husband and found herself a little nervous - or maybe turned on - but his deep and rolling voice. He spoke to her as if she held the answers to what was going on around her. Despite her being just as ignorant as he.
Perhaps it was the confidence with which Rubiah moved, perhaps it was her appearance that spoke of a mix of cultures between the Bedoans and the Egyptians. But whatever reason he picked for addressing himself to her, personally, he would be disappointed in what she could offer.
Raising her hands, palms up and elbows bent at her side, Rubiah's head tilted on a classic, exaggerated shrug of ignorance.
"Hey don't look at me your majesty." She told him. "I only just got here and have no idea what is going on. I'd offer to play translator to help you figure it out but you seem to have a handle on that one." She smiled at him encouragingly. She then looked out across the crowds, squinting in the sunshine. It wouldn’t be bad for a king to owe her a favour…
“I can offer you some advice though. Egyptians love money. They don’t punish because someone has hurt their pride, they punish because they’ve heard their pocket. If you can pay for whatever it is your kin have stolen plus a good helping of gold on top for the trouble, you might be able to settle things without them insisting on taking your boys’ hands…”
Rubiah shrugged again.
“Just a thought…”
Stealing was such a dirty word. Why not use words like repurposing? Borrowing? Relocating, even. But stealing? Such a rotten, disgusting little word.
But hey, Akila didn’t mind being filthy.
But arriving at this sleepy little area in the border of Bedoa and Egypt, words of the robbery reached Akila’s ears. She looked down at her hands, and despite the stains of blood and sin… there was nothing fresh upon them. For once, Akila wasn’t the one who stole anything and… well, that was a pity. Not that a little grain would have done much in the grand scheme of things. Maybe she could have taken it and gone somewhere else starving for grain and price gouged the shit out of them. Though starving people rarely could afford their food anyway…
It didn’t matter much to Akila. She did have a vested interest for the thief to get caught… or someone to take the blame for it. She didn’t much appreciate being the new person to sail in and the suspicions that may come of it. Judge her for the crimes she actually did. She didn’t need to be painted as some shitty small scale robber.
But that didn’t happen. Instead, word on the street it was two little Bedoans. It didn’t matter if they were really the thieves. All that mattered was what the Egyptians thought. Let them go to bed soundly at night knowing that the matter was solved and there will no more thieving, and Akila could take things of actual value right out from under their noses.
If there even was such a thing.
The kids would have to lose a hand and be off on their merry little way away Egypt. Or maybe they should escape… run away with the guilty verdict hanging over them. Oh, maybe Akila will steal even more grain at the dead of night and sail off before anyone knew any better. See what Egyptians do about the Bedoans then. That might be fun.
Akila was stifling her own giggles as she made her way to what looked like a dispute between Egyptians and Bedoans. She was careful to put her best somber, serious face despite not really caring one way or another. Akila swept her eyes across the people, her eyebrow quirking curiously at one. Hm, Saro. What was he doing here? So far away from the sea… Interesting.
If you can pay whatever it is your kin has stolen, plus a good helping on top for the trouble…
“Did Bedoans suddenly develop a currency? What joyous news.” Akila finally finished approaching the group. She tilted her chin in greeting to Saro, a far different greeting than what he would receive if the pair were in the ocean. “That would due. I’m sure everything would be water under the bridge after that.” Akila’s eyes flickered around. What would be more fun? Blood on the sands or the kids getting away? Choices, choices...
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Stealing was such a dirty word. Why not use words like repurposing? Borrowing? Relocating, even. But stealing? Such a rotten, disgusting little word.
But hey, Akila didn’t mind being filthy.
But arriving at this sleepy little area in the border of Bedoa and Egypt, words of the robbery reached Akila’s ears. She looked down at her hands, and despite the stains of blood and sin… there was nothing fresh upon them. For once, Akila wasn’t the one who stole anything and… well, that was a pity. Not that a little grain would have done much in the grand scheme of things. Maybe she could have taken it and gone somewhere else starving for grain and price gouged the shit out of them. Though starving people rarely could afford their food anyway…
It didn’t matter much to Akila. She did have a vested interest for the thief to get caught… or someone to take the blame for it. She didn’t much appreciate being the new person to sail in and the suspicions that may come of it. Judge her for the crimes she actually did. She didn’t need to be painted as some shitty small scale robber.
But that didn’t happen. Instead, word on the street it was two little Bedoans. It didn’t matter if they were really the thieves. All that mattered was what the Egyptians thought. Let them go to bed soundly at night knowing that the matter was solved and there will no more thieving, and Akila could take things of actual value right out from under their noses.
If there even was such a thing.
The kids would have to lose a hand and be off on their merry little way away Egypt. Or maybe they should escape… run away with the guilty verdict hanging over them. Oh, maybe Akila will steal even more grain at the dead of night and sail off before anyone knew any better. See what Egyptians do about the Bedoans then. That might be fun.
Akila was stifling her own giggles as she made her way to what looked like a dispute between Egyptians and Bedoans. She was careful to put her best somber, serious face despite not really caring one way or another. Akila swept her eyes across the people, her eyebrow quirking curiously at one. Hm, Saro. What was he doing here? So far away from the sea… Interesting.
If you can pay whatever it is your kin has stolen, plus a good helping on top for the trouble…
“Did Bedoans suddenly develop a currency? What joyous news.” Akila finally finished approaching the group. She tilted her chin in greeting to Saro, a far different greeting than what he would receive if the pair were in the ocean. “That would due. I’m sure everything would be water under the bridge after that.” Akila’s eyes flickered around. What would be more fun? Blood on the sands or the kids getting away? Choices, choices...
Stealing was such a dirty word. Why not use words like repurposing? Borrowing? Relocating, even. But stealing? Such a rotten, disgusting little word.
But hey, Akila didn’t mind being filthy.
But arriving at this sleepy little area in the border of Bedoa and Egypt, words of the robbery reached Akila’s ears. She looked down at her hands, and despite the stains of blood and sin… there was nothing fresh upon them. For once, Akila wasn’t the one who stole anything and… well, that was a pity. Not that a little grain would have done much in the grand scheme of things. Maybe she could have taken it and gone somewhere else starving for grain and price gouged the shit out of them. Though starving people rarely could afford their food anyway…
It didn’t matter much to Akila. She did have a vested interest for the thief to get caught… or someone to take the blame for it. She didn’t much appreciate being the new person to sail in and the suspicions that may come of it. Judge her for the crimes she actually did. She didn’t need to be painted as some shitty small scale robber.
But that didn’t happen. Instead, word on the street it was two little Bedoans. It didn’t matter if they were really the thieves. All that mattered was what the Egyptians thought. Let them go to bed soundly at night knowing that the matter was solved and there will no more thieving, and Akila could take things of actual value right out from under their noses.
If there even was such a thing.
The kids would have to lose a hand and be off on their merry little way away Egypt. Or maybe they should escape… run away with the guilty verdict hanging over them. Oh, maybe Akila will steal even more grain at the dead of night and sail off before anyone knew any better. See what Egyptians do about the Bedoans then. That might be fun.
Akila was stifling her own giggles as she made her way to what looked like a dispute between Egyptians and Bedoans. She was careful to put her best somber, serious face despite not really caring one way or another. Akila swept her eyes across the people, her eyebrow quirking curiously at one. Hm, Saro. What was he doing here? So far away from the sea… Interesting.
If you can pay whatever it is your kin has stolen, plus a good helping on top for the trouble…
“Did Bedoans suddenly develop a currency? What joyous news.” Akila finally finished approaching the group. She tilted her chin in greeting to Saro, a far different greeting than what he would receive if the pair were in the ocean. “That would due. I’m sure everything would be water under the bridge after that.” Akila’s eyes flickered around. What would be more fun? Blood on the sands or the kids getting away? Choices, choices...
Saro knew that Hasani was a good leader, he was strong, he was smart, he was kind when it was necessary. He would stand by his new friend no matter what he decided. If they were going to let the boys who had been accused have their punishment, or if they were going to fight it. Saro was there for what ever Hasani needed of him. It was a dark day for all of them in the tribe, and Saro considered himself among them now, an unoffical member of the Zaire.
Saro moved when he saw Hasani approach Tanishe and the people she was talking to, he took his place on the other side of Hasani, a silent statue for the moment, he would let Hasani do the talking as the leader, and he would stand there, a show of strength at the side of his leader and friend. The fresh scars visible on his face, arms and chest helped him look more imposing than usual. A man who had fought death and won was not a man who would be so easily bested again.
Saro frowned when the woman that Hasani had addressed mentioned that they should try to pay the Egyptians for any supposed crime that had been committed. Saro did not agree that they should try, and he honestly wasn’t sure that the tribe had that much money, they relied on trade and very little on money, but if Hasani decided to take that route, he would provide the money that was hidden amongst his own things. Money that he would not find use for while among the tribes, and money that could easily be recouped once he returned to the seas instead of the sands. He remained silent still for the moment, if Hasani spoke of wanting to try to pay off the Egyptians, Saro would mention the sum of money he had back in his tent.
He tensed though, upon seeing the next person to approach.
Akila.
He turned to Hasani and spoke quickly, he had vastly improved his knowledge of the Bedoan language, and while it held a bit of a strange accent coming from Saro, he could speak it fluently. Something he knew that Akila could not do. The odds of her knowing what he said were slim.
“Do not trust this one. She’s dangerous and is not above theft herself.” He said to Hasani in a low voice, trying to make sure that Akila did not hear on the off chance that she did understand. If the Leier wanted him to explain, he would do so later when there were less people to overhear his words.
“Not surprised to see you here.” He said, addressing Akila in Coptic this time. He wouldn’t doubt if the woman had something to do with the theft these kids were accused of. She was a cruel woman, simply for the sake of being cruel. He knew from his own experience as well as from the stories of others among his pirate contacts.
He was sure she would recognize him, even if he was a lot more scarred than he had been during their last run in.
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Saro knew that Hasani was a good leader, he was strong, he was smart, he was kind when it was necessary. He would stand by his new friend no matter what he decided. If they were going to let the boys who had been accused have their punishment, or if they were going to fight it. Saro was there for what ever Hasani needed of him. It was a dark day for all of them in the tribe, and Saro considered himself among them now, an unoffical member of the Zaire.
Saro moved when he saw Hasani approach Tanishe and the people she was talking to, he took his place on the other side of Hasani, a silent statue for the moment, he would let Hasani do the talking as the leader, and he would stand there, a show of strength at the side of his leader and friend. The fresh scars visible on his face, arms and chest helped him look more imposing than usual. A man who had fought death and won was not a man who would be so easily bested again.
Saro frowned when the woman that Hasani had addressed mentioned that they should try to pay the Egyptians for any supposed crime that had been committed. Saro did not agree that they should try, and he honestly wasn’t sure that the tribe had that much money, they relied on trade and very little on money, but if Hasani decided to take that route, he would provide the money that was hidden amongst his own things. Money that he would not find use for while among the tribes, and money that could easily be recouped once he returned to the seas instead of the sands. He remained silent still for the moment, if Hasani spoke of wanting to try to pay off the Egyptians, Saro would mention the sum of money he had back in his tent.
He tensed though, upon seeing the next person to approach.
Akila.
He turned to Hasani and spoke quickly, he had vastly improved his knowledge of the Bedoan language, and while it held a bit of a strange accent coming from Saro, he could speak it fluently. Something he knew that Akila could not do. The odds of her knowing what he said were slim.
“Do not trust this one. She’s dangerous and is not above theft herself.” He said to Hasani in a low voice, trying to make sure that Akila did not hear on the off chance that she did understand. If the Leier wanted him to explain, he would do so later when there were less people to overhear his words.
“Not surprised to see you here.” He said, addressing Akila in Coptic this time. He wouldn’t doubt if the woman had something to do with the theft these kids were accused of. She was a cruel woman, simply for the sake of being cruel. He knew from his own experience as well as from the stories of others among his pirate contacts.
He was sure she would recognize him, even if he was a lot more scarred than he had been during their last run in.
Saro knew that Hasani was a good leader, he was strong, he was smart, he was kind when it was necessary. He would stand by his new friend no matter what he decided. If they were going to let the boys who had been accused have their punishment, or if they were going to fight it. Saro was there for what ever Hasani needed of him. It was a dark day for all of them in the tribe, and Saro considered himself among them now, an unoffical member of the Zaire.
Saro moved when he saw Hasani approach Tanishe and the people she was talking to, he took his place on the other side of Hasani, a silent statue for the moment, he would let Hasani do the talking as the leader, and he would stand there, a show of strength at the side of his leader and friend. The fresh scars visible on his face, arms and chest helped him look more imposing than usual. A man who had fought death and won was not a man who would be so easily bested again.
Saro frowned when the woman that Hasani had addressed mentioned that they should try to pay the Egyptians for any supposed crime that had been committed. Saro did not agree that they should try, and he honestly wasn’t sure that the tribe had that much money, they relied on trade and very little on money, but if Hasani decided to take that route, he would provide the money that was hidden amongst his own things. Money that he would not find use for while among the tribes, and money that could easily be recouped once he returned to the seas instead of the sands. He remained silent still for the moment, if Hasani spoke of wanting to try to pay off the Egyptians, Saro would mention the sum of money he had back in his tent.
He tensed though, upon seeing the next person to approach.
Akila.
He turned to Hasani and spoke quickly, he had vastly improved his knowledge of the Bedoan language, and while it held a bit of a strange accent coming from Saro, he could speak it fluently. Something he knew that Akila could not do. The odds of her knowing what he said were slim.
“Do not trust this one. She’s dangerous and is not above theft herself.” He said to Hasani in a low voice, trying to make sure that Akila did not hear on the off chance that she did understand. If the Leier wanted him to explain, he would do so later when there were less people to overhear his words.
“Not surprised to see you here.” He said, addressing Akila in Coptic this time. He wouldn’t doubt if the woman had something to do with the theft these kids were accused of. She was a cruel woman, simply for the sake of being cruel. He knew from his own experience as well as from the stories of others among his pirate contacts.
He was sure she would recognize him, even if he was a lot more scarred than he had been during their last run in.
The leier's gaze upon the rather loud woman before him turned very quickly distrustful. She appeared Bedoan, her features not very unsimilar to many in his own tribe, but her accent spoke of her Egyptian heritage and the king casually placed one hand on one of his blades, his dark gaze focusing on Rubiah's face in a mask of silent impatience. An emotion he rarely showed with anyone at all, especially when she kept speaking and gave him little, if any, good information to go off of. This girl truly was not Bedoan, it seemed, or else she would know and understand that Bedoans did not work with currency. It did them absolutely no good while travelling the sands.
What gold they did have was often melted down into jewelry and retraded when they next made it to another market to do business. Watching only Rubiah's face, his expression of impatience turned to one that spoke of her true ignorance. "Bedoans do not work with currency," Hasani said very simply, now ignoring the girl in her entirety because she was no longer important to this situation. A background individual who held no weight on the events at hand and had made herself less than useless. Less useful than even a good slave.
Saro appearing at his shoulder, however, had him turning his head slightly from Rubiah while Saro spoke quietly to him. Then the leier turned his attention, though not his entire body to the woman that Saro spoke of. "Do you know this one well, Saro?" Hasani asked in Bedoan, eyeing Akila with as little interest as he now saw Rubiah. None of these women were important, and they only added to the mounting annoyance that the leier felt at how many people had come to see the shaming of his tribe for something that they likely did not do. "Your thoughts on the Egyptian woman's words?" Hasani asked lightly to Saro then, "I am inclined to mercy," he added, not having to say that he was also inclined to cutting down any number of these Egyptian peasants if it meant that his own tribe was not weakened by greed.
To Akila, Hasani only looked her over once more, "No currency," he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh deeply at the sheer stupidity of the Egyptians and their failure to understand how the Bedoan's functioned despite trading with them regularly. Hasani's patience was generally unending, but thinking on many of the other Bedoan tribes, Hasani knew that a few of them would have already waged war on this tiny village instead of allow their warriors to be weakened and a burden upon their community. Were Bedoan women just that much smarter than Egyptian women, or was it just this stock that was particularly dimwitted?
As far as he was concerned, the smartest woman in the little group that had gathered was Tanishe, who was speaking to the executioner. Leaving Saro behind to deal with the new pirate and the not-Bedoan girl, Hasani approached his wife and the man she spoke to. "Who is the leader of this village?" was all he said to Rekhmire, a hand resting on Tanishe's lower back now that he was hopefully freed of his prior company. This executioner had to know because he had clearly been hired to do the dirty work that the Egyptian leader did not wish to themselves.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The leier's gaze upon the rather loud woman before him turned very quickly distrustful. She appeared Bedoan, her features not very unsimilar to many in his own tribe, but her accent spoke of her Egyptian heritage and the king casually placed one hand on one of his blades, his dark gaze focusing on Rubiah's face in a mask of silent impatience. An emotion he rarely showed with anyone at all, especially when she kept speaking and gave him little, if any, good information to go off of. This girl truly was not Bedoan, it seemed, or else she would know and understand that Bedoans did not work with currency. It did them absolutely no good while travelling the sands.
What gold they did have was often melted down into jewelry and retraded when they next made it to another market to do business. Watching only Rubiah's face, his expression of impatience turned to one that spoke of her true ignorance. "Bedoans do not work with currency," Hasani said very simply, now ignoring the girl in her entirety because she was no longer important to this situation. A background individual who held no weight on the events at hand and had made herself less than useless. Less useful than even a good slave.
Saro appearing at his shoulder, however, had him turning his head slightly from Rubiah while Saro spoke quietly to him. Then the leier turned his attention, though not his entire body to the woman that Saro spoke of. "Do you know this one well, Saro?" Hasani asked in Bedoan, eyeing Akila with as little interest as he now saw Rubiah. None of these women were important, and they only added to the mounting annoyance that the leier felt at how many people had come to see the shaming of his tribe for something that they likely did not do. "Your thoughts on the Egyptian woman's words?" Hasani asked lightly to Saro then, "I am inclined to mercy," he added, not having to say that he was also inclined to cutting down any number of these Egyptian peasants if it meant that his own tribe was not weakened by greed.
To Akila, Hasani only looked her over once more, "No currency," he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh deeply at the sheer stupidity of the Egyptians and their failure to understand how the Bedoan's functioned despite trading with them regularly. Hasani's patience was generally unending, but thinking on many of the other Bedoan tribes, Hasani knew that a few of them would have already waged war on this tiny village instead of allow their warriors to be weakened and a burden upon their community. Were Bedoan women just that much smarter than Egyptian women, or was it just this stock that was particularly dimwitted?
As far as he was concerned, the smartest woman in the little group that had gathered was Tanishe, who was speaking to the executioner. Leaving Saro behind to deal with the new pirate and the not-Bedoan girl, Hasani approached his wife and the man she spoke to. "Who is the leader of this village?" was all he said to Rekhmire, a hand resting on Tanishe's lower back now that he was hopefully freed of his prior company. This executioner had to know because he had clearly been hired to do the dirty work that the Egyptian leader did not wish to themselves.
The leier's gaze upon the rather loud woman before him turned very quickly distrustful. She appeared Bedoan, her features not very unsimilar to many in his own tribe, but her accent spoke of her Egyptian heritage and the king casually placed one hand on one of his blades, his dark gaze focusing on Rubiah's face in a mask of silent impatience. An emotion he rarely showed with anyone at all, especially when she kept speaking and gave him little, if any, good information to go off of. This girl truly was not Bedoan, it seemed, or else she would know and understand that Bedoans did not work with currency. It did them absolutely no good while travelling the sands.
What gold they did have was often melted down into jewelry and retraded when they next made it to another market to do business. Watching only Rubiah's face, his expression of impatience turned to one that spoke of her true ignorance. "Bedoans do not work with currency," Hasani said very simply, now ignoring the girl in her entirety because she was no longer important to this situation. A background individual who held no weight on the events at hand and had made herself less than useless. Less useful than even a good slave.
Saro appearing at his shoulder, however, had him turning his head slightly from Rubiah while Saro spoke quietly to him. Then the leier turned his attention, though not his entire body to the woman that Saro spoke of. "Do you know this one well, Saro?" Hasani asked in Bedoan, eyeing Akila with as little interest as he now saw Rubiah. None of these women were important, and they only added to the mounting annoyance that the leier felt at how many people had come to see the shaming of his tribe for something that they likely did not do. "Your thoughts on the Egyptian woman's words?" Hasani asked lightly to Saro then, "I am inclined to mercy," he added, not having to say that he was also inclined to cutting down any number of these Egyptian peasants if it meant that his own tribe was not weakened by greed.
To Akila, Hasani only looked her over once more, "No currency," he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh deeply at the sheer stupidity of the Egyptians and their failure to understand how the Bedoan's functioned despite trading with them regularly. Hasani's patience was generally unending, but thinking on many of the other Bedoan tribes, Hasani knew that a few of them would have already waged war on this tiny village instead of allow their warriors to be weakened and a burden upon their community. Were Bedoan women just that much smarter than Egyptian women, or was it just this stock that was particularly dimwitted?
As far as he was concerned, the smartest woman in the little group that had gathered was Tanishe, who was speaking to the executioner. Leaving Saro behind to deal with the new pirate and the not-Bedoan girl, Hasani approached his wife and the man she spoke to. "Who is the leader of this village?" was all he said to Rekhmire, a hand resting on Tanishe's lower back now that he was hopefully freed of his prior company. This executioner had to know because he had clearly been hired to do the dirty work that the Egyptian leader did not wish to themselves.
Rekhmire glanced around as certain people began to speak to each other. He waited with patience as they jabbered about in that strange tongue of theirs. He glanced about trying to garner some sort of information. He could certainly see that many of them were upset, which given what was about to happen, seemed all too reasonable.
And yet, he didn't care. As far as he was concerned all this was, was a lesson in waiting. He got to use a method of healing that he rarely got to try out back home. He brushed his hair back as he glanced over to a woman who he had not noticed.
“Should there be healers at something like this? This is a punishment, surely, not a hospital?”
He narrowed his eyes, this statement, before shaking his head at the lack of imagination from the woman, "It is both. Should you not heal them, they may die to their injuries. If you heal them, they will live with the scars for the rest of their lives."
Another egyptian woman seemed to also join the fray, and he glanced over as she began to speak.
“Did Bedoans suddenly develop a currency? What joyous news.”
Rekhmire smirked slightly at that comment, before steeling his expression. This was an event that had tension between both sides. It would be in his best interests to be as carefully neutral as possible.
He furrowed his brows a bit, as the girl he originally spoke with turned on him. As far as he could see, nothing was wrong with him. He had two arms, two legs, and all of his mental faculties. "I am here for both, is that so hard to believe?"
He shook his head lightly at the entire scenario that had appeared before him. He was astonished to the lengths that some people would feel insulted. "I am a well-trained doctor, but I don't get a lot of practice with severe wounds. I am here merely to keep my skills fresh. But If I can help someone not suffer, I will do that too."
He turned to the new man who approached, and shook his head as he, too asked him a question. "I do not know who the leader is," he pressed his fingers up to the bridge of his nose. This was slowly getting tiring, and he started questioning why he even tried to show up and help.
But then he shook his head. He would stick it through, no matter what. He was here now. If he had an opportunity here, he had to take it, no matter what. He turned back to the man who had spoken to him, "To be honest, I don't know anyone here. I just wanted to lend my services as a healer."
Out of habit, he glanced around the area analyzing whoever he could see. As he looked around, he saw most people not as they appeared, but by how they stood. How well they would stack up in an experiment compared to the slaves he normally worked with. Not that he would ever have the chance to do anything anyway.. He turned back to the man and the woman that he'd been speaking to. "Is there anyone I could speak to about such a thing?"
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Check out their information page here.
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Rekhmire glanced around as certain people began to speak to each other. He waited with patience as they jabbered about in that strange tongue of theirs. He glanced about trying to garner some sort of information. He could certainly see that many of them were upset, which given what was about to happen, seemed all too reasonable.
And yet, he didn't care. As far as he was concerned all this was, was a lesson in waiting. He got to use a method of healing that he rarely got to try out back home. He brushed his hair back as he glanced over to a woman who he had not noticed.
“Should there be healers at something like this? This is a punishment, surely, not a hospital?”
He narrowed his eyes, this statement, before shaking his head at the lack of imagination from the woman, "It is both. Should you not heal them, they may die to their injuries. If you heal them, they will live with the scars for the rest of their lives."
Another egyptian woman seemed to also join the fray, and he glanced over as she began to speak.
“Did Bedoans suddenly develop a currency? What joyous news.”
Rekhmire smirked slightly at that comment, before steeling his expression. This was an event that had tension between both sides. It would be in his best interests to be as carefully neutral as possible.
He furrowed his brows a bit, as the girl he originally spoke with turned on him. As far as he could see, nothing was wrong with him. He had two arms, two legs, and all of his mental faculties. "I am here for both, is that so hard to believe?"
He shook his head lightly at the entire scenario that had appeared before him. He was astonished to the lengths that some people would feel insulted. "I am a well-trained doctor, but I don't get a lot of practice with severe wounds. I am here merely to keep my skills fresh. But If I can help someone not suffer, I will do that too."
He turned to the new man who approached, and shook his head as he, too asked him a question. "I do not know who the leader is," he pressed his fingers up to the bridge of his nose. This was slowly getting tiring, and he started questioning why he even tried to show up and help.
But then he shook his head. He would stick it through, no matter what. He was here now. If he had an opportunity here, he had to take it, no matter what. He turned back to the man who had spoken to him, "To be honest, I don't know anyone here. I just wanted to lend my services as a healer."
Out of habit, he glanced around the area analyzing whoever he could see. As he looked around, he saw most people not as they appeared, but by how they stood. How well they would stack up in an experiment compared to the slaves he normally worked with. Not that he would ever have the chance to do anything anyway.. He turned back to the man and the woman that he'd been speaking to. "Is there anyone I could speak to about such a thing?"
Rekhmire glanced around as certain people began to speak to each other. He waited with patience as they jabbered about in that strange tongue of theirs. He glanced about trying to garner some sort of information. He could certainly see that many of them were upset, which given what was about to happen, seemed all too reasonable.
And yet, he didn't care. As far as he was concerned all this was, was a lesson in waiting. He got to use a method of healing that he rarely got to try out back home. He brushed his hair back as he glanced over to a woman who he had not noticed.
“Should there be healers at something like this? This is a punishment, surely, not a hospital?”
He narrowed his eyes, this statement, before shaking his head at the lack of imagination from the woman, "It is both. Should you not heal them, they may die to their injuries. If you heal them, they will live with the scars for the rest of their lives."
Another egyptian woman seemed to also join the fray, and he glanced over as she began to speak.
“Did Bedoans suddenly develop a currency? What joyous news.”
Rekhmire smirked slightly at that comment, before steeling his expression. This was an event that had tension between both sides. It would be in his best interests to be as carefully neutral as possible.
He furrowed his brows a bit, as the girl he originally spoke with turned on him. As far as he could see, nothing was wrong with him. He had two arms, two legs, and all of his mental faculties. "I am here for both, is that so hard to believe?"
He shook his head lightly at the entire scenario that had appeared before him. He was astonished to the lengths that some people would feel insulted. "I am a well-trained doctor, but I don't get a lot of practice with severe wounds. I am here merely to keep my skills fresh. But If I can help someone not suffer, I will do that too."
He turned to the new man who approached, and shook his head as he, too asked him a question. "I do not know who the leader is," he pressed his fingers up to the bridge of his nose. This was slowly getting tiring, and he started questioning why he even tried to show up and help.
But then he shook his head. He would stick it through, no matter what. He was here now. If he had an opportunity here, he had to take it, no matter what. He turned back to the man who had spoken to him, "To be honest, I don't know anyone here. I just wanted to lend my services as a healer."
Out of habit, he glanced around the area analyzing whoever he could see. As he looked around, he saw most people not as they appeared, but by how they stood. How well they would stack up in an experiment compared to the slaves he normally worked with. Not that he would ever have the chance to do anything anyway.. He turned back to the man and the woman that he'd been speaking to. "Is there anyone I could speak to about such a thing?"
