The chatbox has been hidden for this page. It will reopen upon refresh. To hide the CBox permanently, select "Permanently Toggle Cbox" in your profile User Settings.
This chatbox is hidden. To reopen, edit your User Settings.
Akhmad didn't need to check the bandage that had been wrapped around his arm. He had watched as the Colchian girl - Myrrine - had secured it around his forearm. And whilst the fabric was light in colour and obvious against his darker wrappings, he knew it was wiser to leave it in place than to remove it. Even those within the Sariqas had not seen his skin, barring that around his eyes. Shadowed by long lashes that were ironically feminine for his occupation, the palette of his skin tone was pale - like a Grecian. It was already too attention seeking when combined with his middle eastern attire. He didn't need them knowing about the tattoos as well.
Instead, he kept the wrapping in place as he arrived back at the Sariqas hideout, folding the strips of wrapping that he had torn from the limb back over the white haphazardly. The lighter shade was clear between the uneven strips but he didn't have enough undamaged cloth to wind it with more coverage. Instead he was forced to bear the lighter stripes along his limb from elbow to wrist.
Akhmad bore no ill will or irritation that a simple task from Nahash had led to an injury. A man used to the dangers of his role, to wounds and slashes and blood, was hardly one to critique a simple slice through his flesh. It had at least been clean. Which meant it would heal faster and was unlikely to pull the skin into odd angles once it had reknitted itself together. The stitches that the girl had insisted to applying for him had been good, clean and straight. He wasn't concerned for anything barring infection. And he would simply ensure that he cleansed that arm more carefully for the next few weeks.
When he arrived back at the hideout, no-one was there, but Akhmad felt no sense of loneliness. He had tied himself to the brotherhood of thieves, but he was still just as content with his own company. Instead of worrying where the others were, he moved to the small recess in the wall of the ground floor where little piles of bagged and boxed food had been stocked. He reached into one of the small wooden crates and withdrew an apple. The skin was a little dusty from the state of their temporary home but a rub to his clothing was easy enough to solve that. A few pieces of his jewellery and affects clicked as they hit one another with his movement.
Settling himself on a single cushion, cross-legged with each foot on top of the opposite knee, Akhmad bent low to rest his arms on his feet and slipped the apple beneath the long covering over his lower face. There was the sound of a crunch, as his teeth dug into the flesh of the fruit, breaking through skin and prompting a slippery sound of juices. Akhmad licked his lips and systematically worked over the fruit, his hands moving to test what his eyes could not see...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Akhmad didn't need to check the bandage that had been wrapped around his arm. He had watched as the Colchian girl - Myrrine - had secured it around his forearm. And whilst the fabric was light in colour and obvious against his darker wrappings, he knew it was wiser to leave it in place than to remove it. Even those within the Sariqas had not seen his skin, barring that around his eyes. Shadowed by long lashes that were ironically feminine for his occupation, the palette of his skin tone was pale - like a Grecian. It was already too attention seeking when combined with his middle eastern attire. He didn't need them knowing about the tattoos as well.
Instead, he kept the wrapping in place as he arrived back at the Sariqas hideout, folding the strips of wrapping that he had torn from the limb back over the white haphazardly. The lighter shade was clear between the uneven strips but he didn't have enough undamaged cloth to wind it with more coverage. Instead he was forced to bear the lighter stripes along his limb from elbow to wrist.
Akhmad bore no ill will or irritation that a simple task from Nahash had led to an injury. A man used to the dangers of his role, to wounds and slashes and blood, was hardly one to critique a simple slice through his flesh. It had at least been clean. Which meant it would heal faster and was unlikely to pull the skin into odd angles once it had reknitted itself together. The stitches that the girl had insisted to applying for him had been good, clean and straight. He wasn't concerned for anything barring infection. And he would simply ensure that he cleansed that arm more carefully for the next few weeks.
When he arrived back at the hideout, no-one was there, but Akhmad felt no sense of loneliness. He had tied himself to the brotherhood of thieves, but he was still just as content with his own company. Instead of worrying where the others were, he moved to the small recess in the wall of the ground floor where little piles of bagged and boxed food had been stocked. He reached into one of the small wooden crates and withdrew an apple. The skin was a little dusty from the state of their temporary home but a rub to his clothing was easy enough to solve that. A few pieces of his jewellery and affects clicked as they hit one another with his movement.
Settling himself on a single cushion, cross-legged with each foot on top of the opposite knee, Akhmad bent low to rest his arms on his feet and slipped the apple beneath the long covering over his lower face. There was the sound of a crunch, as his teeth dug into the flesh of the fruit, breaking through skin and prompting a slippery sound of juices. Akhmad licked his lips and systematically worked over the fruit, his hands moving to test what his eyes could not see...
Akhmad didn't need to check the bandage that had been wrapped around his arm. He had watched as the Colchian girl - Myrrine - had secured it around his forearm. And whilst the fabric was light in colour and obvious against his darker wrappings, he knew it was wiser to leave it in place than to remove it. Even those within the Sariqas had not seen his skin, barring that around his eyes. Shadowed by long lashes that were ironically feminine for his occupation, the palette of his skin tone was pale - like a Grecian. It was already too attention seeking when combined with his middle eastern attire. He didn't need them knowing about the tattoos as well.
Instead, he kept the wrapping in place as he arrived back at the Sariqas hideout, folding the strips of wrapping that he had torn from the limb back over the white haphazardly. The lighter shade was clear between the uneven strips but he didn't have enough undamaged cloth to wind it with more coverage. Instead he was forced to bear the lighter stripes along his limb from elbow to wrist.
Akhmad bore no ill will or irritation that a simple task from Nahash had led to an injury. A man used to the dangers of his role, to wounds and slashes and blood, was hardly one to critique a simple slice through his flesh. It had at least been clean. Which meant it would heal faster and was unlikely to pull the skin into odd angles once it had reknitted itself together. The stitches that the girl had insisted to applying for him had been good, clean and straight. He wasn't concerned for anything barring infection. And he would simply ensure that he cleansed that arm more carefully for the next few weeks.
When he arrived back at the hideout, no-one was there, but Akhmad felt no sense of loneliness. He had tied himself to the brotherhood of thieves, but he was still just as content with his own company. Instead of worrying where the others were, he moved to the small recess in the wall of the ground floor where little piles of bagged and boxed food had been stocked. He reached into one of the small wooden crates and withdrew an apple. The skin was a little dusty from the state of their temporary home but a rub to his clothing was easy enough to solve that. A few pieces of his jewellery and affects clicked as they hit one another with his movement.
Settling himself on a single cushion, cross-legged with each foot on top of the opposite knee, Akhmad bent low to rest his arms on his feet and slipped the apple beneath the long covering over his lower face. There was the sound of a crunch, as his teeth dug into the flesh of the fruit, breaking through skin and prompting a slippery sound of juices. Akhmad licked his lips and systematically worked over the fruit, his hands moving to test what his eyes could not see...
Tiye came through the door first, her arms bundled full of bulky cloth bags. Khanh, likewise, was burdened down by the woman’s leather satchels, bulky cloth bags of his own, as well as a huge, bulging bladder of water. The water was contained in the kind of pouch that was generally given to pack animals and it weighed so much that Khanh’s left side was sagging just the littlest bit. A wet trail from the local well back to the hideout, comprised of some droplets and some splashes, betrayed their path.
Tiye dumped her bag on a clean stretch of floor and turned to relieve Khanh of his own bags. The water she directed him to dump in the pot she’d traded for that sat on what served as their fireplace. They would not travel with such a thing, of course, but while they were here, the doctor was of course going to make use of what time she had to make medicines. Khanh threw a glance at Akhmad as he shuffled over to the pot and carefully unshouldered the pouch. It was heavy but his arm did not shake as he lifted it with precision and dumped it into the pot. With further directives, Tiye asked that he work on lighting a fire and getting this, that, and the other to boil while she went off in search of more ingredients she needed.
To Akhmad, she asked that once he was done, if he wouldn’t mind to help with the three bags that she and Khanh had dumped on the floor. Drifting to Khanh, she relieved him of the two leather satchels, stowed them with her things, and then sailed back out the door, leaving the two men alone. Khanh was half glad she was gone. She might be small and unobtrusive most of the time, but once she cornered him for one of her ‘chore missions’ as he thought of them, he became a veritable workhorse and slave, depending on the physician’s whims. He didn’t want to piss her off, either. After all, it was she who usually did the stitching and patching up of them all and if she was feeling contrary, it could suddenly be a painful process indeed.
“She is a horrible task master,” he said idly as he knelt next to the bit of hearth. It was there that the stones were kept - the ones that would emit sparks when struck just so. His back was to Akhmad and so he wouldn’t be able to see what sorts of gestures the man might make in reply to that. Most of Khanh’s attention was absorbed in his task. Fire starting really should be a lot easier and though practiced as much as anyone at the task, it was never instant. The kindling had to be arranged and just because one could make the stones spark together did not mean that the tiny light would fall onto the kindling and ignite it. That took effort. Even when one did fall, sometimes kindling only curled with useless orange lines that blackened the kindling without burning it in any useful way. And once Khanh did finally get the right spark and the right bit of flame, he had to bend down and blow, or rather breathe softly on it, nurturing the flame bigger and bigger until it could survive on its own without being in danger of random drafts putting it straight out again.
Once that was done and there was a merry crackle going, Khanh finally returned to the middle of the room and sat down next to one of the bulky bags. Inside were strips of linen bandages that Tiye fully expected to be balled up into useful, easily unwrappable bundles. And she expected both Akhmad and Khanh to do it. After all, what else were they doing with their spare time? Khanh was game enough. He wasn’t tired and there wasn’t a lot of work to do. He was no great reader and didn’t tote around heavy books in any case. He didn’t play an instrument and was no craftsman. Besides, he did not mind this work so much, nor did he mind Akhmad’s silent company.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Tiye came through the door first, her arms bundled full of bulky cloth bags. Khanh, likewise, was burdened down by the woman’s leather satchels, bulky cloth bags of his own, as well as a huge, bulging bladder of water. The water was contained in the kind of pouch that was generally given to pack animals and it weighed so much that Khanh’s left side was sagging just the littlest bit. A wet trail from the local well back to the hideout, comprised of some droplets and some splashes, betrayed their path.
Tiye dumped her bag on a clean stretch of floor and turned to relieve Khanh of his own bags. The water she directed him to dump in the pot she’d traded for that sat on what served as their fireplace. They would not travel with such a thing, of course, but while they were here, the doctor was of course going to make use of what time she had to make medicines. Khanh threw a glance at Akhmad as he shuffled over to the pot and carefully unshouldered the pouch. It was heavy but his arm did not shake as he lifted it with precision and dumped it into the pot. With further directives, Tiye asked that he work on lighting a fire and getting this, that, and the other to boil while she went off in search of more ingredients she needed.
To Akhmad, she asked that once he was done, if he wouldn’t mind to help with the three bags that she and Khanh had dumped on the floor. Drifting to Khanh, she relieved him of the two leather satchels, stowed them with her things, and then sailed back out the door, leaving the two men alone. Khanh was half glad she was gone. She might be small and unobtrusive most of the time, but once she cornered him for one of her ‘chore missions’ as he thought of them, he became a veritable workhorse and slave, depending on the physician’s whims. He didn’t want to piss her off, either. After all, it was she who usually did the stitching and patching up of them all and if she was feeling contrary, it could suddenly be a painful process indeed.
“She is a horrible task master,” he said idly as he knelt next to the bit of hearth. It was there that the stones were kept - the ones that would emit sparks when struck just so. His back was to Akhmad and so he wouldn’t be able to see what sorts of gestures the man might make in reply to that. Most of Khanh’s attention was absorbed in his task. Fire starting really should be a lot easier and though practiced as much as anyone at the task, it was never instant. The kindling had to be arranged and just because one could make the stones spark together did not mean that the tiny light would fall onto the kindling and ignite it. That took effort. Even when one did fall, sometimes kindling only curled with useless orange lines that blackened the kindling without burning it in any useful way. And once Khanh did finally get the right spark and the right bit of flame, he had to bend down and blow, or rather breathe softly on it, nurturing the flame bigger and bigger until it could survive on its own without being in danger of random drafts putting it straight out again.
Once that was done and there was a merry crackle going, Khanh finally returned to the middle of the room and sat down next to one of the bulky bags. Inside were strips of linen bandages that Tiye fully expected to be balled up into useful, easily unwrappable bundles. And she expected both Akhmad and Khanh to do it. After all, what else were they doing with their spare time? Khanh was game enough. He wasn’t tired and there wasn’t a lot of work to do. He was no great reader and didn’t tote around heavy books in any case. He didn’t play an instrument and was no craftsman. Besides, he did not mind this work so much, nor did he mind Akhmad’s silent company.
Tiye came through the door first, her arms bundled full of bulky cloth bags. Khanh, likewise, was burdened down by the woman’s leather satchels, bulky cloth bags of his own, as well as a huge, bulging bladder of water. The water was contained in the kind of pouch that was generally given to pack animals and it weighed so much that Khanh’s left side was sagging just the littlest bit. A wet trail from the local well back to the hideout, comprised of some droplets and some splashes, betrayed their path.
Tiye dumped her bag on a clean stretch of floor and turned to relieve Khanh of his own bags. The water she directed him to dump in the pot she’d traded for that sat on what served as their fireplace. They would not travel with such a thing, of course, but while they were here, the doctor was of course going to make use of what time she had to make medicines. Khanh threw a glance at Akhmad as he shuffled over to the pot and carefully unshouldered the pouch. It was heavy but his arm did not shake as he lifted it with precision and dumped it into the pot. With further directives, Tiye asked that he work on lighting a fire and getting this, that, and the other to boil while she went off in search of more ingredients she needed.
To Akhmad, she asked that once he was done, if he wouldn’t mind to help with the three bags that she and Khanh had dumped on the floor. Drifting to Khanh, she relieved him of the two leather satchels, stowed them with her things, and then sailed back out the door, leaving the two men alone. Khanh was half glad she was gone. She might be small and unobtrusive most of the time, but once she cornered him for one of her ‘chore missions’ as he thought of them, he became a veritable workhorse and slave, depending on the physician’s whims. He didn’t want to piss her off, either. After all, it was she who usually did the stitching and patching up of them all and if she was feeling contrary, it could suddenly be a painful process indeed.
“She is a horrible task master,” he said idly as he knelt next to the bit of hearth. It was there that the stones were kept - the ones that would emit sparks when struck just so. His back was to Akhmad and so he wouldn’t be able to see what sorts of gestures the man might make in reply to that. Most of Khanh’s attention was absorbed in his task. Fire starting really should be a lot easier and though practiced as much as anyone at the task, it was never instant. The kindling had to be arranged and just because one could make the stones spark together did not mean that the tiny light would fall onto the kindling and ignite it. That took effort. Even when one did fall, sometimes kindling only curled with useless orange lines that blackened the kindling without burning it in any useful way. And once Khanh did finally get the right spark and the right bit of flame, he had to bend down and blow, or rather breathe softly on it, nurturing the flame bigger and bigger until it could survive on its own without being in danger of random drafts putting it straight out again.
Once that was done and there was a merry crackle going, Khanh finally returned to the middle of the room and sat down next to one of the bulky bags. Inside were strips of linen bandages that Tiye fully expected to be balled up into useful, easily unwrappable bundles. And she expected both Akhmad and Khanh to do it. After all, what else were they doing with their spare time? Khanh was game enough. He wasn’t tired and there wasn’t a lot of work to do. He was no great reader and didn’t tote around heavy books in any case. He didn’t play an instrument and was no craftsman. Besides, he did not mind this work so much, nor did he mind Akhmad’s silent company.