Announcements: Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newbies » RPG Chat — the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Cunningham's Law » The Tribalism of Religion » Lost Library » Game Theory » The Hidden Void » Removing CS From an Indy Universe : Solution » On the Matter of New Players and Orphaned Plays » STOP BLAMING US FOR RPG BEING SLOW! » Polytheism » The Game of Life » Just War » Science and Philosophy » The Bible as Literature » Humans in the MV. Questions and thoughts. » Surviving the post-holiday apocalypse. » SL: 1097 Bestiary of Monsters » What latest tech excites me? » RPG: Season of Giving 2020 (WINNERS ANNOUNCED!) » A question about 'hyperspace travel' and its use as a weapon » NaNoWriMo 2020 »

Players Wanted: Wuxia RP » Looking for roleplayers » New Realistic Roleplay - Small World Life ٩( ´・ш・)و » Mentors Wanted » MV Recruiting Drive: sci-fi players wanted! » Veilbrand: The Revolution » Gonna do this anyway. » Looking for Kamen Rider Players » Elysium » Looking for roleplayers for a dystopian past! » Revamping Fantasy Adventure RPG, need new players » Here, At the End of the World (supernatural mystery drama) » Seeking Role Players for a TOG Based RP » so I made a Stranger Things RP idk why not come join » LFP - New Roleplay » Gifted/Mutant individuals escaping the gov » Spaceship Zero! A retro horror sci fi RP with rayguns :D » mahou shoujo rp » Avolair: Academy For The Supernatural [NEW][OPEN] » Calling for adventurers to explore Xamoyos »

0
followers
follow

Tisra Nahlise

“I have seen cruel slaves and generous masters, but never a leader of men who sought power out of pity.”

0 · 473 views · located in Al-Rayyat

a character in “Insurrection: Chains Unbound”, as played by Hyperewok

Description

Image

Name: Tisra Nahlise
Age: 30
Gender: Female
Type of Slave: Witch
Appearance: Lithe and elegant, her tanned body is hidden under layers of voluminous robes. She has aged somewhat, but it is a small wonder she was able to avoid the harems in her youth. A warm smile is often on her face, although she constantly examines her surroundings with a careful eye. Her hair is long and dark, braided elaborately and decorated with numerous beads. She dresses well, for a slave, her robes simple and comfortable, but of a decent make and material.
Personality: Tisra is kind and charming, at least at first glance. Beneath the warm smile is a keen intellect and caution, honed over years of slavery to protect herself. But despite her enslavement, she is ultimately content with her life for its simple comforts and highly skeptical of the rumors of a righteous slave revolt.
Enslavement: Captured by bandits and sold at the slave markets. A combination of charm and magic kept her from the unpleasant fate of many beautiful young women.
Background: The daughter of a witch in a small nomadic tribe, Tisra led the simple life of the nomads inhabiting the deepest parts of the desert, wandering from one small oasis to another. She assisted her mother’s vital role in the tribe as a healer and a shaman, caring for both the welfare of her tribe and appeasing the spirits of the desert through offerings and rituals. Unfortunately, the desert is a harsh and dangerous land. During a skirmish with a rival tribe, Tisra was taken along with others of her tribe, a prize of war to be sold off in the cities. A young girl suddenly stolen away into an even harsher life, Tisra used the lessons her mother had taught her on surviving in an environment where the power was held by the strongest man with the sharpest weapon. To defy the system was to ask for death, but to make use of it was to survive. And so she let her captors know of her magic. When one of them was cruel to her, he later choked to death on his meal. When another was bitten by a scorpion, she cured him with a potion her mother had taught her to make. And by the time they reached Myzhara, the slavers knew she would fetch a hefty price and the Sheik would pay it for a witch. For many years she served the Sheik and his household primarily as a healer, earning herself a comfortable position after she cured one of his sons of a terrible sickness. Her fellow slaves became her new tribe, and she did everything she could to help and protect them with her magic, healing injuries and illnesses, or cursing those that were overly cruel.

So begins...

Tisra Nahlise's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Malan
The Sheikh's palace, much representing the man himself, was extravagant, much too large and teeming with slaves. Today was a day like any other in Myzhara, and as usual the Sheikh and his wives were entertaining themselves in the palace courtyard. Ayam sat on an elevated platform, being fanned by two slaves: Astha and an even younger girl with pale white skin. Ayam himself was an obese man with a bald head and a small goatee. His white robes sprawled out over his body and to the floor. Astha sat right next to Ayam's Beauty Wife, Erina. Every man of importance in Al-Rayyat had two wives: a wife of great beauty, who serves his aesthetic needs, and a wife of great prestige, who serves as his bookkeeper and manages his lands when he is traveling. Erina beckoned to Astha. "Slave, fetch me some water, will you?" Erina pointed towards the kitchens. "Be quick about it."

Meanwhile the true entertainment of the afternoon was being brought out: Bilal Idris was being escorted into one end of the courtyard by Ayam's guards. He was dressed in thin leather armor and equipped with whatever weapon he asked for. On the opposite side of the courtyard was another man: this one was at least seven feet tall and nearly naked except for a few rags. He had no weapons, only chains that hung limply around his wrists. Bilal had heard of this man: he was once a famed boxer in Al-Rayyat until his debts caught up to him. "Today, we want blood!" Ayam declared. "This fight will be one to the death!" The guards released the boxer, who charged at Bilal.

"I'm placing my bets on the little one," Whispered Dhoria, Ayam's prestige wife, to Abbas. "He's like a bee, fast and deadly." Dhoria had kept Abbas close these past few days. She was quite fond of him. Dhoria was a large woman, at least twenty years older than Ayam. She was rumored to be the cousin of a cousin of the Shahanshah, although it was widely disbelieved.

Tisra Nahlise basically had the day off: she was on the frontlines of the duel, yet she wasn't expected to heal the loser.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Bilal was awoken by a rush of water thrown upon his face. The thrower was a young man with a strong masculine face very unlike Bilal's which was gaunt and almost feminine. "Up and at 'em" the man said with a smile and an outstretched hand. Bilal grabbed the hand, glad for the help up from his slumber. Forty wasn't old, but it wasn't exactly young either. "What's on today's menu my friend?" Bilal asked the fellow slave with a masculine face.

"Well evidently your fighting a giant."
"A giant?"
"Yeah, they say he's ten feet tall and made of muscle"
"Probably an exaggeration, most people are only five-five to five-ten meaning that anyone over six and a half feet may look like giants,"

Bilal began gathering his "armor" which were little more than than tanned hides, barely reinforced and absolutely boring.

"Really the man is probably no bigger than seven feet. And as for the "made of muscle," he's on a slaves diet, pretty unlikely he is any more built than you or I."
"Oh..."
"Any other info may help though."
"Well, he's a boxer, pretty famous I think."
"Yeah, I probably know the one. He's little more than a slugger and is well passed his prime. Meaning that his ability to be a slugger has greatly diminished."
"You think your gunna win?"
"Yeah probably. Let's go get my weapons."

The hallway to the armory was dark and smelled a lot like a battlefield after the living had left, leaving the rotting shit covered dead to decompose. Bilal shook his head of the thoughts of death which always plagued him before a battle no matter how likely his victory. "Well this is where I leave you Bilal. Not allowed in the armory and all that. Don't die please." The masculine slave said. "I'll try my best Aali." Bilal said as he walked through the armory door.

The worlds between the slave hallway and the armory were very different. Here Bilal couldn't smell death and one could see from the torch light all around. Bilal walked up to the armor and asked for a small dagger and a piece of rope the size of Bilal's forearm.
"The right tools for the wrong job," he thought to himself. With his tools of death in hand he walked towards the courtyard entrance. When he emerged two guards flanked him, nervous as they should be, both of Bilal and of Ayam.

The man Bilal had to fight was exactly as expected only about seven feet and of muscles that once were great, but now were quickly diminishing on a slave's diet.

As soon as the man was released by the guards the boxer charged towards Bilal. The man was fast, but no faster than he had expected. The boxer's large fist collided with Bilal's face. But, it's immense power was subjugated both by Bilal's back step that caused the man to overstretch his punch by an inch and by Bilal's turning neck. As soon as the punch began to chamber again Bilal pulled out his rope and quickly wrapped it around the other man's wrist. He pulled the man past himself throwing the boxer off balance using both his size and weight against him. Bilal pulled out the small dagger and slammed it into the boxer's liver. Bringing the boxer to his knees. Then Bilal pulled out the dagger and flipped it in his hand so that the hilt was pointing towards the winners face. He exhaled and looked at the daggers target. Right above the Atlas bone. The dagger would sever the nerve and slide against the skull all the way into the esophagus, death would follow within thirty seconds. Bilal made the move and the boxer's eyes rolled into the back of his head. He probably felt nothing, though there was really no way to know what he felt. He left the knife in the man so that the boxer's blood wouldn't stain him crimson. Bilal stood to his full height and awaited for either an order or for the guards to fearfully take him away.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Tisra sighed quietly as she watched the bloody proceedings. It was dreadfully barbaric. But then again, it was one life to appease the bloodlust of many. Or perhaps most importantly, the one man who could easily order the deaths of many. From her spot on the edge of the arena floor with a few other slaves tasked to the arena, Tisra glanced up at the Sheikh. There was always a price to be paid, she noted to herself, in her own life as much as her master's. She had her own appeasements to make for her magic, and the spirits could certainly be as finicky as any man. But that kept her comfortable position in the palace, a position that allowed her to help her fellow slaves. There was always a cost, but one that Tisra was willing to accept. Such was life in Al-Rayyat.

Absently toying with one of her braids, Tisra returned her attention to the fight. She didn't bat an eye as the dagger took the man's life in little more then a heartbeat. At least it was quick, she mused, as much a mercy as could be given. Such was life in Al-Rayyat.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Astha has never liked the fighting. It was always gruesome and made her stomach do back flips with worry. She didn't really know Bilal or the great boxer at the other end of the arena, but she still emerged herself into mouthing prayers for the peaceful resting of whomever may be as unfortunate to be the loser. The Goddess must know of their great deeds, for they do not fight for their own lives, but for the lives of all the other slaves as well. Astha remembered a long time ago when the 'entertainment' refused to fight, causing mass slaughter within the pens from Ayam's great rage.

Distracting as the prayers are, Astha only caught the very back end of her Mistress', "... will you? Be quick about it." Shear panic rose in Astha's system, not knowing for what Miss Erina had asked for. Looking about quickly, she caught the eye of the younger, paler slave sitting on the other side of the Sheikh, pleading with her eyes for help. The girl glanced between the Sheikh and Erina to make sure they were not looking before mouthing, 'Water.'

Astha nodding in thanks and placing down her fan, she started to rise from were she knelt, bowing before she departed, and practically running when she was out of immediate sight. It took her a bit longer to get back, however, making a wide circle around the Sheikh's other wife's 'Favorite', Abbas, to avoid him. She knelt back in her place, holding the glass up with her head bowed to Erina, who took it without a word, too engrossed in the battle.

Just as Astha lifted her head to see if the fight was over, Bilal dealt his final blow, killing the man off with ease. She launched herself back into prayer, resisting the urge to be sick.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Abbas

If Abbas thought that vomiting would make the fat woman order his death, he would happily have done it as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. She had tried for the past few days to get him into her bed but he had thus far managed to avoid it by pleading that his injuries from a fall from horseback would render him unable to preform. She had accepted the news well enough but the glint in her eye told him that it would not hold him long.

The sun was hot on his exposed skin and the scar tissue tight across his chest so that he felt it every time he took in a breath. His shaved head glistened with sweat and his hands, manacled together, were sore from the chaffing of the iron shackles. Some day he was going to take them and use them to strangle the rancid bitch and her husband. He would do it before he died, he had promised himself that much.

Her whispered comment about betting on the smaller man made Abbas smile slightly to himself. He might be a slave now but he was no fool. He had stolen almost three gold from the fat cow over the past four days and had bet it all on the smaller man himself. Abbas was no Gladiator but he knew a tired man when he saw one and the seven foot beast was well past his prime.

The cow was sweating so profusely that she stunk and he was relieved when she called for water. He could use a drink himself. He watched the exchange between the two slave girls, and then, to his shame, watched as Astha went wide around. Even his association with the foul Ayam has made him like some creature with a wretched disease. At that moment he almost hated Astha as much as Ayam for her cold treatment.

In a quick flurry, possibly to fast for some, the fight was over, the smaller man using his knife expertly to dispatch his larger opponent. Abbas, a fighting man from his youth, whistled silently under his breath in admiration. If he ever came up against the smaller man there would certainly be no bull rush.

Ayam was clapping enthusiastically as the rest and Abbas let his eyes wander until he found the face of the whom he had placed his bets with. The man gave a small nod of his and Abbas grinned. The gold would buy him weapons he could hide in his little room, and when the time came, he would slaughter as man as he could.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Malan
While most people erupted into cheer in the courtyard, be it slave, guard or noble, Ayam pushed himself off his seat and clenched his meaty hands into fists. "No! That was too quick!" He shouted. "I wanted a fight, not a murder!" The Sheikh's face quickly turned a disturbing mix of red and purple. "That slave cheated us out of a good show! He's a filthy cheat!"

The Sheikh's beauty wife, Erina, caught on quicker than most of the applauding noblemen and stood up in a similar fashion. Erina was one of the only nobles in the courtyard that was thin, as it was expected of her as the beauty wife. The Sheikh would weigh her weekly to make sure she stayed a desirable weight, and would have her beat if she went over. It was far from standard for an Al-Rayyat nobleman to abuse his own wife, and spoke to Ayam's cruel nature. "The slave has cheated in the duel!" She declared loudly. "He has stolen the fight from our Sheikh! He should lose a hand for his insolence."

"Ooh," Dhoria squeezed Abbas' arm. The prestige wife herself did not bother to stand. "The only thing I love more than a bloody fight is the drama that follows. This should be good." Just as the guards seized Bilal, the doors to the courtyard were thrown open. Myzhara's town guard captain came running in, clearly out of breath.

"I tried to stop her, sir," He said, nearly doubling over. "But the guards couldn't hold her. She demands an audience with Your Excellency." Ayam turned away from Bilal. The Sheikh seemed to have forgotten about him completely.

Following the guard captain came a lone woman. She wore an interesting tan robe that went to the floor. It was covered in sand, like her face and hair. "Ah, Sheikh Ayam." When she spoke, her voice echoed around the entire courtyard. "Let me just take a moment to breath in this moment. This picture. I've been dreaming of it for a long time."

"You dare interrupt the Sheikh without a proper invitation, woman?" Dhoria, leaning on Abbas heavily, rose from her seat and pointed quite dramatically at the intruder. "The gall of this action is unheard of. Who do you think you are?"

"Suhaila. You should know that name. Historians will mark you as my first casualty in the Insurrection." The witch raised her hand. A sickening crack echoed out as Dhoria's neck twisted in a 90 degree angle and the old woman crumpled to the floor. The reaction was instant, like a spark igniting a wildfire. Slaves across the courtyard were beating their guards, pulling swords out of their hands and picking up rocks to throw at their captors, all to the laughs of Suhaila.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

"I suppose I did cheat him." Bilal muttered to himself as the fearful guards flanked him on both sides. One guard hit Bilal in the stomach and he crumpled over and wheezed. They then began dragging him to the stairs, which was the only area that could possibly be used as a chopping block. Bilal was going to lose his hand. He wondered which one the guards would choose considering that the hand used to steal is the hand meant to be cut off, maybe both? Though in reality they are supposed to give Bilal a chance to repent to god and if he did then they would have to let him go. He shook his head clearing his mind, preparing for the loss of a hand. He is an assassin it wouldn't be that big of a deal really to loose one hand.

The shining blade of Ayam's fury was about to fall on his right hand, when suddenly a witch burst in and killed the woman by the chief after a short argument. The guards holding him immediately let go of him and charged forward ready to try and contain the revolt. Grateful to have it, Bilal used his right hand to push himself up.

He stepped away from the skirmish going on around him. The shadows beckoned to him, how could he resist? He stepped into them and shrouded himself using one of the only magical ability's taught to him during his time as a free assassin. Few eyes were trained enough to see through his shroud, almost certainly none were here.

Now within his comfort zone, Bilal looked on at chains being broken. But, the one doing the breaking stood out. The woman, her name had escaped him, stood in the middle of the fighting, laughing at death. Long ago Bilal had learned that the only death worth laughing at was your own. She wasn't going to die today, of that he was certain. Which meant she was laughing at the deaths of others. Something both telling and terrifying. Her actions here make her both a leader and a liberator. But, a leader that revels in death is certainly not someone worth following.

"Don't make judgments based on one fleeting action." Bilal's inner voice whispered. He needed to watch her. One character flaw didn't mean this woman was flawed to the core.

A guard slammed into the wall inches from Bilal's hiding spot. The man glanced to the side and the blood drained from his face. He was looking at black circles atop of white orbs. The eyes of a phantom. The man was about to scream when a sword pierced his throat. The sword holder was Bilal's friend Aali. Who went on fighting with the ferocity of a newly freed man. He closed his eyes completing his camouflage.

Bilal would wait. Bilal would watch.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Astha, with her head lowered, listened through the booming applause. They cheered and cried like they had not seen the same kind of fight the day before, and the day before that and all the days previous. That was, until the Sheikh jumped to his feet, making all the slaves near him flinch back, Astha being no exception. His face was so distorted with shear anger, that she expected him to sprout wings and horns, and speak in unholy tongues. She backed away an almost unnoticeable amount, her prayers becoming uneven while her concentration was elsewhere.

In her retreat, she had been moving closer to Dhoria, nearly bumping into her, who was cooing to Abbas in an overly affectionate manner that seemed quite unwelcomed in Astha's opinion. She felt kind of bad for Abbas, having to deal with that unpleasant woman all the time, but that didn't make Astha any less afraid of the man.

The events after that were a blur. Dhoria yelling for the punishment of lack of entertainment, the guard bursting in, the Sheikh... Astha was completely lost on the events. That is, until She walked through the gate. Astha knew exactly who it was as soon as she saw her, it was so obvious. She is even more glorious than Astha had pictured, radiating power and beauty in not only her stance, but in her eyes as well. Astha felt so unworthy in such a gracious presence.

"It is The Goddess!" Astha cried out, so loudly as to catching the attention of the Sheikh himself as she threw herself down, abandoning her fan, into a bow so low that her forehead rested in the dirt, "She has comes to rest out souls!" A loud snapping noise filled her ears suddenly, and the Sheikh's wife, Dhoria, crashed down into the dirt beside where Astha knelt, nearly landing on her. Astha flinched, but did not rise from her bow.

The whole place had broke out into utter chaos, but she refused to move.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Tisra instinctively took a half step back as the strange woman entered the courtyard. There was something wrong with the woman, Tisra knew that much from the itching in the back of her head. Everything from the way she walked to the way she spoke unnerved Tisra. She was too confident, too bold. No one but a madman would speak to the Sheikh in such a way. But the woman was too composed to be mad.

Then Tisra felt it, the surge of magic that formed a half second before it actually struck. The woman was a witch. Then with the sudden squelching snap of bone, chaos ensued. Tisra did not bother to see who was dead, she could tell enough that the spell had been fatal to someone, and that was enough to throw everything and everyone into disarray. Tisra could only watch in mild horror as the bloodshed ensued. "You fools!" She tried to shout, but her soft voice was easily lost in the din. "They'll only kill you all!" It was useless. Tisra turned to the nearest few of her fellow slaves, a few house servants that were cluttered together in terror. She motioned frantically for them to flee. "Inside, quickly, go to the quarters and stay there."

Slinking back into the shadows under an awning, Tisra's hand twitched as she prepared her magic in precaution. She saw the woman still standing there. So much blood, but all she did was laugh. Perhaps this Suhalia was mad after all.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha Character Portrait: Nadia
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

adia had been watching those around her with a passive face as she sat beside one of the masters friend, allowing him to look at her and not twitch, fiddle with her clothes, or resist when he would pull her closer for a moment to hold her there. She was to be entertainment, nothing more, nothing less. It made Nadia feel sick to know that her sister had to endure the same feelings and thoughts she had right then. Nadia looked down for a moment, feeling her stomach churn at the thought of her older sister.

Nadia missed the killing of the man below, only looking up at the cheering of the man beside her along with everyone else. The thoughts of the scene being sick went through Nadia's head as she moved to look away again, her eyes drifting to Abbas who had his attention on someone below. Only then did Nadia turn her attention to the woman who had run into the area.

Nadia was definitely surprised at the sight of the woman acting so strong and seemingly arrogant at her arrival, wishing that she herself was like this woman, was strong enough to stand up. The woman was definitely different and to see magic come from the woman's fingers was the last thing that Nadia had thought would happen, expecting her death or her running before the use of magic, and the snap of a neck.

Nadia's eyes dart to the person who had suffered the snap and was shocked to see her owners wife laying lifeless on the ground. Covering her mouth which was open in shock, Nadia tries to stand to get away but was stopped by her masters friend. Nadia wasn't sure what he was about to do, but a second later he stood dead at the young lady's feet, a slave now stood in front of her with a bloody knife. "Run," he states simply making Nadia look around finally to realize her surroundings and what was going on.

Nadia instead turned to look for the slaves that she knew and was thankful to see almost all alive. Nadia then turned to make her way to the youngest slave around that was cowering in a crevice just big enough for the child to fit in. "Come on," Nadia whispers as she offers her hand. The child comes out and Nadia scoops her up as she begins to make her way inside, knowing that any hope of escape with the desert surrounding them, would be a death wish.

Nadia did her best to avoid the clash of blades and fists, ducking her head and trying to protect the youth at the same time as she dodged. Nadia could feel what was small cuts and bruises as she ran, finally reaching the safe place for the child inside and allowing the child to go hide before turning to look for anyone who might be in need of help that Nadia would be more than happy to give.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha Character Portrait: Nadia
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

When Dhoria fell it was a slow collapse right onto Abbas. He gave a shout of surprise and managed to throw himself mostly clear but her massive bulk landed across one ankle and he fell flat into the sand. That movement probably saved his life as slaves suddenly loosed themselves upon the guards. The run of the mill arena guards died quickly enough but the soldiers who protected the Sheikh would not go so quietly.

The fighting around the vile man intensified as more and more slaves hurdled themselves against the Sheikhs bodyguard but these man remained calm. Yes their masters first wife was dead, but they knew how to fight and the number of dead slaves about them only grew greater as more and more hurried forward.

Two soldiers stepped past him without even bothering to glance down, possibly assuming him dead, and thrust their long spears expertly into a pack of slaves. Their strokes where short, lethal, and precise as they easily finished off thrice their number with the wicked looking blades. As they fought Abbas finally managed to careful free his ankle without attracting any attention and then slowly curled his legs under him. More soldiers were nearby, protecting the Sheikh and he didn't want to attract their attention until he was armed.

He saw a slave save the life of Nadia, a young woman whom he had noted for her intense beauty. She had fled, and her saviour had died with a blade in the chest, his knife and no match for a sword that easily slit the tendons of his hand to the bone followed by quick thrust that had ended his life. The knife that he dropped clattered across the marble terrace to within a few feet of Abbas.

With ever so gentle movements Abbas moved to the knife, taking it in his right hand and then, with the speed of a desert serpent, he lunged, the blade held straight out in his powerful hand so that it took one of the soldiers in the base of his skull. He wore armour, all the soldiers did, but like many of them he had not been wearing a helmet because of the heat and this lapse of preparedness led to his death.

The soldier gave an almost mew like cry and then slumped to the ground. In one fluid motion Abbas swept put the mains sword and, with two hands into which he channeled all his hate and rage, he hacked at the other soldier who was turning towards him. The blow caught the man on the side of the head, severing his ear and face to the bone before the skull deflected the blow downwards into his mailed shoulder. The power behind Abbas's blow was great that it crushed the mail, splitting it and drove the blade through the collar bone. The man went down screaming, Abbas's weapon trapped in his bone and mangled flesh.

In an instant three more soldiers converged on him. He swept up one of the long spears and awaited his opponents.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha Character Portrait: Shoshan Character Portrait: Nadia
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Quill
The heat of the afternoon was easier to bear in the palace’s interior garden. There was no breeze to disturb the plants and the sun shone at its brightest, but the water in the pools cooled the air just enough so they wouldn’t feel as if they were baking in the desert dunes.

Resting under the porch and listening to the plucking of an oud’s strings, Shoshan felt almost at ease. It made him glad to be out here in this quiet heaven instead of in the main courtyard, watching his fellow slaves spill their blood and guts on the sand. Of course, not everyone shared the same opinion.

“I’m bored,” Nazila, Erina’s second youngest daughter and not yet married, whined for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. The Sheik’s favorite daughter, Nazila was as close to being a mirror image of her mother as was possible for a young girl. Today, however, she was far from her usual beautiful self; draped over a pile of silk pillows, she kept a permanent scowl on her lips, beads of sweat rolling down her neck even as a servant fanned her skin.

Though he couldn’t help the sigh that left his mouth at the girl’s comment, Shoshan refused to take the bait. He wouldn't be doing the sick girl any favor by encouraging such behavior, so, as pitiful and miserable as the young beauty looked right now, it was best to just ignore her. Rubbing his damp forehead, Shoshan placed a red stone on the wooden board in front of him and let his eyes rest on his opponent.

Lujayn, Erina’s youngest daughter, also still too young to be married off, had been humming along with the oud, a smile brightening up her plump features as she twirled the green stones in her hand. Like him, Lujayn did not pay much attention to Nazila, sparing her older sister only a brief glance before also moving two stones on the seega board, taking two of his red stones in the same move. “It’s your turn, Zahir,” she said, a twinkle in her exotic silver eyes.

Shoshan had to smile despite himself. The little rascal was good at this game. He might not win this match after all.

"It’s too hot in here and I’m bored,” Nazila tried again in a hoarse voice once she realized that no one was going to honor her with a reply. “I want to see the slaves fighting." She cleared her throat and rolled onto her side, nails scraping over the intricate patterns on the carpet.

Maybe ignoring wasn’t going to cut it this time.

"You’re still recovering, Nazila. Your mother wants you to stay here and rest."
"Don’t call me by my name, slave!” she retorted, sitting up to give him a very familiar glare. Beauty was not the only thing the girl had inherited from his mother, he supposed. "I'm done resting. I'm bored and I want to see the fight!"

“I don’t,” Lujayn intervened, turning to face her sister. “It’s nice here. I want to stay and play seega with Zahir.”
“Who cares what an ugly, fat baby like you wants!”
“Shut up, you’re the ugly one, you sweaty pig!”

He should’ve seen this coming. When Erina informed him that the boys were going to spend the day at their uncle, and that he was to keep the girls inside the house and take care of Nazila, Shoshana suspected that her order wasn’t going to be as easy to follow as it sounded.

"That’s enough!” he shouted, grabbing Layjan’s wrist to stop her from throwing the stones at her sister. “You two are not allowed to go outside. If you're bored, Nazila, then there are plenty of games we can-"

The words died in his throat. The music stopped, Banan, the oud player, laying the instrument down on her lap, and the fanning also ceased, the house slave's eyes opened wide in fright.

There was noise inside the house. Someone was screaming.

For a moment no one moved, not one word was spoken. Then, slowly, Shoshan let go of Layjan’s arm. He looked about and noticed that the guard that had been standing by one of the garden’s archways was missing. Something was definitely wrong.

“Zahir?” It was Banan who spoke first, voice wavering as she clutched the oud close to her chest and searched his eyes. Bringing his hand to his face, he made a gesture for them to be quiet and stay put, then took a couple of careful steps toward the entrance.

Quiet as a mouse, he went inside. The sounds got louder and louder the closer he got to the hall that opened up to the courtyard, and that made him feel terribly uneasy. That’s where the Sheik and his wives were, along with most of the slaves who were watching the fights. Something must have happened there.

Just when he was about to step into another corridor, someone ran right into him, almost knocking him over. It was a working slave, an old, nearly skeletal man, shaking and breathing heavily while clutching onto his arms.

“Please, call down.” He grabbed the man’s shoulders and pushed him away so he could look at his face. “What’s going on?”

The man could barely talk, but after a few breaths words came out and Shoshan was able to catch a few.

“...the Sheik’s wife dead... the witch, laughing... guards and slaves dying... a riot...”

A riot. Everything else was both disturbing and confusing, but that word alone was what made Shoshan’s heart skip a beat. If the slaves were rebelling then this was his change to escape, to get back his freedom and go back to his home. Home, a word that had become so foreign to him. What was home? Was it the sea, were his fellow crew members were? Or was it Basht, where he had no family?

Family...The sisters! What about Nazila and Layjan? The boys were safe at their uncle's home but the girls were caught in the middle of this commotion. If they had killed the Sheik’s wife, then they could very well kill the Sheik himself and his daughters, couldn’t they? Even the slaves. If there was really a riot, then who could tell what the slaves would do to the girls? Would they protect them, or would they hurt them in spite?

He couldn’t take take that risk. He would escape, but he would make sure the girls were safe first.

Letting the man go, Shoshan took a deep breath to calm his thoughts. The stables. They weren't very far from the garden. He could take them there and send them to their uncle, who'd have no choice but to offer them protection. Then he could find a weapon. Maybe take one from the guards, he knew he could do that much.

Having a plan, no matter how simple, made him feel much more brave and confident. Turning away from the screams, Shoshan started running back to the garden, praying to all his gods, asking them to keep the girls safe, who, despite everything, were still pure and did not deserve to die for someone else's sins.

They would not die, he would not die here. He would escape, he was going back home.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha Character Portrait: Shoshan Character Portrait: Nadia
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Bilal opened his eyes and began his stalk soon after he closed them. Slowly he crept, step by step sure to keep his shadow steady and his eyes hidden. The skirmish raged on around him, but like all hot fires it would soon turn to embers and then would be completely snuffed out. He stalked up the stairs, avoiding puddles of blood as he went. He got a bit on his shoes, but his shadow quickly concealed it. Soon he was at Ayam's feet. The man looked terrified as he looked about at the carnage. He probably imagined that their wouldn't be a revolt ever... not in his presence. Bilal quickly found himself behind Ayam's throne, staring at the sandy woman. She spoke and sentenced Ayam to death, but first she would let them speak. Thinking that no slave would object to Ayam's death, but Bilal objected.

The shadows pealed away, and hung to the ground like a black fog in the early morning light. "I object, not to you ruling that is, but to his death." Bilal said, Ayam spun around looking even more terrified then before. "80% of this Empire owns slaves. Do you plan on executing them all? Ayam... Ayam is not a good man, but I don't see how he is worse than any other. He was told from birth that slavery is a proper institution. Executing him is over indulgent and childish." Bilal said softly, but loud enough for most of the courtyard and certainly enough for Suhaila to hear.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha Character Portrait: Shoshan Character Portrait: Nadia
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Tisra curled up onto the ground in her hiding place in between a few baskets under a shady stall, her head throbbing from the magic so callously being thrown about. The sounds of battle and death still filled the air, sounds Tisra remembered all too well even after years of relative peace in the Sheikh's service.

But then it stopped and Tisra heard the witch speak again. She still laughed and her voice was filled with the smug satisfaction of the death she had wrought. Tisra could only shudder at her hubris. Perhaps the witch was indeed mad. She had never heard of an Al-Tiburat Empire. But if this was how the so called ruler so freely used her power, Tisra could not imagine her becoming any more just then Ayam had ever been.

She stirred in place, but did not leave her hiding spot, instead pressing a finger to her throat and using her own magic to magnify her voice loud enough to be her to the arena below. "You fool! The Shiekh's men will kill us all! And if not him, then the Shahs, and the Shahanshah's armies will burn Myzhara to the ground before they will tolerate this madness. Your magic will not defeat an army, Rayya Sahat. What freedom do we have in death?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Akseliane Fretheim Character Portrait: Astha Character Portrait: Shoshan Character Portrait: Nadia
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Astha was suddenly yanked up off her feet from behind. One of the wife's male slaves had seized her, pulling her away as the Witch of Sands approached, "Are you mad?!" He shouted in her ear as he began to drag her away from both the powerful witch and the Sheikh with great effort, since Astha had begun to struggle like a madwoman, reaching out as if she could grab hold of some invisible force for an anchor. She started screaming her scriptures, completely forgetting her vow to not speak after the sun hit its highest point, but she would repent for that later. Right now, the goddess was right in front of her, how could she not bow and proclaim in that presence?

She began to kick at her captor, but he was much too strong for the considerably smaller girl, pulling her out of the open and into a small alcove. He clamped a hand over her mouth to cease her screaming with an irritated look, but that just made a new problem arise. Something in Astha's brain seemed to click into place. A man. He's a man.

In an explosion of action and panic, Astha bit down hard into the slave's hand, kicked him in the kneecap, and darted away, right through the mess of fighting that was still in full swing. It wasn't a very well thought out plan, she soon realized as she ducked and weaved through the brawls. Astha had nearly run right into the middle of Abbas' battle, who was fighting off guards with a wild look in his eye. But, somehow she managed to run right into the house, seemingly unscathed.

Darting down the halls, she didn't really know where she was going, but continued her preaching as she ran, "We are saved! We are saved! The Goddess has come to save us all! Prepare yourselves for your paradise!" During her rants, Astha had ran her way through the halls to the Sheikh's daughters' chambers, knocking directly into the eldest one who had wandered out to see what the commotion had been, and sending them both sprawling to the floor from the impact.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Malan
Suhaila smiled at Bilal's words. "Execute every slave owner in Al-Rayyat? Why not? Myzhara, Sheikh Ayam, those who have fallen here today. They are an example. An example of what will happen to slaveowners in Al-Rayyat from this day on. If they chose to keep their slaves, then they're sealing themselves in their own tomb. If they set them free before I reach them, then I have no ill well towards them. Ayam will be made a martyr for a losing cause, and his city of Myzhara will be seized by the very slaves he once owned. The very first city in the Al-Tiburat Empire. Do you know what that means? The Empire of the Slaves. You're not only free now; you're part of something greater. You're witnessing the birth of the liberation of millions! Before you know it, Shirakon itself will be swallowed by the sands, the Markets just a tale that old women tell their children at night."

Suhaila then turned to Tisra. "Don't you understand? The Shahanshah has literally and figuratively built his empire on the sands, which, in their nature, are always shifting. And now, they have shifted against him. The cornerstone of Al-Rayyat, her slaves, will be her undoing. The Shahanshah is unable to stop it. His sons are unable to stop it. And Sheikh Ayam will certainly be unable to stop it. Al-Rayyat's fate is sealed."

Suhaila turned towards the mass of the slaves and raised her hands. "Who would ever be able to stand against a Djinn and her people?" A breakout of whispers and stifled gasps arose from the crowd, both slaves and guards who had thrown down their arms. Al-Rayyat had no structured pantheon. They were animists, if anything, believing in a strong spiritual world parallel to their own. But if anyone in their folklore came close to godhood, it was the Djinni. They were said to have come from the fires of chaos in the beginning of time, the very beings who gifted life to the human race.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Tisra took a slow, steadying breath and stepped out of the shadows, moving towards the edge of the arena. Her voice was still louder then her normal tone, but not quite as booming as before. "How does the blood of thousands justify you? Why is your bloodshed any more righteous then the Sheikh's?" She tightly grasped the railing at the arena's edge to keep her hands from shaking. There was too much blood, too much magic in the air, and entirely too much death. The combination was more then enough to make Tisra's stomach turn. "This will only lead to more blood when the Shah's army comes. Even the Rayya Sahat do not control the Djinni." Tisra held back another shudder. To even try to invoke such power, much less claim to control it...she was not sure whether to fear this woman more then whatever bloody retaliation was surely to come from the Shahs.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Abbas

Abbas was certain he was going to die as the three soldiers converged on him. He was an excellent fighter, he knew that, but these men were professional killers who had seen more battles then he was years old. He could see death in their eyes and in the long spears that they carried as they spread out slightly and came onwards. They were in no hurry and that scared him.

He glanced about him, looking for salvation, but the fighting was raging all around, the soldiers swiftly gaining the upper hand over slaves who, like Abbas, had been shackled and stood little to no chance. It was going to be a massacre. He took a step back and felt the ornate railing that edged the arena at his back, he had nowhere else to go. He risked a glance over the edge, it would be a drop to the sands but he might live to fight again.

The decision to jump was almost a reality when one of the soldiers suddenly burst into flame. His screams were terrible to behold and his fellows stared at him in horror, their spear tips dropping in their amazement. Abbas could only stare in dumfounded amazement. Then a second soldier gave a cry and collapsed, holding his hands to the side of his head as if trying to pry away a pair of invisible hands that were crushing his skull.

Abbas wasted no time wondering what had happened, instead he took a swift step forward and his spear found the throat of the last soldier, the wicked blade tearing the mans wind pipe free so that he died in a welter of blood and desperate attempts to prevent the blood that poured from his torn throat. One of the fallen soldiers had been carrying a scimitar and Abbas swept it up, looking around for an escape when he suddenly felt relaxed, almost dreamlike, and his hands lowered to his sides.

The Witch was crossing the sands and as she went the fighting around her simply seemed to die away. She began to speak and though he was now some distance away he had no trouble hearing her clearly. She wanted to kill the Shah, and all his kind, to free the slaves of an empire. Whatever dreamlike feeling he had had was swept away by a surge of elation at the words.

He moved to step forward when a shadow, or he thought it had been a shadow, appeared before the Witch and spoke. The man, or creature, whatever it was questioned the wisdom of the execution of Ayam. Hatred for the man rippled through Abbas. How could he possibly complain about such an act? How many lives, homes, families and nations had been swept under by this fat, wastrel of a man?

Then a voice, projected from a waif of a girl echoed over them all, also speaking out. The logic was that of a foolish child however, there would be bloodshed no matter what happened now. The armies of the Shah would come regardless and they would all die. Abbas had seen it before and he would do all he could to prevent it from happening again. There was only one choice to make, victory or death. If there was even a small chance that this Witch could lead them to freedom than Abbas would take it, he would not die a slave, this time he would die in battle.

"Damn him! And damn this empire! Blood will flow no matter what course of action we take! Kill him and be done with it! Let us take our blades into the streets and free those who would join us! This is our one chance to take back everything we have lost!" Abbas gave voice to his anger, the passion he had been holding check for months was unleashed as he spoke.

A roar of agreement rose from those other slaves who had taken up arms and fought their captors. Many of them were gladiatorial slaves, men who knew how to fight, and if given the chance they would make a formidable force. Abbas knew what he had to do. He strode forward and knelt near the Witch, raising his manacled hands towards her.

"Kill him. Strike off these chains, and I will serve you until we have brought this empire to its knees. I would rather live only a single day more as a lion than a lifetime as a sheep. Victory or Death!"

In an instant the men who had given voice to their support for the big man knelt as well, theirs hands upraised, each of them repeating his last words.

"Victory or Death!"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

The slaves seemed to be in agreement that killing Ayam was for the best. Bilal disagreed, but in this very moment the majority would rule. If Bilal were to stand against the mob he would only have three things in his favor, basic illusion magic, the high ground, and many more years of experience. He could take down three maybe four and then would be over taken by the group. His only real viable option if he did choose to fight, would be to take down the leaders. The witch and the man who had first yelled, "Victory or Death," but even then it was only his best chance and he wasn't sure if he even could kill the witch. "You've lost this battle, don't make it so that you can not win future ones." Bilal's inner voice spoke.

"Then, I demand to act as executioner. I won't let him be tortured." Bilal said bringing the shadows back up his body covering everything, but his eyes which began to boil a black so black that it could be seen even atop the shadowy shroud of his face. He pulled out the knife and placed it level with Ayam's ulnar artery. He looked to the witch for permission to execute the man.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Malan
Suhaila smiled, but her eyes coldly assessed Bilal. "First come, first serve," She brandished her knife, which was made of a black metal, and approached the assassin. "You're a free man now," She whispered once she was close enough. "I think you'd know better than to make demands of a free woman. This is a gift from me to you," Suhaila thrust the hilt of the dagger into Bilal's hand. It felt warm to the touch, as if it had been lying in the sun for hours on end. The Sand Witch turned to face the rest of the slaves, and Tisra Nahlise.

"You misunderstand me, witch. I do not claim to be a Rayya Sahat with a Djinn under my control. I am a Djinn. Born with the spirit of the sands in my heart. And they have been crying far too long and far too loud for me to ignore them. I fight because the Shahanshah is crushing the will of the humans. I will shed blood in order to restore that balance. To save you, to save my people, to save the world. It is the only way." She then turned to the chanting slaves and raised a clenched fist into the air. "Rise, brethren! You kneel to no one, now! Always remember that! You are free! You will fight so your kin in the next city over will feel the same freedom! You will fight so the miner will feel sunlight on his face for the first time in decades! You will fight so all are equal!"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Tirsa blinked several times as she processed just what Suhalia had just said, wracking her head for distant memories of what her mother had taught her of the desert's spirits. Shapeshifting into a human form hardly seemed impossible for a powerful spirit, but the question was why. Or if she was still human, was the spirit residing inside her? How was that even possible? Tisra could hardly imagine what power such a possibility could contain. In any other circumstance, she would have been keen to understand such magic.

But regardless of her musings, the chanting and jeering continued on around her. No matter what she thought on this rebellion, it was too late to change anything now. But, she knew she had to make some feeble attempt at something, and so Tisra called out to Suhalia once again. "I would beseech you to ensure the woman and children of the slave owners are spared. Even those Sheikh's, after all many of them are the children of his harem slaves. As this man said, whose life was nearly forfeit," She gestured to Bilal, "The only crime of many here is being born free and presuming that slavery is right simply because it is a fact of life. You have great power, but to hold that power and still show mercy, that is the sign of our true savior. Surely no one could deny the righteousness of such a leader."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Suhaila of the Sands Character Portrait: Bilal Idris Character Portrait: Tisra Nahlise Character Portrait: Abbas Character Portrait: Astha
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Astha's eyes widened, hurrying to stand and help the younger girl up. The girl, Abha, was one of the eldest that the Sheikha himself helped conceived, but was not thought of as legitimate, being from the womb of the many slave women he kept in his possession. Astha begged her apologies in whispers as she pulled the girl to her feet, the hall feeling much too quiet in comparison from the roaring of the courtyard.

"What is the meaning of this? What is all this yelling I'm hearing?" Abha demanded, not that she really had any room to demand anything from Astha, since Abha wasn't of pure blood and wasn't any better than Astha herself. Nevertheless, Astha answered her questions in stride, taking the girl's hand and starting to pull her back down the hall again to the open door, giving up on any hold she had left of her 'Don't Speak Past Noon' jibe. It was broken already, so a little more couldn't hurt. Repenting was for later times.

"The courtyard is in chaos." Astha explained in a rush, "The Goddess has come. I told you she would! I told you! And now she comes to free us from the Sheikh and bring us with her to paradise!" She spoke in whispers, hearing talking from the other rooms and habitually lowering her voice to not disturb.

The two girls crouched at the main door's threshold, peeking out from the ajar wooden door to the open spaces beyond. It was even louder than it had been seconds ago, all the slaves joining in a chant to cheer on Bilal, who stood by The Goddess and in front of the Sheikh, who was stiff and pale. Something sparked in The Goddess' outstretched hand, but Astha couldn't see what exactly. The Goddess was shouting now though, or more like announcing, in response to a voice from whom neither girl could see the owner of from their hiding place.

What The Mighty Goddess was saying however, could not be heard from where the girls crouched over the deafening chanting and jeers.

"Isn't she lovely? The Goddess, I mean." Astha shouted in Abha's ear, trying to be heard over the chaos, pointing to Suhaila with a scared hand and pure adoration on her face. Abha snorted in response, pushing the door open a bit more to get a better look.

"Your 'Goddess' looks nothing more than a murderer, if you ask me." Abha said with defiance before pointing to Bilal, "What are they going to do with that knife, hm?" Astha frowned. What knife? She hadn't seen a knife? Astha squinted, leaning farther out into the open to see. Then she saw it, the metal that had caught the light before in The Goddess' hands had been a knife, held out for Bilal's taking. How could she miss that?

"It isn't murder." Astha started slowly, "It is the will of the universe." That was all she said, resting her hand on the door frame to fix her footing, ready to watch everything unfold.