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Post by Sp00ky on Jul 16, 2013 16:12:19 GMT
Common Year 2476 Cataran Year 198 Catar, The Wandering City
There were many ways to describe the ever-moving metropolis of the great Cataran civilization. To those who dwelt amongst its towering golden spires and beautiful gardens the city was a source of comfort, security and pride. For the various desert settlers who formed the bulk of the Cataran population it was a place of wonder and mysticism, the embodiment of divine authority and - some would claim - the single greatest reason for their collective existence. To the hated Sali in their northern mountain holds the city was a blight upon the southern desert lands and a constant reminder of the schism they had suffered some two centuries ago. The Cataran capital was thus a place of great symbolic importance to many different people for various different reasons.
But there was one person within the city who cared little for its supposed cultural significance. Born into a life of luxury as a son of one of the city’s most influential Sheikhs, Hassan Alim Hadad had spent most of his life within the confines of his family’s vast and illustrious estates. Though taught by the finest scholars Catar had to offer and raised in a highly devout environment, Hassan had been unable to fully appreciate many of his people’s most sacred traditions. Where most of his kinsmen thought of the search for the world-spirit’s mortal equivalent as the fulfillment of their people’s divine obligations, Hassan considered it a wasteful distraction preventing them from solving many of their society’s most crippling dysfunctions. Slow-phased trade, lacking organization and rampant poverty in many of the settled desert regions had plagued the Cataran’s since the time of the great migration. While most city-dwellers were content with conditions that had existed for as long as they could remember, Hassan had grown spiteful of a system that – according to himself – was hindering his people from achieving their full potential. Rather than stagnation his people could have been amongst the greatest and wealthiest nations in the world, defiant in the face of Dominion aggression and second only to the Archons themselves.
If not for the constant search for ghosts his city would surely become the largest trading hub in history, his people would acquire stable trade routes and the desert settlements would find themselves enriched. It was his hope that his people would one day shift their attention to other matters than the perfection of a woefully silent spirit. Maybe then they would be ready to oppose those nations whose spirits had proven to be anything but passive.
But those were thoughts for another time. Today was the day when he would finally leave the comforts of childhood and enter the world of his farther and brothers. Hassan would ascend to manhood with the songs and cheers of his family. The guests had arrived and the food had been ready for hours. The only thing missing… was Hassan.
His farther would not be pleased. |
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Post by Timeon on Jul 24, 2013 15:17:20 GMT
Hassan walked into the dining hall of his manhood ceremony. There was a giant table, decked with fineries and linens. People stood around it, deep in conversation. Some had a bored look on their face, and others seemed angry or disturbed. A band of cello players played in a corner, performing one of Hassan's favourite themes. Everybody turned to look at Hassan as he entered.
Disgruntled murmurs rose into the air, but Hassan's father, Akhem, clapped his hands for silence.
"This is my son's manhood ceremony. He is late to it, yes. But this is his day. Let us honour him."
It was a surprisingly kind gesture, coming from the ruthless old man that Akhem was known for being. Hassan bowed low to everybody in mock gratitude, and the party resumed. Some dignitaries and distant family members came to give him their well-wishes. His elder brother and the family heir, Edim, looked down at Hassan through his finely trimmed moustache and eagle nose.
"It is not becoming of an Alim-Hadad to display such poor hospitality, Hassan."
Before Hassan could reply, Akhem had produced a sword from the hands of a servant, and presented it to Hassan.
"A gift for your manhood ceremony, my son. The blade of your uncle, the saviour of Sula."
"And from me, a treatise on Malvernian military tactics." Edim said, offering his brother a thick book.
As retainers and relatives continued to shower Hassan with gifts he had no interest in, it was finally Azima's turn to speak with him. Dear Azima was his sweet younger sister, and his only true friend in the family. She understood him when others did not. She planted a kiss on Hassan's cheek and offered him a book.
"This, brother, is a journal of the first lord of Darasel, when it was a Cataran city, after Zaurac. A masterful work on politics. It tells of how Darasel warded off the Malvernians for so long through intrigue."
Azima smiled devilishly. Hassan kissed her hand.
"Thank you, dear Azima. You know how I delight in matters of state and the mind."
As the meeting wore into the night, Hassan was presented with more greetings and ceremonies. He met with the famous scholar, Raha Gero, who had just returned from a distant expedition. His youngest brother Mani excused himself to leave early, just as Hassan's two closest childhood friends walked into the room. There was Derian, ever the bulky thug in appearance. Beside him was Anwar, who would go riding with Hassan through the desert sands around the Wandering City.
Hassan embraced them both.
"Congratulations, effendi. It has been too long." Anwar said with a flourish.
"Effendi." Derian said with a curt bow and a half-smile.
They spent some time catching up, until the subject came to rest on Derian. Derian announced that he was departing the Wandering City.
"Two weeks ago, a pair of twins from the southern deserts saved my life. After spending some time in their company, I spoke with them of my dreams, and they spoke with me of theirs. They have departed their homes and their ways of life, to seek some meaning to their existence. I tire of religion and tradition, Hassan. And so I shall leave with the twins, Kri and Kro, to Samar. Perhaps we shall be mercenaries."
It was a surprising announcement, and Hassan could barely admit even to himself he was somewhat jealous. There was Derian, ripping apart the stagnancy of society that Hassan hated. It was possible - at least on an individual level. Hassan could do better than that. He would do better than that, someday.
Derian said his farewells, and Hassan Alim-Hadad never saw him again.
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Post by Sp00ky on Aug 15, 2013 23:15:19 GMT
”So this is how it feels to be a man?” Hassan said to himself as he left the comforts of his bed and waited for the servants to answer his summons “I’m not sure if I can tell the difference”. While last night’s celebrations had been a welcome distraction to most of Hassan’s relatives, Hassan himself struggled to understand why anyone would go to such lengths to commemorate something that, in the grander scheme of things, was a completely insignificant development.
What did it matter that the youngest son of Sheik Akhem had finally reached adulthood? The line of Clan Alim-Hadad had long been secure in the lives of Hassan’s older brothers. Should something happen to Edim then the mantle would pass to Kuzma. From Kuzma it would pass to Hazim and from Hazim to Uzak. Only when all the other candidates had been extinguished would the title of Sheik be given to Hassan, making him by far the most expendable of all Akhem’s heirs.
While his limited succession prospects had often been used by Edim as a source of personal amusement, the status had not been without certain benefits. Unlike Edim and Kuzma, who had been groomed for positions of power since the day they were born, Hassan had lived a quiet and comfortable life alongside his mother and sisters. Where his brothers had been forced to attend their father’s business meetings from the moment they turned fifteen, Hassan had always been asked to stay behind and act as the acting head of the family in his father’s absence. His had been a life of few responsibilities, a comfortable life of wealth and plenty, a life where his greatest concerns had been whether his love of reading would one day exhaust the available titles in his family’s library.
As Hassan moved towards the window of his sleeping chamber, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted when someone knocked on his chamber door. “Yes?” Hassan said in a surprised tone “who is it?”. “A thousand apologies my prince”, the voice behind the door replied, “this is Mahmut Salimann, chief-servant of your farther the Sheik. I am here to inform you that your farther requests your presence at his chambers within the hour, will you be able to comply?”. Hassan was amused by Salimann’s politeness, for it was common knowledge that no one could defy his father’s summons. “Inform my farther that I humbly accept his invitation” Hassan replied at last “you do your master credit, Salimann chief-servant, may my farther reward you well”. Salimann, clearly surprised by Hassan’s compliment, uttered a hastened expression of gratitude as he made his way to the Sheik, for the servants of Clan Alim-Hadad were not used to gestures kindness.
But now Hassan grew impatient, the hour was late and his chamber servants had yet to arrive. He was also unnerved by his father’s sudden request, the Sheik never summoned anyone unless the matter at hand was of the utmost importance.
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Post by Timeon on Aug 31, 2013 7:45:26 GMT
When Hassan entered into his father's study, he found his father reclining on some cushions, a book held in one hand, and some tea in the other.
"Good afternoon, Hassan." stated Akhem in a jovial tone, though he did not look up from his book. "Please, sit with me."
Hassan hesitated for a moment, uncertain what this was about, but he dared not delay a moment longer. Akhem would not accept any form of disrespect towards him personally. And so Hassan complied, sitting down and staring at his hands, waiting for his father to speak.
"Would you like some tea?" Akhem asked, still reading his book.
"No though I am grateful for your offer, father."
"You did not seem too happy with your uncle's sword as a present. He was a great man."
"It is a wonderful gift, father." Hassan droned on.
Akhem's arm catapulted the book across the room, the old man springing from calmness to outrage in a mere second.
"You are a disgrace. You come late to your manhood ceremony, but I chose not to humiliate you on such an occasion. But I did not forget. You are the youngest of my sons, and you are the least of them also, as if my blood was diluted with every seed. What do you want?"
Hassan remained silent, though his hands trembled slightly.
"Tell me what it is that you want! Nothing I have done for you has made you happy!" Akhem shouted.
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Post by Sp00ky on Sept 8, 2013 13:15:29 GMT
Hassan had been terrified by his father’s sudden and unexpected fury, for Akhem had always prided himself on strict emotional control. There could be no question that Hassan had greatly displeased him, why else would he lower himself levels that, according himself, was befitting only of the poor and uneducated masses?
“Well?” his farther shouted, his eyes still pinched and his arms folded across his chest “What will it be? Speak quickly lastborn, for I have no patience for the weak or the mute” In that moment Hassan’s defenses finally crumbled. He had been berated, spat upon and humiliated by his elder brothers for as long as he could remember. He had foolishly convinced himself that while they were harsh and unforgiving, such sentiments would wither as his family slowly grew to accept his strange and solitary ways. “Is that tears?” Akhem scorned “Are you yet so frail that you must weep like a senseless infant?”
“No… No I am not!” Hassan finally spoke, trying desperately to regain his composure and drying his eyes with his hands “What I want” he continued “Is a chance to prove… that you, all of you, are wrong!” His father’s eyes narrowed but he remained silent “My wish, my single greatest wish, is to prove my worth to you and all the others… to prove, once and for all, that I am worthy of you”
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Post by Sp00ky on Nov 22, 2013 4:06:08 GMT
Act II: The Crimson Band
Chapter 1.
Stalking the pray
“Banishment” Hassan whispered to himself, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames of a newly lit campfire “Father always had a strange sense of justice”. It had been nearly eighteen years since that fateful day in his father’s chambers, when his low standing within the family had become fully and undeniably clear. Confronted with the realities of a furious and disappointed farther, who echoed the scorns and insults of the rest of the family, Hassan had begged and pleaded for a chance to correct the course of history, to earn the love and respect that had so long eluded him. He had asked for a chance to prove his worth.
That chance, while granted, had come in the shape tears and hardship. Rather than being given a position of authority or joining the ranks of his clan’s fabled militia, Hassan had been stripped of his title, inheritance and all worldly processions. Reduced to wearing the attire of a servant and armed only with a practice saber, Hassan had been sent headlong into the endless wastes of the great desert. This trial, it was said, was designed to purge Hassan of his irreligious tendencies and all other weaknesses. He was to survive in the face of great adversity and thus become the man he was always meant to be. Then, and only then, would he be worthy of his father’s name.
While the trial, or sentence as Hassan had since begun to call it, carried the signature of his farther the sheik, its contents and wording had all fingerprints of his older brother Edim. Why Edim had felt such strong hatred towards him was something that Hassan had never been able to understand, but it had been a constant and never changing part of his life since the day he was born. Why would his family so willingly abandon him? Why would his farther heed such cruel counsel? Why would they all condemn him to certain death amongst the scorching sands? These were questions that Hassan had asked himself when he left the confines of the Wandering City. Whatever the case, the harshness of his family had left him hollow, embittered, and boiling with a nigh unquenchable hatred.
“Alim!” a voice suddenly shouted from across the campsite “You and the other scouts are to report to Hanzen immediately!”. “Hanzen…” Hassan frowned as he raised himself to his feet “What could be so important that the old dog sees fit to interrupt my meditation?”. Though he had been traveling with Henzen and his raiders since the third year of his exile, the careless and often sporadic behavior of the ageing leader had become source of much frustration. They had lost nearly twenty horses during of the last drought, fifteen men to poorly executed pillaging and they were almost out of food and water. Whatever the old man wanted… he’d better have a plan…
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Post by Timeon on Dec 29, 2013 19:55:57 GMT
Common Year 2480
Cataran Year 222
Sula, by the Laughing Sea
Hungry and thirsty, the Crimson Band had set upon a caravan travelling between Marus and Arish. What Hanzen did not predict was that the fair-skinned merchants they were riding down upon would be slavers. And slavers were often pacters, wielders of foul magics meant to keep a man on his knees. So the Crimson Band was brought low, dunes erupting in blinding torrents of sand and fire. Limbs were torn from bodies, and loose-limbed spirits danced between the Band's horses, clawing and cursing.
Before Hanzen could order the retreat, an arrow had taken him in the throat. His sabre fell from lifeless fingers, and slid down the slopes to be lost underneath the caravan wheels of the slavers. His horse bolted, tossing Hanzen's lifeless corpse amidst the chaos. Though no call to retreat had been uttered, Hanzen's death was signal enough, and the Band peeled away from the fighting, desperate to minimize its losses.
Hassan rallied the men, halfway between ordering another assault, and halfway between forcing an organized retreat. These Malvernians had made a fool of them. But unlike his brother Edim, Hassan had spent his youth reading of war and tactics. He knew when a battle was lost, and when glory would only lead to death.
And so Hassan retreated.
He led the men west, avoiding the trade routes between Marus and Arish. Hanzen had always been too bold when trying to raid the Malvernians. The pickings of Cataran caravans were less worthwhile, but also less costly. The Band would need to recuperate, and Hassan had inherited only a tenuous command.
The Band arrived near Sula, by the Laughing Sea. The Laughing Sea was an enormous stretch of undrinkable water, winding south into the jungle that was the Dark Heart. Sula had found a use for it, sending merchant vessels down its eastern rivers into the Malvernian Empire. It was richer than any other Cataran city.
And for that reason, Hassan intended to see what it truly had to offer.
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