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Qaseer, the Qa'id Adheem




182 of the Azad Calendar - Year of the Dead Horse - 1 Post-Realta

Here you go @Cyclone. I've no idea how this advances your storylines, so go write and stop blaming me for your procrastination dammit.

Qaseer is now the Qa'id Adheem
Some tribes appear on the verge of turning their back on the Confederation, but Qaseer manages to hold things together and establish his authority
Not everyone is happy with this state of affairs, however, and scheming is afoot


He was a black-eyed man, the darkness glistening in them made more so yet by the kohl which ran through his abnormally long lashes of onyx. His was as sun-baked clay, a reddish brown that spoke of days well-spent riding beneath the sun of the deserts and of the plains. He was quick to smile, and quicker yet to laugh - for the skin around his eyes and mouth was creased by hours and days spent merrily in the company of those much loved. Riding came naturally to him - and so it should, for he was a Rukban; and even by Rukban standards was his prowess a thing of fame - his every fibre moved in reaction to (or rather, in anticipation of) every movement of the mare beneath him, and he looked around from his perch like an eagle searching for prey, or for those who would think to challenge him (and truly, there was little difference between the two).

Qaseer, the Qa'id Adheem of the Azad, was not laughing today or making merry. On his shoulder hung the head of a wolf, at his side a sharpened sword, and his face was stained with colour. No, it was not a day of celebration and festivity - only the slow 'dum, dum, dum' of the war-drum, the long, ominous drone of igilirs, the slow - not quite yet thundering - sound of thousands upon thousands of hooves, the clanging of metal. But loudest of all, for Qaseer, were the heartbeats that were each of them as quakes within his chest. It was not fear - at least, not just fear, for he lied who said he did not fear the clashing of swords on the field. There was fury and excitement... and there was misery. He did not know where to direct his grief, was not certain if it could be directed at anyone at all (for Shaqmar... he had... why, he could not bear to even think it). But the Tagham had saved him from doubt and confusion and made themselves an easy enough target - nay, demanded they be targetted - for the outpouring of Azad fury and grief. The Tagham had done this - yes, all of this - and they would be made to pay. And all those who joined them would be made to pay. Shaqmar's blood was on their hands, and so too the blood of Layla; the blood of the former was worth all of Rukbany's, the blood of the latter worth the world and all in it (for they had been prepared to tear the world itself apart to return her to her Shaqmar). And now both lay dead, their sacred blood forever dead. Not even half a child remained to carry forth their legacy.

Qaseer was no poet. He was never one for eyes - Shaqmar had the visions, the dreams. Qaseer was perfectly happy to be directed by him, happy and safe in the knowledge that it was all going towards some great and worthy purpose – he had eagerly stepped forth time and time again to be wielded like a sword or spear against his cousin’s foes. Where were they? Where were they who dared stand before Shaqmar? He was Shaqmar’s loosed spear. He had launched him, he had launched him during those final death-throes. Qaseer did not know what Shaqmar saw when he threw - a spear did not see. But the path ahead was clear – he would kill them all. Any who challenged and any who fought and any who dared stand before Shaqmar’s legacy. No, Shaqmar left behind no children, but he left behind Qaseer. And Qaseer had been chosen as the Qa'id Adheem because all knew his prowess in war and his tenacity in pursuing vengeance.

He had not expected it. Zanshah was the favourite for the role - for he was Shaqmar's eldest brother, and the eldest son in a line of eldest sons stretching back seven generations to Azad himself. Not only was he the rightful claimant after Shaqmar, his claim could have shaken even Shaqmar from his post, had he willed. But Zanshah was not interested in that kind of position. He preferred travelling light - and that applied as much in his travels as it did in life more generally. He had refused to tie himself down with wives and children, let alone an entire tribal confederation! 
Seeing this, the elders had considered the next claimant - the final son of Buraq, Bulagutai. But Bulagutai was absent, and the absent could lay claim to naught. And so the elders had moved on to the next claimant - Buraq's younger brother, Qulut. The fifty-three-year-old had lost nothing of his strength and authority, and his sword - though not the swiftest - had been heavy on the Ma'Erkoz during the last war. But he excused himself also and refused leadership, content with his role as a tribal elder and unwilling to take up the burdens of leadership during these troubled times. He was not the man for this moment - this needed youth and vigour, this needed passion and hotheaded stubbornness. This needed Qaseer. And Qaseer, being Qulut's eldest son, was the next claimant the elders turned to. He had accepted without hesitation, and the declaration went round that the Azad had chosen Qaseer as their Qa'id, who was now the Qa'id Adheem.

Siruga, Qa'id of the Dhul'Dhanab and one of Qaseer's many fathers-in-law, was the first of the tribal chiefs to send words of congratulation. This was followed by a stream of messengers from the each of the Qa'ids of the Fifteen Tribes. Before long all had affirmed their loyalty to the Azad Qa'id Adheem bar three of the Fifteen Tribes, along with the Huntalla and the Mu'aykala. Qaseer stirred one-hundred men early the following morning and rode out to pay a personal visit to Chenar of the Huntalla. He found the Qa'id awake in his encampment, surrounded by the Huntalla elders.
'Chenar!' Qaseer shouted, not dismounting from Mara's back, 'I didn't receive your messenger yesterday. Did he stray or have you been fed some misguided delusions od turning your back on your master?' The Huntalla Qa'id looked from the elders to Qaseer, anxiety and anger clear in his eyes.
'Qaseer, the Huntalla have been true to their words. We have upheld our pact with Shaqmar, shed blood for him, answered his summons without hesitation. Shaqmar is gone, and our pact with him. You have nothing on us.' Qaseer scowled and his nostrils flared.
'Your pact was not with Shaqmar. Your pact is with the Azad - do you take us for idiots, Chenar? If you turn your back on me now, then be afraid. I am not Shaqmar - when my blade is drawn, not even the children will be spared. That is the fate of oathbreakers.' Chenar fumed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. 'You challenge me, Chenar? We have killed many foes together, don't make me kill you.' Chenar's hand trembled for a few moments as he considered his options. He looked once more from the silent elders to the glinting eyes of the Qa'id Adheem... and his hand dropped. Qaseer lifted his head and smiled. 'That's good. See to it that any... disloyal elements are dealt with.' His eyes lingered on the elders before he turned Mara about and spurred her on out of the encampment. His riders likewise turned and followed their leader. Chenar watched them leave before turning on the elders and spitting on the ground.
'Next time you want freedom from the bear's embrace, don't stand like cowed sheep when he bares his teeth at you.' And so saying, the Qa'id turned and left for his roundtent. 

Following this brief stop-over at the main Huntalla encampment, Qaseer visited the minor tribes of Airat, Bukhat, and Sagmak - for all had failed to affirm their loyalty. Marching into each encampment at the head of a dust-storm and with a deathly gleam in his eyes, none dared continue to entertain thoughts of treachery. They had thought the Azad divided and fractured, unable to agree on a new Qa'id now that Shaqmar was gone. They had thought that Qaseer would be one of many competing claimants. They had thought Azad ascendancy was over at last. They had thought wrong.

'Do not think the Mu'aykala are like the rest. You know of their infamous divisions. Tadatunga only retained his position as the foremost Qa'id due to Shaqmar's recognition. Do not expect their compliance to your will to come easily.' Qaseer looked to the one who spoke. It was Sakago, along with Qaseer one of Shaqmar's foremost commanders and trusted confidants. Qaseer chuckled at his words.
'Don't you worry, Sako. I'll bend them over whether they want it or not.' The pale-eyed commander looked at Qaseer impassively.
'Let's hope it doesn't come to that.' 

They came first to Tadatunga's encampment. The man greeted them with open arms and welcomed Qaseer into his roundtent. 'Welcome, welcome, son of honoured parents.' Food was brought before them and Tadatunga dug in first before inviting Qaseer and Sakago to join him. The two ate and Sakago made light conversation until Qaseer, irritated at the slow pace, got to the heart of the matter.
'We received no messenger from you, Tadatunga. What am I to understand from this?' The senior Mu'aykala Qa'id emptied a bowl of kymis before putting it down slowly and looking at Qaseer carefully.
'You are aware, I am sure, of the... difficult situation within the tribe. I did not think a mere message could cover the many sensitive matters a direct conversation could.'
'There is no difficult situation, Tadatunga. You are your father's eldest, were recognised by Shaqmar as the sole legitimate Qa'id of the Mu'aykala. We hold ourselves to that so long as you are true.' Tadatunga visibly relaxed at Qaseer's words, 'such assurances hardly need a direct discussion. Did you ever doubt Azad honour?'
'Never, my Qa'id, but the heart is weak and requires assurance from time to time - doubt has a tendency to shake one's belief even in the most undoubtable truths, of which Azad honour and rectitude is the most basic and universal.' Qaseer sneered as he rose to his feet.
'Silver-tongued as always, Tadatunga.' The Mu'aykalid rose also and the two men embraced. 'Gather some of your men and come with me.' And so saying, the enlarged group rode from one Mu'aykala encampment to another. They did not stop or even speak to anyone, it was enough for Tadatunga to be seen riding beside Qaseer - and any who dared to challenge the state of affairs could try. None did.

'Don't expect their compliance to come easily, huh, Sakago?' Qaseer laughed as they rode homeward.

***

'The Mu'aykala refuse to be subjugated by some upstart minor clan. We are the proud sons of Mu'aykala, this state of affairs dishonours us and all the great clans of Rukbany. Qaseer and the Azad - and all those traitors who joined them - must be made to pay.'
'Of course, that is only natural. I am, of course, opposed to wanton killing - but you may find that I am willing, given the unique circumstances at play, to turn a blind eye while anything... unfortunate... is taking place.' A chuckle followed.
'I'm glad we see eye to eye. The others will be glad to hear this.'
'Pleasure doing business with you, Bukida. See to it that your people uphold their end - I hate nothing more than treachery. As everyone will soon come to know.'

@Kho

I do find it odd that Juras was able to extract some of Vestec's spilled blood. The scuffle itself took place not on the ground but in the (largely shattered, but still flying) Celestial Citadel, and in the aftermath Vestec escaped by teleporting to the Realm of Madness and presumably bled there.

But worry not about my nitpicking! You do your ant things and see them done and then resume the doing of your horse things so that I can in turn respond to your horse things with my ogre and desert-dwellr things!@Cyclone

I seem to remember that the Xos-Vestec battle took place in the ruins of the Celestial Citadel once it had landed. If that isn't the case, I'll edit that bit out

Edit: These are the relevant extracts from the post in question:

Vestec walked through the shattered halls of the Citadel, following the essence of Zephyrion. ...Vestec skipped through the ruined halls, searching for the Lord of Storms. 

He found him in the ruined throne room. “Zephy! Forgive me if I’m wrong, but killing your siblings and destroying your own Citadel doesn’t seem very intelligent to do. At best you’ve made yourself a pariah, and at worst you’ve roused the ire of the rest of the pantheon. Kyre was annoying, but certainly not murder worthy-annoying. Why’d you do it, brother dear?” Vestec spread his hands wide, gesturing. “Why’d you do this?”

Vestec’s empty words still echoed in the spacious chamber for all the cracks and holes that it had suffered. They fell upon the darkness at rest in the center of the room, but failed to echo back or so much as even rouse it. ...

The God of Chaos’ own claws lashed out in defense, shaking the ruins. The two gods thrashed about the ruined palace, the Shade quickly gaining the upper hand. When at last a solid blow landed, Vestec was knocked through a crumbling wall and beaten down. ...

In a last bid at escape, Vestec ignited his own body in a wreathe of pulsating fire and singed his assailant. Xos jerked back from the magical fire, releasing his grasp. Vestec was gone in a flash, leaving nothing behind but multicolored blood and destruction.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4453082

Either way, whether the fight occurred while the citadel was falling or once it had landed, Vestec did leave blood behind, and that blood probably ended up somewhere on the desert ground for Juras to gather.

And yeah, I've been working on my Rukban post, it has grown threefold over the last 12 hours xP

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