Harun Fakim Al-Kashir
DATE: Year 7,432 of the 3rd Era. 3rd Month, 14th Day
LOCATION: Castle Vraweth, surrounding countryside
INTERACTING WITH: Morgan
@Lyla, Nimue
@Crusader Lord
It was a bright, sunny day, the kind that no one ever seems to truly deserve. In the forests outside of the castle, a bulky man with a long, curling, red beard sat beside a small fire, smoke curling around the flame in the center of a clearing. Someone who knew the man would have said that the expression he wore on his face hardly fit it, and they would be correct. It had been a busy night for Harun. He had scrawled a fox’s name backwards around the perimeter of her nest, planted forty acorns in places where they would grow, given an old carpenter a flower that longed for his touch, and slew a hare as sacrifice. Now, the spirits delivered. Beneath his cowl, the carpenter shifted, becoming a slim figure in the forest, grinning broadly. He had been led this far, and now his confirmation on Castle Vraweth, the incense clearing his mind and focusing his vision. He had been careful, sending four separate scouts for the same information, all with matching stories. Somehow, through the twists and turns of time, Xil’Gurash had come to rest on the hip of this ‘Odessa,’ leader of the guard for this nation of Vraweth.
...Or something along those lines. As things stood, he wasn’t entirely positive on her actual position, but she seemed important. Xil’Gurash had taken to her, having been passed down the line of Knight Commanders or something of the like after the Southern Sea had swept him onto Vraweth’s coast. Supposedly she was a tall, stern-faced woman who took to no nonsense and didn’t speak often. More than that, she lived her life with constant vigilance, surrounded by the Queen’s own guards and actively leading their military. She used shortswords and longknives, which meant that Mr. Oh-So-Prim-and-Proper would be getting plenty of attention.
Additionally, from what the little birdies had told him, there seemed to be some guests of honor who had shown up today. A woman and another woman, both rumored to be ancient warriors reborn. It was a story that struck uncannily close to home, and frankly Harun was very, very uncomfortable with it. On one hand, it may be a key to learning more about his own situation, but on the other… He had dealt with ‘heroes’ before, and they were always a pain in his ass. Proud, forward types who were stronger than they knew what to do with. Generally they were known for killing someone or something important. Harun’s nose wrinkled. Not his style. Everyone he had killed had wronged him or someone he was immediately close to in a personal manner. Completely different. And on a more practical note, by all rights, this all meant that on top of her usual guard, on top of keeping steady company with the Queen of this nation, Odessa was also sharing her home with the kingdom’s most powerful mage and greatest warrior. And a dragon was there, for about five minutes yesterday. More or less.
The job was getting complicated.
Altogether, that meant this job would have a few hooks, maybe even be impossible for someone who was a mortal man… But Harun wasn’t mortal anymore, was he? Not quite. And soon, the Sandwalker would steal back the first of his long list of missing items, property gone for too long. A red-breasted swallow left the clearing, the fire smouldering itself behind him. There was work to be done.
The guards all seemed to be nervous, understandable with the visitors they had been keeping as of late. Maybe it was the nerves, maybe it was that no one suspected birds to commit larceny, but Harun made his way into the inner palace with no problems, shifting from a red-breasted swallow to a wolf spider, crawling up the inside of the castle before changing once more into a rather small mouse. He would move more swiftly that way, and with a castle this large there was no way there was a complete lack of vermin. With all the vaulted ceilings and fluted archways, he had already passed one birds’nest that was being handled by servants. One more poor, innocent creature of the wilds through the passages wouldn’t go with too much notice.
The spirits Harun had hired to be his eyes and ears had told him several important pieces of information, and of those a few were relevant to his task at the castle. Odessa worked her ass off, and held a strict schedule of training, paperwork, tending to the Queen, and handling her own matters. She lived inside the castle, though she worked in a separate room than she slept, her study closer to the ground floor though still in one of the towers. And before noon, she was almost always in her office.
Today was no different, the warrior sitting in a stiff wooden chair with a sharp-edged desk in front of her, dressed in brown trousers with a dull grey tunic. Her hair was in a functional braid, kept out of her practical face with a piece of twine. Her boots were brown, but not too much so, and her frame was well-muscled but certainly not that of a titan. Overall, this was a woman who wouldn’t have looked out of place working the fields with the rest of those Harun had encountered on his way here. There were few people who would be more dull to spy on.
Appearances aside, there was one facet of her visually that was well and truly stunning for the thief; a glimmering ruby sat on the end of a dagger’s handle, the crossguard decorated with an assortment of gems and most likely made of gold. Xil’Gurash was here.
Sitting in a crack in the wall, the spider that was Harun waited and watched as the mighty Lady Odessa filled out paperwork, his objective sitting idly at her belt. Outside of the room, two guards stood watch as the knight “couldn’t always be in armor” according the her queenliness. Mind, that was as the spirits had phrased it, so it was to be taken with a grain of salt. All the same, the thief waited. He could hardly be inconspicuous with stealing a dagger from a woman sitting down, her lower half below a desk in a room six stories off the ground, guards on the only exit anyone reasonable would take. For now, he had to wait. And wait. ...And wait. Wax dripped from candles in the study, shadows from the small flames flickering along the walls. The steady scratching of the Commander’s quill kept a steady level of background noise, the wind blowing through the trees outside. ...Patience. He had plenty of patience. After all, he was the man who spent three years telling stories to leave an island. He knew about patience. Aaaaaall about it.
...Fuck it.
The spider made its way behind where the woman was seated, hunched over her paperwork. Then, where once there was an arachnid, Harun stood in all his glory, facing away from the Commander with his hand already wrapped around the knife. Before the woman could react, he had already pulled the blade free from the sheath at her side, a silvered edge shining in the candlelight.
“Orsetz Durash kil… Harun?!?” Before he could respond to the dagger’s query, however, the guards swung the door open, startled at the exclamation from within. The world seemed to move in slow motion as Odessa yanked another knife from her boot, jaw locked in an expression of cold determination as she lunged towards the amber-eyed urchin. It was at times like these that decisions are made. There was a clean exit directly behind Harun; he could leap through the window, turn into a bird and be gone. Or, he could take the fun option…
Where the thief had been standing, a cat appeared, darting through the guards’ feet before returning to his proper form, flashing the three above him a toothy grin before darting down the stairs.
“Xil! It’s been too long. I see you’ve done well for yourself, that’s nice. You do remember a more appropriate language, I hope?” “I… Yes, I do, but how are you here? How are you alive? And why, for the love of all that is holy, did you steal me from someone who can rightfully use me against the forces of all that is wrong in the world?!?” Harun’s smile deepened as he ran,
“You see, I would love to answer that right now, but your kind friends seem to want me to stop moving. Permanently.” He lunged forward and down as he hit the bottom of the stairs, slipping inside the guard of the poor sunuvabitch posted at first floor entrance to the tower. Harun's brows knit together, his frown thrown off by the way he couldn't keep the corners of his mouth down.
“Weird, it's almost like I stole something. Sorry if it’s rude, but I’m going to have to borrow you again. For… a while. 20 years or so? I’d like to last a little longer this time.” As Harun spoke, he flipped Xil’Gurash in his hands, the blade passing effortlessly through the wooden spear handle wielded by the flustered guard. The thief kept running, unperturbed.
“So can you tell me exactly where the Queen’s chambers are? I’d like to get into a little more mischief before I go, really leave my impression. I could take some jewelry, maybe a nice cloak, heavens know she can spare it with the weather you’ve been delighting in around here. Oooooh, are poofy pants still in style in the West? I know it’s been long since Cordial was a world power, but it was such a grand time when everyone enjoyed the poofy pants. Also, I noticed they're gathering traveling supplies outside. What's that all about then? And there's a dragon? It's not Lilian or Alder, is it?” Grunting and weaving through a thicket of blades and pikes as he went, Harun screamed through the castle with a horde of heavily armed men and women behind him. It was just like old times!
The blade did not respond immediately, though that was probably for the best. The thief could tell through the empathic link between his dagger and his wielder, the knife was highly upset. To be entirely honest, if it had a face, it might have been holding back tears of frustration. Defensively, it shoved these emotions deeper inside itself, instead taking on a strong, sarcastic tone as Harun turned a corner and came across a large set of double doors, cracked open.
"Well, You certainly won't need directions to the queen's location." "Oh? How's that, old friend?" The thief slipped inside, panting ever so slightly and laughing to himself. As he turned, he saw upwards of two dozen guards, probably a few bishops, mages, knights in ceremonial armor, a red-headed woman with oddly out of fashion clothing, a busty fey-touched, and what looked to be the queen, if the throne and crown were any measurement. For a split second, the recognition struck him, the spirits descriptions coalescing into a small click in his head. He had… heard of these people. One of them he could keep pace with, two would be an issue. Damn. Swiftly, he changed pace, in one motion sheathing Xil’Gurash and going into a low bow, directed towards the queen. As he bent over, his clothes morphed from the dark green, murky wear he had been sporting to jewels, silks, and a loose shirt of the deepest purple. With his mouth below the room’s field of vision, he whispered frantically to the dagger, all too aware of the guards with spears sprinting down the hallways directly behind him.
"Xil, I don’t suppose the queen understands Kashiyem, does she? If not, I would like to point out that I came to get you because you're a good influence on a young hooligan like me who really just needs some direction in this life and definitely not because you're an excellent knife, so give me a hand on this one?" There was a long moment as the blade considered, hesitation and tension in the air before it responded in equally hushed tones.
“...I’d rather not.” "You'd rather not, buuuut...?" There was another long pause before the blade did the best he could to sigh, frustration and disappointment oozing in his voice.
“But I will TRANSLATE this one time. This ONE time. But so help me by all the gods above and below, by Vis's Blessed Bosom and all the stars in the sky, we’re having a talk after this. A long, serious talk!” "Good man!" Clearing his throat, the thief unbent, casually brushing the hair out of his face with a flick of his wrist. His jewelry clinked together as his posture shifted, polished gold and silver woven together in countless small chains around his dark neck. The southerner’s amber eyes scanned the room once before coming to rest on the queen of this place, a lazy smile sliding across his face as he stood up his full height, utmost confidence suffusing his handsome features. On the inside, he was screaming.
“Hail, O Might of the Westlands. I ask that you hear me before you judge, and take my words into account before brash action steels the hearts of men. The spirits of his land tell of the pitch devils from the east and the coming of the Darkened Moon. I have heard tell of Castle Vraweth with its staunch walls and mighty soldiers, powerful magicians and eldritch magics. I have heard of your heroes, boldly standing against the cruel strength of the Ebon Beasts beneath Black Luna. And I have heard,” His hand swept forward, fingers pointed towards the redhead and the fey-touched. His smile was one of knowing, while on the inside he prayed for their ignorance of his own name.
“Of the resurrection of your legends, O Dragonslayer, Felspeaker."He paused for a moment, making sure he had the attention of the room. Her Majesty was frowning, but that seemed to be more her default position than a bad sign. Excellent. He let his face slide into a mirror of his own in his youth, losing several inches of height. His mouth curled downwards, his eyes serious and hard, too bitter for a face so young.
"I myself died to the Southern Sea millenia ago, returning now in the world’s time of need. I come to you, a man who has escaped the chilled grasp of Death, guided by Vis herself, to offer my services. I am the Lord of Cordial." He stood now as a tall, black-skinned man with a long beard, a crown resting on his head and a scepter of gold at his side.
"I am the Errant Emperor of Tet." A short, stocky woman clad in traveler's clothes, barefoot with calloused hands.
"I am Ghosttongue. I am Sandwalker." A lank man, bound in furs and coated in frost. An ambiguous figure, wooden staff in hand and completely wrapped in clothes made to disperse the heat of the Southern Sun.
"I am Kingkiller, Dragonfriend, the Formless Night. I am the Thirteenth Lord of Shadow, and I come to beg for you to help me save this land.” He ended in another sweeping bow, arms extended at his side. His final form came back to his original, warm amber eyes shining through the chamber. Not a bad monologue. A lot of it was nonsense, but a lot if it wasn't. Still, between his own words and Xil’Gurash’s reputation for righteousness, he may have very well made it out. The guards seemed confused, whispers flying around the room. The queen’s brow knit while considering his speech. Surely, this would be fine.
He pointedly ignored the swiftly approaching sound of plated footsteps from the hall behind him, holding his pose and praying for a swift response from Her Majesty and the heroes with her.
