Taqi al-Halik
Mad Dog of Seluca, leash short and snarl bared to the sands. Watch him howl from the slums, caught in the ever-bowed legs of deceit. Famish upon him, in his eyes, in his throat. No manner of wealth fit to satisfy, no pleasures ripe to keep him full. He stirs in the night behind that mask of violence, hackles raised and ready to bite. Fear the hand that feeds, for his fangs know but impunity.
Appearance
Dark of eye and hair, chin strapped with the briefest kiss of a beard, Taqi cuts a somber figure. Tall, packed with muscle trained for that strange mix of murder and flight, he possesses heavy shoulders and a broad back. Tapering down to a waist narrowed by past malnutrition, and a belly taut and distended, he was built a warrior. Scarred knuckles and a nose broken in numerous places mark him a scrapper from his youth.
Skills and Abilities
- Combat - unarmed (expert)
- Combat - improvised weaponry (adept)
- Language - common, kaliti (average)
- Literacy - Common (average)
- Knowledge - violence (talented)
- Knowledge - commerce, music, theology (poor)
- Speechcraft - deceit, intimidation (average)
- Swordsmanship - knives, long swords, short swords (expert)
- Survival - geography, cartography, herblore (adept)
- Utility - cooking, falconry, horseback riding, sleight of hand, stealth (talented)
etc. to varying extents
Personality
Of cold and stoic affect, Taqi comports himself as a man of few words. Instead he possesses an emotive face often seen in hues of snarl and sneer. He mastered a various range of those, and utilizes them freely. Discipline is foreign to him, preferring to wear chaos as his second skin. His edges soften around those he trusts, though his tongue grows rather brusque with the effort.
Biography & Lore
Little needs saying to reach the heart of Taqi. For all the world, he plays the part of an open book: raised in the slums by a family of circumstance, he spent his first twenty-odd years of life in poverty. The regime changes of Seluca treated his ilk poorly, the various uprisings and subsequent crackdowns churning chaos through the district. New faces joined his family on the year and old passed into the quiet embrace of death as readily. Famine, disease, violence. These were the constants of his youth.
Between talk of merchant lords and the changing of guard between band after band of upstart warlord, the city provided scant stability. Were he pressed to recall those days, Taqi might start by counting the beatings he suffered. At the hands of fast friends, at the greaves of the guards, and many others in between. It sculpted his values, hammered home the surety that violence was both the armor and the sword.
It was of no consequence to him; he found comfort in it after a fashion. Within the crucible of melee, he could truly feel alive. At least when drum of heartblood stopped and his breathing stilled to less ragged gasps. Nor was it all bad. His rough upbringing led him to Jahara's arms, created a connection that one day paved a path of escape from the slums.
In the intervening years before the sultanate reigned the city under its wing, Taqi earned a reputation for murder. He served as muscle for various elements, carving out his name in the blood of friend and foe alike. He affected little care for others, losing himself to revelry and rage at the barest slight; a cur, they called him. The masterless dog of the Twins. The Mad Dog of Seluca. He did not fault them for it. They had no way of knowing the truth. For his mistress was a great one for subtlety. Christened thus, he did come to reveal his contract. His promise. Where once he served in the swaddling of night, now he serves openly. Vassal to the Merchant Prince Ahmir.
Although, if asked his opinion, his role is nothing more than that of a murderer. Far simpler that way.
