Zaki Qasim

Biographical information

Birthplace Where was your character born Born Died Age 65 Home Where does your character tend to reside now? Sexuality Pronouns

Physical description

Race Human Sub-Race Gender Male Height Mass Hair color Eye color Skin color

Political information

Affiliation(s) Occupation Seneschal, Servant to the Vizier Clan(s) Caste Domain Masters Apprentices Alias(es)

Out-of-character information

Writer Created on Avatar https://www.artstation.com/artwork/3okL3D

"I spare the noble the ignominy of practicality. I am the one who must stare the gift horse in the mouth. I am the one that ensures the mirror that reflects power shines true and does not blind. When the Gods are silent, I ensure they are seen and heard, by the common and by the royal. I am the one of many attendants that makes sure the water of the land is pure, that food does not spoil, that servants remain loyal and rulers remain true to the glory owed to them. Enemies from within, enemies foreign, enemies unknown, I am present to their plots and undo them before my Sultan need furrow a brow. I spare others the knowledge of what is required, only that action has been taken, both benevolent and terrible. I do what I must to ensure the Sultan is not squandered by anything. Not their people, not their Gods, not their circumstance. I hear and I obey, I speak and I guide, I stay silent and forgive myself daily for what must be done, for the sands care not by which wind they are carried."

Weathered by a lifetime prowling the sands and a lifetime of fasting of both water and of food, Zaki has eyes that has seen the rising of thousands of sunrises and felt the chill of desert night, and desert death. Eyes that narrow and shift like the desert dune carried by toyingly cruel winds, shifting from seeing almost all as a potential source of drought, as another mouth to be denied food for the art and practice of conservation. Zaki's face has been exposed to the fierce sunlight and course sand carried winds and has been permanently contorted and driven taut from a lifetime of scowls and grim dispositions. Having survived many baleful moons and times of perishing supplies, Zaki looks as if they are regarding a possible liability even when beset by jewels, coin, hydration, vittles. Their eyes seem ready to hurl and discard anyone to the harsh realities of the open plane of sands should they displease his intention to serve his function to the hierarchy of the desert.

A scimitar remains tightly bound at his side, wreathed in purple cloth that prevents a quick cut. Zaki's hands seem too withered to carry such a weapon with poise, yet the look within his eyes might tell you that he does not need to draw any blade to deny a life it's future course.

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