Fable - Ask Djinn Shminn

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia had been to Ragash before, but not since the Empire had claimed it. Beyond the different banners, and the different colors worn by the guards, much of the atmosphere was the same. The market was still full to bursting with artisans from around the region, and the palace still dominated the horizon with its beauty and imposing size.

Kiia glided over the sandy streets. The crowds were thick, but walked with ease. Something about the way she carried herself, the purpose with which she walked, made people simply step aside. The sprawling white tattoos that covered her skin glowed brightly in the direct sunlight, a stark contrast against her dark skin and braided black hair.

She moved towards the palace district, noting the subtle shifts in the populace as she moved from the market. The clothing became finer, the strides more proud. Kiia had lived amongst the people of Amol-Kalit for long enough to know exactly who one was based on how they presented themselves. She had also learned to keep these observations to herself, to hold onto them until they could be used in her favor.

Of course, a priestess would never deign to covet power. She would never use her position of trust and leadership to further her own designs. All she did, she did to help those in need, and to spread the word of the divine. If she happened to climb the ladder of power and influence along the way, well, that was simply a bonus. After all, if she was to acquire such status, it was surely Abtatu’s will, was it not?

So she walked, closer and closer to the palace. The Empire certainly appeared prosperous. Was this bounty won through military cunning, or divine favor? The answer depended greatly on who was asked. Her own people, the Abtati, subscribed to the latter, the idea that this Gerra was Abtatu’s chosen. That he had been sent to return them to their former glory.

Kiia knew these legends better than most. She would see this “djinn” for herself. She would make her own judgements on his divinity. She might even, if he were very lucky, let him know what they were.


Gerra

 

[Gerra]

The crowd shifted, moving like a school of fish before the passage of a predator. A cadre of black-armored soldiers, each hooded and wearing a mask, moved around the figure of an immense half-giant. They strode toward the palace, coming from the merchant section of the city.

The half-giant did not look pleased, but then the hard lines and heavy features of his face perhaps seldom did, lines drawn in a manner that suggested he was more used to frowns than smiles.

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia could hear the procession before she saw it. The energy of the crowd lifted with murmurs and calls.

"The Emperor is coming."

"He comes this way"​

She moved to the side of the street and stood along the wall. She was not tall by any means, but her clothing was perhaps just a bit finer than your average citizen. Thin white silks draped over deep mahogany skin cut a striking contrast, and the small golden clasps at her shoulders complimented the light topaz of her eyes.

There was no mistaking Gerra, the Emperor. He stood head and shoulders above even the tallest of his guards, and his eyes blazed like molten steel. It was easy to see why her people had labelled him a prophet, and why others had called him a god. He was surely a terror on the battlefield, and in these harsh lands he wouldn't need to be much else.

She looked unabashed at him even as many of the people around her averted their eyes. A few citizens fell to their knees as he passed. She did not, choosing instead to stand by with her hands neatly folded in front of her. She would offer him a nod of respect should his gaze pass over her, he was royalty after all, but a priestess rarely took a knee. Emperor or no, she served a higher power.

 

[Gerra]

Gerra halted as he passed a woman who did not bow - not because she did not kneel, though that precipitated his interest, but because of who she was. Angled, sharp ears revealed her to be an elf. Not tall, but her confidence and poise made her appear so. This made her interesting enough to halt him in his tracks. Few enough held such composure at his passing.

“Desert Sister,” he rumbled in her native tongue, “Walk with me.”

The guards parted slightly to allow her to join Gerra inside the formation.

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia was noticeably surprised as the Emperor himself stopped, looked at her, and requested her presence. Or was it an order? In either case, she readily obliged.

She moved gracefully, nary a sound at her footfalls. Of course it would be difficult to hear over the armor of the elite guards that surrounded Gerra. He was truly massive, and she looked up at him as many a child had stared up at her. She was not frightened by him, but all the same it took some effort to conceal the apprehension at being so close to someone that could break her in two without a second thought.

"Thank you, your Majesty," was that the proper title? She was unsure, this empire was new, after all, and would likely have its own rules. Still, her respect was evident, and she did her best to keep pace with his long strides.

It seemed she would be able to make her judgements sooner than expected.

 

[Gerra]

The guards closed back around them and Gerra resumed walking, glancing at her only sidelong.

"You are Abtati? Of what tribe? If we have met before I apologize, usually my memory is better. Perhaps the cities have made me soft as the prophet said they would." His lips cracked in the barest hint of a smile.

The fingers of his hands glittered with rings of varied metals and precious gems. Ruby earrings glinted in his ears. And from his neck hung a gold chain ending in an amulet shaped in the form of a hissing snake with emeralds for eyes.

"A priestess? What make you of the Kaliti gods? I have felt their influence here. It is strong."

 

[Kiia Sidra]

He was astute, this Emperor, for he deduced her role almost immediately. Perhaps she should not have been surprised, dull men did not often rise to such heights. She kept pace with his guard, walking beside the giant of Amol-Kalit.

"The Sidra, my King. Those beneath the symbol of the tree. Many find this odd, but the oasis are arborous enough." Her family's mark would be more familiar to the people of the Falwood, but it held far more meaning in the desert. Here trees were rare and precious, restricted to the small areas of water and life that the desert had to offer. Kiia liked to think that she, too, was an uncommon individual.

"I serve Abtatu first and foremost," she continued, "But the pantheon have lessons to give." This man was neither Abtatu nor any other race from the desert. How had he found himself here?

"I have heard Abtatu favors you, your Majesty." Perhaps flattery would guide him to reveal more details.

 

[Gerra]

"If he did not, would I have been able to ascend as I have?" he asked, innocently. "They call me the Djinn of Rhaqoum. The three great tribes say I am Abtatu's prophesied champion, here to restore greatness to the Abtati. And have I not? Your people now rule as emirs over Kaliti towns. Your greatest warrior commands the entire imperial host."

They crossed through the gates that led to the Alabyad palace, which rose before them with its massive domes. The crowds lessened now, giving way to courtiers and officers of the Empire.

"I have met some among the Sidra, though I have not visited your oasis. I spent time amid the desert and know what wonders lie there. Many think it barren, but it brims with life."

 

[Kiia Sidra]

She listened to his words intently, each syllable a potential window to the truth. He seemed to believe in his own divinity, but who would not? Who would shy away from such praises and power? Even so, his words rang true. The Abtati had indeed reclaimed rulership over their oppressors. They had risen from the sands and lived within the great towers. Kiia wasn't sure if this was what Abtatu had wanted for Their children, but she could not deny that their lot in life had improved.

"You speak true, Djinn of Rhaqoum. My people are united beneath your banner, more than we have ever been before." The stories of old told of a singular, mother nation. A time when Abtati were one, but the millenia since had seen them scattered into tribes and sects. She could not deny that their power had grown considerably.

Even so, men of power came and went. None had been quite so great as this Gerra in her memory, but further proof was needed of his divinity. Of course, she would never say this to his face. God or no, he had the power to end her life quite immediately should he choose to do so.

"The desert has many secrets. You are mighty indeed, to have survived to see them." She was surprised to hear he had met her people. They were small tribe, with old views.

The palace was breathtaking, and even her practiced control over her outward emotions could not conceal her wonder. She had not expected to enter the palace grounds today. What intentions did Gerra have for her, she wondered?

 

[Gerra]

“Please, your flattery is pleasing to the ear, but do not fear to speak your mind. I am not a ruler given to punish those who merely speak their truths.”

He could feel her eyes on him, evaluating and curious, like an investigating desert fox.

“What is your name?”

 

[Kiia Sidra]

So the Emperor was not blinded by his pride, this was good. Prideful men made mistakes, they grew angry at any slight. A true ruler should listen to dissenters, hear their concerns, and it seemed that this Gerra at least understood the value of truth. Perhaps he would not execute her for heresy if she were to dig a little deeper.

"My name is Kiia, daughter of Syriand and Tallaethia. I appreciate your percipience, it is a wise ruler who values honest words." She continued to walk with him for a few moments of silence before speaking again.

"In truth, I came to Ragash for you, Gerra of Molthal. As a follower of Abtatu for nearly three hundred years, I was of course intrigued by the emergence of a new prophet." Her eyes met his, and the light from his fiery gaze reflected in them. He had professed that he would not punish her for speaking her mind, but this did not mean she should deliberately offend him. Carefully, she continued, "You have proven yourself a powerful leader, and a worthy ruler. But divinity... I confess it is more difficult to determine. I had hoped to observe the claims of my people with my own eyes."

 

[Gerra]

"Cut me and I bleed," rumbled Gerra. "If you hope to find out the truth by conventional methods, I am afraid it may not prove fruitful."

They passed beneath the archways and into the Alabyad Palace itself. Richly tiled floor in manifold colors stretched out before them, beautiful beneath their sandaled feet.

"I am not Abtatu's prophet. I have never claimed to be. But others who prophesy in his name say I am his champion, chosen before my time began to restore Abtatu's people to glory."

He shrugged.

"As for my divinity.... I took a journey alone into the desert for many months. Alone. I searched for my purpose. My origin. The gods answered. Maskat's mortal form was my mother. I am the prince of the harvest."

The words he spoke rung with conviction.

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia listened intently as the Emperor spoke. His candor was... startling. It was a boon, to be sure, that the ruler of these lands had such a level head, but it was unexpected to say the least. There were only so many fantastic praises one could hear before they started to believe them themselves.

A champion... this made much more sense. He had indeed fulfilled much of that criteria already. He was not Abtati, but he could easily have been of the desert. The fire that burned from his eyes matched the intensity of the sun, and his skin seemed hard and strong as rock, more than a match for the blowing sands.

The palace was breathtaking, as to be expected. For all of her travels, she had never set foot in a place so rich. The air was cooler in here, serene, and Kiia wondered how many people had waited ages just to catch a glimpse of the room that she had been so casually escorted towards. Pride was not becoming of a servant to the gods. She felt it all the same.

"I should very much like to hear that story," she said before she could catch herself. Born of Maskat? That was incredible, if it were true. She realized though, as the words left her mouth, that this was a very personal issue.

"Forgive my curiosity," she said, "I am afraid it is my nature. I am truly grateful to be granted an audience with you. Please, do let me know how I may repay your kindness."