Fable - Ask Plight of the Prince

[Nisreen Saladeen]

A lovely day in beautiful Maraan. For many the city was the Jewel of Amol-Kalit, the Heart of Trade, or the Gateway to the Empire.

For Nisreen, this particular morning, it was a place to get an exquisite cup of coffee. Maraan, as always, had been a lucrative locale to ply her trade. And why not? There were so many traders passing through, traders and merchants from near and far, and all of them had one thing in common: they were all very concerned about their investments. Will this route be safe? How's the price of salt, should I sell here or will I find a better price further down the road? Nisreen had kept herself busy—dare she say almost too busy? Nevertheless, the art of divination came in many forms, and it was woven into her Fate here in Maraan that she would get to practice more than just her cartomancy. The specific requests from the cavalcade of eager merchants had been plentiful.

But! A day of rest was in order. And well earned, if Nisreen could say so herself (and she did).

So here Nisreen sat at one of the outside tables of the Coffee Shop. The day was sunny but the true heat of the day was hours away, and in the shade of the table's parasol it was enjoyably balmy. Little wisps of steam rose from her freshly brewed coffee, and with both hands she cradled the mug and sipped.

She had been sitting at the table with a few strangers for scarcely ten minutes, just having a friendly little chat, when two armored men approached. Their tabards and their gear distinguished them from the local Maraan guardsmen. Judging by the particular sashes worn over their shoulders, Nisreen would've said they were Royal Soldiers in a highborn's employ.

And she would be proven right.

The forward man of the two Soldiers spoke in a cordial, business-like tone. "Prince Hamza Zayyish wishes your presence for an audience. Do you accept?" His eyes had lingered on Nisreen, yes, but as he spoke they had also trailed over the others who sat with her.

Nisreen, caught by delightful surprise, drummed her fingers on her mug. Then flashed a big smirk and glanced to each of the strangers at the table with her, gauging how they felt about the invitation. She looked back to the Soldier and asked in a somewhat coy and joking manner, "Wouldn't it have been easier to bring the Prince to our table, instead of our table to the Prince? Though, either way, the coffee is delicious."

The Soldier (the serious and dutiful type if ever there was one) simply blinked and breathed just a touch sharply through his nose. Perhaps realizing how his previous statement could've been interpreted broadly, he clarified: "Prince Hamza requested you, fortune teller. You, if would accept, and anyone else around you, if they would also accept."

A day of rest. Ohhhh~ well. Fate decreed that it be only a morning of rest, for how could she ever turn this down? Nisreen swung a hand over her heart, her golden nails lightly touching her chest, and when she spoke it was as smooth as silk, "I, Nisreen Saladeen, graciously accept Prince Hamza's request."

And to the eclectic strangers sat at the table with her, she glanced.

 

[Qiven the Tall]

Qiven the Tall was not accustomed to the desert. It was hot, it was bright, it was far more open that he was used to, and sand would cling to his fur whenever he was outside the walls of whichever town he had stumbled into. It wasn't all bad, though. He loved the architecture, the colorful tapestries, the music, the rich coffees and sweet dates.

Right now, in fact, he was having a pleasant time at the coffee shop chatting with some strangers. Mostly listening, truly. He did not feel comfortable enough in his knowledge of the language to engage in-depth in conversation. But listening was good. He picked out many of the words- not enough to understand the conversations, but enough to strengthen his vocabulary. With his lute on his lap, he absently picked some tunes, lightly plucked and atmospheric, nothing so busy as to distract or mute the conversation.

This peace was interrupted by the entrance of the guards. Qiven felt his heart in his throat. From the mouth of one of the guards, he was able to recognize the word "prince", intensifying his panic more. But the woman they addressed did not seem afraid. She seemed joking, even. Qiven relaxed some, and tried to glean more words from the conversation. "I -- accept Prince -- request", the woman said, followed by her looking towards him and the other strangers. His eyes widened. Am I expected to answer? Am I requested as well?

Qiven nodded and mimicked the woman's hand-over-heart gesture. His grasp of the situation was still weak. He didn't know whether this was voluntary or compulsory. He just knew he would be seeing royalty soon, and that was exciting and horrifying.

 

[Nisreen Saladeen]

Nisreen set her mug down and twirled her hands in Qiven's direction, as if presenting him for his part coming up on center stage. "And there! We have another. Isn't today grand? You might even say pristine, and you, darling, would be right." For all things were pristine in the unbroken design of the Great Tapestry.

The lead Soldier gave a stolid nod. His companion Soldier behind him, a man slightly younger but no less powerfully built, was regarding Qiven with a sort of fascination.

Which Nisreen picked up on and ran with. "Yes! Quite the specimen, isn't he? He's a Nisreen and a half tall—and I would know, I measured him just now." Oh but what did the difference between measured and estimated mean between friends, hmm? "Does the Prince require something to be fetched from a particularly high shelf, by chance?"

The lead Soldier kept his stolid demeanor. Not irritated and neither cracking a smile at Nisreen's playful little indulgences of mirth. "That will be between yourselves and Prince Hamza."

"Excellent. I adore secrets." Nisreen glanced over the table. "Surely there's other takers?"

"I'm out," said Callum, the brusque bounty hunter from Cortos, as he stood up from his seat and finished the rest of his coffee in one long gulp.

"That's a shame, darling. What could possibly be more pressing?"

"Nothing. Just the last time I got tangled up with royalty, I...let's say I can't go back to Falwood anymore." A cheeky grin. And then his peculiar words of parting, "Take care, and keep a knife handy."

Nisreen met Qiven's eyes and shrugged in a What can you do sort of manner. And to the rest of the table she said, "Soooo~...what will it be?"

Qiven the Tall

 

[Harun Ahidjar]

Harun had returned from his travels only a couple of days ago. After such a long time away, the comfort of his home was long awaited, and the city's beauty renewed before his eyes. How he missed Maraan, and the plentiful goods and wisdom that continually flowed through its busy traders and markets. Though he had greatly enjoyed his time journeying beyond its walls, there was a sense of contentment in being home once more. To see the wonders of Amol-Kalit was breathtaking, but even at home their delicacies, spices, teas and texts were never far from hand.

He'd a seat outside the shop, the shade of an awning casting a shadow over him and his table that was shelter from the desert sun. The hour was still early, and the mornings were the ideal time to venture out for a freshly brewed cup. The sun had chased away the chilling cold of the desert night, but hadn't enough time yet to bring temperatures to the usual scorching heat.

A fine cup of coffee was a great start to the day. What he would do, had yet to be planned. Harun was effectively retired now, and had the freedom to dedicate his days to matters of his own choosing. It was refreshing, but it also left him with plenty of spare time to fill. Left to his own devices, he'd likely just read, though the sense of adventure his travels remained, and had spurred in him to keep an eye and ear open for other opportunities to spend his time.

One could be heard from the corner of his ear.

"Prince Hamza Zayyish wishes your presence for an audience. Do you accept?" Asked a guard, and Harun turned to look at the one he addressed. A young woman of white garb, it wasn't immediately obvious why she had been requested, and in such a manner – a sentiment that was echoed in her response. Ever curious, Harun kept his attention on the pair while taking another sip of his steaming beverage.

"Prince Hamza requested you, fortune teller. You, if would accept, and anyone else around you, if they would also accept." The guard said in response, extending an invitation to all. This was a pleasant surprise, to have an audience with the prince dropped in his lap. It might even lead to some work. While Harun was happily enjoying his retirement, the rates at which royalty tend to pay out was enough to outweigh that. At worst, it would give the retired scribe something to do, and that alone was motivation enough to accept.

Another did already, someone who looked to be from far away lands. After an agreement to join, and some further playful words from the woman, she turned to extend an invitation to all.

"Soooo~...what will it be?"

“I too, graciously accept. Harun Ahidjar, a scribe of the city if I may so join.” He said, rising from his seat with a smile.

Qiven the Tall Nisreen Saladeen

 

[Nisreen Saladeen]

And there it was, the last member at the table deciding to take the route Nisreen and Qiven had taken. Only Callum had proven to be of a dubious mind. Ah, but such as it is—Callum was always going to decline, and Qiven and Harun were always going to accept, weren't they? As simple a matter as Fate slowly playing itself out in the forward march of time.

"Splendid," Nisreen said, favoring Harun with an approving smile. "I am glad that you've decided to join us, Harun. Three is company, as they say. Three is also a pristine number of power."

The lead Soldier, satisfied with the turnout (behind that gruff and stolid face, Nisreen could just tell), made a small motion with his head and said, "This will do. Follow me to the Teal Palace. I will take you all to the Prince."

Nisreen stood from her seat, taking one last sip of her coffee before setting it back down on the table. A little shiver ran down her body, shaking out most prominently in her shoulders and her arms, and she commented, "Hmm. Just what is it about coffee that makes it feel like drinking lightning caught in a bottle?"

She pushed in her chair, glancing to Qiven as she did. "With the thrum of coffee humming in your veins, why, I would say you could produce a tune whose liveliness is without compare."

Nisreen felt a certain affinity with other performers, no matter their art. It wasn't all she did, performing, but it was a good portion of her skillset, this was true. Music, of course, was dear to listen to, but the crafting and playing of a piece? A good piece? Oh! What an investment. Talent helped, but it couldn't account for everything. Practiced skill bridged the gap, and it was those long hours of devotion to one's craft that Nisreen could always respect.

Qiven the Tall Harun Ahidjar

 

[Harun Ahidjar]

“Most happy to, Nisreen. And a delightful offer to chance upon.” Harun mirthfully replied, still smiling warmly at the unexpected boon upon his day. Coffee had provided a good start to it, and Nisreen's preformative energy had already brightened it further. That he now had a means to spend it was a fine further improvement. With a nod and confirmation from the guard, his place in their company appeared secure, and his day set before him.

"Hmm. Just what is it about coffee that makes it feel like drinking lightning caught in a bottle?"

Harun took a moment to down the remainder of the coffee within his cup. Shortly after, he set the emptied vessel down onto the table with a dull wooden thunk, before easing up from his seat to stand beside it. The metaphor Nisreen spoke stirred nostalgic memories. Pots of coffee had fuelled many a night of busy transcribing. He was well and happy to be done with those times – but the recollection was warmer now, with pressures of work done away with. No longer restricted to transcribing at a desk, his days were now his to seize.

“Quite the way to put it.” Harun remarked.

Qiven the Tall Nisreen Saladeen

 

[Qiven the Tall]

A blush rose to Qiven cheeks, obscured some by the thin blue-grey fur on them. A tune whose liveliness is without compare. How kind! He adored Nisreen's charisma. He managed a "Thank you" with a fang-flashed smile.

He examined Harun for a moment, then. "Scribe" was a word he hadn't learned yet, but by the way Harun moved and the look in his eye, Qiven could glean that he was educated. He had to be some kind of scholar, perhaps. It was hard to tell. His people didn't have scholars the same way man or elf did. No matter what kind of man Harun was, or used to be, Qiven quite liked his attitude. He seemed cheerful and had his own brand of charisma.

Qiven was with good company.

"My name is Qiven, and it is lovely to meet you," he said, bowing his head politely. He stood up from his chair, towering eight feet tall, and pushed his chair in. Qiven bent slightly to make sure he did not hit his head on any ceiling fixtures.

Harun Ahidjar Nisreen Saladeen

 

[Nisreen Saladeen]

"Mind the parasol, darling," Nisreen teased. Sure, she had said it after-the-fact, Qiven already having hunched his towering form over some to keep from acquiring a large and stylish new hat, but that just underscored the playful facetiousness, did it not? "And lovely to meet you as well." He'd been the quiet one of the table, Qiven had. Just a touch shy, perhaps.

The Royal Soldiers turned and started down the street. Mornings tended to be a little more busy than the afternoons, such as it was in scorching desert whenever the mild winters had passed, but the Soldiers needn't shout Make way! nor push anyone from their path—bystanders and passersby took notice and gave them ample space.

Nisreen followed.

And, along the way, struck up conversation of course. "Harun, dear, how are you feeling? Are your joints well? Your hands, specifically? I've heard from a number of scribes that 'quillhand' can be an awful nuisance for those among the profession."

To Qiven, as well. "And you, Qiven darling? Kherkhanites are among my vast clientele, and while you're no Blue Orc you definitely are taller than the lot of them. Mostly their woes lay in the knees. Hopefully you're not plagued by the same?"

Oh the little things. Revealing glimpses of the Great Tapestry was her grand endeavor, but seeing to the well-being and good health of those who might need it was another of her callings. In her satchel she carried many forms of relief, for the spiritual and physical. Fees? Hush now, the first one was always free. And besides, the Prince's generosity alone was sure to be a gleaming capstone on her time here in Maraan.

Qiven the Tall Harun Ahidjar

 

[Harun Ahidjar]

The tall one was a pleasant sort by his soft spoken tone and smile. Not one to speak, but he was well mannered with a welcoming demeanour. Harun was happy to be in such good company, and he was excited to depart for the surprise the day had brought him. Following along the path the guardsmen cleared for them, Nisreen's words bid him attention as they walked.

"Harun, dear, how are you feeling? Are your joints well? Your hands, specifically? I've heard from a number of scribes that 'quillhand' can be an awful nuisance for those among the profession." She asked.

Her kind inquiry only further endeared Harun. He couldn’t deny his own growing aches over the years, though he hadn’t let those slow him down. She spoke true though, and such ailments had forced an early departure from the occupation for quite a few of his other scribes. Others simply pushed through it, growing bitter from the strain they suffered. Harun would rather not be among them.

“They do ache and cramp. Not as bad as the others, mind, but it motivated a reprieve from my work.”

It would have truly been a shame to exacerbate the condition to the point where he’d be deprived of the ability to write during the years he had so much time to do so. It spurred reflection in Harun. Leaving his post would mean he’d never make head scribe, but he had no idea why he should want the position. Further, he’d enough gold that there was little need to spend time earning more. Time had become the resource for which there was a premium upon now. Better to spend it experiencing Arethil, than to remained tethered to obligations in Maraan until possibilities of travels ceased.

He looked to the other, and Nisreen was right. He was a very tall fellow. Harun hadn’t seen anyone like him before, and imagined he’d travelled a fair ways to reach Maraan. Having recently completed his own journey, he was happy to see another doing the same. Having had such a warm welcome in Sey’Kube by the White Swallow, Harun hoped Qivren’s stay in Maraan would be as enjoyable.

“And a pleasure to meet you, Qivren.” Harun happily replied, while he continued along the path the soldiers cleared.

Qiven the Tall Nisreen Saladeen

 

[Qiven the Tall]

He glanced up at the parasol he almost headbutt with an awkward grin and a quiet "whoop!" before putting his hands on his head as a play-pretend shield from it, like one would duck in cover from rain or snow. Qiven, gentle as he was, tried to weave a sense of humor into almost everything he did. Some of it was cultural habit (forest giants were a jovial people), and some of it, well, was just Qiven.

Besides, he figured that any undue intimidation his size and teeth might project would be whisked away into ease instead if he was a little silly. He was afraid of the idea of being... scary. To anyone.

"Harun, dear, how are you feeling? Are your -- well? Your hands, specifically? I've heard from a number of scribes that '--' can be an awful -- for those among the --."

"They do ache and cramp. Not as bad as the others, mind, but it -- a -- from my work."

A "scribe" is some kind of job that works with hands, he thought. Smart people that work with hands tend to be scientists or writers or inventors. It's gotta be one of those. He paid close attention to their conversation. Every moment, he was learning more of the Common Tongue, and more of the ways of life outside his village. Qiven was very smart himself, though he may not get the credit for it. So far, he had done well learning through immersion. Well enough, at least.

"And a pleasure to meet you, Qiven," Harun had said. Qiven replied with a warm smile, the kind that makes one's eyes close and dimples arrive.

Then Nisreen addressed him, and his possibly achy knees. "My age keeps my knees strong," he said, patting one of them as he walked, "but I fear in ten more years, maybe not so. They, uh..," searching for the word, "squeak? Creak? Sometimes, when I stand. Like a bad door. My Elders wear things on their knees to ease the ache. I am sorry, I do not know what you would call them. Knee sleeve. Leg shirt." When he spoke, he gestured with his hands a lot. It helped him visualize what he tried to say, like drawing the shapes of his mind into the air.