Fate - First Reply under moonlight

[Adilet Duha]

Ishmael​

The laughter of men echoed through the tents, shaking the poles and causing the elaborate fabrics to wave. Her Master was not one to shy away from his proclaimed wealth; each tent had a variety of divisions for entertaining and comfort, the floors speckled with cushions of all sizes, carpets that nearly sparkled from elaborate weaving of brightly colored thread, and food and drink for all to indulge. He said it was a night meant to be filled to the brim with celebration, and he demanded that she tell stories of his escapades, along with song to ruffle his guests into a fervor of delight. She recognized neither the men nor their company, and as the day slipped into the night, more joined the fray.

There had been some back and forth between herself and Master because it wasn't much fun if she did not argue with him, and if she were going to die by her Master's hand, she might as well go with a laugh. He had demanded that she wear one costume because of its color, though she suggested she wear the other for the aesthetics. Neither choice mattered to her; he had just been raging all day because 'nothing was perfect,' and his complaining was wearing on her nerves. The fight was a distraction; having tested the waters for the last half-year showed her that he would never beat her, only threaten.

"Now! Put it on, or I'll have you dance in your skins instead, woman," he roared at her, his gray eyes glowing with his threat.

That was a threat she heard, and hurriedly, she escaped to the back of his tent to be changed by waiting hands - envious hands. She was not the only enslaved person occupying this little village. Master had gone and bought himself a slew of slaves to support his luxurious lifestyle, and that included Adilet. When she first arrived in his household, he had slaves dress and care for her like a noblewoman. Yet he kept her at arm's length to ensure she knew that her place was unknown.

Scarred fingers worked their magic. About her hips and between her legs went a jeweled belt, barely covering her. The transparent garment went over her legs, the gold bands right around her slim ankles, and settled on the belt above her hips, far below her navel. The slim gathered strip of silk went about her breasts, tied behind her back. Amber eyes widened as one of the slaves tightened the fabric very tight; she wasn't sure if it was done out of spite or necessity. At last, after flowers and pearls dotted her long white hair and the dancing costume encircled her, she was shoved out of the tent.

Her frown was hidden behind the veil covering her face's lower part. The fire was already lit, the men all sat around it with enough space for her to dance and sing, and for once, they were quiet. Khole-painted eyes looked to their Master, with slaves sitting at his feet waiting for direction, a drink in his hand, food in the other - what a mighty king he thinks himself. His clothing was simplistic in terms of what he usually wore, perhaps he was trying to be humble, or maybe he was playing a trick. Adilet would never admit to him, but he looked regal for a man his age, his graying hair slicked back, his facial hair clean and freshly shaven ... almost looked human.

The thought was quickly eviscerated when he threw a cup at her feet, causing it to shatter and create a less-than-stellar dancing floor. He never raised his hand to her, but he did other things to cause her harm, like making her dance on glass, for example. A bottle shattered behind her as if on cue, and another cup landed directly on her naked foot before bouncing off and breaking. Her audience was no longer to be entertained by story. Instead, they watched her try to avoid being hit by incoming bottles and cups.

With fire at her back and danger to her front, the elf had no choice but to try and survive this random onslaught of degradation.

 

[Ishmael]

AMOL-KALIT

The cacophony was enough to mask their movements.

There was not one among the cadre of advancing warriors that wore a smile on their face. There was not one who did not have furious embers raging within their stomachs. As the sounds of the evening's merrymaking reached their ears, each remembered a time when they were in chains. When they were made to serve or to be entertainment. When they were used, abused, and discarded. This was a common thread which united Ishmael's band: a common heritage that had created a genuine kinship.

All who followed the scarred mercenary's lead had felt the sting of the lash...but most importantly, they had lived to tell it. Lived to taste freedom and to offer it to others like them. This night in particular, their mission was a little closer to home. For one of their midst had finally tracked down one who was precious.

Cerak At'Thul was a place infamous for the slave trade. And all within Ishmael's group had seen the black fortress with their own eyes. There was no joy to be found in their cages and markets, yet one of their midst snatched a piece of happiness. He found solace in the arms of a lover, and for months they survived the lash together. Their union resulted in a child: a blameless soul who would be born into chains. The cruelty of the black fortress was absolute. Soon, the mother and child were lined up to be sold. The father, Barbatos, protested and was beaten down for it. The mother absolutely refused to be separated from her daughter.

And she paid with her life.

On that day, Barbatos vowed to scour the ends of Arethil for his child. And at long last he had tracked her down to the "Master's" gaggle of opulent tents. It had been...years since he last seen her, but his efforts had born good fruit. And once Barbatos approached the captain with his findings, it wasn't a question of if they should go after her. It was simply a matter of how many men did they need?

The mercenaries drew ever closer to the tents and settled atop an adjacent dune. They used the shadows and the hue of their cloaks to blend into the sands. The dark of night only made their advance easier; but the hard work would begin soon. Using a hushed voice, Ishmael went over the plan once more. "Bael and Gael, muster the storm." he began, addressing the twin swordsmen croached behind him, "Flauros, Kyrios," he continued, speaking to the drow and sand elf respectively, "cover us with your arrows. Barbatos, you're with me."

"Do not pause for any loot. I know it will be tempting, but we are here for a different prize. Ready?"

The cadre affirmed with various grunts. Barbatos and Ishmael then headed down the dune quietly and advanced closer to the tents. As they moved, the Twins mustered their magic. It was an old spell taught by the Sand Elves - one which mimicked the conditions of a sandstorm, but on a local scale. The creators of this technique used it to ambush caravans with ease. Tonight, it'd be used to terrify a party. Slowly but surely, the winds began to howl and the sands began to shift. And as the party goers hurled cups and wine at a poor entertainer, sand began to fly inside the tent.

A mere look outside would reveal a billowing cloud moving closer against the black of night.​

Adilet Elam Duha​

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[Adilet Duha]

Ishmael
​

Adilet winced as her feet tenderly danced across the glass and whatever finery they threw at her. It would have been preferable if they attacked her with flowers or different, softer prizes; at least appreciate the fact she was still an acrobat in this terrible situation. If she did not dance, he would refrain from feeding her or, worse, bind her and allow the other slaves to slap her hands or pinch her arms. Most got some satisfaction from her torture, while the rest she could see their struggle - she could not blame either party for their mixed reaction.

So she danced with veils flying here and there. Only when she felt a shift in the air did she finally stumble; falling to her hands and knees in the wreckage of her dance, Adilet softened and listened beyond the cacophony of laughter and claps. The scent of magic caused her nose to twitch - home, her heart whispered. It had been some time since she's felt the use of magic, and it was now pouring around them like a flood. Curious, she shifted her gaze to the other slaves, eyeing the few desert elves at her Master's feet. If they noticed the shift, none of them reacted.

"You were not told to stop!"

Master threw his cup of wine at the elf's slightly bowed head. Acting all on its own, her hand flew up and caught the makeshift weapon, causing the crowd of men to snap back to reality. She's retaken his punishment repeatedly, allowing him to break her down to almost nothing - not anymore.

All this time, there was magic needling through the tents, causing the sands to shift and howl. Wine thickening their senses, the men moved after what felt like minutes to protect themselves against the rolling sandstorm that began to disrupt the festivities. Anyone unassuming towards the world around them would accept this phenomenon as a way of the desert. It's not uncommon for a sandstorm to rise and fall when it wants, carrying not for those in its unwavering path.

Adilet knew this was not the case. Her keen senses told her something else was manipulating the storm that had begun to envelop the collection of tents.

Blinking her way back to the moment, she watched how her Master loomed above her with a menacing look marring his face. Her catching his cup, failing at her dance, and the general defiance has apparently made the man snap. The biting sands swept away whatever patience had been holding him back. Confused by her indecision, Adilet did not move when he rained down his anger upon her with surprising might. When his palm connected with the side of her face, she was shoved to the side by sheer force, and immediately she saw stars.

Not satisfied, he lifted her off the ground by her neck. The storm's chaos around them did not persuade him to take shelter or maybe withhold her punishment until it was over.

 

[Ishmael]

AMOL-KALIT

The response from celebrations required patience.

As most gatherings begin when the light of day is present, operations under the cover of shadow meant that alcohol was at play. This would prove to be a valuable ally when infiltrating a camp outnumbered; but it would also delay their advance slightly. A sober man would notice the brewing sandstorm immediately and take quick measures to get to safety. However, an intoxicated soul might continue merrymaking until it was too late. For the sake of their goal, Ishmael's crew had to time their entrance just right to avoid drawing the entire celebration's attention.

Thus, they kept their advance slow. Deliberate. The leading pair only breached the first tent in order to gather information. This tent was on the fringes of the celebration and was dimly lit - intentionally so. Clothing laid strewn about on the floor and light gasps reached the duo's ears. Squinting against the dark, Ishmael made out a scene that was all too common in festivities such as these. A man neck was laden with multiple chains was enjoying himself with a young woman. She did not have any such signs of opulence, but instead had the lines of lashes across her back.

Ishmael nodded to Barbatos. They moved as one.

A knife ended the wealthy man's fun immediately whilst Ishmael's hand cupped the woman's mouth. "Shhh." he began as she squirmed, obviously terrified by the swift death. "We are here to free you. Calm down." It took a few moments for the woman to relax, yet he could see the panic yet evident in her expression. He released her at once and offered a blanket so that she might cover herself. "We need to know where the rest of you are being held." he said. "Will you tell us?"

"Who are you?" was her response. A completely valid question. Ishmael placed his hand upon his chest and introduced himself briefly. "I am Ishmael. This is Barbatos. We were slaves too. We are looking for his daughter."

"She was taken from me at Cerak At'Thul. I will have her back."

Understanding dawned within the woman's eyes and she attempted to steady herself. Outside, the sandstorm only intensified and Ishmael could hear voices slowly becoming aware. "We don't have much time - will you help us?"

"A few of us are serving the party in the middle tent. The rest of us should be in the small tents at the back...unless we're being 'borrowed'." She said the final word with absolute venom. Ishmael nodded. "Understood. Dress yourself quickly and head for the top of the dune nearby. Let no one see you. My men there will help you." He then turned to Barbatos. "Check the tents in the back, I'll head to the middle and circle around."

By the time the duo left the first tent, the sandstorm had fallen upon the camp in earnest. Ishmael watched as men blindly wandered between the tents...only to fall over. One would assume that they tripped over the sands or their own drunkenness, but the mercenary knew better. His fellows were hard at work. Good. The middlemost tent was not difficult to find and Ishmael quickly dipped inside. It was there that he saw the violent scene unfolding before intoxicated eyes. Yet another opulent man abusing his "property." The mercenary scowled and kept to the shadows.

Reaching for his belt, a throwing knife danced within his fingers. A clean throw saw it burrow into the back of the man's neck. As he did, the sandstorm's howl spilled into the tent in earnest. The howling wind and stinging sand was enough to mask the assassination - for the moment. As the Sheikh breathed his last, Ishmael was quick to rush to his body and drop a knee. His eyes met the form of the one he was choking and he raised his hands to show he was not a threat. "I don't have time to explain, but I am here to help you. Will you help me get the other slaves out of this tent?"​

Adilet Elam Duha​

 

[Adilet Duha]

Ishmael​

And within seconds, it was all over. The man who had bought her, tortured her, dared to threaten her very being because he used coin to buy it - gone. A myriad of emotions threatened to boil over as her position in life has now changed, leaving her unshackled with freedom so temptingly close.

She heard her savior speak, but it took her a few seconds to understand what he was telling her. His raised hands showed peace; his killing of her Master made a tiny flicker of trust warm her chest; he, amongst others, caught her attention earlier. So many questions mounted atop one another as she tried to dissect the situation quickly. Adilet has no loyalty to any of the slaves here; she could quickly shift into the raging sands and be on her way, with revenge fueling her steps. It was the obvious choice.

Nodding her pale head, she moved towards the rest of the slaves huddled in the middle of the tent, their fear palpable. The woman did not question their stillness; a runaway slave, if caught, is undoubtedly a dead slave. Their Master is dead, bleeding into the fine carpets he so cherished, but there is still that mote of uncertainty that kept them from immediately running away. With very little time to spare, she plucked the knife from her Master's neck and approached the five slaves with practical intent. Quietly and quickly, she sliced away their bindings and told them to be silent, hushing them into order to follow the directions of the random man.

The storm swallowed them, hiding their dark intent as they were prepared to leave the tent. Adilet wasted no time to find something to throw over her head to help shield the stinging stands; the knife used to kill her Master was still clenched in her tiny hand. Adrenaline ran through her veins, vailing the biting of her bloody feet and her fear. Was this another trick? Was she leading these enslaved people to a darker fate? Was she being sold again? If time had been permissive, she would have asked and threatened the unthreatening man. Instead, she hurriedly gestured for the slaves to move to the back exit of the tent.

"Stay close and do not try to leave on your own. You know the consequences of your capture."

They all eagerly nodded before grabbing each other's hands, creating a human chain.

Turning away from the pleasing view, Adilet looked at the man with no name yet. "Lead us away. I'll take care of as many impediments as I can."

 

[Ishmael]

The mercenary's muscles tensed.

As every second was paramount, he did not have the time to hush the dancer and to calm her down. He anticipated that he would have to do so anyway, as evidenced by what happened in the first tent only moments ago. However, as opposed to succumbing to the very real emotion of fear, the ivory-haired woman was calm. Perhaps it was the fact that his hands were raised. Perhaps it was the fact that she was no longer being choked. Yet whatever the case was, she rose to her feet right away.

Ishmael watched as she then reached for the knife burrowed in her assailant's flesh. She did not flinch upon prying the weapon free from his corpse and did not hesitate to release her peers that were huddling nearby. What's more, she calmed and quieted her peers - turning what could have been a panick-filled room into something far more manageable. To say that the sable-skinned man was impressed was an understatement. Yet there was no time to think on it, they had to rendezvous with Barbatos and then make their escape.

The mercenary approached the women who had grabbed each others arms as the ivory-haired woman spoke again. She now volunteered to clear as many obstacles as she could. She was...capable. "Excellent, here is the plan." he began, motioning for the women to follow as he stepped out into the storm. He took a brief moment to raise his hood. "We aim to free your fellows kept captive in the rear of the camp. Then, we make for the dune for our escape."

There wasn't time for any questions as Ishmael saw one of the Shiekh's armed men coming towards them. Now devoid of his throwing knife, he resorted to ambushing the man. His magick willed a gust of sand to blow into the man's face, which allowed Ishmael the opening to charge. The guard gave a heavy oof before being tackled to the ground. Ishmael wasted no time in plunging his wrist-blade into the man's exposed neck. He then called over his shoulder to the ivory-haired woman. "Push up! Head for the rear and don't stop - I'll cover you."

Adilet Elam Duha​

 

[Adilet Duha]

Ishmael​

There was simply no time to sit and mewl over her circumstances. Her pride had kept her eyes dry, yet this bubble in her chest threatened to burst. Slavery is not an oddity; it's a long story that kept children behaving and adults diligent. Only once, at a very young age, she finally saw the stories come to fruition with a band of slavers swept through her tribe. It was bloody, terrifying, and horrific for a child who has lived nothing but a respectable life.

Then, to have that happen, and years later, she is sold, traded by the very hands that raised her.

Sweeping the past from her eyes, she forced herself and the group to follow the directions laid out by their rescuer. With him at the rear and her leading the front, she felt comfortable leaving the group between them as they moved to the back of the camp, where most of the slaves were kept.

Of course, their track there was not without interruption; he carried the back, and in tune, she attacked from the front. Recognizing the assailant, Adilet took great pleasure in protecting herself and her group. A man twice her size (an easy feat) rushed her with sword raised and voice high. Reaching back, she pushed the group's leader to the left while she moved to the right, guiding their attacker to aim for her while the rest shuffled away.

"Follow directions!" she yelled at the group, "Push ahead!"

Adilet did not have the same strength as her rescuer. Thus she was unable to tackle the man to the ground. She did unbalance him with her maneuvers; he swung, and she deflected and rolled for an opening. Leaving his arms wide, Adilet could come close and shove her blade into his gut. Out of malice, she twisted the weapon deep. This was not a fight for honor or forgiveness, it was life or death, and she chose not to die at the hands of a dishonorable man.

When he fell, she looked in the direction the group had run and was relieved they did as told. The elf glanced over her shoulder to take note of the man before chasing after the group. At this point, the chaos of the situation was reaching its peak, and they had only a tiny window of opportunity to rescue the remaining slaves that had probably been abandoned at this point. Their masters have more than enough money to buy more or dispose of their current collection and be fine with the losses. It is a vicious cycle that will probably never be broken, but at least for now, they can put a damper on things.

Caught up to the group, Adilet took her position in front of them as they raced to the camp's rear.

 

[Ishmael]

The ivory-haired woman was proving herself capable.

Beneath the sable-skinned warrior was a man whose life gurgled away. He flailed, as if attempting to snatch back precious seconds, but the damage was done. Ishmael then pried his blade free from the man's neck and rose to his feet, moving at a jog's pace to catch back up with the group. As he moved, one of the Shiekh's men rushed towards the women from the front. Ishmael increased his pace, hoping he could get there in time to intervene - but his assistance was unneeded.

The ivory-haired woman urged her fellows forward and engaged the swordsman alone. Armed with little more than his throwing knife, she was able to outmaneuver his swing. She was swift, efficient, and plunged the blade into the man's stomach. This was not the first time that Ishmael had liberated others from the bonds of slavery - but it was among the first times that he had seen one so capable. With each passing moment, the ivory-haired woman was earning Ishmael's respect.

Shortly thereafter, Ishmael returned to the group's rear as the ivory-haired woman caught up. "Well done!" he called, before his eyes began to glow. Magick poured through his veins, broadcasting his thoughts to the archers who covered their positions. One broke away and headed down the dune, intent on getting their escape covered. In the meantime, Ishmael could see the rear coming into view. Thankfully, Barbatos had made quick work of the guards there and had broken open one of the cage doors.

Upon arrival, Ishmael gave his compatriot a nod before turning to the slaves, both freed and still in the final cage. "Listen and stay calm." he said. "Over that dune is freedom. On our mark, go and do not look back. My men will secure you and get you to safety." He then took a step closer to the cage that Barbatos was working on. The man's fists pounded the lock with fervor - and Ishmael could quickly see why. Eagerly awaiting on the other side of the iron was a girl who clutched to his pants leg.

Soon, the lock fell free and the remainder of the caged slaves were free to exit. Barbatos wasted no time in sweeping his child into his arms. Were circumstances any different, he probably would have wept right there - but they were not out of the woods just yet. Ishmael patted the man's shoulder, bringing him back to reality. "Alright, all of you, follow Barbatos over the dune!" The father nodded and began to lead the slaves up. Ishmael then turned, before the ivory-haired woman would have the chance to follow, and raised his hand.

"Not you." he said. "I need your help ending this. Will you aide me?"

The look on his face said that he did not intend on leaving the Shiekh's men unharmed. Not in the slightest.

Adilet Elam Duha​

 

[Adilet Duha]

Ishmael ​

There was so much promise in what the man offered and gave to the slaves. She wasn't particularly close to any of them, but she had heard their stories and was empathetic to their cause. Most of the slaves had been sold into their position for various reasons ranging from families having too many mouths to feed to just spite and jealousy. Some had gone into slavery hoping they'd find a master willing to pay and support them; the idea of being that desperate hurt her heart a little.

Now there was an opportunity to go back to society and live. Those who knew nothing outside their bondage would struggle; she knew the strict boundaries of slave and master would hold them back from opportunity. The rest would find their way, hopefully with a healthier heart and a less-bitter mind. Their freedom was coming at a cost that could backfire, though she doubts anyone worth their weight in gold would care if a few slaves were freed.

While his compatriot worked on the cage, Adilet went to the more familiar group of slaves. Their bondage ran deep, as shown by their scars and fear, the deep-rooted uncertainty of tomorrow clouding their vision and thoughts. They were not a family nor a clan, there was no need to be bonded by their circumstance together, yet she quickly cut away the golden coins from her torn costume and handed them to the few slaves that shared in the abuse of their master. The elf was not acting out of compassion; she was doing this to smother her guilt for being a more prized possession than themselves. The gold would not wipe away their circumstances, but she hoped it'll heal something between them.

The cage finally broke open, and the parent reunited with his child. It was time for them to finally escape. Adilet prepared herself for the run, only to quickly be interrupted by the man who saved her. He asked for her help, and she hesitated, eyeing him with her amber hue to finally size him up. He was dark and bright all once and towered high above her, nearly filling the entire space with his presence. For one flickering moment, she felt small and vulnerable.

"I will help you," she said without the hesitance her body felt. "My name is Adilet."

This was the best of times as any for introductions. If they're to work together to bring the walls of this hell down, they may as well know each other's names.

"What do you need of me?"

 

[Ishmael]

As the sable-skinned man spoke of freedom, there were whispers, cries, and joy. Ishmael remembered the feeling from when he first tasted freedom a lifetime ago. And he remembered the first time he had ever broken the chains of someone else. Were the circumstances any less dire, he might have reveled in the happiness for just a moment. Yet, time was of the essence. Freeing the slaves from their cages was only the beginning of their journey. Now, above the dune waited the twins that would see to their liberation.

The archer had concealed them underneath the sands, just as Ishmael's people had done for generations. Their own band had constructed these out of capsized vessels and driftwood over years - and now they served as invaluable transit across the deserts. They appeared as ships, sails and all, but upon the sand. Their bows were specially designed to cut through the waves of dirt as if they were water. And as for wind? That's where their magical talents came in.

As the slaves followed Barbatos up, they would be greeted with this sight. Ishmael's compatriots would set about having them board the Skiffs whilst he spoke with the ivory-haired woman. His request was out of the blue, seemingly, but she obliged him. He did notice the apprehension upon her expression, a brief moment before she spoke. Yet, as she introduced herself, Ishmael smiled.

"It is good to meet you Adilet." he answered. "I am Ishmael Al-Zahhak." He then extended his fist to show her the brand just beneath his knuckles. It was one of the various brands that slaves coming in and out of Cerak At'Thul received. From this, she would know he was once property. Perhaps it would garner further trust, as what he needed was a touch...invasive.

"I want to hit these sods where it hurts." he said. "Killing a few on the way out won't do. So I need your mind. Do they have riches here? Anything we can do to make this night sting? If so, lead me."

He then chuckled, adding.

"I'd say I'd protect you, but it's clear you're more than capable."

Adilet Elam Duha​

 

[Adilet Duha]

Ishmael​

It earned them some trust, a tentative little thread that bound them together with understanding. She never had to stand on the slave block and see the world around her contort into something dark and violent. From the stories that other slaves have told her, it was a terror to be bid on and sold like cattle to the slaughter. Adilet did not tell her story of being taken in as a slave; she simply allowed the rest to assume she was just like them.

Comforted, she did not feel like Ishmael would take advantage of the trust he had been given. They've been liberated by someone who understands the horrors of slavery.

The elf gave him a wide smile of understanding for the first time since their meeting. The crescent moons inhabiting her face wrinkled with delight; they'd already released most of the men's riches, but now they were going to add salt to the wound. The Sheikh's company traveled in opulence, showing the world their riches and status amongst themselves. It was a silly game from men who see their worth in the amounts of glittering gold they harbor.

"I'll never deny your protection," was her quick response. "We'll set this place on fire as a team."

She liked the conjuncture of their conversation and their surroundings. The storm was wild and moving, causing the collection of tents and people to be chaotic in their response. Blood has been spilled, and goods have been stolen; there's no avoiding obstacles at this point. She will need his help and his her's to shake this place to pieces.

"Just a few tents over, we'll find a larger tent filled with goods and gifts. My Master demanded that he be paid in gold, food, and relics." He was greedy; by taking food stuffs, he never had to replenish his fabulous feasts and could torture his slaves by showing them what they were missing. The gold and relics would have been added to his lavish history collection; these items often held great significance to the gift giver. "We've already taken away their slaves; taking their gifts will snub them down to their pride."

Adilet would begin their trek to the tent that harbors the goods with their mission in hand.

 

[Ishmael]

After the sable-skinned man showed the elf the Brand of Cerak At'Thul, a bridge had been erected between them. Soon, Ishmael was gifted with a smile. Despite the literal chaos unfolding around them, the one called Adilet was comfortable enough to show happiness. This joy came at the news that the mercenary wanted to not only stab the Sheikh, but to twist the knife on the way out.

Her reply came quick enough. First, confirmation that she wouldn't mind him watching her back - which Ishmael marked as a good thing. There was no bravado to be found in the young woman it seemed, which was a trait that quickly sent men to their dooms. Next, she provided valuable direction to the target. A large tent filled with all manner of goods, relics, and even food.

Ishmael quickly kept pace with his newfound companion, nodding after she explained. They did not find any opposition along the way, as most of the men were attempting to figure out where their slaves had gone. Time was ever ticking, so the sable-skinned man hastened his step when he heard voices approaching their location. Fortunately, they'd have just enough time to duck inside the loot-filled tent unseen.

Once inside, the mercenary's feet caused a link clinking. Looking down, he saw that the ground was literally covered in gold coins. Chests aplenty were in the rear of the room, with various statues and other finery strewn throughout. Everything from tapestries to grapes could be found in this room. Ishmael's brow furrowed. "Oh yes, this will do." he began.

Taking a step forward, he opened his palm as if to muster a spell. Yet something tugged at his mind. It was as if a light was being shined in his peripheral vision, demanding that he look. He obliged this sensation and stepped towards one of the chests. Compared to the grand vessels adjacent to it, this chest was humble and composed of rotting wood. Ishmael kicked it open with his boot and his eyes widened. "...What do we have here?" he muttered. He then motioned for Adilet to join him.

For within the chest was a cushion. And nestled upon it, haphazardly, were a handful of eggs. Ishmael did not have to guess what type they were, for they were not adorned by a smooth surface. No. They were covered in scales. "Only one type of beast lays eggs like this." he remarked, crouching before the chest. "Dragons."

He shook his head. "Can't imagine how many that Sheikh sent to their deaths getting these."

And they would be far more valuable than any of the coins strewn about the room. Ishmael had a decision to make, one that was stirring since he saw the ivory-haired woman plunge his knife into one of the assailants. It was a tradition of his band, one that he would maintain to this day. "Hear me well. A few handfuls in this room would set you up for nearly a lifetime. If you wish it, I will take you to the nearest safe city and you can life out your days in peace."

"Or." he paused, closing the chest. His hands came to heave it up and he found that it was lighter than he anticipated. "You can come with me. With us. I do not promise a life of luxury - but, I do promise that you will be able to extend the same freedom you now taste to others." He then placed the chest in her grasp with a nod. "What say you?"

Adilet Duha​

 

[Adilet Duha]

Ishmael​

Adilet was handed a choice she had been grasping at for so long. It now felt surreal having it displayed before her for her choosing. If she were taken somewhere and left to go wild, then she would be able to visit her clan and demand they pay for their transgressions against her. The people she had loved as a family and trusted from childhood and on would taste her fury; if they begged for forgiveness, they would be surprised that she had none to give. There were answers she needed to move on from this part of her life. Her clan was the only thing that held those answers, and they were now within her reach.

Temptation was bubbling deep in her chest, daring to overflow in a mess of emotions. The anger she kept so tenaciously bottled made her soft brow furrow in thought. Without Ishmael, she and the rest would still be chained to their master, living a life deft of happiness and joy. Escaping had just been a distant dream for the elf - not anymore.

Grasping the chest, Adilet heaved a heavy sigh. To confront her clan meant departing - sincerely - from a life that's no longer true. There's too much room for error. There is no way they would accept her back into their fold, she is an outsider, and they do not look kindly upon such; to fight them meant she would die with revenge as a bitter memory. She is not ready to fight against her clansmen - at least for now. Her anger and temptation were slowly bottled back up and hidden in the depths of her tiny heart, where they would remain calm and cool.

"I'll go with you," she finally says. "First, I need to grab something."

She handed the chest back over and made her way to the far end of the tent, where piles of clothing and expensive fabrics were kept. Her master had taken something from her about the only thing precious and meant something to the elf. He made sure he would display it in front of her whenever he felt she was getting out of hand or just to be spiteful on a dull day. If she hadn't shown any kind of reaction toward his actions, he might have just taken the item and thrown it away. Briefly, she thanked him for his spitefulness; underneath an array of elaborate earrings and necklace lay a piece of blue fabric that looked worn and thin.

Adilet wrapped the long, blue scarf around her neck; after all this time, it still smelled like the wildflowers used to dye it.

"Okay, I'm ready to go."

Approaching him, she reached forward to take the chest of dragon eggs from him.

 

[Ishmael]

Though time was of the essence, the ivory-haired woman would not be rushed.

The question posed by the sable-skinned man was not one to be taken lightly. With but a simple utterance, he set before the young woman the choice of a lifetime. Freedom was hers, but what would she do with it? Thus, Ishmael watched as she mulled it over. He saw the myriad of emotion which danced within her eyes. He saw the slight furrow of her brow. He could only imagine what her thoughts were...but in time, she provided a glimpse with her answer.

The chest of dragon eggs was returned to his hands coupled with her words. She would go with them. Ishmael smiled. "I may be biased in saying so, but I think you've made a great choice." came his answer. She briefly departed from his presence in order to stride over to the far end of the tent. She was searching for something amidst the fabrics and silks piled up there. After a brief look, she retrieved a blue scarf and wrapped it about her neck. It must have meant something to her to make sure it was claimed on the way out.

Ishmael then returned the box to her grasp and took a final scan of the tent. A chest full of dragon eggs was surely valuable - but he did want to see if there was anything else that would call out to him. Nothing else stood out, so he settled for a replacement for the knife that was now in Adilet's possession. Quickly, he leaned over and fished a curved sword - a scimitar - from underneath the adjacent coinage. It was nothing fancy, nor did it brim with any latent power. But it was a weapon and he currently had none save his magic.

Speaking of, Ishmael then motioned for Adilet to move towards the tent's door as his offhand opened. Flame ignited into being and was cast towards the rear. Its wrath would catch upon the silks she unturned and spread. "Let's go." he urged, before stepping out of the tent. No doubt, the flames would draw the attention of whomever was left within the camp, so Ishmael led the way outside with a brisk pace. The way up the dune would be brief and thereafter, they would find the skiffs loaded and ready to depart.

Ishmael jogged over to the less populated of the vessels and jumped aboard. He then turned and offered his hands to the young woman, first for the chest and then for her to board. "Welcome to the Obsidian Company." he said, with a tinge of pride in his tone.

Adilet Duha​

 

[Adilet Duha]

Adilet felt the heat of destruction on her back as they escaped. She would have taken a few other things from the treasure tent if she had had enough hands and arms. Her master had hoarded all types of histories some would have loved to delve into, most of which she figured were just replicas of replicas and so on. He may have tasted finery, but he certainly did not have an eye for it. Even she, as a desert dweller, could tell that most of his offerings were fakes. She kept her opinion to herself, knowing well enough that the argument wouldn't have been worth it.

As they made their way up the dune, she took a moment to look over her shoulder to glance at the destruction. She could hear the voices of men yelling directions and obscenities to one another as they attempted to stifle the fire. Her clan respected death; you could even say they revered it to an unhealthy point; in tradition, no matter the death, it should be respected as there was a life before it. The ex-slave has no respect for the lives they had taken that night, even though the blood spilled paid the price of freedom for herself and the others.

Once on the skiff and after his welcome, the wave of reality crashed against her. Allowing herself a moment, the small woman sat down with the chest of dragon eggs between her legs and released the breath she's been holding since their escape from the tent. She had decided to come with him and his company, weighed the pros and cons the best she could under duress, and now with a free mind, she realized the weight of her choice. This would take her further away from her original goal, making her heart feel light under the weight of her bitterness.

There will never be any escape from her feelings, but at least now she can feel and be happy about it.

"Thank you for what you've done for them," she said, gesturing towards a few of the released slaves. Speaking helped keep herself calm and steady. "I hope they can be at peace after this is all said and done."