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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Quickleaf" data-source="post: 7116629" data-attributes="member: 20323">Day 1 – House Bakr's Tale<img src="http://i.imgur.com/fPKvdmf.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" />The al-Badia of House Bakr laugh loudly at Lal Qalandar's ridiculous tale of the pickpocket and his trained camel. No stranger to the antics of camels, it is all too easy to distract them from the quiet words exchanged between the others. Readying their own camels, the white and blue clad nomads laughingly refer to Lal's camel as "The Sweet", but become vague and dismissive about why the camel should deserve such a nickname. "All is in the hands of Fate," one replies while restraining a chuckle and unfolding his reins. "The pickpocket deserved what he got, but may the innocent be preserved from camels," chuckles another, shaking his head. "Are you sure you do not belong to House Bakr already, friend? You are a natural atop the camel," another says with mirthful twinkling eyes. Already, Lal Qalandar's camel leans forward, sniffing at the supplies hanging from the saddles of the pack camels before a couple of Nimar al-Solak's rogues fill in the gap. Despite having no direction yet, the jovial men follow Ajan. That is all they need to know.[SECTION][align=left]http://i.imgur.com/cJK6AIy.png[/align]Ajan bin Najon al-Yaqud arches his brow at his cousin Akilah, giving his camel a light nudge forward. "A floating prayer rug? That is new, cousin. Will it help you be closer to the heavens?" he asks with a wry smile. Though he has not yet been told the party's destination, he trusts in his cousin's purpose and the will of Sheikh Ali. For now, that is enough. Intuitively, Ajan steers the forming caravan toward the south, as if some unspoken understanding exists between him and Akilah; south toward the last sites of conflict with the black-robed raiders. "Hakim Oasis, four days, south by southwest; there is a pass through the al-Yabki mountains on the 3rd day," he says, gesturing toward the barely visible haze of mountains in the distance.Within an hour, the caravan passes through most of the farmland surrounding Tajar and the al-Abib River, one of the land's most overused waterways. Women washing laundry watch you mystified, bowing when they recognize the vizier. Others, worried kinsmen of House Bakr walk alongside Ajan's men for a short time, trading small trinkets, exchanging news, and pleading for the raiders-in-black to be brought to swift justice.Ajan furrows his brow, letting Husam and Harun take the lead, speaking loud enough so that they as well as Akilah and Amina can hear him, "I remember those worried eyes. Back when the Sultan al-Azrad ruled. Would they be taxed a handful of kirat (barley grains) or half their harvest? It was always uncertain then. My father, Najon, led the fighting against al-Azrad's army, pushing them back to the river, then back inside the city, and at last taking the city gate. Until the gate fell, victory was uncertain. The people of Tajar looked up to Najon, but he wished to return to the desert. Not the great Kori al-Zafiri, father of Sheikh Ali, could convince him to stay with offers of wealth and captaining the cavalry. There is a purity in the desert. Tajar's people forgot this once, but my father reminded them, raising them up against al-Azrad." Though he seems like he might continue, Ajan falls quiet as you leave the main trade trail, skirting several fields of wheat framed by date palms as the landscape slowly transitions into drier desert.[/SECTION]</blockquote>

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