James Heard
Explorer
Ok. I read over the entire thread and realized that Tarek's basically said "Hi, my name is Tarek, and I'm um, a Priest" and sort of vanished mysteriously or stayed silent from then on out. Since we're talking about reinventing the characters a bit (okay! So I reinvented a lot, he's still um, self-sufficient and um, holy) I decided to see if my new-fangled concept for Tarek would fly. The main problem I'm still having is making sure that I'm doing this whole gestalt with ecls right? And what is this about Chosen Spirits? Am I missing an important and costly sourcebook 
Anyways, I trust my ability to run psionics like a hole in the head. I can barely GM it with players running all over me, so I made him a lot more vanilla mechanically. Sblocks so I don't cause someone to have a heart attack from the endless scrolling.
[sblock]
Tarek al Saoud, Wrath of the Spirits, Protector of the Pillars
Fighter 9/ Rogue 10 Gemchild (Mineral Genasi Ecl+1)
Character level: 10
Alignment: Lawful Good
Chosen Spirits: Justice and Earth
City: tbd
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 190lbs
Hair: Black
Eyes: Emerald Green
Age: 34
Experience: 45,000 xps
Str: 16 (+3) [6 points, +2 Racial]
Dex: 10 (+0) [4 points, -2 Racial]
Con: 16 (+3) [10 points]
Int: 16 (+3) [10 points]
Wis: 15 (+2) [8 points]
Cha: 18 (+4) [6 points, +2 Racial, +2 Level]
Racial Abilities
+2 Cha, +2 Str, -2 Dex
+1 Racial Bonus vs. Earth Spells & Effects, which increases every 5 levels (Currently +2)
Cannot Be Petrified
+2 Racial bonus to Appraise & Craft checks dealing with gems
+2 Racial bonus to Diplomacy & Bluff checks
Shed Light as torch from skin 2/day
Unerring sense direction to semi-precious & precious gems within 10'
Medium Size
Speed 20ft
Darkvision 60ft
Native Outsider
Terran as free bonus language
Class Abilities
Sneak Attack +5d6
Evasion
Improved Uncanny Dodge
Trap Sense +3
Special Ability (Bonus Feat)
Hit Dice: 10 + ((+8d10)*.75) + 30 Con
Hit Points: 100
AC: 13 [10 + 3 Bracers of Armor]
Initiative: +0
Speed: 30ft [20ft +10 Sandals of Striding & Springing]
Saves
Fortitude +9 [+3 Con]
Reflex +7 [+0 Dex]
Will +5 [+2 Wis]
BAB: +9/+4
Melee Atk:
+16 [+2 Magic +3 Str +2 GWF] +2 Merciful Shortspear 1d6+7 x2 [+2 Magic +3 Str +2 WS]
Ranged Atk:
+13 [+2 Magic +2 GWF] +2 Merciful Shortspear 1d6+7 x2 [+2 Magic +3 Str +2 WS]
Skills: (44 1st + 11/level)
Appraise(Int) +5 [2 Ranks +3 Int]
Bluff(Cha) +13 [4 Ranks +4 Cha +2 Racial +3 Circlet of Persuasion]
Climb(Str) +5 [2 Ranks +3 Str]
Craft-Poetry(Int) +14 [11 Ranks + 3 Int]
Decipher Script(Int) +5 [2 Ranks + 3 Int]
Diplomacy(Cha) +28 [13 Ranks +4 Cha +2 Racial +2 Negotiator +3 Circlet of Persuasion +2 Synergy Knowledge-Nobility +2 Synergy Sense Motive]
Escape Artist(Dex) +7 [7 Ranks]
Gather Information(Cha) +19 [12 Ranks +4 Cha +3 Circlet of Persuasion]
Handle Animal(Cha) +17 [10 Ranks +4 Cha +3 Circlet of Persuasion]
Intimidate(Cha) +15 [8 Ranks +4 Cha +3 Circlet of Persuasion]
Knowledge-Religion(Int) +12 [6 Ranks +3 Int +3 Skill Focus]
Knowledge-Nobility(Int) +9 [6 Ranks +3 Int]
Knowledge-History(Int) +9 [6 Ranks +3 Int]
Listen(Wis) +4 [2 Ranks +2 Wis]
Ride(Dex) +4 [4 Ranks]
Search(Int) +5 [2 Ranks +3 Int]
Sense Motive(Wis) +17 [13 Ranks +2 Wis +2 Negotiator]
Spot(Wis) +15 [13 Ranks +2 Wis]
Survival(Wis) +17 [13 Ranks +2 Wis +2 Self-Sufficient]
Languages: Keldev, Terran, Nessarine, Attik, Ignan
Feats:
Self-Sufficient [Starting feat]
Weapon Focus: Shortspear [Fighter 1]
Power Attack [Fighter 2]
Endurance [3rd lvl]
Weapon Specialization: Shortspear [Fighter 4]
Combat Expertise [Fighter 6]
Skill Focus: Survival [6th lvl]
Greater Weapon Focus: Shortspear [Fighter 8]
Skill Focus: Knowledge-Religion [9th level]
Negotiator [Rogue Special Ability: Bonus Feat]
Equipment: gold 49,000 gp
+2 Merciful Shortspear [18,302gp] "Majd al Malik" or "Glory of Kings"
Ring of Sustenance [2,500gp]
Sandals of Striding & Springing [5,500gp]
Bracers of Armor +3 [9,000gp]
Circlet of Persuasion [4,500gp]
Heward's Handy Haversack [2,000gp]
Keoghtom's Ointment [4,000gp]
Golembane Scarab [2,500]
Personality:
Tarek rarely relies on anything outside his self, but is quick to courteously admire the achievements of others. Despite his former enslavement, he holds no ill-will against the nomadic tribes of the desert nor the institution itself particularly. Like the desert itself, Tarek can seem cold and emotionless unless his passions are stirred like the massive sandstorms that flay the meat off of sultan and slave alike. Though he is likened a priest of the Five Pillars, it is more as a courtesy of long familiarity and breadth of knowledge. He has aided them on so many occasions, trained so many of their warriors and even priests, that he is just accepted as a member of course. No matter what his widely ranging knowledge of the subject though, Tarek is not a believer in the faith as such. The Five Pillars are simply not something that he finds worthy of worshipping as such, so much as acknowledging that they are simply the way of the desert. To Tarek it would be as ridiculous as worshipping thunder simply because lightning rang. Though he has several opponents in this viewpoint, some scholars accept that Tarek's position upon the matter might be one of the most holy of all views. Tarek dismisses them as well.
Appearance:
Tarek rarely wears much clothing of any sort, prefering to wear long grey linen trousers and to keep his chest bare where all can see the ruinous scars that cover his body. Even for a gemchild his appearance is rare, as he seems to be characteristic of the traits of pearly othoclase or moonstone. As such, except for the pads of his hands and feet that are stained by years of hard use and his scars which mark his flesh with an angry pinkish grey, he is nearly stark white in skin tone. Set into that milky flesh are eyes of a deep dark opal brilliantly marked with emerald and yellow streaks. His hair is usually perceived as the most "normal" aspect about him. Deeply black, it is sometimes thought to be nearly the same sort of hair that a mere human might possess unless the light plays across it. Then the telltale brilliance of it reveals that it too is more akin to strands of black opal than anything possessed by humanity.
Even though his appearance is extraordinary, Tarek rarely pays it any mind except to some purpose. His beard is kept short and cropped utilitarian, and he wears little jewelry that serves no purpose. Sometimes he favors a turban matching his trousers or a deeply crimson vest on formal occasions.
Background:
Tarek al Saoud was not always named thus, nor was his father named in such a fashion, nor his grandfather. Slaves don't have names. Tarek was born in the blistering wastes of the deep deserts between the watchful eyes of the Sultans, a casualty of the harsh desert winds and scalding heat nearly before he was even born. When the nomads found him there, crying and covered in grit, there was much debate on if it were at all wise to take on such a strange child. A curse upon the tribe perhaps, or worse, might befall those who meddled in the ways of Fate thusly. Eventually the chieftain's daughter, whose children were all born still and silent, pled the boy's case before her tribe. That is how Tarek came into this world, as a kindness from the unkind.
Lest anyone believe his position admirable, know that the boy was different as few children are different anywhere and less are in the desperate tribes of the desert. He was not a member of the tribe, and the tribe had aided him, so he was a slave. He collected dung for the cooking fires, ate the carrion before the tribesmen dared to so that they could see if it were good or ill, and toiled in backbreaking labor. For his efforts he was beaten regularly, as his knotted shoulders and scarred flesh attest to. Beaten by the other children, the tribesmen, once he was beaten an inch from his life as a hospitality gesture for visitors with...peculiar tastes. Some children grow up dreaming of the people they might become when they're older. The boy dreamed of his name.
Eventually as he grew older, other things about him became more apparent. Besides his scars, his flesh was well-turned and graceful. He was stronger and taller than the tribespeople, and always his strange flesh set him apart. The women of the tribe began to covet him and argued amongst themselves for the slave's favor. It became disruptive and disturbing to the men of the tribe, so one night they came as a group to the small place where the boy slept and beat him mightily and took his abused body away from camp to be left to die.
When he awoke, he was nearly blind from the swelling and dehydrated. Still reeling from his injuries he wandered nearly aimlessly in the desert for months, surviving only on the merest of diets. When he came to the oasis that was a mere damp place of sand upon the ground he was in a near panic, for such places are always protected by the fiercest of desert guardians. This oasis, however, was strangely silent. The child tore his fingernails digging to the precious water, but eventually the shallow hole filled with sweet springwater. This was how the boy stopped being a slave, as a kindness from the desert.
He found bones surrounding the frail oasis, and took handfuls of sand and wore at them until the bones became a blade. With a blade, he knew, he could stab at travellers and live. Such was the certain knowledge of thirteen year old ex-slaves.
As fate would have it though, The young boy's first choice in banditry was nearly his last. He moved at night, like a pale shadow gleaming under the moonlight. He had passed over many other travellers because there were too many of them, or they had weapons. When he saw the single, lone traveller wandering below his rocky outcropping he almost shouted with jubilation. More so, for the fellows obvious age and wealth. With a whoop he fell upon the old man. He stabbed at him, with every tendon in his body poised in the most lethal fashion he could twist them into. He expected the old man to shriek and die, but instead the man turned his robe and danced with him. The boy was nearly in tears with frustration, such was his plight. He had dearly underestimated this man, who laughed at him in the moonlight - not even bothering the draw his weapon as he mocked Tarek's incompetence. Finally he fell to his knees, resigned and exhausted.
"Take my life now, old man. The desert has tried twice and liked it not, the tribesmen of the desert took me and liked it not as well. If it be in your fate to do this, wield your blade upon me and finish what they would not."
The old man paused and rubbed his white beard.
"What is your name slave, and who is your master?"
The boy's eyes burned with hatred and he scowled.
"I have no name, but I am no man's slave save myself," he nearly shouted.
At that the old man's mirth seemed boundless and he bent nearly double with laughter. Seeing a chance, the boy lunged to strike for his bone-edged blade to stab at the man. Before his hand came with any distance of the knife though, the old man's hand held him at the throat and in the air with all laughter exchanged for menace.
"Well slave who is a slave to no one, know this: You amuse me mightily and so you shall live though you seek to disrupt my courtesy. If you apologize I might even let your stones see the next day's dawning, but you shall have to pledge to always obey the rules of courtesy."
So a relationship was born. The old man, who was the first man to hold the name Tarek al Saoud, was upon a pilgrimage to Harr to teach the young warriors of the Faith there as a reward from his Master. For years, the relationship was much the same as it was before in the tribe. The boy tended to the old man's medicines, and learned his letters so that he could carry messages around the city. He was the old man's nightly sounding board, to express his opinions upon various things that the elder Tarek deemed interesting.
Finally, years later, the old man came to the boy one morning.
"Boy, you have been here with me for all these years and tended to me and aided me though I have rarely asked you to do so, with no offering in return. I am old and will die soon, what can I give to you to sooth my passing? How may I repay you? Shall I give you gold? Jewels? If only I had a kingdom, child, I would pass it to you gladly!"
The boy considered this.
"I have no need for gold or jewels, and even if you owned a kingdom I am no man yet to rule one."
The old man smiled.
"See? You are wise beyond your years even so! I shall give to you what you will not turn away then."
"And that is?"
"Everything I have already given you, and more. I shall teach you to be the man who would rule a kingdom, even if that kingdom is the kingdom of yourself."
So the boy's training began. The way of the blade and the scroll were opened to him, at the elder Tarek's command almost all doors were opened and defered to him. He grew to be a fierce warrior and a quiet scholar, dutifully perfoming every demand that was asked upon him without comment or discontent.
Eventually though, the old man grew very old and the boy sat at his bedside waiting for the death to come and whisper to his flesh.
"Boy, you still ask nothing?"
"Nothing my Maste.." but the old man cut him off.
"Boy! I am not your Master! Remember, you are no man's slave! Remember this always- the sultan of yourself!" He clenched his fist and pounded at his chest, setting off another of the blood-soaked wheezing fits that he often suffered. When he recovered, he continued.
"Except for what I freely give, you have never asked for anything. I have come to accept this as fitting for a boy such as yourself in such a position."
"Now know this though, I too am a servant to those around me as much or more than I serve the Sultan. You are an instrument of Fate, whether you will it or not. Most importantly though, you are no child any longer and men are named as beasts are not."
"So since you will not ask for one of your own, I give mine to you, Tarek al Saoud. Take my name and use it for your will, because I have come to trust and confide in that will as much or more than my own. More than my own sons, may Fate bless them in their deaths, you are the flesh of my flesh. Flesh of my flesh, flesh of my flesh, flesh of my flesh, let the Fates know it is so and record it thrice spoken."
And that is how the boy became a man, at the kindness of another.
[/sblock]
Anyways, I trust my ability to run psionics like a hole in the head. I can barely GM it with players running all over me, so I made him a lot more vanilla mechanically. Sblocks so I don't cause someone to have a heart attack from the endless scrolling.[sblock]
Tarek al Saoud, Wrath of the Spirits, Protector of the Pillars
Fighter 9/ Rogue 10 Gemchild (Mineral Genasi Ecl+1)
Character level: 10
Alignment: Lawful Good
Chosen Spirits: Justice and Earth
City: tbd
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 190lbs
Hair: Black
Eyes: Emerald Green
Age: 34
Experience: 45,000 xps
Str: 16 (+3) [6 points, +2 Racial]
Dex: 10 (+0) [4 points, -2 Racial]
Con: 16 (+3) [10 points]
Int: 16 (+3) [10 points]
Wis: 15 (+2) [8 points]
Cha: 18 (+4) [6 points, +2 Racial, +2 Level]
Racial Abilities
+2 Cha, +2 Str, -2 Dex
+1 Racial Bonus vs. Earth Spells & Effects, which increases every 5 levels (Currently +2)
Cannot Be Petrified
+2 Racial bonus to Appraise & Craft checks dealing with gems
+2 Racial bonus to Diplomacy & Bluff checks
Shed Light as torch from skin 2/day
Unerring sense direction to semi-precious & precious gems within 10'
Medium Size
Speed 20ft
Darkvision 60ft
Native Outsider
Terran as free bonus language
Class Abilities
Sneak Attack +5d6
Evasion
Improved Uncanny Dodge
Trap Sense +3
Special Ability (Bonus Feat)
Hit Dice: 10 + ((+8d10)*.75) + 30 Con
Hit Points: 100
AC: 13 [10 + 3 Bracers of Armor]
Initiative: +0
Speed: 30ft [20ft +10 Sandals of Striding & Springing]
Saves
Fortitude +9 [+3 Con]
Reflex +7 [+0 Dex]
Will +5 [+2 Wis]
BAB: +9/+4
Melee Atk:
+16 [+2 Magic +3 Str +2 GWF] +2 Merciful Shortspear 1d6+7 x2 [+2 Magic +3 Str +2 WS]
Ranged Atk:
+13 [+2 Magic +2 GWF] +2 Merciful Shortspear 1d6+7 x2 [+2 Magic +3 Str +2 WS]
Skills: (44 1st + 11/level)
Appraise(Int) +5 [2 Ranks +3 Int]
Bluff(Cha) +13 [4 Ranks +4 Cha +2 Racial +3 Circlet of Persuasion]
Climb(Str) +5 [2 Ranks +3 Str]
Craft-Poetry(Int) +14 [11 Ranks + 3 Int]
Decipher Script(Int) +5 [2 Ranks + 3 Int]
Diplomacy(Cha) +28 [13 Ranks +4 Cha +2 Racial +2 Negotiator +3 Circlet of Persuasion +2 Synergy Knowledge-Nobility +2 Synergy Sense Motive]
Escape Artist(Dex) +7 [7 Ranks]
Gather Information(Cha) +19 [12 Ranks +4 Cha +3 Circlet of Persuasion]
Handle Animal(Cha) +17 [10 Ranks +4 Cha +3 Circlet of Persuasion]
Intimidate(Cha) +15 [8 Ranks +4 Cha +3 Circlet of Persuasion]
Knowledge-Religion(Int) +12 [6 Ranks +3 Int +3 Skill Focus]
Knowledge-Nobility(Int) +9 [6 Ranks +3 Int]
Knowledge-History(Int) +9 [6 Ranks +3 Int]
Listen(Wis) +4 [2 Ranks +2 Wis]
Ride(Dex) +4 [4 Ranks]
Search(Int) +5 [2 Ranks +3 Int]
Sense Motive(Wis) +17 [13 Ranks +2 Wis +2 Negotiator]
Spot(Wis) +15 [13 Ranks +2 Wis]
Survival(Wis) +17 [13 Ranks +2 Wis +2 Self-Sufficient]
Languages: Keldev, Terran, Nessarine, Attik, Ignan
Feats:
Self-Sufficient [Starting feat]
Weapon Focus: Shortspear [Fighter 1]
Power Attack [Fighter 2]
Endurance [3rd lvl]
Weapon Specialization: Shortspear [Fighter 4]
Combat Expertise [Fighter 6]
Skill Focus: Survival [6th lvl]
Greater Weapon Focus: Shortspear [Fighter 8]
Skill Focus: Knowledge-Religion [9th level]
Negotiator [Rogue Special Ability: Bonus Feat]
Equipment: gold 49,000 gp
+2 Merciful Shortspear [18,302gp] "Majd al Malik" or "Glory of Kings"
Ring of Sustenance [2,500gp]
Sandals of Striding & Springing [5,500gp]
Bracers of Armor +3 [9,000gp]
Circlet of Persuasion [4,500gp]
Heward's Handy Haversack [2,000gp]
Keoghtom's Ointment [4,000gp]
Golembane Scarab [2,500]
Personality:
Tarek rarely relies on anything outside his self, but is quick to courteously admire the achievements of others. Despite his former enslavement, he holds no ill-will against the nomadic tribes of the desert nor the institution itself particularly. Like the desert itself, Tarek can seem cold and emotionless unless his passions are stirred like the massive sandstorms that flay the meat off of sultan and slave alike. Though he is likened a priest of the Five Pillars, it is more as a courtesy of long familiarity and breadth of knowledge. He has aided them on so many occasions, trained so many of their warriors and even priests, that he is just accepted as a member of course. No matter what his widely ranging knowledge of the subject though, Tarek is not a believer in the faith as such. The Five Pillars are simply not something that he finds worthy of worshipping as such, so much as acknowledging that they are simply the way of the desert. To Tarek it would be as ridiculous as worshipping thunder simply because lightning rang. Though he has several opponents in this viewpoint, some scholars accept that Tarek's position upon the matter might be one of the most holy of all views. Tarek dismisses them as well.
Appearance:
Tarek rarely wears much clothing of any sort, prefering to wear long grey linen trousers and to keep his chest bare where all can see the ruinous scars that cover his body. Even for a gemchild his appearance is rare, as he seems to be characteristic of the traits of pearly othoclase or moonstone. As such, except for the pads of his hands and feet that are stained by years of hard use and his scars which mark his flesh with an angry pinkish grey, he is nearly stark white in skin tone. Set into that milky flesh are eyes of a deep dark opal brilliantly marked with emerald and yellow streaks. His hair is usually perceived as the most "normal" aspect about him. Deeply black, it is sometimes thought to be nearly the same sort of hair that a mere human might possess unless the light plays across it. Then the telltale brilliance of it reveals that it too is more akin to strands of black opal than anything possessed by humanity.
Even though his appearance is extraordinary, Tarek rarely pays it any mind except to some purpose. His beard is kept short and cropped utilitarian, and he wears little jewelry that serves no purpose. Sometimes he favors a turban matching his trousers or a deeply crimson vest on formal occasions.
Background:
Tarek al Saoud was not always named thus, nor was his father named in such a fashion, nor his grandfather. Slaves don't have names. Tarek was born in the blistering wastes of the deep deserts between the watchful eyes of the Sultans, a casualty of the harsh desert winds and scalding heat nearly before he was even born. When the nomads found him there, crying and covered in grit, there was much debate on if it were at all wise to take on such a strange child. A curse upon the tribe perhaps, or worse, might befall those who meddled in the ways of Fate thusly. Eventually the chieftain's daughter, whose children were all born still and silent, pled the boy's case before her tribe. That is how Tarek came into this world, as a kindness from the unkind.
Lest anyone believe his position admirable, know that the boy was different as few children are different anywhere and less are in the desperate tribes of the desert. He was not a member of the tribe, and the tribe had aided him, so he was a slave. He collected dung for the cooking fires, ate the carrion before the tribesmen dared to so that they could see if it were good or ill, and toiled in backbreaking labor. For his efforts he was beaten regularly, as his knotted shoulders and scarred flesh attest to. Beaten by the other children, the tribesmen, once he was beaten an inch from his life as a hospitality gesture for visitors with...peculiar tastes. Some children grow up dreaming of the people they might become when they're older. The boy dreamed of his name.
Eventually as he grew older, other things about him became more apparent. Besides his scars, his flesh was well-turned and graceful. He was stronger and taller than the tribespeople, and always his strange flesh set him apart. The women of the tribe began to covet him and argued amongst themselves for the slave's favor. It became disruptive and disturbing to the men of the tribe, so one night they came as a group to the small place where the boy slept and beat him mightily and took his abused body away from camp to be left to die.
When he awoke, he was nearly blind from the swelling and dehydrated. Still reeling from his injuries he wandered nearly aimlessly in the desert for months, surviving only on the merest of diets. When he came to the oasis that was a mere damp place of sand upon the ground he was in a near panic, for such places are always protected by the fiercest of desert guardians. This oasis, however, was strangely silent. The child tore his fingernails digging to the precious water, but eventually the shallow hole filled with sweet springwater. This was how the boy stopped being a slave, as a kindness from the desert.
He found bones surrounding the frail oasis, and took handfuls of sand and wore at them until the bones became a blade. With a blade, he knew, he could stab at travellers and live. Such was the certain knowledge of thirteen year old ex-slaves.
As fate would have it though, The young boy's first choice in banditry was nearly his last. He moved at night, like a pale shadow gleaming under the moonlight. He had passed over many other travellers because there were too many of them, or they had weapons. When he saw the single, lone traveller wandering below his rocky outcropping he almost shouted with jubilation. More so, for the fellows obvious age and wealth. With a whoop he fell upon the old man. He stabbed at him, with every tendon in his body poised in the most lethal fashion he could twist them into. He expected the old man to shriek and die, but instead the man turned his robe and danced with him. The boy was nearly in tears with frustration, such was his plight. He had dearly underestimated this man, who laughed at him in the moonlight - not even bothering the draw his weapon as he mocked Tarek's incompetence. Finally he fell to his knees, resigned and exhausted.
"Take my life now, old man. The desert has tried twice and liked it not, the tribesmen of the desert took me and liked it not as well. If it be in your fate to do this, wield your blade upon me and finish what they would not."
The old man paused and rubbed his white beard.
"What is your name slave, and who is your master?"
The boy's eyes burned with hatred and he scowled.
"I have no name, but I am no man's slave save myself," he nearly shouted.
At that the old man's mirth seemed boundless and he bent nearly double with laughter. Seeing a chance, the boy lunged to strike for his bone-edged blade to stab at the man. Before his hand came with any distance of the knife though, the old man's hand held him at the throat and in the air with all laughter exchanged for menace.
"Well slave who is a slave to no one, know this: You amuse me mightily and so you shall live though you seek to disrupt my courtesy. If you apologize I might even let your stones see the next day's dawning, but you shall have to pledge to always obey the rules of courtesy."
So a relationship was born. The old man, who was the first man to hold the name Tarek al Saoud, was upon a pilgrimage to Harr to teach the young warriors of the Faith there as a reward from his Master. For years, the relationship was much the same as it was before in the tribe. The boy tended to the old man's medicines, and learned his letters so that he could carry messages around the city. He was the old man's nightly sounding board, to express his opinions upon various things that the elder Tarek deemed interesting.
Finally, years later, the old man came to the boy one morning.
"Boy, you have been here with me for all these years and tended to me and aided me though I have rarely asked you to do so, with no offering in return. I am old and will die soon, what can I give to you to sooth my passing? How may I repay you? Shall I give you gold? Jewels? If only I had a kingdom, child, I would pass it to you gladly!"
The boy considered this.
"I have no need for gold or jewels, and even if you owned a kingdom I am no man yet to rule one."
The old man smiled.
"See? You are wise beyond your years even so! I shall give to you what you will not turn away then."
"And that is?"
"Everything I have already given you, and more. I shall teach you to be the man who would rule a kingdom, even if that kingdom is the kingdom of yourself."
So the boy's training began. The way of the blade and the scroll were opened to him, at the elder Tarek's command almost all doors were opened and defered to him. He grew to be a fierce warrior and a quiet scholar, dutifully perfoming every demand that was asked upon him without comment or discontent.
Eventually though, the old man grew very old and the boy sat at his bedside waiting for the death to come and whisper to his flesh.
"Boy, you still ask nothing?"
"Nothing my Maste.." but the old man cut him off.
"Boy! I am not your Master! Remember, you are no man's slave! Remember this always- the sultan of yourself!" He clenched his fist and pounded at his chest, setting off another of the blood-soaked wheezing fits that he often suffered. When he recovered, he continued.
"Except for what I freely give, you have never asked for anything. I have come to accept this as fitting for a boy such as yourself in such a position."
"Now know this though, I too am a servant to those around me as much or more than I serve the Sultan. You are an instrument of Fate, whether you will it or not. Most importantly though, you are no child any longer and men are named as beasts are not."
"So since you will not ask for one of your own, I give mine to you, Tarek al Saoud. Take my name and use it for your will, because I have come to trust and confide in that will as much or more than my own. More than my own sons, may Fate bless them in their deaths, you are the flesh of my flesh. Flesh of my flesh, flesh of my flesh, flesh of my flesh, let the Fates know it is so and record it thrice spoken."
And that is how the boy became a man, at the kindness of another.
[/sblock]
(I'll give your email a reply in a second here... Mondays are always the days I have to play catch up on.)
