All Day and a Night

[Marhukules]

“You should pray that he does not rise from his seat. If he does, the pain we have inflicted may come to feel like Aja’re’s embrace…. Rejoice.”

Belli’li had warm eyes, he’d always thought. Even in moments like these where she stood over her enemies with her curved blade pointed at their throats. She spoke with a sultry voice, her lips hidden behind a purple veil and locs falling down behind her back. Her neck was long and adorned with rings. Her legs were armored with gilded steel and she stood with bare feet on either side of the robust Lord Declan of Althusia, who had clearly been enjoying his visit to Miradj’Dah. They’d found him enjoying some of the working women and men of the lower levels of the city. The Nzuri’daba had learned of his ambitions to smuggle certain designs for magic tech out of the Spire of Winds months ago. It had only been a matter of luring him to their city in the sky. To see if he might divulge what still eluded them. His co-conspirators…

Maruhkules was shrouded in darkness as he watched the tall woman trace her blade down the pale man’s robust belly. His studded club laid across his lap and he’d helped himself to the fine vintage that Lord Declan had afforded his company before they fled and left him yo his fate.

“You… are so far away from home. Can you fly, fat man? Will your false gods carry you home should we throw you from the edge of the city?”

“P-please, I-I… It was not my intention to steal from yo-“

“You steal from the Prophet and so you steal from the people, pale one. Now be wise.” Maruhkules rose from his seat, a massive shadow that came to stand next to Lord Declan’s bedside. He did not smile or grin or frown. His face was as stone. The face of the mountain his mother had brought into the world. “And think hard… Who are your friends here?”

The Lord trembled and began to cry, hardly becoming of one who would name himself nobility. Belli’li kneeled down to hear the words he whispered and Maruhkules’s eyes narrowed when he heard them. When he walked away, his club dragged on the floor before he hoisted it on his shoulder.

“Tell Nuru to leave him in the desert… We have work to do.”​

 

[Najma]

All the Lord's men had fled or died, save for one.

Najma stumbled down the finely paved streets. When she had first arrived in Miraj'dah with the envoy, she had marveled at how uniform the cobble was, cut into starry patterns and stained as colorfully as tile. Now, she doubled over, and coughed up blood and spittle onto the clean streets. The passerine heart in her chest beat erratic -- two hard thumps, and then a dry whisper, like fluttering wings.

Just a few more blocks, and she would be at the safe house.

---

Light flooded the paper shop as the door swung open. Outside, a brightly glowing sign cheerfully proclaimed that the shop didn't just sell parchment - but also inks, nibs, rubber, and mechanical quills of finest dwarven make. Those things were displayed in neat rows upon the shelves inside. Najma stumbled past all them, clung to the countertop as she looked the startled shop keep in the eye.

The requisite passwords were forgotten. A false wall slid open, revealing hollow space behind.

"Ser Najma has returned," Someone said. She felt hands grab her up and push her through the hidden entrance. "She's injured!"

A narrow stairway, flickering candlelight. Smooth tile walls that led to a windowless room. The visage of the masked man appeared before Najma, pocked iron hiding his features.

"And what of the device?" asked the iron mask.

Najma pushed away the hands that supported her, and stepped forward. All the lord's men dead, save her, the fool still loyal to the one that had cracked her open. Blood seeped through bandages where she placed two fingers on her chest.

"Right here."

 

[Marhukules]

Long ago when Miradj’Dah had another name and had not been blessed to Ascend to the Nzuri’s skies under the watchful eye of Aja’re, she who was metropolis was assailed by a sand wyrm of great power. Many a warrior fell before it’s flames and machinations, but the Faamaba Susu came forth to slay. She would wear it’s scales as armor and drank of it’s blood, which was said to give her wisdom. And she used what was left of it’s lifeforce to write the Faamabic Mandate.

*The words of Faamaba Susu are in red.

Aja’re is the Supreme Mistress of all the universe and it is she that has ordained us not to rule, but to protect. To defend and to preserve. For the hearts of men and elves and dwarves and beasts are wicked. They are of the flesh and are but flesh. They, we, are selfish. We find any excuse to turn from the divine when it stares us in our soul. Wickedness must be cut away like the desert storms cut the skin. One must look their enemies in the eyes and become as the sword itself. Turn your will into razor’s edge and fell their loves and their hate. Cut away their flesh and their soul. Cut away nations and banners. Cut through steel and iron. Return the enemy’s bones to the sands from which we all came. For there is nothing in reality more pure.

And fear not death if you are righteous. Death is merely the beginning…
-An Excerpt from the Faamabic Mandate

WHOOM!

A fist slammed against the wall that hid them from the Miradi who chanted at Marhukule’s back.

WHOOM!

With them came a fury and the laughing of the hyenas that traced their enemies blood through their sacred streets.

WHOOM!

With them came the chanting of a Faamabic tongue. A warcry. They did not cower and hide in their own city as these foreigners were forced to do. For with them was pride and the will to protect that which was theirs.

KRAKOOM!

The wall fell and crushed the man who guarded it. Marhukules stood tall with eyes like that of some starving predator. On his shoulders was the skin of a leopard and from behind it’s majesty he brought his chosen weapon, a studded club into his hands. In a low boom he gave the command.

“Kill them in the name of the Prophet.”​

 

[Najma]

Najma's comrades, the other Altalusian agents, had gone out that morning in two teams. One contingent raided the vaults deep within the Spire of Winds, stealing blueprints for the artifact and making their mad escape as loud as possible. At the same time, Najma and her squire walked into a Suma's workshop, where a prototype lay on the table. They were each the distraction for the other. Only one messenger, paper plans or prototype, had to make it out of the city alive.

They all knew their chances of survival.

The masked man pulled Najma's hand away from her chest. Held her there, as if they were about to begin a dance. His other hand hovered above the bandages. A rush of blood responded within her chest, the churn of magitech heating up. Was he a weaver?

"Undamaged." he said. "Well done."

Cold eyes glinted behind the mask. He turned away from Najma before she could see their color.

"The Miradi are such a selfish people. Keeping the greatest secrets of the Shroud so high above the rest of the world. That thing in your chest will help a lot of people. If only we can wrest it from the dogs which guard it so avariciously."

"Now, I made arrangements to smuggle a single box out of the city. Not a person. I hope you understand." A thin knife glinted in the iron mask's grasp, when he turned back to her. "Hold her down," he said.

Hands pinned Najma's arms once more. She struggled against them. "Wait, what are you doing? I did--"

... everything I was told.

KRAKOOM!

A booming came from above. The ceiling shook, raining bits of plaster down upon their heads. Lanterns, powered by shroud, went dark. Shouts came from the stairwell, and the smell of blood wafted down.

Najma used the confusion to push free. With horns held low she bulled forward, and heard the knife in the man's hand clatter against tile. Around her, voices called out above each other.

"They found us!"

"The hyenas are here!"​

"Quickly, this way, there's another exit..."​

"Leave it behind, burn everything you can't carry!"

She ran until the voices dampened. Through the narrow halls of the hideout Najma stumbled, bloody hands leaving smears against the wall.

 

[Marhukules]

When the Miradi arrived, violence erupted in that small den of rats. Laughing hyenas flooded the room along with their Miradi masters. Steel clashed with steel and many of the thieves found other holes to retreat to. Marhukles held the handle of his club tightly and a powerful arm let it fly. His target's helm had smashed in and blood leaked from every opening in his face, leaving his visage looking more like some vibrant and obscure art piece than that of a legitimate person. His body crumpled at the Unnassailable's feet as he waded forward through carnage that had come like lightning. A swiftness that had to have been gifted by divine Nzuri herself. Grabbing another man bare handed, he sent him flying down the flight of stairs leading to a lower level.

He paid no attention to whether or not those under his command were following him. Like a hound he sought the mind that drove the workers and ants they were putting to the slaughter. Once he reached the bottom of the staircase, the large room was quiet and dark as a crypt. One of the men followed behind him with a torch. Marhukules could smell the little fires that were being lit over his head and the screams and commands shouted by his enemies seemed more distant the further he made his way in.

There were signs that there had been some sort of struggle. A real one and not just someone trying to escape their cosmically appointed fate. There was a smaller corridor that he may well not have noticed if not for the blood stains on the wall. Snatching the torch from his young companion, he shined it's light against the wall as he began to follow his pray into the depths.

"There is no salvation where you are going!" a booming voice called out to them. Whoever they were that left their trail of blood. "Surrender now! Return and there shall be!"