Hama Abkari

Hama Abkari

Silver Sage
Character Profile
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"Are you sure this is advisable, Suma Abkari?" Amansi asked, boyish face painted cool beneath the loose linens of white and ochre. "It is hardly a matter that merits one of the Wind Tower to leave the greatest city that ever was or will be,"

The suma but smiled. There beneath the shade of the olive tree. Cloudy eyes pointed out at the gold and red expanse beyond them. "Tell me, Amansi," he could feel the sway of the branches above him. The fractal of sun's light, spilled through so many green leaves. "What sort of man, does not tend to his own fields? Does not concern himself with his own flock?"

"Well, Seeking One, it is a simple matter of safety," he stated. The bells of a goat heard clinga-clanged about them, as the creatures bleated and munched spiny kaikias rose, and the nascent green of desert weeds.

The suma but sifted his fingers through the soft loam, felt the cool kiss of water held there in. Brightness gleamed there in his blind eyes. The wind stirred, and the land sang its low song. Hama's blue robes snapped. "Such a rare thing, for so many," he let the fertile soil spill from his grasp. "Why should I be so greedy with it,"

Young Amansi stared at the Suma. "Seeking One?"

Peoples worked the land. Teams with ladders and baskets moved in unison, the song of their labor there in the air. Harmonious beneath the blazing sun.

"When we find the one responsible for the missing herds, Amansi, I will be there,"

In the distance, a tall woman spoke to the laborers. draped in the same airy robes as Amansi.
 
Luck was never her friend. Neither was time. Together they conjured only the most inconvenience and anxiety wrecking energy that a young lady could endure. If- you know, you could even call her that.

In a time before she would become known as something far more illustrious and grand, she was nothing more than a little scavenger on the edges of the heated desert. Vultures, hyenas all made their moves when something fell, smelling the weakness on the festering wound of an ill soul. So was the jackal. Her hair was matted, tied up into a sloppy bun. Her ears were bitten with the scars of sand mites, and she periodically would writhe in her resting area, reaching for the bit of her ear and giving it a fierce scratch, kicking the sand up into the air.

Youth gave birth to creativity. But also naivety. She had a master plan, to exploit the situation. She, of course, knew where the herds went. She helped with it, originally, using her small self to get in, and let the herds go without being noticed. They were then 'collected' by some of the others in the area. They were paying.. okay for it.

But- she was pretty sure these blokes would pay more. So- tentative idea; get her clients to pay for one more time. Tell these folks. Cash in on the reward. Head out of this cursed desert to a place that maybe didn't hate anything with black furry ears.

Tentative idea was squandered when during one of her scratching fits, her foot smacked the wall of the structure she was squatting in. Her ears flattened, eyes wide. She mouthed a curse- before trying to scramble her way forward, and, of course, untrained, that- that was when her abilities manifested, and she sunk into the ground, up to her waist. Panic made her solid. So now- she had effectively buried herself in the sand. All in ear-shot of a bunch of bigwigs who'd probably skewer her.

Great. Wonderful.

She pushed against the ground, swearing more of a storm, as if somehow swearing was going to make her materialize again, clawing the ground with desperation. And did she imagine that her ears itched? Ugh.
 
Hama turned his head toward the sealed well, feeling the shroud twist and bend about something there in the clay bricks. His lips curled up, pleased as the curve of a peach.

A shift. Like the string of a bow let loose. Or the snap of a line cast. It sent ripples through the mantle of magick around them. As if a stone had been dropped into a still pond. Where it splashed, the shroud swirled, as if down a drain. Moved like a dust devil across the land.

"We've a guest," Hama said matter of fact.

Young Amansi gawked at the jackal eared youth, half buried in the sand. A hand on his sword. "Thief!" he cried out. Made to draw the blade.

With a curl of finger, and a bend of wrist, Hama pulled the blade back into its sheath, pointer and middle scrawled a swirl in the air, and the blade stuck shut.

Amansi looked down at his weapon. Face twisted and mouth agape. How could he fail to draw his weapon?! He was the Suma's guard and here was a thief! He grunt and growled as he tried and tried to pull the weapon out. To no avail.

"Are you hungry?" the blind man asked the jackal, half burried in the ground.
 
Her nose wrinkled a bit, gold eyes glancing with suspicion. The pristine (as she perceived it) nature of his clothes. The markings on his face. The way he stopped the sword. Those eyes slide up and down, inspecting him for every small little detail, every possible spot something could be hidden. Every little hint that could be exploited. Anything that would give her the upper hand. The gaze stays fixated, as her hands start to paw at the dirt around her waist, hands cupped like a dog, and started to put a little dent into the soil, the dusty sand moving to the side.

Now you would think- that in this position, you'd be careful, grateful. Pathetic. Use fawning! You're a poor hungry child, help! But of course, Xana was in the right era of her life where she knew everything- and quite clearly, that separated her from everything. Including common sense. So what comes out of her mouth was probably the exact opposite of the intelligence and wisdom she normally had.

"... Isn't everyone around here?" she snorted at him. "Go on- don't you got some herds to find?" she snipped.

"Don't understand how you misplace a bunch of creatures twice our size but, can't ask everyone to use their eyes."

Ah yes. Peak wisdom. Hard to believe this youth was going to one day run an elaborate treasure hunting gig.
 
"You insolent little-" Young Amansi cut. His hand still trying to jerk free his weapon.

Hama but raised his own hand, and the guard knew to quiet, having seen the Seeker from the corner of his eye.

The wind stirred through the leaves. The sunlight twinkled bright like stars betwixt the shift of the branches. Dust from the distant sands rode the breeze, and had the grass shift in its little dance, there upon the olive grove.

"We all feel hunger, yes, but we need not feel so much of it. Hmm?" he laughed some. "Least not when one invites us to sup." he nod. "As for my eyes," he waved his hand there before his motionless gaze, the color of moonlit clouds. "They are not what the used to be,"

"Seeking one, this miscreant is very likely-"

"Hungry, tired, in need of much of what we can offer, Amansi yes, your wisdom far belies your youth."

Amansi piped own. "Thank... thank you Suma Abkari," he said with a bow.

"So, stranger, I will set you free, and the choice will be yours," Hama let her know. "Either way," the rustle of the leaves. The shake of the olives and their branches. "You will have your freedom," and with a twist of the wrist, a turn of the hands, a whirl of arms that looked almost a twister of blue robes, so set to motion, the winds whipped about Xana, and carved the earth out around her. Carried her up and out. Tossed her onto the dirt there beside the hole she'd just been dug out of.

The dust devil twist away and turned to not.

The field workers had ceased their labor, and gawked at the shroud-work.

Hama laughed. A deep laugh that came from his belly. There beneath the olive tree, he rocked back, and slapped his knee. "So!" he called out. "What will it be?!"

Young Amansi stood in utter disbelief. Hand slipped off the hilt of his blade.
 
"..."

Okay, well, now Xana felt like an ass. Her ears split and flatten towards her skull, like she had been scolded by an elder, a visible, discernable wince that twisted one corner of her mouth up and made her nose wrinkle. Ah- so the goddess bleeds after all. Trying to swallow her dignity and remain her sense of 'cool'. She didn't realize he was actually blind. Awkward. She avoids his face with a guilty pout, leaning into her arm, before a yip, and wild flailing, her body is whiplashed, a humanoid version of a piece of tumbleweed.

She flops onto her back, gold eyes wide and stunned.

Balancing herself on her four lips, before staggering to her feet, bare feet calloused but very- very free. She patted her waist, looked behind her for her tail, to see it was there, and it was. At least, what was left of it anyways. Shroudwork indeed.

Xana squinted- scanning, before she finally mumbles. "F.. Fine old man. I'll eat with you."

Opportunities could be found anywhere. Perhaps he was just lonely. Either way, Xana could surely make something here work out in her favor.
 
A nod from the old Suma. Deep as a watering hole. "Very well,"

He rose up from his seat, in that way of old age. Steady to find the sureness there in bone's memory. Faithful in the stretch of ligament and warmth of muscle.

Straightened with a grunt. Robes flowed down about him, a cascade of cool blues, and the branches of the olive trees shook. The countless fractals of light danced about them, like so many stars set to spin against shade cooled earth.

Amansi came back to his senses. Double took to stare wide eyed at his elder. "Suma Abkari!" he did not move from where he stood as the old man strode toward the ball of tension, tooth and claw.

The old sage bowed his head as he stepped out from the shadow of the trees. "Last I checked, Amansi, the Langhar was open to all,"

A grit of teeth and a pull of lip as brow set flat. "It is, Suma, I only meant,"

A wave of the hand. "That the hall's generosity was for all,"

The young man sealed his mouth. Huffed out a breath and gave a nod. "Of course, Suma,"

The old man walked past the young soldier, and the young rogue. Moved toward the buildings, a distant stroll away. The earth soft beneath his sandaled feet. Sprouts of green, there where a careful eye could see. A streak here, a bar there. Then all the life that hid in the orchard would come about. As goats strayed and gnashed at grass, shrub, and low laying leaf alike.

It was a place full of peace. Rare as water.

 
The moment that Hama walked past her, she looked to the guard that followed him. Her eyes squinted, eyeing them, and very childishly, she stuck out her tongue, her ears flattening, straight like the wings of a bird. A truly comical look. Served him right for being a jerk. She pulled her tongue back in, recoiling, and folding her arms close together, as she followed the elderly man.

Those eyes searched as they walked, remaining as quiet as a mouth, though not sparing a hateful glare at the guard that wanted to punish her a few moments. Ugh. Authority. This is why herd animals get stolen and they don't get answers.

Honestly, she really didn't understand why the old man was being as.. pompous about this. He acted like these were privileges afforded to all. A frown followed her thoughts. If that was the case- she would be walking around, barefoot, with chewed up ears. She'd have a home. She'd have food. She might even have breasts. You know, she was almost reaching her late teens, possibly even considered an adult now- surely: and she didn't even grow one cup size! (The things young girls think about.)

(Don't tell her that they're never going to get bigger either.)

An ear twitch. The subtle clash of grass. The ear turns a bit. The crone of a water bird, most likely resting nearby. A soft tweet. Ears turn again. The creak of metal resting against the warrior's sheathe. There was peace here. It made her bristle, it felt like it crept on her unsuspecting, promising something she knew very well wasn't real.
 
Amansi narrowed his eyes, pout his lips, and he followed after the pair as they trekked up the trail. Grumbling and muttering feelings he ate, rather than let out.

Grass hissed under foot and soft earth gave under their steps.

"My name is Hama," the old sage said, soft as the cool of the breeze against his skin. "What should one call you, young one?" Hama asked, paled eyes set unto the village ahead. His head keeled toward the long eared youth, whilst buildings made from straw and red clay loomed closer with each moment that passed.

The village of Tamala bustled with the usual comings and goings of such life. Peoples robed in gowns made striking with blocked patterns, intricate with the geometries pressed into fabrics dyed with rich spectrums of warm and cool. Human amidst elf, dog snouted Kanis and hook beaked Rapturan, feathers and furr stirred the same as robe and hair. Easy chatter. Laughs. A hot argument, between a pair, their audience in quiet contemplation.

A space where people were people amongst each other. White trails of fires, cooking food and warming baths, tailed white against the clear blue sky.
 
It was beautiful, don't get her wrong.

There was an enchanting aura to the way the winds danced between the robes, the shine of kindness that shimmered on the edge of a fanged grin as people waved. The laughter was the bells of this town, and it rang loud and clear- as if declaring it's defiance to all of misery. A very dreamy state. A very surreal state.

To her- it fell like she walked along a mirage. The sun kissed her skin. But she felt cold. The faces around her seemed to blur, and be unrecognizable. And very much, the feeling felt returned. There is heartache, the sting of jealousy, one that seemed to heighten in that moment, as her hands gently gripped her top, clenching to the point that her tanned knuckles turned white. Jade and pain covered her expressions, despite her best efforts to mask them.

Because in that moment, she felt like if she reached out- the world would disappear. Vitriol built slowly, making her features hard. It was sharp, it was painful. And it made her mad.

Why couldn't she have these things?

".. It's Xana." It comes out forced. Sharp. Edged. "Xana of Mior." The clan she originally hailed from. Not much to note, they were on the fringes of Suldaza. But a bit odd that one would be so far from home. Though, anyone who knew that culture the best could probably take a gander as to why she was out here. Her black ears twitched.

".. what's some big shot like you doing out here?" she asked. Not that she knew, but he sure walked like he owned the place. A good guess right?
 
"Xana of Mior," the old man said softly. A bit of song to the way he let the sounds roll off his tongue. "I hear the Miori have beautiful ears," he said with a smile. His hands cupped to mime such features atop his head. He turned the left one left, the right one down. Laughed at his own joke and showed his gap toothed smile.

Amansi shook his head at the nonsense, but made no sound of it. Until the girl called him a bigshot. Breath sucked through his teeth and he swelled up ready to-

"Tamala is as near a home as I had when i was a spry young man with eyes that could still see," Hama offered the small morsel of truth as they wove into the city. The smells of so many foods fragrant in the air. Different meats, seasoned with tumeric and red chillis, rubbed with salt and pepper. They dripped their oils into cookfires of vendors who stood about, and hawked out their offerings to all who passed by.

Amansi wove their attemps with smiles and shakes of the head.

Hama simply smiled on as they walked.

A building ahead was full of people. A stone awning, that sheltered most from the sun. Folks sat in orderly rows, strewn about long carpets patterened with fabric gardens that sprawled in cool blues, bright reds, and earth toned golds. All sat around each other, and all sat upon the same floor. A calm there as they too laughed and broke bits of flat bread to scoop up yogurts and lentils, roasted roots and buttery gravies. Not one beneath the awning, along the carpets, ate a touch of meat.

"Hama!" a bright voice called out. A young woman, draped in bright blue shawl, waved at the sage and his party. "I see you've made a new friend!" she beamed. Tall and long limbed, with skin as dark and beautiful as midnight. Eyes as bright as the moons with how they shone the world's light.

"Lewa," the old man said with some pride, arms outstretched as she embraced him. A good squeeze. "I was hoping," he said as they came apart, and he motioned to the young Xana. "We could help young Xana here, find a bit to eat?"

Lewa smiled, a thing that shown across her entire face. Nod. "Of course, Hama," Lewa said. "Let me find you some food, now, Amansi," she turned her eyes unto the big warrior. Sharp eyed, yet still smiling. "You will show them a seat, yes?"

Amansi clicked his teeth. Smiled. "Lewa, please," shooed her away with his hands. "I am no animal who would forget such courtesies," his voice sweet as nectar. Absent all its previous heat and sharpness.

Lewa nod. "Good, I would hope so," she looked to the girl, and nod, "I look forward to sharing a meal with you, Xana," she said, bowed and hurried off.

Amansi looked down at Xana. Flat and unimpressed. Cleared his throat and masked himself in some veil like serenity. "This way, then" he said, and lead them to a spot upon the carpets, where four could seat easily.

The quiet chatter of those about them rippled like streams across stone. Hama bent low, and folded his legs beneath him as he sat upon the carpet. Amansi sat there across from him.

A family of orkin ate together, some ways down. One of the children's large tusks poked up from their lips as they watched Xana, big eyed and olive skinned. Hands reached up, grabby at the air.
 
Xana was not amused by Hama's interpretation of her tribe. She may no longer be welcome there, but it was still her tribe. It was still a part of who she was, even if she wasn't wanted. So, like any other Miori, her ears fell flat to the side of her head, spanning out like an airplane, in annoyance.

She follows. In silence. After all, these weren't her people. And they didn't know what the deserts really tasted like. At least, until Lewa arrived. Then- there was an emotional disturbance. There is a smug, but jaded glance that gets glanced at the swordsman, a scoff a bit as he addressed her with saccharine words and falsities. She twitched a bit. There was something that provoked her inner morality about the situation. Something that grated, creating heat and friction like a spark ready to escape the tension. Something that wanted to take the inconsistency, rip it to shreds before their eyes- teeth bared and eyes glittering.

Thankfully, she internalized her indignation, curling her nose, but making sure to return a kind smile to Lewa. She seemed.. nice. A nonplussed response, her tone lacking a great deal of the spice it had earlier. "It is nice to meet you."

She followed the group, her eyes glancing around in thinly veiled paranoia, muscles positioned to look relaxed, but held the stiff form of a animal ready to jump at a moment's notice. Watching. She takes a seat, remaining silent, and instead taking the moment to look around the room.

In the peace of the moment, she is distracted, focusing on the orkin famliy. Her eyes study them, intent and thoughtful, before her gaze flickers somewhere else. Then- somewhere else. Her ears slightly twitching, before she returned her focus.

Eventually, a bit of antagonistic energy slips. ".. Lewa is very pretty." Her eyes sit on Amansi, seeing what kind of response this provokes.
 
Amansi couldn't help but smile. Eyes closed as he pictured the bright look in her eyes he liked so well. Half nod in agreement before some idea of sense smacked him out of it. Eyes opened to narrow slits, and his lip pulled down to lopsided frown.

"She is," he agreed, sharp with the words. A swordsman checking a cut. Nose angled high, as if to smell for danger. Head keeled as he tried to suss out what this young scoundrel had up her raggedy sleeves.

Hama but smiled. An old man hearing the birds sing. Might be, a bit of feist would help them understand each other.

Might be he was making a huge mistake.

Even one as old as he had no way to know for sure. He could only trust. That something would come of this moment they all sat together. "All are welcome here," the old Suma said soft as the wind through the leaves. Yet, with the same undeniable presence. "To take in what the Langhar offers,"

Amansi seemed to remember something else, aside his suspicion. Closed his eyes again, and nod. A vision of tranquility, there with his legs folded upon the carpet. If only, because he knew that is what a good man should look like. "For all toil neath the same sun, and all feel the weight of hunger's pull,"

Hama showed his toothy smile. "You've not forgotten the Wind's Wisdoms, then, Amansi?"

Proud young man that he was, Amansi smiled the wider. Head bauble to one side and the other, almost its own little dance. "Of course not, Suma, why, any man who aspires to the Tokura al-Shams must know of the wisdoms,"

A laugh from the old man. A nod. Gentle and humored. "Might your humility and wisdom, lead you to your aspirations," a hope there too.
 
This sounded like some hippie bullshit in Xana's mind. Doing her best to conserve her emotions, she didn't speak. But man, she wore it like it was the latest trend in fashion. Instead, she started to focus on inciting something further with Amansi. Because that's what antagonistic teens do. "She seems like she has quite a big heart. Probably a real sweetie, eh?" she asked, smirking. Did he get the optics? Did he see the threat? The cards she was holding? Oh she loved playing cards.

Her gaze deliberately avoided Hama's though.

In fact, she seemed to be avoiding his conversation, period. There was weight to his words, but she was refusing to carry it.

The world was plenty cruel, and plenty harsh. And for all these magical words he's managed to conjure in these conversations. All these wisdoms with 10 syllable names, they didn't mean a damn thing out in the true heart of Suldaza.

She continued to ignore- until her body betrayed her, a loud gargle that ended up roaring with a grumpy octave. Her face instantly scrunched, perhaps becoming a bit more red if one was a careful observer, and she grabbed her stomach, as if she was trying to strangle it.

".. erm. Sorry."
 
Amansi but cocked a brow as the younger woman pressed. Jaw tight beneath the placid mask he wore. "She is a gift, sent unto us unworthy," he said through grit teeth, forced into a smile.

Hama laughed at the sound of it. "Shade amidst the sands," he nod in agreement. If he noted Xana avoiding him, he seemed none the bothered. His old bones rested against the long and patterned fabric, so painstakingly woven together.

A growl. Amansi's eyes squint as he looked down at Xana. "It is alright," he assured her. Closed his eyes and jut his chin towards a young man who wore a wrap about his head, and carried with him a bowl that steamed white over it. Wooden plates tucked neatly under hand.

He set them unto each member of the party. Took a ladle from the bowl, scooped up a warm stew of chickpeas, fragrant with herbs and spices that lingered in the pull of each breath. Earthy and floral in that way of chilies' sweet heat. The scoops were quick and practiced, and with each one delivered, he left. Asking those around them if they wanted more.

Shakes of the head warded off the generosity, or welcomed more of it.

Another young person came by. Laid flat breads unto their plates. Seemed to pause after each round was laid. One for Hama. Two for Amansi. His large brown eyes turned unto Xana, he scooped up a warm roti, slick with butter, and still hot from the cooking irons. His fingers held it betwixt, ready to give it away.

"How many?" he asked her, voice sweet and cool as fresh water.
 
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