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Wyrdsister

Victorious Above the Sands

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15th of the Amber Cold, 1741


 

Al-Faiz.

 

In the tongue of the Qalasheen, it means ‘the Victor’. On this day it proved prophetic.

 

In the late hours of the day, what is called in foreign lands ‘the Amber Cold’ meant little more than a mercifully cool breeze of the ocean nearby, the village of al-Faiz was looking forward to the setting of the burning Korvassan sun. 

 

But in the young, bustling village the peaceful rest of night was not to come.

 

“Tribute! We demand tribute!” rang out the arrogant voice, its accent strange to the Qalasheen farmers and peasants. Into the main square strode the town elders, brows furrowed against the low sun, tired and curious men and women who had once been drawn towards what they thought were visitors now became quiet, and scowled at these prideful intruders in their lives.  

 

Two masked men looked on as the Qalasheen, one by one, approached to stand in every side street and doorway to gaze at them silently, curved swords gleaming in the afternoon heat. Mothers huddled their children close, leading them inside the musjid where the doors were locked - and those mothers who whispered softly to their children to stay safe and within grimly took up bow and sword, joining their husbands and brothers.

 

There would be no tribute tonight but the blood of the infidel to Allah.

 

Qalasheen and visitors to the town alike, Orc, Elf, man and woman, without a word prepared to defend their town. The assembled warriors, guardsmen, militia and allies alike paused, weapons drawn, as one man - late to hear of the approaching battle - stumbled out of the inn, having forgotten to put on most of his armour, looking around and loudly demanding to know where the Jihad was to be had.

 

At that point one of the demanders of tribute threw a rock - or maybe a Qalasheen boy threw a falafeel. What can be said for sure is that at once a great cry to God range out, shattering the calm of the desert - ALLAHU AKBAR, cried the town as one, and then all hells broke loose - yelling, bloodshed, steel clashing against shield, arrows splintered against plate and sheering through maille… 

 

Backed up against the gates of their holy musjid, build to the glory of Allah, the defenders battled down the steps and repulsed the raid party again and again through the gate, falling back to let them come inside, only to be swiftly overwhelmed again. Raiders scrambled over walls, sent arrows flying through the city, but could barely set foot within without warriors ambushing them from buildings and towers. Archers dueled with raiders circling the walls, crouching in the shadow of musjid’s gleaming dome, arrows whistling past close enough to ruffle their headscarfs, shattering against the unyielding stone...

 

And it was not only the Qalasheen’s ferocity that the invaders found - the humble but warm, peaceful town and its people had attracted friends and visitors, and they too picked up arms to fight - elven steel and orcish crossbow would strike out alongside the blades and knives of the Farfolk. 

 

As sweat glistened in the light of the rising moon, pouring along dust-coated skin and bloodied fingers, the defenders stood panting for breath before the town gates, its crumbling, half-ruined sandstone and wood patchwork walls barely rising above the tops of Qalasheen tents. The last of the raiders lay bleeding in the sand…

 

A man strode forward, slowly pushing a corpse over with his boot, and frowned.

 

Reivers

 

Al-Faiz had turned aside thirty Reivers, as the ocean waves crash against rock.

 

As those injured were treated with desert herbs and the Elfess doctor who had come to the town to treat a sick hunter, the stars above were bright, and the air cool.

 

In the city streets, a veiled woman’s hand shook within her gloves as she pressed against the patch of blood spreading across her husband’s side. Despite the heat of the armour she wore, her blood ran cold - between her fingers was the long shaft of an arrow, its head buried inches into his flesh.

 

She cradled his head in her lap, promising him everything would be okay as she slowly slipped off his helmet and ran her fingers through his dark, messy hair, looking down into his tired eyes. As she murmured a soft prayer, she felt a hand press against the wound next to hers, and looked down into the face of her young daughter. “Don’t worry Mama! Baba is strong, right?”

 

As tears ran down her face, the woman nodded. Healers soon arrived to care for her husbands wounds, assuring her it was a flesh wound. As she lifted water to his lips and cared for him as he recovered, she gave thanks for his survival.

 

Alhamdulillah, there would be no fatalities from the raid. The worst wounds came from arrows, a weapon that was mostly used to cripple rather than kill. Al-Faiz has stood against its first test against the cruelties and arrogance of the world. Its people stood to defend their families and faith, aided by friends new and old - and now peace had returned to them. While many celebrated, and friends parted back to their homes, there were many who looked up to the light of the moon and stars above and thanked Allah for His deliverance on the field of battle that night. 

 

Others prayed for the strength to endure what was to come...

 

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GLORY TO ALLAH ALONE

Edited by Wyrdsister

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Ibraheem Ibn Bashar Kharadeen smiled as he watched his people victorious. Going into prostration to thank Allah for the glorious victory he gave them. "Alhumdillah. Allahu Akbar!"

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Maicy cheered with full pride and joy at the victory of the citizens of Al-Faiz. “Allahu Akbar! A moment to remember indeed! Alhamdullilah, im so proud!”  She said before going back to taking care of the horses of the village.
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Raven smiled at as she heard the news from within Talons Grotto, nodding whilst thinking. ”Qalasheens are people you shouldnt mess with.”
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Batool shouted out of joy as she heard the news from a citizen. 
”Allahu akbar! Another battle won Alhamdullilah. May more victory's follow inshallah.”  Batool then went to slam her fist onto her chest while shouting proudly. ”HU!”

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Ameen Al-Nabeel would Sheathe his Sabre upon hearing the chanting of his people, Subhanallah!” He exclaims as he goes to prostrate, upon rising from prostration he would look around him, noticing the numerous dead, I am sorry, Rafiqi, i left non alive for you to enjoy.” He says with a smirk as he looks over to his friend.

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Adam Ibn Bashar Kharadeen would finnish his prayer thanking Allah the greatest for this victory "In our jihad we will prevail, ya rabb! I vow from here on out that my efforts would be in your name ya rabbi! Allahu Akbar!!! Shokran ya rabb..." he says going back to his inn to rest his head

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Arth Delevoye lets out a sigh of relief as the battle is won. ”I’m glad that’s over..” he says to himself, Just as a memory of arrows flying through the city takes his vision. ”The Trees!” He shouts. With legs still shaky from the raid, he sheaths his wooden practice sword and rushes to Ibraheem’s bonsai trees, hoping no harm had come to them.

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Perditus bangs his sword and shield together above his head. The clamouring would resound through the streets of Al-Faiz accompanied by his victory scream, that more resembled a wild beast. “THEIR FRIENDS HEADS SHALL BE THE ONLY TRIBUTE FOR THEM! I CURSE THEIR FALLEN SOULS AND DEEM THEM DISHONOURALBE!” he’d scream in mix of fury and joy.

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Khalid Al-Nabeel raises his blade towards the sky and shouts “Allahu Akbar!” Before looking down and noticed and arrow pierced in his chest..”Go and find your mother, dear” he would tell his daughter before falling to the ground unconscious.

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