Oaths Sworn On Sand

[ibraheemc2000 2965]

 

 

Oaths Sworn On Sand

“We were left starving at Kurgmar’s gate, for refusing to abandon the Faith of Allah.” - Shamil Bin Assad Al-Shaheed

 

Misty pre dawn fog softly brushed the mountain side of the Qalasheen estate, however north of it emanated a soft faint glow from a window from a simple poor hut. The crisp smell of pine and soft ambering leaves, the last flowers of the season as a soft frost made the lemon tree glow with radiance of the sweet smell of citrus. The hill was soft and quiet beside the soft hum of the old hut, inside was a light glow of the humble fireplace in the cold home, books laid upon an old worn oak bookshelf that was simple and yet crude and elegant in its own humble way. Beside it were a few humble cushions of wool and a small wooden Rehal, which held a Kitab Al-Salam within it open.

 

Though nearby was a faint smell of musk and lemon grass that wafted the room, more musk than lemon as a figure lifted themselves from prostration, the dancing glow of the fireplace highlighted an outline of a man on his knees, a soft beard from his chin which subtly bobbed in the glow in muttering of worship. Upon a soft pelt of gray did the head turn, his hair slicked back brushed against his shoulder, a few strands brushed over his face as his voice, deep and thick, puffed mist as he spoke a soft ending to his prayer.

“There is no God but Allah, There is no God but Allah.”

He slowly raised his hands cupped and made silent dua, before wiping his hands over his face. His hands laid in his lap in deep thought. His gaze laid to the rug in deep thought as soft puffs of smoke and mist brushed past his nose from the coolness of the morning. He slowly raised and took the rug, and folded it softly and set it upon the top of the bookshelf. His standing nearly scraped the beams of the small tiny humble hut, though his stoic gaze turned toward the holy book upon the old warn Rehal.

 

 

 His gaze softened as he gently kneeled as if one would to avoid waking a baby. His rough hands gently tucked underneath it, a brush like dragon’s flame of cold breath brushed against the air in the soft glow of the hearth. He slowly stood to tower in his home, cradling the book as he softly brought a hand to gently caress the pages in passion as if from heart break to close it. His fingers brushed across the page against the lines:

 

(8) Place his sword beside him, his shield upon his chest, and his helmet at his feet. That he may rise again with dignity, and bear witness to his struggle in My name.

 

(9) And We shall bring forth the martyr before the Throne, and We shall say: “You have died for My sake, what do you ask of your Lord?”

 

(10) And he shall say: “O my Lord, send me down again, that I may fight for You once more. Let me die again for Your cause. Let me taste death again, so that Your Word may remain exalted!”

 

(11) And I shall smile upon him, and say: “You have done well, O My servant. Now rest. Rejoice in all that you desire. Sit beside Me, and be a friend to your Lord.”

 

A warm smile crept upon the sun kissed face of the Qalasheen Warrior, as he read the last sentence, over, and over again. “And be a friend to your lord.” he would close the book and let out a soft and long sigh. Head turned to the hearth he placed the book upon the rug.

Moments had passed as the sun had just begun to crest and paint the mountain side in a soft glow, birds chirped and began to wake, though most would be asleep in the region of Tarnavon, Winter had arrived and the harvest had just been completed. The man looked to the dying fireplace as its embers still offered enough glow to see in the home, its amber hue bounced little against the Black Ebony gauntlets. 

 

As a chest plate soon found itself sliding atop an old gambeson with embroidered in red verses of the Kitab Al-Salaam, The Order of the Imperial Dragon Knights armor cladding the man, as he lifted the gambeson coif atop the head, then the chainmail, his gaze peered across the cold room, a long cold misty exhale brushed forward as his eyes pierced to show a scar across his cheek under the eye before an ebony helm rested firmly atop the head. 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

The Knight took his steps toward the door, taking a simple sack and brought it over his shoulder, and opened it to expose the faint gray light outside. Surely the tribe below the mountain side will wake up a bit, but it caught him by surprise to see a figure sitting outside upon his chopping stump.
 

The night brought some snow, just to the ankle, a ray of sun from the warm sunrise glistened some branches but more surprisingly some soft snow upon a dark evergreen scarf wrapped around a face of a woman, her dress was that of a warm amber orange, almost asleep which awoken by the door, she stood and turned to look at the ebony helm. Her snow white skin had a warm rose tint due to the cold as her brownish gray eyes glistened as she saw the towering figure made way over. Her fingers a soft tint of red from the cold held a green fabric in hand, as her gaze lowered in modesty, the non Qalasheen women, stood in silence head lowered, with the Qalasheen Dragon knight, his gauntlet brushing soft snow from her shoulder, till she brought her watery yet soft gaze toward the man.

 

A soft smile as she offered a small handkerchief cut from the edge of her green hijab scarf, a fine linen softened by wear and careful washing unlike that of the man’s own poorer lifestyle. The fabric still carries the faint warmth of having been close to her as he took it into his gauntlet, the ebony helm raised slightly to meet her gaze, still craned down to the smaller women. Her voice was soft and sweet and intoxicating 

 

“Meant to be folded and kept near the heart.”

Along one corner, she embroidered a white dove by hand, each stitch slow and deliberate. The bird is shown mid-flight, wings gently outspread, a slender branch held in its beak, a representative of martyrdom and the man’s desires which she so lovingly supported no matter how painful. From the branch hangs a single lemon, bright against the pale thread—an emblem of hope, endurance, and safe return. Though simple in size, the cloth bears the weight of quiet prayers, meant to be carried into battle as a reminder of peace waiting beyond the noise of war. His metallic thumb rubbed over it, as he gently folded it, and tucked it beneath the chest plate, right to his heart. His gauntlet pulled out and turned to a fist which he set upon the chest plate twice to show it’s firmness in place. Another gauntlet reached to her cheek to brush a single tear away.

“Do not cry, for it is a waste of precious water, Ya Omri(My Darling/My life). I answer a just call, and ride to avenge my mother, my people’s suffering. So that one day, we can be allowed to marry, and worship in peace.”

The knight kneeled into the bitter cold, so that he could slightly raise his head to her, pressing the back of her hand to his metallic helm as a kiss, then placing the same spot to his metallic forehead. She quickly rushed and did the same to his gauntlet, a soft sad yet blushed scoff emitted from the women who waited too early for the man in devotion.

 

 

The sun now was above everyone, as tribes men and women met the Knight and his retinue of Tribal warriors before their leaving. Women hugged their husbands, brothers and sons, offering them small gifts and well wishes, and a few small children waved Tribal flags with religious statements upon them. The Knight stood stoically alone, the same women among those in the group giving well wishes waved to the soldiers though unable to show her direct love, she hoped he would know her intent. 

 

A young man approached the man with an armored horse with its mane of a bright warm red. A gift from the Imperial Prince for his service in a time of turmoil, he now prized, The Knight inspected the horse and dipped his head toward the black haired young man. “Thank you Thomas, You have served me well as my aid, however, The estate needs you. Take care of them for me hm? And keep to your training." His gauntlet did not wait for response as it planted firmly against his new shoulder, that was originally lost to an Orcish attack upon the home, made new by The knight’s sister, a quiet and sweet gesture.

 

He mounted the steed, which Thomas soon offered him his lance and shield, he bobbed his head, before turning to the Mujahideen, he raised a single gauntlet with no words but erupted in the glorification of Allah came from the men and tribe. As he began to lead them down the road. A small goblin, shroom, tossing roses weirdly shaped as mushrooms down to the soldiers as they passed.

“I will keep our love safe, while you keep our empire and family safe.”

Sir Zubayr The Sandsworn, Of the Banu Shaheed, rode forward to the frontlines, with hope in Allah that his enemies may never have.

 

Spoiler

 

 

“Sir, Sir, Wake up, you are needed.” The knight bolted awake remembering the scene of leaving, his gauntlet rubbed to the helm he slept in.  “What is it Hasan?” he said as he stepped out of the tent to the loud bustling of soldiers at a warfront checkpoint north of the empire past Urguan. “Some reports, scouts report some dwarves in large groups are mustering up and so forth.” he stated unworried, “like due to the increased bandits and the war that's been on their borders.” he finished as he looked to Sir Zubayr looking over the sea for any ships coming from the horde.

 

 “We will be sailing in five days when the rest of the navy is here, but our ships are ready. . . and you have a letter.” he added to the silent Knight, which caused the Ebony helm to turn from the sun glistened sea. “Shukran Hasan.” he took the letter. It had been a Year since he left, yet he received no word from home. A soft smile grew beneath the helm as he read the letter from his sister on pilgrimage, though she was not home, it was a warm welcome to the knight as he loved his sisters to the highest degree.

 

On the same letter he flipped it and began to write to her; @Frisket
 

Spoiler

“Peace be upon you my beloved Ukhti,

The war has been long and tiring, and your letter is a sweet Kenafah I have in this busy camp. I am proud of your Umrah, how blessed is my family that we are all striving for the cause of Allah? Your words of father bring me a warmth I miss. 

 

How wonderful is the world of what Allah has created, how the flowers prostrate to him, and how the wind howls his greatness, and animals do their silent thikr of worship. When I am engaged with the blades of the enemy, when their tusks ram against my shield, I can never unsee how the emotion of the emblazment of the front is. How the dirt flies, the arrows sing, how the blood bears witness to our righteous cause for the sake of Allah. How the earth, with the martyred laid upon it, blood soaking deep with thick red iron filled puddles… How it will state ‘So and so, left home, left his children and family, to rise to the call and die so viciously and brutally, torn and mamed, so that they can declare there is no god but Allah. How blessed is this person when they meet their merciful and loving lord.’

Your words brought me much thought outside this active worship to another in thoughts of Allah’s magnificence and mercy. Do you remember when our baba used to say ‘Surrender, submit, submit.’ and I would always be enraged, asking how can such a warrior, such a man, tell us to surrender and submit, when he himself never has! However, in the silent worship at night and night assaults we receive. . . I realized something. Father never told us who to surrender to. It is now I realized that He only was bidding us to surrender to Allah and all his glory. For how can we doubt his power in all this, how can we doubt this life as a test, and its promise is Paradise, Seven Skies.

I miss you my beloved sister, I have no letters from home and it saddens me, yours is the first in a long time. If you get home before me, write to me about home, its affairs and life. If they ask, do not tell them about our difficulty here, nor tell them we are upon the front line and thick of it. Word has reached me that to our rear Urguan is mustering troops or more active, I am not too worried, they would not be foolish to attack us, it is likely they would support us.

I am currently at the northern docks preventing orcish raiders and invasion but in five days we sail to Krugmar. I seek martyrdom and the pleasure of Allah. 

 

Much love, from your crazy head brother, and Mujahid, Sir Zubayr Bin Shamil Al-Assad ‘The Sandsworn’ ”

After sending it upon the falcon a few moments past before a roar filled the camp, the knight rushed to find dwarven and orcish flags coming from the woods. “Bastards! We are cut off. Hassan! Get the women and children onto the boats and load up, We sail early ahead of the army! You men.” his Qalasheen Shamshir pointing toward ten “With me!”

Blood and fire and shit, the smell was otherworldly as the ships sailed away. The Knight and 4 remaining of the ten stared as the dwarves and orcs burned what was left. Luckily everything was loaded, and few casualties were sustained because of it. The Knight cursed under his breath, as they were unable to send word of Urguan’s treason. “Signal the ships, send the soldier’s families and camp followers to the empire, they need to report of Urugan's treason, The rest of us sail to Krugmar!” he bellowed out.

 

An official report of the outcome was written and signed to be given to the Head of the Dragon knights and the Emperor. No doubt they would hear of a ‘defeat’ before his letter, but it mattered not, they were but a small vanguard. The letter entitled a total of 9 casualties, though the small warband was safe. The camp was set to fire to prevent enemy use. The luck and will of Allah mentioned for the quickness of the band and its preparation.

The ship met up with the imperial navy and turned back to report the oncoming events. However Zubayr and his ships met trouble, A storm, black and thunderous met them, and now. . . Sir Zubayr and a small warband of the imperium of Man were lost somewhere in the deserts of Krugmar shipwrecked.

“Wait for it.” muttered a Qalasheen voice as they sat atop the mountains blanketed in Straadoth hides that camouflage them, A orcish patrol and war caravan crept down the road, before halting as the Ebony armor slowly walked onto the road, his Qalasheen longsword twirled in hand before planting it into the sandy sandstone road. “Ya orcs, I give you this one and only warning, lay down your arms, leave your carts and you shall leave alive. Or I swear by Allah, I bring men who love death, just as you love your lives. Choose your next words carefully.”

A orc slowly raised his great warhammer, and bellowed our words of blah that was hard to understand to the Knight although fluent, a few steps into his charge, a Bolt pierced his skull and slammed into the sand behind him in a loud thud, more Saqr Al-Nahashes opened fired and pelted the war caravan, rocks beside the road lifted as Qalasheen warriors belted from the sand and cut down the unprepared warriors. The sand would soon settle, the desert now crimson, as Kha warrior and Orc laid upon the sand. The Knight brushed some sand off a crimson covered Tusk and put it into his satchel.

“Take what we need, burn everything else but the bodies. Let the horde know we were here. Give them a little chance to catch us.” he ordered Hasan, who was pulling his Badawi spear from Kha's body.

“Yes sir.”

Calls soon came upon the dunes.

“Allahu Akbar!”

 

Sir Zubayr The Sandworn, was in the land of the Horde, and had come to avenge the starved refugees of his childhood. The sons of Krug thought they knew ‘Rage’ soon, they shall learn it from a master.

 

Spoiler

Hello! I am still gone on vacation but as per request of friends, I wrote my leaving post to the front line and my current situation explaining my absence! Much love to both sides of this conflict so far, heard great things! Know that I love everyone and when I come back, to those I shall face in the name of the chad werewolf, Love you guys, Super excited to spend time with you guys and make epic stories! :D

Subtle reminder, Do not be toxic, This is for everyone, Lotc wars are meant to build story and character development. Conflict brings achievement through struggle, nothing should be won easily otherwise it won't be valued! How wonderful is overcoming fear, hate, love and difficulty through falling many times!

To those of any side losing, don't give up! Give it your all! This is OUR STORY not just yours! Stand up for those around you, and make this war a story worth telling years from now NOT WITH HATE but with passion and love even for YOUR ENEMY SIDE! So be a man or woman that years from now, those fighting against you will say “oh yeah, So and so? I fought against them but they were a great RP enemy and so chill and great, I wish all my enemies were like them OOCLY!”

Love you all, have a great new year! See you all in January!

 

  

[Your Stepdad 711]

Nasir thinks this is kinda chill

Spoiler

Wait this is kinda chill

 

[lilf_shy 8]

2 hours ago, ibraheemc2000 said:

A young man approached the man with an armored horse with its mane of a bright warm red. A gift from the Imperial Prince for his service in a time of turmoil, he now prized, The Knight inspected the horse and dipped his head toward the black haired young man. “Thank you Thomas, You have served me well as my aid, however, The estate needs you. Take care of them for me hm? And keep to your training." His gauntlet did not wait for response as it planted firmly against his new shoulder, that was originally lost to an Orcish attack upon the home, made new by The knight’s sister, a quiet and sweet gesture.

 

He mounted the steed, which Thomas soon offered him his lance and shield, he bobbed his head, before turning to the Mujahideen, he raised a single gauntlet with no words but erupted in the glorification of Allah came from the men and tribe. As he began to lead them down the road. A small goblin, shroom, tossing roses weirdly shaped as mushrooms down to the soldiers as they passed.

 

Thomas offered a nod. "Of course." He spoke only two words, but they held within a conviction, the knight would return to the estate intact.