Post by tylatz on Nov 18, 2009 19:24:24 GMT -5
The last rays of sunlight licked the Western horizon and painted the clear sky in hues of red, violet, and blue. Under this painted sky worn stone tinged orange battled the strong winds of the Sahara as it had for nearly three centuries. This domineering edifice once overlooked and protected a central hub of the Saharan trade routes that dated back to over two millennia. The native population and the Italians combated over this point throughout those long years only to leave it to be swallowed by the sands. Yet the fortress of Ghat still stands upon the craggy hill top and within those ancient halls is life that still etches out a living despite the harsh environment.
Along the rampart of the fortress stands one of those lives, a figure obscured by large swaths of cloth flapping in the wind. Hair, black as the night sky creeping from the East, fluttered from the edges of a deep indigo tagelmust. Brown eyes set in dark flesh scanned the distant Sahara from beneath furrowed brows.
“Greetings, Amenokal,” Des called out to the figure and bowing ever so slightly while flanked by two larger men masked behind tagelmusts and armed, “leader of the People of the Veil.”
“What do you want, Mielle?” the figure spoke with a voice muffled by cloth and devoid of emotion.
He sighed, “I would like to see my friend; Prea.”
“Prea is dead.” Mielle's guards shuffled a little closer.
“It is as you say, Amenokal. In turn for the loss of my dear friend I make a request of those descended from the Kel Ajjer.”
“Word of your actions in the South have reached even here, Mielle. What do you want of my people?”
“Men, horses, and weapons empowered by the blessing of the Amenokal himself.” It was a request that Des knew would be granted. Several Kels were destroyed in the past by foreign incursions seeking to exploit the land and not something a leader among the Tuareg could allow to pass once more.
“In turn you will be stripped of your rights as a Tel, no longer allowed before the Amenokal, and no friend of the Kel Ajjer.”
“As the Amenokal says,” Des bowed once more and left the clothed figure.
The Amenokal looked over at the stone on which Des stood moments before. The figure's shoulders fell and head bowed then turned to the desert sky with the former resilient composure.
Along the rampart of the fortress stands one of those lives, a figure obscured by large swaths of cloth flapping in the wind. Hair, black as the night sky creeping from the East, fluttered from the edges of a deep indigo tagelmust. Brown eyes set in dark flesh scanned the distant Sahara from beneath furrowed brows.
“Greetings, Amenokal,” Des called out to the figure and bowing ever so slightly while flanked by two larger men masked behind tagelmusts and armed, “leader of the People of the Veil.”
“What do you want, Mielle?” the figure spoke with a voice muffled by cloth and devoid of emotion.
He sighed, “I would like to see my friend; Prea.”
“Prea is dead.” Mielle's guards shuffled a little closer.
“It is as you say, Amenokal. In turn for the loss of my dear friend I make a request of those descended from the Kel Ajjer.”
“Word of your actions in the South have reached even here, Mielle. What do you want of my people?”
“Men, horses, and weapons empowered by the blessing of the Amenokal himself.” It was a request that Des knew would be granted. Several Kels were destroyed in the past by foreign incursions seeking to exploit the land and not something a leader among the Tuareg could allow to pass once more.
“In turn you will be stripped of your rights as a Tel, no longer allowed before the Amenokal, and no friend of the Kel Ajjer.”
“As the Amenokal says,” Des bowed once more and left the clothed figure.
The Amenokal looked over at the stone on which Des stood moments before. The figure's shoulders fell and head bowed then turned to the desert sky with the former resilient composure.