Crusade!

[Swashbuckler]

Sir Tanqured De Folqune

I adjusted the flowing white of my surcoat as I sat in the saddle. The blazing sun glinting off the dark grey steel links of my arms. My God it was hot here, surely this was hell. Yet, I had travled the bredth of the earth to seek my fortune. The heathens were in a cowardly peace, after they had lost the holy city to those brave men who brought god on the points of thier lances, they seemed to have no taste for war.

Unfortunately, niether did those same brave men who now lost themselves in untold riches of the pagan landscape. Smiling I agreed, that is why I had came from debt and home, for untold riches. Placing a gauntled hand on the wheel pommeled hilt of my sword and taking the reins of Rollo, my black warhorse, in the other. I looked up into the blazing heat of the sky, no god did not respond, once again. It mattered not, I supposed. I had the red cross on my surcoat that signified my alledged purpose.

Turning in the saddle I saw my new partner bouncing up the road on his rediculous pagan camel. Behind him I could hear the squawk of complaint from my lovely bride. She had her drawbacks, but her dowery had paid the way to the port of Jaffa with still a bit left to go forth from here with. There were other advantages of matrimony, but it was a necissary ends to a means. I had dared not leave her alone.

At the top of the hill I waited for our small entourage to catch up to me. Sweat leaked from beneathe my coif, I pushed it back and shook my brow. My blonde hair, glinting like gold in the sun of the holy land. This was almost untollerable, I cursed to myself, wiping sweat out of my blue eyes as I waited for my companion and his infernal, bouncing beast to join me and lend his insight into which fork we should take to greater rewards. I was, as yet, unsure of his devotion to the divine; and his devotion to temporal matters.


OOC:

Thanks for waiting, ladies, gentlemen. As promised, here it is..., CG, if you would please...

 

[cgraven]

Edwarn ap Glennhall

It was a long tortured way from the green valleys of Wales to this storied land.

For Christendom it was the Holy Land. The Land of Christ's birth. To the infidels It was the 'Garden of Allah" where all where tested. Oh we had been tested all the way from the Byzantium to here in battle after battle. Some of us learned the practicalities of living in this land. Others maintained a slavish attachment to the familiar. I preferred the practicality of the camel. My mount was called "Dubah". At times I question the existence of a loving God, war will do that to you, but Satan? I had not doubts for "Dubah was surely his son, and there was the sacking of cities and the taking of spoils. The right of the conquers, The fate of the concord.

My armor was light compared to my Norman companion. The chainmail and padded leather of my people and the breastplate of the Saracen. It was light allowing for the swift movements of the swordsman. The claymore my weapon of choice, a bastard sword, to be wheeled one handed or two handed as the master of battle would dictate, the close fitting helm of Norman design, and the tark and derek. Then there was "Ginn" the swift desert stallion of these lands that carried me into battle. Always well rested because of "Dubah" the beast of burden.

Sir Tanqured De Folqune and his Lady. It was more peaceful at the siege of Jerusalem then in their company. We had been thrown together by war and fate. If a friend he was a loyal rogue. If not a sudden end, and the question answered, what lays beyond this life? He had his Lady. I and, well she was a dancing girl from the lands of Byzantium, the spoils of war.

The white sir coat of the Crusader stirs about my compacted dark frame in the desert wind. My auburn hair stirred by it as I join De Folqune at the head of our little band.

What adventures lay ahead of us?

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sir Tanqured

"Sir," I begin as the welshmen draws near me on the road, "I suggest we take this road," indicating the fork to the east which was much wider, having been widened by the passage of many heavilly laden camel hooves. I awaited his wisdom on the matter, I was not a student of the reigon, I had no need to know anything about the land of Allah.

Personally, I was hoping to come across some of the Turkish traders. Thier wares were from the far corners of the world, and like nothing known to Christendom. That is why I suggested the well traveled road, though where it led. I knew not, perhaps all the way to the fabled city of Damascus. Now that would be a nice prize to capture and rule over, but that would have to wait until I had a true army to face the turk with.

 

[kitsuke]

Omar Mohammed al-Kali Sharaat

*sigh* The life of a storyteller bodes ill when the tides of war run cross to the set of your sail. The Christians have come and with them comes death, rape and banditry. They ride their plodding beasts onto the field and give no quarter. Blood falls in the sand lives are torn from here and sent to the bosom of Allah without the slightest concern that perhaps Allah does not want them yet.

So the cities burn and the women weep. The strong take from the weaker and in return give nothing, except perhaps the chains of slavery. Indeed entire villages are sold to the blocks and never see home again. Hypocrisy runs rampant as the priests of their own version of God come to preach to the "heathen" of the folly of their ways, all the while taking our valuables and goods back with them when they leave.

In other words, it's just like it was before they came, only the idiot Christian men are easy to see against the sand in their damnably foolish steel armor.

So I ride my donkey out of yet another ransacked city. The populace has no stomach for stories in these time and the officers of the invaders no interest in tales of what they destroy. Twenty pieces of silver. To a common villager, perhaps a lot of coin. To a traveler? Nothing. A pittance. To me? An inheritance.

Yes, Omar Mohammed al-Kali Sharaat, son of Abdullah. He wanted me to take over the business of fish oil. Fish oil! Smelly amphorae filled to the brim with rotting sea life. He can have them. I shall become as one to make Scheherazade weep with envy!

As soon as I find a Master worthy of chronicling.

What is this?

Over the hill on front of me ride two metal encased warriors of Rome, tall in the saddles of their steeds. A fine warhorse and a, camel? Perhaps they bear closer investigation. After all, a sensible man rides a camel in the desert. Although, those same sensible men did not wear ovens disguised as armor while they did it. I should go to ingratiate myself. I approach.

"Ho, Christain warriors! What a fine day to travel it is, yes?" I say in the tongue of the invader. "Perhaps you would enjoy the company of one who spins tales, to make your journey fly the more quickly and to ease the burdens of your cares. You are in luck, great soldiers! For I, Omar Mohammed al-Kali Sharaat, will dazzle you with the stories of ages long past, glories claimed in legend and perhaps take heed of the great deeds you might perform. The better to leave your many and healthy progeny with a greater legacy of their great father! Please, call me Omar, for none but ridiculous old clerics call me Mohammed al-Kali!"

I approach closer and notice no column of soldiers trailing these travelers. They come alone, with but a man and a woman of this country with them. Interesting.

Grinning slyly, I add "And perhaps it may be the wisest of courses to skirt this city and go on to the next. The Lord of the Christians within this very day had more then three hundred deserters killed. While it is readily apparent to discerning eyes such as mine that you are on a private mission of great importance, sometimes those who have a large soldiery behind them can take the wrong idea into their heads, yes? I, of course, bow to your wisdom on this matter."

I stop my donkey far enough away that perhaps a getaway may be made, but close enough that they acn see I am unarmed.

 

[cgraven]

I draw up to Tanqured De Folqune. Dubah's shrill voice, enough to wake the dead; he likes not the Norman horses.

A man approaches on a donkey. A storyteller it peeks my Welsh interest. A Bared.

"Salaam" and Allah's blessing to you weaver of words."

Tanqured a man to entertain us on our way. A man who knows these lands. What think you?

I trust this weaver of words little, a Welsh failing I fear. Those it is said keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Tanqured

"Of course," I say enthusiastically to my comrade in arms, "this one might be entertaining," adding softly under my breathe, "he had better be, anyway." Raising my hand in a welcoming fashion, I bid the donkey riding barbarian to join us, "Please, master bard, come spin your tales for our ears," I shout to the man. "Perhaps you could entertain my good lady as we ride, as well."

 

[Willy_Silver]

Sir Guillaume d'Argent

I lay there by the side of the road, my mouth was as dry as the sand that partially covered me. My horse, a beautiful white destrier, lay dead several miles away. I had shed my armor hoping I might be able to travel through the infernal heat more easily, and possibly come to some friendly outpost.

I had been sent as a messenger by my liege Lord Jean Hardouin to find reinforcements as his small castle was under siege by the heathen saracens. I had been chosen because of my reputation as a skilled horseman. By now my lord's fortress had been seized no doubt by the infidel scum. I only hoped that some how I might live to avenge him. It seemed a more distant hope every moment as I wasted away in this god-forsaken land. I no longer had the strength to even crawl.

In the distance I saw figures approaching, they seemed obscured to my vision. As they drew closer I summoned the last of my strength to rasp through my leathery throat "help!" After that everything went black.

 

[cgraven]

" Mon ami, look!"

The roguish Welshman , dressed more like a Saracen than christen knight, point to the circling buzzards. These foul but useful denizens of the desert clean up the less fortunate travelers. Leaving only bleached white bones and little bits of their treasure behind, to be swallowed by the sands of time.

Their circles are slow, patient and lazy as they await the end of some poor unfortunate wretch.

"What think thou sir?"

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sir Tanqured

Following my friend's robed arm I see the buzards in the distance. "Let, us investigate, then," I say spurring my horse into the direction of the buzzards, kicking hot waves of dust to billow behind me.

A short hot ride leads me to the near corpse of a fellow christian, exhausted and in need of water. His burnt flesh glistening with sweat in the sun his eyes light with salvation as I dismount, swinging my bladder of water from the saddle. I kneel beside him as I hear the aproach of mounts behind me. He tries to speak, "Hush now, mon ami, drink," I say softly to him placing the nipple of the skin to his lips, offering the liquid of life.

Shouting over my shoulder, "Bring a litter, and get this man some water!" Looking down at his face as he drinks heartily, "Take him to the rear where the women can care for this poor wretch," I say to the ifrst to arrive without looking knowing from the plod of camel hooves that my associate will no doubt assist me in savign this poor man. Glancing up, I see the buzzards are agitaedly fluttering farther a field. "My new friend, it seems god, does not desire your company, yet."

 

[cgraven]

As the heavy warhorse raise columns of dust in their haste, I organize the footmen.

"You get a litter and Giles you help him."......."Rodric water and linen for shade."..."You there help with the litter."......." Sargent post a guard."


All is activity as I goad Dubah into a swift lop. It shrieks in protest.

I arrive at Sir Tanqured side as Dubah comes to his knees. The lad is more dead than alive. But I think he will survive.

The footmen arrive under Rodric's direction and busy them selves with this unknown knight. As our caravan arrives.

The funny little storyteller brings up the rear on his donkey.

 

[Cutie Lillie]

Maarisha

After bringing her camel to a full stop, and expertly settling him on the ground, the black haired beauty slid off her mount and quietly walked around to its head.. patting him as she moves.

Her eyes are attentive to the commotion around her, especially on the gathering of men further up the road.

Maarisha was not a willing member of this cohort. She had been whisked away during a raid of her town by the quieter of the two foreigners. She's been his captive ever since. Growing up in an educated family, she learned her skills as a dancer for the family celebrations. First her father and brother were lost in this unholy war. Then her mother and cousins were killed. This meant that Maarisha had to care for herself and did so by applying her talents in the cafe to great aplomb. It was there 'he' saw her and saved her from being killed in the melee.

More intelligent than most realize, Maarisha delights in causing some mischief for her own amusment or possibly to exact a little revenge.

While holding her camel's lead, she glares at any man who dares to look at her for too long. No man is allowed to touch her without her permission, and none of these dogs had that.

The only man she trusts, and only relatively, is her captor. She has conflicting ideas and feelings towards him. On the one hand he is her captor, and an alien to her land. On the other, he wasn't as brash and self-involved as the leader of this pack. There was something sensitive about him. He seemed to try to learn and respect the ways of her land and her people. Maarisha may be a captive, she may be alone, but she was certainly not beaten.

She knew she was superior to many other women. Though she was well aware of her status in regards to the wife of the brassy one. She knew she was seen as a slave in their eyes, though she was no slave. She was no slave, she would never be a slave.

Steathly she left her camel and with a veil over the lower half of her face, she strode towards the band up ahead. Daring anyone to stop her. She knows something of the dangers of the desert and she might be able to help.

 

[kitsuke]

Omar Mohammed al-Kali Sharaat

The young soldier he is in a bad way. The land, it will do that to a man. I wonder yet again why they insist on wearing the great sheets of steel at all times when they would be better served just to don them before a battle. After all, what is better? To die of a bandit's arrow or bake in the merciless sun? Ah well, they will as they will.

Pulling alongside the stoppage I look down with some pity at the near dead boy. He would be quite doughty if not laid on a litter and carried like a child. Should he recover he would make a welcome addition to this group. After all, the more swords between myself and danger, the better.

"Perhaps now would be a good time for a tale, good sirs. Something to take this proud young warriors mind off of his pain. I have many tales. Mayhap the tale of the Great Sultan Paashram's Harem will suffice? Or a tale of bravery, the Moor Herrad against the Desert Horde of Jibbon? It is your decision, of course."

Bowing my head as I ready the tales in my head I try to decide who I would direct my tale at.

A weaver of words fights not with a blade after all...

 

[poohlive]

Ravish stopped the tail end of the caravan, letting the other camel's and horses stop. A break, for the front there was some commotion. He held the slaves back though. No reason for them to extrenuate themselves over some small thing.
A woman rode past him on a camel. He was going to hit her, and take her back in line, but then remembered who she was. He wasn't supposed to touch that one, she was one of the specials.
It didn't bother him though, sooner or later he would lose interest in her, then she would be just like all the others.

He rounded them all up, passing out water. He wasn't uncivil when it came to the slaves, after all they were people too. And if something happened to one of them, he was reponsible. So, he kept the slaves alive, and his life was secure.

 

[Honey_B]

Genevieve Umber de Folqune

We stop.

It has not been easy to keep my pleasant demeanor about me. This I have done to the best of my ability, even in this previously unknown circle of hell mistakenly called the holy lands. My husband wears armour unsuited to the clime but it is nothing compared to the contrictions of a European woman's garments. Cote, kirtle, mantle, wimple, and veil, all required of a proper married woman. Layer upon layer of wool, all eminately suited for trapping and holding sand next to sensitive skin. Yet through it all, I have given my newly wed husband the devotion and comforts of a loving spouse.

"If ever there were a creature of less intellect than the camel, it twould be my husband. My dear lord and master, I will not ask you for a hand down from my litter."

I turn my cornflower blue eyes to the gentle spoken addition to our little band. The storyteller.

Silently, I have been watching him, listening in the way of a wise woman. With stealth. And I have learned much. The storyteller is everything that my husband is not. Darkly handsome and mysterious, it is his words that draw my attention. A poet he must be, for his every phrase caresses my ear. Yes, quite unlike the brute that is my husband.

"Mohammed al-Kali... Omar, I should say. Would you care to help a lady down?"

 

[cgraven]

Faithful Rodric has the litter party well in hand. He is a short dark wiry fellow with no out ward respect for those of equal or lesser station. Brisk and business like is my squire Rodric.

Maarisha the joy of my day and the bane of my nights.

It was a moment of weakness or strength I no not which. The town was no different than any other on the routes that cross Byzantium to the Holy Lands.

A town taken by storm its' goods and women the spoils of war. I heard a scream. Rushing into the small Inn there she was spread on a table as two soldiers prepared to take her. I was young then the knight-errant. I objected, they protested, and the clash of steel decided. She hurries to pick up the spilt coins

She travels in my company, dancer, scholar, and guide, to this mysterious land. Maarisha beauty and wisdom captivate me. She travels under my protection.

Do I love her? The question sears my soul like the desert sun the skin. Yes and no the tortured answer one moment yes the next no like falling coins.

Clink...clink.....clink.

The noble Norman lady arrives wrapped in her mummies bindings. The little storyteller was assisting her.

Oh my friend I think. Do not the bard your ladies tend. Lest with words of love her hart he wins.

Yet who was I to give advice? As The one I so Loved and hated draws near.

Maarisha

 

[Cutie Lillie]

Maarisha

Striding up to the band of men with the women of the tall one, my eyes catch hold of the quiet one's eyes. For a second my heart belies a softness in me but I can't bear it and look quickly away.

I turn to the man in distress.

Goodness, these men are such fools. Do they really want to kill themselves with their brashy pride.

Getting close to the him she inspects his state of exhaustion and dehydration.

Looking up with eyes that could bore thru a man's soul, she faces the leader:

"Take of his clothes and give his water to him slowly. Too fast, and it will do him more harm. He will recover."

With that she turns and accidently brushes close to Edward. At the touch of their clothes she flashes a quick glance at him, for a split second her eyes connect again with his eyes, as she feels a shiver in her bones.

Steeling herself, she continues back to her camel back on the road.

 

[cgraven]

Maarisha came gliding across the desert sand to the center of activity. Her stride purposeful, her eye clear, the movement still of the dancer. Her walk alone could ignite a passion in any man that would make the heat of this dessert pale in comparison, and Maarisha eyes, a love that you would gladly die for.

Love and hatred warred in my soul. The love for mind, the dance, her being. The hatred of her unknown past and the pile of coins, men lying dead, a violent end met.

That we never speak of. Only of this land and how to survive. Already I appear more Arab in dress than Christian knight. The camels for travel the light desert stallion. No iron oven on me, rather light padded armor and scale. and lose flowing robes.

"Take of his clothes and give his water to him slowly. Too fast, and it will do him more harm. He will recover." her presence commanding and natural. Maarisha is no stranger to it

Our robes entwine but for and instant I feel her warmth her fragrance intoxicating. Our fingers brush, eyes meet in softest glance, an instant only, then the iron of will replaces it.

We mount and the journey continues.

 

[Willy_Silver]

Sir Guillaume d'Argent
regaining a little consciousness as I lifted into a litter. I wonder why I was so eager to join this quest in the first place, but my sense of honor scolds me for such doubts. My lordhad decided to go and as I was a newly made knight I wished to find some glory questing in far off lands. Alas all I had found here was pain and misery. Knowing my lord was almost certainly dead, and I just near death as one could be and still find themselves in this world.

I had left my comfortable life at court because I had hated the intrigues. No matter how the ladies had adored me, even to the point of becoming the champion of my lord's lady. I had left the pleasant tourneys and hunts, for what seemed to me true deeds of chivalry and valor. How naive and brash I had been.

I was awoken from my reverie of regret by the words of some heathen woman standing above me.

"Take off his clothes and give his water to him slowly. Too fast, and it will do him more harm. He will recover."

I think it odd that this woman should be giving orders, but something in her voice and her manner seem to give her a strange authority. I think little of it as water trickles down my throut. It seems the coolest and sweetest water I have ever tasted. I finally notice that I seem to be coated in sand and that my skin feels as if it were burning, I clench my teeth, but I lack the strength and lie once more upon the litter.

Then near me I see my savior, a tall christian knight. I find with water my voice has returned.

"My lord, I am Sir Guillaume d'Argent, and for saving my life, I pledge you my service as my own lord is dead or caprtured, I can ride faster than any other knight in Aquitane, and though I am not a knight of particular renkown I hope that when I have recovered I may serve you, my gracious and noble lord."

 

[kitsuke]

Omar Mohammed al-Kali Sharaat

Striding smoothly over to the western lady I extend an arm to support her, "It would be my greatest joy to ease your burdens, Lady..." I trail off as I realize I do not know the name. I resume, "Allow me to assist you from your beast and we shall see what can be done about shade. After all, I am obligated to serve in some capacity now that I have been accepted into service. Since all seem to busy for a poor word-weaver's tired legends I shall attend and make comfort... unles, of course, my Lady would like to hear a tale?"

I bow deeply to her and busy myself erecting shade for her while we stop. I keep my smile secret and away from my face as I know the look on her face. She is intrigued, perhaps something more.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sir Tanqured

"Brave, Sir Guillaume," I begin kneeling down by the havocced body of a knight that has been delivered unto us, "you may best serve me and, and God, now by recovering. Now hush, we will speak when you are more fit to do so, Sir." I stand and wave the women on to their task, as I turn to Edward.

Striding over to his acursed beast I note how well my wife has gotten the heathen bard to do her menial taks or her. She would be excellent running a household someday, provided I can conquer myself one, God willing. Reaching Edward, "A good leeching and he should be fine," I say informatively. "Provided that your woman has some knowledge of how to do that," I add with a slight taint of disdain. It never bothered me that he kept a woman. I found it disturbing that this woman seemed to act as if she had been tutored in the arts of healing and other things. But I had to admit that she was remarkably good at whatever she did. Especially her dancing, I thought letting a slight smile cross my lips as I drank from a skin. "We should camp here, no?" I asked my colleauge noting the lateness of the hour and the fact that we had just acquired an invalid.

 

[TXExpress]

Do-u, trader in the finest items

Aaaaaaauch

The sand blows in my eyes, and in my haste to wipe at it, I remove the protection from my mouth and now must taste the stuff.

"Ravish!" I cry. "Water. For me. Now. None other."

I travel this land in search of ... well, how to say it ... prey. The vulture has its carrion, I my unsuspecting traveler.

I am a dealer in ... shall we say, pleasure. Many things please a man. Do-u has them all.

The caravan that trails me ... it is mine to command. Camels, the desert ships. Ornamental riches, for those with a discerning eye. Guards, my property and my protection. Women? Aaaaauch. The camels should earn me more, but never do. Still, they bring me relief when I most need it, and keep me well attired. The men of the desert are such ... swine. Playthings in my skillful hands.

Allah always has favored traders, and He has smiled down upon me. My profits always are handsome ... but no more so than I. HA!

I am not simple, but operate that way, slyly. I am, from those who tell me of the meaning of names, particular and quite set in my way of wanting things to be done. Once my mind is made up, it is not easily changed.

Do not cross me. Those who do cause me great physical pain; a nervous tension that often has seen me sprout boils or other growths. And those who do seldom live to tell the tale.

"RAVISH! WATER, DAMN YOU! NOW!"

My caravan inches slowly through the blowing sands and to the top of a slight ridge. I spot something and signal for a halt.

"Do-u," I say to myself, spying down on the campsite below, "you have customers.

"He he he he he he ...

"WATER, YOU BASTARD! NOW!"

 

[cgraven]

Again she was gone. So close that I could almost touch her yet..... Again the isolation.

I am one of this band of Crusaders but not really of them. Theirs the ways of courts and posturing. The rank and position batter most. Mine the way of the clan where merit matter's most. They tied to their blind traditions while merit matters little.

I miss the song of the bard, the striking of harps sweet strings. The resonance of love sweet song. This land and people call to me as my own.

I am lost in two worlds alone.



" Brave Sir Guillaume" .........."Make camp for the night" his words snap me from my musings.

The curl of his lips, the cut of his tongue, the destine of his eye for her.

My blood boils, anger to the fore. hand to sword. Then the twinkle of those eyes, Comradeship remembered. The rogue had found a place in my hart.

"Yes Friend I think it best"

 

[poohlive]

"What is he yelling about now?"
"I believe water."
Ravish nodded, figures. The man couldn't go to the bathroom without his help. He called out to one of the caravan's as a small child came out.
(That's right, a small child on lit... Ha Ha Ha, I am a rebel)
"Take this up to the Do-u, quickly now."
He saw the young lad grab the small waterskin and run to the head of the pack. Ravish continued to let the others finish, before he saw the caravan was moving out again. He helped the few ladies mount their animals, before using his own.
He waited for them all to go, before heading up the rear. Just to make sure no one was following them, but more importantly to make sure no one escaped.
They were off again.

 

[caspai]

Shahla

The beautiful desolation tore at my heart. The Plod of the camel strained my nerves. I should not complain, though. It is much better than walking. I have seen the lines of poor souls who are forced to walk in the desert. Do-u, the clod, at least recognized the value of keeping his women cared for. Many wouldn't bother.

I was not born to this way of life, but the twists and turns Allah chooses for you should not be questioned. If it is the will of Alla, it will rain. If it is the will of Allah, your camel will die. If it is the will of Allah, you will catch the eye of a handsome Prince, and live in splendor and luxury for the rest of your life, anonymous but cared for in a vast harem.

Ah, but the sun was hot today. Lifting my face to the sky, searching for just one cloud, I think to myself that I should enjoy the heat of the day. The bitter cold of the night would soon be upon us...

It is my fate to submit, it is a necessary thing. One must sacrifice all one is in order to obtain Paradise. This is what I have been taught. This is what I have been prepared for. This is what I believe.

 

[Ldy Tehari]

slave girl Kimaija

The scorching sun beat down upon me more than any flogger or whipman could. The stench of camel spit hung in the air. If it weren't for the beauty of my desert around me I'd starve. I remember as a youth playing among the dunes, and how I loved the sun. Now look at me. A saracen woman made slave by the second decade of life. I will be free one day. If they'd just untie me long enough to get my hands on a blade.
I watched the others he traded, some demure, some soft, some extraordinary, some content. Not I. Every watchful eye of the guard was on us, and I knew it. Felt it when I rode, heard it when I ate, saw it in their eyes as they moved us from camp to camp. If it weren't for the Master himself, the guards would have us readily.
The Master dabbled in daggers, was jaded in jewels, cutthroat in camels, and downright wily with women. Of the traders around that I could have been harnessed with he was a good master. I stick to my camel, and myself, keep my eyes downcast, and be. One day I'll be sold then I'll be free.