Crusade!

[Honey_B]

Genevieve Umber de Folqune

I wanted to go after him and claw his eyes out. His syrupy endearments always made me cringe. The irony was completely lost on my lord. The ferocity of my anger this evening came from his request that I wear the silks to dinner. I clenched my hands into fists, digging my nails into the sensitive flesh of my palms, trying desperately to control the intensity of my hostility.

In Jaffa, my husband had taken a fancy to the costumes of the local girls and he had bought me the most revealing he could find. Horrible wretch that he was, he made me wear them in the evening when we were alone. This was the first that he had ordered me to appear in public wearing the revealing costume.

A wise woman chooses her battles wisely. Thus far, nothing in my married life seemed worth fighting for. I was a married noblewoman. A woman with less power than the dancing girl, Maarisha. I would acquiesce to Tanqured's latest request as much as I hated it. As I retrieved the volumes of yellow silk, tears began to trickle down my cheeks.

I slipped my linen cote from my body and began to dress. Sliding on bracelets and sandals, I began to feel like one of them. One of Do-u's slave women. Perhaps I always was. I dried my eyes on the hem of the silk, not caring if I stained it. My toilette complete, I reclined while I waited for my husband to fetch me.


http://shanmonster.lilsproutz.com/belly/gallery/artwork/belly116.jpg

 

[Honey_B]

Double Post

****So sorry. Carry on****

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sir Tanqured

I waited as long as my stomache could bare. The sweet, exotic scents of Do-u's feast drifting across the sands and filling my nostrils as the air cooled into night, were driving mr mad. At logn last I flung the tent open. The flap catching itself on the ropes, suspended to the night. The sight before me was more tempting than anything Do-u and his band of harlots could bewitch me with. Genevieve was stunning in her silken fashions. My eyes devoured her body, as a hunger crazed wolf in a pit devours prisoners.

Without a word I strode towards her, lifting her into my arms and pressing my lips to hers. Her lithe silk folds against my heavy woollen surcoat and steel. I loved her beauty, wrapped in such finery. "You look stunning, my treasure," I whispered upon breaking our endearing kiss. Of all the women I had had, she was the most dificult for me to speak to. No matter what words I would choose, to please her, none ever would.

She tried to recoil from my touch, I siezed her wrist and pulled her back to my arms. Seeing that words were useless, I crushed my lips upon her as I dropped her body to the sand, falling atop her. Genevieve's tiny fists pounded against my chest as my tongue dove into her mouth, savoring her defensiveness.

I rose up to my knees, astride her waist and set to undoing my weapons belt. Her eyes burning against my body. I pulled my surcoat from over my head and smiled at her anger flushed face as I began to unlace my breeches.

 

[Honey_B]

Genevieve Umber de Folqune

"No!"

I cried out as loudly as my lungs were able. The word reverberated in my mind. This insult would not stand. I would dress as he asked. I had consented to appearing in public in the shameless garb. Nothing found in heaven or in hell, would keep me from fighting him as he ground me into the dirt, debasing me beyond belief in front of the wide-open tent entrance.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!!"

This time I screamed, dragging the word out for an eternity. He wanted to let the whole camp see me taken. Fine! Let them see that Sir Tanquard did not have a willing wife. That he was not the master of my body as his swaggering boasts had no doubt led them to believe.

His hands released mine to undo his garments, leaving mine free. My fingers curled into viscious claws. While my lord busied himself with dropping his breeches, I lifted my upper body off the ground as much as I could and struck. I raked my fingernails across his cheek, leaving four blood furrows.

It didn't matter what he did to me now. I had struck him where it would hurt, bloodying his honor.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sir Tanqured

Her pettie hand flies at my face. My head turns with the impact. I raise two figners to my cheek, puling them away and rubbing the the blood with my thumb, I turn my gaze back to my loving wife. "Genevieve," I say in a hiss barely above a whisper, "at least you have finally found passion in your heart in this desert hell." I smile broadly at her, my eyes flashing in the darkness.

I pass the weapons gridle from my left to right hand, doubling it over. The brass secored holes of the belt jutting out and glinting in the soft light. I blow a kiss to my dearest, just as I draw back my arm and swipe the belt across her breasts knocking her back to the sand.

I flip Genevieve over on her back and tear the silks off her shoulders and from her back. Jerking the suppulent rags down exposing her creamy ass cheeks to my gaze. Without even taking a glance, the anger driving my arm, the girdle falls hard across those fleshy golbes. Leaving a red stripe, disrupted by scarlet rings circling pale spheres on her quivering flesh.

 

[Cutie Lillie]

Maarisha

Knowing that Edward did not like the sense nor smell of this gathering I follow closely behind him into the neighboring caravan's tent.

Keep my veil up close around my face I scan the room, taking in the new faces, smells and postions.

The women, so many of them too, were beautiful yet guarded. Did they belong to this group?

I sit behind Edward on the richly woven rug. Not a work I speak and I continue soaking in the atmosphere and the people here, their moods, who they talk to, the temperments of the men. Only my eyes are seen and that lets me feel seperate from the growing tension. Taking deep breaths, keeping Edwards back close to me at least in spirit.. I prepare myself for the coming evening the performances that I can see I will not be the only one giving.

This is a significant evening.. even more than we realize ...

 

[Honey_B]

Genevieve Umber de Folqune

I tried to struggle by my husband was too strong. The pain fuelled my anger, igniting my simple dislike of Tanquard into burning hatred. I didn't want to think about the number of eyes watching my humiliation. Unable to stop the inevitable, I felt my eyes filled with tears. I hated myself for the weakness and I had to bite my lips savagely to keep from crying out as I felt another lash of his belt.

Turning my head to look at him, I saw the smug look on his face and it sickened me. A woman ultimately did not have a choice, however. I was as good as his slave.

"I will resist you no further, my lord and master."

The angry tears spilled over and ran down my cheeks. I angrily wiped them away.

"Just know that if you use me now, I will hate you for the rest of my life. Some acts are unforgivable."

I bowed my head and the tears dripped into the sand as a sob wracked through my body.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sir Tanqured

"Some acts are unforgivable," my loving wife was so, quick to point out. Her head bowed and her tears littering the sandy floor. I raised a hand to my my face, "As it would seem, as it would seem, Genevieve," I angrilly hissed. Pulling the girdle back high above my head, looming it above her defenseless form. Suddenly, I throw it away and stand.

"Genevieve," I say turning my back on her as I rise, "I could only have hoped for your heart. No matter, your body is all that I truely require. Provided you produce an heir..." my voice trailing off, my throat becoming dry. Whirling around and dragging her to her feet, forcefully by an iron grip around her bare arm. Her torn silks sliding down her body and tangling around her waist. "There is nothing more that the lash can do to bring your senses about, so be it. I would have given you the world, if it would have brought the slightest smile to your eyes, but no! You will not accept me, fine. But be warned I will have you, but not now. Your candor has fouled the taste for you," I emphasize my point be spitting on the sand. "Seeing as we are likely late, and you have chosen to ruin your best wardrobe, you can wear it in all your glory before the heathens. I hear they apreciate such women," I hiss breaking into a laugh as I drag her by the wrist out of the tent, "Perhaps, that master peddler will attempt to buy you," I roar with angery laughter as I drag her sobbing form from the tent and head across the oasis towards Do-U's encampment.

Inwardly burning with murderous jealousy, I pull her hard past the hungery eyes of Do-U's guards. Her silks dropping down, thier torn remnants becoming caked with the loose sands. The scents of the feast fill my senses, as she crashes in behind me. Without a word I bow to Do-U and drag her to a seat behind me on a pagan cushion. Never letting my grip go slack. My fingers burning against her wrist.

 

[TXExpress]

Do-u signals for dinner and ... more

"Gentlemen, welcome."

I at long last can say the words once the lord and his lady are in the tent. He has a look bordering on anger etched upon his face; hers is more indignation. I look nervously at Ravish, who does not see; faithful as always, his eyes are trained on the one they call Edward and his prize.

"My friends, presently we shall dine. You shall be served the fineries of both our worlds. Until that time, however, let us be entertained by fineries of a different kind, no?"

I clap my hands twice, loudly.

"Ravish! The first girl! NOW!"

 

[cgraven]

I recline upon the Persian carpet and pillows. This setting was become so familiar to me as I have adopted this style introduced to me by Maarisha. I fear poor Rodric well never accept these foreign ways.

I tense as the moment I so dread draws near. Her dance, my love displayed for all those leering eyes. Oh I know she does not see at that way. She sees only the beauty of the story told through dance. Yet I see their eyes, the way their tongues play across their lips, how they shift as they sit. Yes even Sir Tanqured is not immune to Maarisha seductive charms.

His lust for life is what bonds us and at the same time separates us. He is the "Lord Commander" of our small host. His Norman pride leads him to believe that all in our company are at his beck and call. Some day I fear there will be trouble. I pray to the saints and all that is Holy that this may not come to pass. We have stood back to back as we forced the gates of Jerusalem. The forlone Hope. Yet some how we had survived. I making for the chapel of "The Holy Seplacure." While pillaged and raped the city. To them there was no difference between, Moore, Jew, or Orthodox Christian. All where just tools for their pleasure. Maid to Matron, or the virgin to the whore.

I place my hand on Maarisha thigh. A sing that I understood her need to dance, but to them the unmistakable sign that this woman was mine. If any insulted her there would be a quick death as the reward. Theirs or mine. The "Good Lord would decide.

 

[Honey_B]

Genevieve Umber de Folqune

I sat by my husband's side, trying to free myself from his grasp while I attempted to keep my body covered. My breasts threatened to tumble free from the ravaged silk and I held the material closed in the iron grip of one hand. He meant to humiliate me, making me appear in public this way. My cheeks burned as I felt lascivious eyes on my nearly exposed flesh.

Yet, even as my anger simmered, heating my blood to a boil, I let myself feel a bit of satisfaction that I had hurt him. Hurt his pride anyway. He talked about wanting my heart. The thought made me want to laugh. My lord wouldn't know what to do with a woman's heart. No doubt view it as a trophy to gloat over. I was his possession, nothing more.

Still my blue eyes glistened with tears as I looked across the room at the beautiful slave girls. How superior I had thought myself just a few short hours before. I was nothing more that my husband's slave though, beaten if I didn't follow his commands. No doubt I would be "sold" to the church if I did not produce an heir. I closed my eyes tightly to keep the unshed tears from falling.

When I opened them, I caught a glimpse of a pair of dark eyes watching me.

Omar

 

[poohlive]

Ravish stood, a statue over the party. He had not moved, his features chiseled, his eyes undaunting, peering from one person to another, as if at any moment one of them would jump up, holding a knife.
He had seen it before.
All of it.
Coming out to the center of the room, Ravish gave a nod to the appointed guests.
"Ladies," he paused, just for a second, eyeing the newcomer with the torn silks, "And gentlemen. For our first performance tonight, Sareepa will amaze you all with her famous seven veiled dance. It is spectcular, humbling, and most of all..." A slow methodical drum beat began behind him, ".. erotic."
He stepped away, back to his own position, as Sareepa (Npc, as if you didn't know) walked out to the middle of the room.
Once more, he began to eye the room, just as warily as before.

 

[kitsuke]

Omar Mohammed al-Kali Sharaat

I sit, tuning the strings of my duar. In comes the Lord Tanqured, dragging a halfclothed Genevieve behind him, her face bright red with shame and hurt. The tears course freely down her cheek. She sits beside him, his hand gripping her fiercely. Her eyes meet mine. My gut wrenches because even after along moment of her gazing at me, for her safety I give no sign of compassion or sympathy. I am simply a storyteller and to seem more to her would be her death, perhaps mine aswell but that is not likely.

Standing I begin to play a slow rhythm on my duar, it's strings producing a soothing melody and a nice couch for my voice rest upon before it journeys to my audience. Clearing my throat I begin.

"Great lords, if a humble man could but have your attention. I would tell a story before we commence, for the mind must first be cleared of the cares of the day to properly enjoy the revelry afterward. I think perhaps that a tale of some seriousness may be in order, for the time after will be of great celebration and one must not overdo these things. Ah, I have it! The tale of Sheik Akbar and His Golden Bird." I stroll about the main floor of the tent, my voice growing to encompass the space inside without actually becoming loud or noisome. The duar plays a low hum, accompanying me as I walk.

"In a time before ours, far to the east in the deserts of southern Arabia, there dwelt and ruled a great sheik. A man of power, wisdom and no small measure of justice. His forces ruled the desert wastes, keeping mauraders and invaders alike from the fair valley of the river and his city, Jalai. In his time the sheik was possessed of knowledge, great lore of close and distant lands, and although he was a wise and just man, he was possessed of one fault: Pride.

He knew and loved his people, but after a time grew tired of hearing the complaints of the common man. 'Who are they to complain?' he would exclaim out the windows of his great palace, 'Do I not keep them safe? Is my valley not fertile and rich? They have but their tiny farms and markets to tend to, I have an entire kingdom! So be it, if I am the only one who appreciates me, then I shall be the one to reward me.' His eyes gleamed with pleasure at the thought, for he had learnt of a great secret. To the North, but before the courses of the Tigris and Euphrates their was a hidden valley. Lush it was, bursting with green things and wild animals fair. Fed by a spring from underground and secluded from sight by certain signs it remained a mystery to most of mankind. Sheik Akbar though, had puzzled it out. He knew how to reach it, and further, knew the secret of the Golden Bird, Yaraash.

So off he journeyed, leaving behind to run his kingdom a certain man, whose name shall not be spoken, best leave it to say that he was not a scrupulous man and ill-suited to rule a people. Through the desert wastes rode Akbar on his fine Arabian steed, trusting none but himself to this deed. The way was easy for him, for he was learned in the craft of survival in the desert. At long last the entrance to the hidden place was before him. Leading his horse in he set in to grazing at the first tall grasses they encountered and straightaway went to the spring in the center, knowing what he must do. Divesting himself of all but his robes and certain succulent dates he waited, for this was where the bird would drink as all in the valley did.

A day passed, perhaps two, and he became excited for he knew it would not be long. He was indeed correct, for flitting cautiously from branch to branch came Yaraash, the Golden Bird, her plumage splendid in the rays of the rising sun. Holding the dates outward Akbar made no move save to sing softly;

Yaraash, beautiful creature of old,
come take from me this offering.
I bid you grace me with a token,
for your glory has surpassed me.

Yaraash paused, it had been many centuries since she had heard those words from the tongue of man and sweet they were to her to hear them again. The formal words of greeting delighted her and she lit upon Akbar's arm to sample the delicious dates he had brought her. As per the agreement of old she would leave him a feather from her tail or wing, a symbol that he was favored by her grace.

Too late she felt the cold sting of iron close about her neck, and the click of a clasp closing in it. Frightened she tried to fly away, back up to her home. Akbar had chained her though with irons mined from deep and forged in the ancient ways of the people of old. The chain would not be broken, the clasp not undone, no matter how hard she struggled. To the surprise of Sheik Akbar a lovely, piping voice came to him then, from the beak of the bird herself:

Foolish man, contain me not,
your act condemns you, foulest plot.
Though sweet you spoke to me,
as once they did of old,
the deeds you do are sheer folly,
and foolish as are bold.
Set me free, as tradition goes,
and receive your token, not your woes.

'Bird! Yaraash!' he laughed out loud, 'What man would settle for the merest token when he could but have the thing itself? Do not seek to threaten me for you are the who is chained!'

Be it so then, foolish man.
You accept your fate most dire.
I only promise what I can,
set me free, or die here.

Chuckling to himself at the words of the bird the Sheik went to the place where he had left his horse. It had been his since the day of it's birth, his eighteenth birthday. They had been inseperable, fastest of friends and closest of companions from that day. As he reached for the bridle it shied away adn pranced out of his reach. Confused he went for it again and again it danced out of reach. The shrill piping cry of Yaraash rang out, and seemed to laugh at him.

At the sound of the bird Akbar's steed bolted, running far and fast and never did he see it again. Turning to the bird he said, 'So be it then! I shall possess you here, this place is rich enough!' that said he gatehred himself sweet fruit from the trees and clear water from the spring and ate and drank and fell asleep with Yaraash chained to his arm.

The morning next he woke, and sore he felt indeed. "It feels as though I have lain here long and long indeed!' for while he had slept the vines and growth nearby had encroached, the fast growing plants crowding around him. Yaraash seemd to lack the luster she had the previous day, her feathers only shining in the light of the sun. He wandered the place, seeking the exit for he thought to take supplies and and find the nearest habitation, make his way home from there. Confused he was though for the path which had been easy now turned him and twisted away again so his trail was lost again and again. He heard the piping bird from his arm again:

Wander and turn, blunder and rush,
he who knows not his place shall be dammed.
Take form me this hated metal, abrush
with curses of arts of the damned.

Once more he let his pride dictate his course, 'No threat, nor curse shall stay my mighty hand! I promised once I would be content to stay here, so content shall I be!' At once he set out to gather hsi supper once more, but found that all of the fruits and succulent grains had rotted through and were dead upon the ground. The shrilling piping cry of Yaraash came to him again, and mocked him for his obstinance. He made a poor supper of water, and settled on the ground to sleep once more.

He woke and started, for the vines and creepers had covered his legs, and almost could he feel them inching slowly up his torso. With a cry and a leap he gained his feet, brushing the growth from him and looking fearfully about. Satsified that all was well then he turned to drink the sweet water of the spring, yet to his dismay it was dry and cracked! Despair fell upon him them and the bird, now that he looked was dull and listless, bothering not to mock him for his folly. He sat by the dry spring and thought long of this.

Soon came to him his deeds. He knew now, in his heart, that Yaraash was not just a bird. He had always known this but his pride had coveted it for himself and would not admit it. Yaraash was the life of the hidden valley, the spirit or soul. He had chained her using the dark methods of old when demons had taught man the arts instead of God. His eyes filled with tears and he lifted herin his hand 'O Yaraash! Forgive me my folly! In my pride was I blinded to all and would not heed the course of right. I set you free now and ask only that you let me leave in peace, for I would not trouble you with my visage any longer.' Saying this he unlocked the clasp from around her neck and lifted her into the warm sunlight. Lying huddled in his hand turned her beak toward the sun, basking in it's rays and gaingin the glint that had been gone from her once more. Spreading her wings she once more began to glow, and sailed aloft into the sky, a message trailing after her:

Man whose pride was source of pain,
heed my words and understand.
The kingdom which you left in vain
has not been left as planned.
For each you slept a year has turned
and long dead have you been thought.
The man you left, with ambition burned,
and the people, in his cruelty, are caught

With a heavy heart he turned to home, and arrived to find it much changed. The people were oppressed and the riches of theland spoilt. One day he would claim it for his own once more, and by pride no longer be disturbed, but that my Lords, is a story for another time.

I learned that story on the knee of my uncle and have always taken from it this, 'Beware your own pride. For not only does it blind and hurtyou, it also will cause woe to those for whom you care or hold responsibility to.'

You, of course, are welcome to take from it what you wish."


My story done I bow grandiosely to the scattered listeners and again seat myself on the pillows, idly strumming my instrument.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Sir Tanqured

I relaxed my grip on Genevieve's wrist ever so slightly and picked some dates offered to me by a serving wench bowing and holding a silvered tray. I wave her aside, before she can offer any to my lovign wife.

The fableweaver, stands and plays us a tune. Too angery to absorb his song. His voice weaving something about birds. The tone is oddly melancolly, but he carries the tune well. Not a roubador, but well enough for a pagan. As he finishes, I quielty clap my hands, releasing Genevieve fully. "Master, Do-u," I ask as the minstril finishes his lavish bows. I catch a glance past me at Geneveive from his glinting eye. I pause glancing slightly over my shoulder at my lovingly innocent wife. "Master Do-u," I continue slowly turning to face him. "I thought you had dancers? Do you have none, or does your servant not know the correct ones to bring?" I say with an arrogant laugh.

 

[TXExpress]

Do-u

"Yes ... gentlemen, enjoy, but remember that all such treasures require something in return."

As best I can tell, Sareepa has finished her dance; the crowds in front of me obscure my view, and all I can hear is music and gasping and whispered approval.

An offer is made, and I dispatch Ravish to sort out the details outside the tent. A murmur continues to sweep through the gathering. I look toward the one they call Edward; he has his hand firmly on his enchanting pet's thigh. I am tempted to call for her next, simply to test his motives and his desires; some clearly are focused toward her, but all men have their breaking point.

Instead, flashing a slight but wicked grin, I look toward Shahla, Naela and Kimaija. Their eyes betray nothing. Who is most eager? Who would fetch the greatest profit? Who would sooner spit in the faces of these infidels as be procured by them?

I do not know. The crowd begins to grow restless. I then do what I have vowed never to do: I walk to where the girls stand, and — all the while cursing the path to which Allah has steered me — look them over, head to toe, searching for some clue, some sign. I do not dare engage them in conversation. Would one attempt discourse with a camel in the desert, or with a golden trinket in the marketplace? To ask the opinion of merchandise is futile and stupid.

 

[Cutie Lillie]

Maarisha

Edwards hand on my thigh, sent a shiver up my body. It speaks before my mind can fathom its message. I should not feel its warmth. Its comfort...even its strength which causes my thigh to tense in a nevous excitment that if Edward knew would deny my cool, careful exterior. He must not know the influence his touch has on me...for I must stay in control, even of him.

I am secretly glad he is close to me, for this gathering is not one I savor. I think I must play with them when I dance, just for the joy of riddling with their minds for the lust I can create, for the desire of what they cannot have. I am thankful, knowing Edward would not let any man touch me....therefore I can play with them in the way I do best...with my body...with my body and they music...at a distance.

I start to savor my time that is approaching. I watch in interest at the skills and techniques of the first dancer. Tame, to the point of where I feel sorry of her...being the first to feel the curious stares of the Westeners. I know the lustful burn on their eyes...which I can usually turn back on themselves leaving me the one in power. The one who could turn the men on thier heads, quite literally, if I should so choose.

I keep an eye on Edward. He seems low in spirit and cautious...defensive. I wonder what is eating him on his inside. I again the warmth in my heart towards my keeper. It is good he, and others in this tent, cannot see the gentle smile that appears on my lips as my eyes watch him...

My heart turns to ash as the voice of that dreaded driver speaks...his voice sends a slitherly crawl up my spine and I could without notice, I would tempted to place my hand upon's Edwards..just to send a stronger message that I am untouchable by that scourge of Allah's land of mercy.

I turn my attention over to where that dog of a scourge drags his callous eyes over the poor women in his caravan, I suspect the next victim is about to be selected.

 

[cgraven]

Maarisha the mere sight of her takes my breath away. Oh how I long or the two of us to be alone once more.

The air is charged with expectation and tension .

When will Maarisha dance?

What pleasures will this night bring to this strange gathering?

All wait as a hush descends upon those assembled in the tent."

 

[Honey_B]

OOC: I will no longer be able to write the part of Genevieve.

 

[caspai]

Shahla

Waking to the center of the clearing, I raise my hands, a long, almost transparent veil in both of my hands, hanging down my back. I feel the eyes upon me, upon my body. I pray to Allah that I may catch the attention of one who culd help me upon my designated path. I feel the heat of the fire dancing along my skin, the scent of food and bodies swirling together under the tent. The scent of lust is added to the mix as the eyes of the gathered men turn to me.

I close my eyes, feeling the beat of the drums and the whine of the flutes beginning to fuel my blood. I open my eyes and look directly into the eyes of the tall man sitting with a distressed looking woman next to him. I choose him as my spot, and do my best to catch his attention. Allah always provides a way, and no man is more susceptable to the lure of a woman than a man with an unhappy wife.

I slowly bring my arms down, holding them straight at shoulder length, and begin to circle my hips slowly. First I circle to the right, and then to the left, feeling his eyes follow the motion of my hips. Seeing his attention has been caught, I must now get his gaze to continue its journey. I add a step to the movements, and as I do so, I bring my hand to my chin, which causes the veil to almost hide my body. the fire behind me, though, reveals my every movement. Step left, veil sweep, step right, veil sweep. Ah, yes, his eyes begin to move up slowly.

Swinging the veil around my body so that I am now standing behind it, all but my face and head hidden. I see him look into my face, into my eyes, for the first time, and I move my head side to side, my eyes making seductive promises, and my body moving to add to those promises. With a twirl, I bring the veil again behind me, draping it over my shoulders and arms, taking a stand to show off my long, well-formed legs. I do a series of hip lifts, feeling the eyes again falling downward, taking in the shape of my breasts as they go. I see him lick his lips as his eyes travel down my body. Walking a few steps forward, i turn to perform the same series of hiplifts from the other side, allowing his eyes to fall over every inch of my body.

Moving so that I am again standing in front of the crusader in his heavy metal clothing, I slowly begin to turn, the veil rippling around my body, careful to always focus my eyes directly on his face. As the turns speed in tempo, the drums matching the speed of my dance, I lift my arms, maneruvering the veil so that I am enveloped in it, completely hidden and yet easily seen. Holding thi veil in this positiion for two turns, i then allwo it to open, sliding through my hands until I can again spin with it draped over my arms.

After three more complete spins, I stop abarubtly, my chest heaving. Sweat from the combined heat of the fire, my exertion, and the heavy lust pervading the room washes over my body. The silence, after th eloud music just seconds before, sounds all the more deafening, making the rasp of my rapid breath seem magnified by comparison. I hold the gaze of the large crusader, seeing them darken in lust. With the grace of Allah, I may finally be ending my long journey...