Originally posted by Bobfish_Almight: Perhaps I should take the time to tell the story of the horseassin's
Perhaps you should take time to think about not posting on every thread and hijacking it, wtf is up with your obsession to be the last poster on every forum thread, the only ones you don't do that on are only safe because they've been locked.
And so it was that Ibrahim Ibn Farwazi found himself sitting in a most uncommon surrounding that of the Souk Al Silaah courtyard as it was meant to be, a place of repast, rest and conversation after a weary day of selling in the market place. Gone was the acrid smell of smelting, gone too was the constant clanging of hammer on anvil, hot sparks and red hot steel and most importantly, gone was the monster the tyrant Tamir. He sat upon a chair working on an inscription to a blade of exquisite design and shape, old Ibrahim was never a part of the market guild, he preferred working alone producing weapons of such quality that only the most rich could afford and lived over in the rich district but often frequented the Souk Al Silaah, because of old friends and acquaintances.
Now the courtyard had been cleaned and all stain of evil deeds had been washed away, like the cleansing of a soul, but poor Akmir had paid dearly that day being the one chosen to speak up for the impossible task that the tyrant had beset upon the guilds. Men and woman watched as the tyrant butchered the poor man to death for only speaking what had been true. Now instead of the insults of a madman there was a hushed whispering, men sitting on cushions smoking the Naghile, its fragrant aroma of tobacco smoke infused with apple and molasses wafted on a gentle breeze as it moved through the courtyard.
No one could actually say they saw the man, even the paid thugs that were called the city guards or even Tamir’s own elite bodyguards could account as to how Tamir had been killed, but killed he had been, one minute the strutting tyrant and butcher of men the very next instance dead, slain and left to bleed his last drops of blood to an already blood soaked floor.
“He Flies” one old man was heard to have said, “No” whispered another, “He’s smoke drawn upon a gust of wind”. “I hear that he can change into a mountain goat and leap so far from roof to roof that any human would fall and die” The old men were in agreement though whomever this person was he had delivered them from a life of servitude and turmoil. “I heard from one of the city guards, that this man fights like a whirling dervish slitting those that oppose him with almost inhuman ease, but yet his hands were so steady with the blade, his eyes so keen, not one innocent life even those so close that they could almost reach out and stay his hand remained unharmed”, and so the conversations continued each telling of what they had seen or to what others in the surrounding area had witnessed.
“Praise be to god” one old man exclaimed lifting his hands towards the heaven, “Tonight I shall sleep soundly, for tomorrow a brighter day dawns”. It was then that Ibrahim Ibn Farwazi rose from his chair, steadied his hand and hushed the crowd. All the men who were not facing the old man turned to listen, why? Because those who knew of him had come to realise that the old man always spoke with wisdom and truth. “Let not this man worry you my friends, he serves a higher purpose” he pauses and looks into the eyes of the crowd and in a whispered voice says “This man walks with death by his side, I tell you now that men are going to die, cruel men, important men, those who believe they cannot be touched, corrupt and wicked as they are all will find death’s embrace by his blade, just as Tamir’s fate today has been sealed and his soul plunged into hell so too will these others fall”.
A silence came over the crowd only to be woken by the cries of “grandfather, grandfather” Ibrahim turns to see his grandson running into the square, “grandmother says you have to come now, it’s getting late and supper is already on the table”. The old man smiles and lifts his grandson in a soft embrace, “well then we better be off then, as we do not want to upset your grandmother”. As the old man and the young boy walk back through the now quiet streets, the boy’s ears prick as he hears his grandfather whispering quietly to himself “Stay thy hand from the flesh of the innocent”, “what was that grandfather” the boy asks, “Oh nothing that concerns you yet, but maybe one day it will”, Ibrahim’s mind wanders back to just a few days before, yes he thought to himself he really must get this blade to Al Mualim as a token of gratitude in granting clemency to his son and letting him redeem himself in the eyes of the creed. “Stay thy hand, be discreet, honour the creed” Today his son had begun his journey back to the brotherhood. “Grandfather, tell me again how did you loose your finger?” the little boy asks has he clutches the hand with the missing half digit, “Oh just that I lost it to an eagles beak many, many moons ago, come lets hurry home for the night chill is upon us and grandmother will not be happy with a cold supper set upon the table”. He looks upon the blade one last time unsheathed glinting in the fast fading light of dusk whose inscription now finished embellishes the weapon, crafted from the finest Damascene steel etched with a flowing line that reads “بقيت يد [ثي] من اللحظ من البريئة” (Stay thy blade from the flesh of the innocent). Yes a fine weapon indeed, one that Al Mualim will make good use off.
Well over the 500 count, but I'm not an Xbox owner, and i was just in the mood to write a story.
This message has been edited. Last edited by: Sheathanaich,
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only joking bobfish is cool really
