Thursday, September 24, 2009

Ack! Hide, it's something that Rao wrote!

LOL... Well I had this idea about a cruel desert king who only fathered daughters and killed his four wives when they failed to birth him one. All for role playing purposes with my friend.Talking with a friend, well got the idea that one would be apart of a rebellion. This came to me at two/three o'clock, so yeah it's not all that great.

A shapeless apparition parted away from the inky blackness created from the palace’s wall. It moved with swift purpose further away from the grand construction of the royal Asalah family, away from possible detection of the Zaim’s guards and deeper in the myriad maze of the city.

Once the figure ascertained none noticed her absence inside the palace walls did she throw back the dingy brown cowl covering her face and hair. The murky light of the lanterns did nothing to illuminate the inhabitants on Dunyana’s streets and kept her person well hidden from casual observers.

Jawl inhaled deep the sense of freedom her sojourn awarded, to be free, if only for a couple of stolen hours, from her vile father’s tyranny. Burnt-orange eyes peeked behind her to the sleek wall she would have to scale later to return to her gilded cage, to once more be subjected to Zaim Asalah’s oppression and merciless machinations.

Hatred burned hot and fierce through her veins. Zaim Barid ruled his house much like he did his realm with a heavy, ruthless hand. His four wives were put to death because they failed to produce the male child he needed to inherit.

Because of him she had been denied a mother’s care, attention and love.

“Tsk, tsk,” the soft, sardonic masculine sound came to her immediate right. Jawl startled, her breath stuttering deep in her breath. Her immediate thought was that her father’s guard finally caught up with her nightly jaunts.

The shape of a brawny and tall man, the types her father employed to keep his precious tools (her and her sisters) safely ensconced inside the palace, waiting for him to decide their fates. Jawl gulped her brunt-orange eyes wide when the man came closer.

She would not debase herself with begging.

“The daughter of a Zaim,” the man drawled in his low voice, “taking such risks. Uncalled for.”

That voice was the most beautiful sound to ever grace her ears. Jawl’s slender shoulders briefly sagged in her blatant relief. Then, once she regained her composure and her heart beat returned to normal, did she square her shoulders and confront him.

“I took the risk,” she announced proudly with a haughty lilt, “to release you from Barid’s dungeons.” And never once regretted the decision. His incarceration and torture freed Jawl from the fear her father used to control all his daughters.

One look from his pain-clouded eyes, the misery etched in every line on his handsome face, convinced Jawl, no matter the cost, she had to release him. Barid would, learning of her willingly to lie and consort with this very man, gladly gift her to the Sakothan king he called ally.

“Of that,” Shahin’s voice softened to the barest whisper, his fingertips grazing gently across the velvet softness of her cheek, “I am eternally grateful.”