IC:
GREATEST AND LEAST,
LAYMAN AND PRIEST,
FEAST AT THE FEAST:
LOOK
TO
THE
EAST!
OoC:
At some point on the timeline of Aebrynis:
Abd al-Qaruq (b. 1510 HC/m. 1529 HC & 1534 HC); Male Khinasi; High-Level (Heroic) Guilder 2/Nomad of the Seas 5; Nasri; Masela (al-Qaruq), Major, 35; N. Henchman; Admiral; Designated Heir. . . . Blood Abilities: Divine Aura (major); Bloodmark (minor); Sea Song (minor); Wild Stride (minor). . . . Ability Scores: Str 14; Dex 13; Con 12; Int 15; Wis 10; Cha 17. [+1 Cha at fourth level.] . . . Administration: Skilled (Close to Proficient) / Command: Master / Diplomacy: Proficient / Land Warcraft: Proficient / Naval Warcraft: Expert
IC:
And the line has in fact remained unbroken still.
Abd al-Qaruq was born in the year, 2024, reckoning from the Masetian Arrival, or 2065, reckoning from the Faben Expedition. He bore the bloodmark of his forebears upon all five digits of his left hand: a sign, in which his father rejoiced. For the latter’s mark swirled about three fingers, which was uncommon, in and of itself; but the Mark of Five was known to have graced but seventeen of the line and none for some three hundred years.
The fleet of House al-Qaruq was, of course, no more, by the time of Abd’s birth. But, as it had dwindled, a code had developed amongst the rakes of the Suidemiere and the Miere Draconii. For this fleet did more for piracy, in a span of eighty or ninety years, than perhaps any other asset, in the history of those two seas; and the al-Qaruqs did more to unify in spirit the rabble of the high seas, than any previous leaders of men. And, strange though it may seem, they did so with an apparent nobility: well, at any rate, they behaved far more nobly than their many predecessors during the centuries of the House’s decay. For they repaid the loyalty of their crews with an unhaughty,—and a caring sort of,—rule; and men of the sea, who had known nothing but class disrespect from the nobility of their homelands, received, from these blooded souls, the opposite. But, for all of this, how could a fleet of such size,—and of such a nature,—remain united, over the long term?; how could it hide, en masse, from pursuit?; and how could one family, without a true base of operations, maintain it at its formidable level? These things proved impossible; and, one by one,—and largely of necessity,—the al-Qaruqs rewarded their captains with vessels and independence. And piracy returned to its disorganisation, albeit with a memory of potential and of union.
From this memory, perhaps, arose the peculiar honour of the captains, who had served under al-Qaruq: it was agreed,—whether explicitly stated or not,—that a debt was owed by all of them . . . and by all, who should succeed them: and the debt must be repaid. Two rules, then, came to form the code: firstly, if any son of al-Qaruq should desire a berth on a vessel of the sea, then no man of honour could deny it; secondly, if the heir to House al-Qaruq should find himself without a suitable bride, then it was the duty of the captains to provide her . . . howsoever that might be arranged. There was some thing inherently sad,—some thing wistfully melancholy,—behind these two rules; yet, at the same time, there was some thing unifying, therein. And that combination may explain the verse, which was chanted by the occasional waif of the sea, for years unreckoned to come in the ports of Khinasi, Djapar, Aduria, and the islands in between:
‘In the days now bygone, when the stormy seas were young,
There came the bold Qaruqs, and the happy songs were sung.
We watched their glory fade, but they faded sans regret:
Many were the captains, whom they granted benefit.
Never may one utter, ’gainst the men, who knew them well,
That seamen forget aught, ’spite the lies that some will tell.
For the code is honoured; and, from decks, is heard the call:
“We are all, al-Qaruq; and al-Qaruq are we, all.”’
In practice, of course, the code was, not exactly forgotten, but rather ignored by many captains, as the years slipped away into the oblivion of the past. But there were some few, who continued to pay their respects to the code for decades . . . even for generations, as they are reckoned upon vessels at sea. And, so, the bloodline of al-Qaruq managed, in obscurity, to remain fairly strong, although that, which Abd inherited, was nowhere near the bloodline of Lahim al-Qaruq.
Abd’s mother was the fifth daughter of a prolific family of lesser nobility in the realm of Khourane. In his early years, he lived with her on a small island, which was located a day’s journey off the southern coast of the main island of Suiriene. His father’s family had maintained a small domicile here for many generations, hidden away in some thick growth of foliage; and Abd’s first experiences of life, in this secluded locale, were peaceful and free of cares. However, when his father came for him at the age of seven, to instruct him in the ways of their ancestors,—the tricks and trades of mercantilism, the conduct becoming a noble, the concept of sayim, etc.,—as well as in the means of personal survival, he quickly became acquainted with the serious side of existence. Not very many years later, he had killed his first man, and he was sailing the high seas with a crew of itinerant warriors, who served his father and his father’s fellow, on a dark and dilapidated galley, which cut through the waters of the Island States, to the dismay of its unprotected ports.
When his father died in a raid, Abd had not yet seen the end of his nineteenth year. He and his sibling, a lad of thirteen, took the body to their mother,—a family tradition,—who wept dearly at the loss. But it was not Abd’s way to remain with her and mourn: the fate of the seaman was clear in his mind; and dwelling upon it in sorrow was an extravagance, in which he chose not to participate. He did, however, instruct his brother to stay with her for a number of months, until the worst of her grieving had passed; and then he took to the sea once more, sailing upon a tiny craft to Masetiele, to find employ wheresoever he might.
Here, he joined the crew of a light trade vessel, which was loosely associated with the Society of the Serpent. This was not, of course, an ideal situation, from his perspective; but neither was a member of House al-Qaruq going to split hairs between humans in the service of Suiriene and humans in the service of Masetium. In time, however, he came to perceive that the work on this vessel was rather tedious and would remain so indefinitely; and he was just on the verge of running off at the next port of call, to find a more interesting life, when the prahu was suddenly attacked, upon a windy afternoon at sea. The assailant was a dhow, which had been converted into a warship; and it quickly bore down upon the prahu, letting loose its missiles and killing several of Abd’s fellow crewmen, in the process. Even more, as Abd looked about him at the carnage, he perceived, too, that his captain was lying bleeding to death at the helm. Without thinking, he ran thither and began shouting orders at his surviving fellows, taking command with an authority, which surprised them but which they failed not to obey. And, as Abd steered the ship out of the immediate path of the enemy, it seemed to sail with an uncommon speed and an uncommon control: verily, in a way, the crew rather felt as if the prahu were obeying the whims of its new and true master, with an energy, which it had never before revealed.
In a matter of minutes, the light vessel sat at a safe distance from the dhow; and the crew indeed rejoiced. But it was then that their new captain, Abd al-Qaruq, gave them orders, which chilled their wayward souls: ‘Ready the weaponry; and prepare to defend your very lives.’ Though frozen for a moment in awe of his authority, the men wasted little time in following his orders. And then they set their teeth, as the tiny prahu sailed madly toward its certain doom. . . . But the end of this particular doom was, not ruin, but triumph; and, in the aftermath of combat, Abd al-Qaruq stood fiercely upon the forecastle of a war-modified dhow, spattered with blood, a pile of corpses at his feet. His men, wearied but exultant, as they laboured for their breath, could only marvel at the uncanny events, which they had seen upon that day.
Two rumours began to circulate around this time in the courts of Ghamoura: some thing about a prahu filled with corpses, which had floated, unmanned, into the Alcamar Inlet; some thing else about the Hakim of el-Denebi’s eldest daughter, whose disappearance at sea was supposedly an heart-wrenching and tragic tale of loss. No doubt, the Serpent was involved,—such was the widespread belief,—for the prahu clearly bore the markings of his vile servitors; and, in response, the Ghamouran fleet redoubled its patrols along the southeastern shores of the realm for a number of months. Of course, whilst men cursed and women wailed in Ghamoura, many leagues to the southeast, upon a small island with particularly dense foliage, the erstwhile crewmen of that prahu and some local wenches were engaged in gay revelry upon a sandy beach, as a dhow floated at anchor in the small bay adjoining and as their captain and a young lass of the Ghamouran nobility enjoyed the privacy afforded to the newly wed.
The six years, which followed, were filled with many an adventure, many a success, and even the occasional failure; and the name of Abd al-Qaruq began to be heard in many an important court. For there was an unnameable quality to him, which those, whom he encountred, found it difficult to forget; and any failure, which he might, on occasion, have known, was quickly obscured by the ingenuity, which he employed in moving beyond it to a new and further success. And, then, suddenly, a look to the west: and the life of this vagabond of the sea veered off on an unexpected course.