The Lord feeds some of His prisoners better than others.
It could be said of Him that He is not a just god but
an indifferent god.
That He is not to be trusted to reward the righteous and
punish the unscrupulous.
That He maketh the poor poorer but is otherwise
undependable.
-Reed Whittenmore
“Daughter, be dutiful!”
The words haunted Sajaa like nothing she had ever experienced.
She had lived through trials already in her life. She had reaped the dreadful fruits of her own beauty, the lecherous stares of men who were too cowardly to approach her, and the horrific attentions of those men who were. But these words from her father had struck her like an icy dagger to the chest. Words that meant he had given up on her... Words that meant he didn't care.
She had begged her father to refuse the fat, ghoulish Sheik Aarif al-Jalali’s proposal when the man approached Kassem, seeking to add Sajaa to his harem of six wives. Of course, her Father could not have refused, Sajaa could see that now. Aarif was a man of power and wealth. He lorded over the
Castle Aadila, one of the many fortifications that dotted the hilly landscape of northern al-Wazif. He had his own army, hundreds of men, and the bride price he offered was twenty times greater than Sajaa would have fetched from any other suitor short of the Emir Harun abd Ishaq himself. Her father had explained that the money offered would allow him to open a permanent shop to sell his candles and to buy a herd of camels to transport his products to the markets of the Non-Believers.
Sajaa understood this. She could almost accept this, except for those words.
"Daughter be dutiful!"
In other words -
"Your sacrifice means nothing to me... but you will do it... because you must."
And so it was
duty that had forced Sajaa through the day, though she moved and acted as a waking corpse.
Duty held her up as she signed the
Nikkah,
Duty had held her steady through the feasting and the dancing,
Duty had kept her eyes dry and her body from being overcome with racking sobs as the Mullah bloodied her and Aarif's hands with a pin, mingling their blood as they held hands together in a symbol of their unbreakable matrimony. Sajaa could not even search for her mother's or her sisters' faces, for she knew if she saw them weeping, she would not be able to continue.
Now it was
duty that smothered her as she sat upon the marital bed. Her breaths were fast and shallow. Her eyes were unfocused. Her heart railed against her chest, as though it too sought only to escape. Her white-knuckled fists gripped handfuls of the sheets, eager to feel anything, searching for courage in the satin. Nausea pressed against her chest and stomach, threatening to overwhelm her at any moment and send her into racking dry-heaves.
Aarif had been eager to consummate the marriage...
“Come, my pretty Flower!” Aarif had shouted for all to hear. His voice was slurred, and he swayed on his feet. He was a large man and very fat, his coffee-colored skin pocked and warted and freckled. Sweat glistened on the side of his broad face and beaded on his jowls. A scraggly black beard shot with white hung limply to his chest.
“Too long have I waited! Now I shall lift the Veil and honor you with my seed and welcome you into my family! Come!” He laughed as he jerked her forcefully to her feet and pushed her to the marital tent, while the crowd roared their approval. For some reason he had not immediately followed her in, someone had detained him, caught his arm as he had made to follow her in.
However, his temporary detainment was not nearly long enough.
“Undress.” Aarif commanded Sajaa as he entered, though the word was slurred and half-hearted. Despite her fear and disgust, Sajaa could not move, she could barely feel, only gripping the small handful of sheets tighter in her knotted fists.
Aarif fumbled with his fat fingers at his sword belt for a few moments before Sajaa's inaction seemed to catch his attention. Slowly, his eyes lazy and unfocused, Aarif stares at Sajaa for a moment before walking towards her and the bed, giving up on removing his own clothes for the moment.
"No?"
He questions as he stumbles over the edge of the bed, pushing Sajaa down by her shoulder roughly, smacking the back of her head against the board in a blow that brings pain and stars to Sajaa's eyes. She is overwhelmed by his stench. He reeks like a man who has not washed, the filth of a body that has passed long beyond musk and into the realms of festering flesh. The stench is masked by a heavy cologne, which is sharp and cutting. But his breath is worst of all... the sickly sweet smell that Sajaa knows only from drug addled poor, the smell of idleness and sin.
Sajaa gags on the smells, her body at last heaving in revulsion. Once, twice, bringing the bitter taste of bile to the back of her mouth.
It made Sajaa overwhelmingly grateful she had not eaten.
Aarif did not seem to notice. He was busy gripping at the cloth of her hijab as he straddled her, pulling it up by the folds around her hips.
"You'll learn your duty."
It was the word, more than anything that made Sajaa lose control. Her hands were so tightly gripped now that she felt her nails bring forth a trickle of blood from her palm, her teeth clenched as a vice. Without thinking, her senses blinded by stench and by fear she lashes up with her knee, striking Aarif square in the man-stones with a brutish
thunk.
Aarif collapses on top of Sajaa, his own breath caught in his lungs in a moan of pain. Sajaa's body recoils, releasing her death-grip on the sheets as the smell and weight of the man press down on her. Sajaa writhes to be free, her hand bumping against the hilt of Aarif's sword as it thrashes to take action!
OOC: It is 2200 on 14 November, 2005.
Welcome Sajaa! And thank you for the amazing material with which to get you started. I award you 1 Hero point for all the work and inspiration. Hero points can be used as a one time shot of the Luck advantage, allowing you to reroll one bad roll twice more if you fail. You are currently in close combat, on your back, with your opponent on top of you (though you are not grappled). Aarif is most assuredly stunned, and is likely under the influence of some drug or alcohol. Note that all your positioning penalties (prone, close combat) put you at a significant detriment to engage most combat actions. If you wish to get out from under Aarif, roll vs. ST. You may add +2 to the roll if you burn 1 FP.
Let's do 4 seconds worth of action.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:47, Wed 07 Apr 2021.