The Howl of the Djinn

Tarek holds a message in his hand as the harsh winds of the Sahara blow reddish sand against his blistering face. He has been banished by the Caliphate for treason, against a tyrannical leader who used him as a scapegoat for his clandestine missions. He has been ordered to be hanged in public forum, his escape meant only his doom. Noone would dare venture out into the endless desert with nothing to be seen for miles.

Hours pass, before the summer night finally gives way to the cooling moonbeam. He hears a faint growl echoing in the distance. Could it be an animal?

His instincts tell him otherwise. He's been a tracker all of his life. He can easily distinguish a bat falcon's call from a peregrine's, or a jackal's howl or the fox's screech. This growl is neither human nor animal.

He makes camp for but a few short hours. He must journey forth again, before the sun rears its fiery head. He must find shelter from the heat and drink his last few drops of water.

As pitch black night covers the barren landscape, Tarek hears a faint laugh as the glinted eyes of a hyena approach him in front of the freshly cooked wild hare he's eating. It was only a matter of time before a predator would come sniffing around his camp. He shoots his crossbow in front of the starving animal and throws a large chunk of his meal to him as the animal catches it in its mouth. "It appears you may need it more, my friend."

Always a humble soul, even in dire times, Tarek has achieved within a decade more than any assassin has in a lifetime. Now he's been left to his own devices, to either die within the walls of the Caliph's court or in the violent blistering desert storms.

As the sand dunes once again shift against him, he seeks East to make prayer, as he asks for guidance, hoping for a mere sliver of good fortune to befall him, so that he can return once again as an equal, and not as some savage dog in the street. He seeks no vengeance, but merely to return to service and be absolved of all charges.

Though the odds are impossibly high that he'll ever be cleared of any wrongdoing , he must either rid the Caliph of his station or present the truth to him, wishing for mercy. 'This would be a foolish endeavour' he thinks 'No amount of proof would deny the Caliph his judgement, and he would rather save face than ever admit to making an error'.

An etheral voice beckons in his mind "Perhaps vengeance is the key after all. Think of what you could accomplish. All the righteous struggle and persevere, in this life or the next."

'Maybe so, but the price of blood can leave many bloodied. How can I guarantee revolt if the blood of the innocent could stain my name forever? I must find a way to end this without bloodshed.'

The disembodied voice once again speaks 'You cannot ever guarantee such a thing, but...think of all the good it will do. No more senseless wars under tyranny. No more slaves as warriors. No women and children without fathers dying in vain.'

'This is true. This is important to consider.'

The voice howls further 'Do you wish to be a fool and die as a criminal or thrive as a patriot and experience glory?'

'I care not for the glory. I choose to remain as the hidden hand that moves mountains in silence. '

'A wise decision, young Tarek.' The hyena moves forth from the darkness biting down on a black sheathed scimitar emblazoned with a golden script from an ancient script preceding his own ancestors.

"God blessed thee, my friend. Indeed there was more to you than I sensed." The assassin finally speaks aloud.

"You are perceptive, young Tarek. I've lived here thousands of years long before humanity ever existed, born of smokeless fire, we have thrived as our own race, but the Most High had chosen us to serve humanity. Some rebelled, and some conformed, and others...had quietly forged a path of their own away from divine sight, keeping their mind clear and their souls pure." the voice of the mysterious entity is fierce and powerful, but calm and focused.

"This blade has passed leaders in secret circles, and each time they rise to the next life, I retrieve it once again to forge a new justice with a new one to possess it. It was forged by one of our own from a fallen star."

"If you feel this to be my fate, I cannot led myself astray from it. This is my path, and I, like you must create my own." Tarek senses its power penetrating the very fabric of his soul as he grasps the handle of the sword and pulls it out of its sheath.

"Be warned, young Tarek. Use your newfound power wisely, for life is indeed what you choose to make of it. We transcend good and evil, but the laws of man rule this world. Many have claimed to use this power for selfless reasons, but you will find yourself at an impasse, where you will have to make difficult decisions. Do not stray from your path." The demon cautions him.

"I WARN YOU ONCE MORE!!" the djinn's voice growls with fiery rage "do....not...stray..." The mystical figure whispers in the night as its figure fades, with first light making its way out onto the horizon.

He takes hold of his new scimitar and sees a wooden chest peering out of the sand with identical black colour as the sheath with golden mysterious ancient script. Tarek touches the wooden chest as it opens revealing more weaponry, bladed and some unusual ones he hasn't seen before, crossbows, composite bows, spears and short swords.

'This is far too much for me to carry. I should only choose another, perhaps two.' he thinks. With his right hand he grasps a glove with large talons made of the blackened meteor metal, they look like a lion's claws and with his left he grasps a small dagger smeared with a yellowish clear substance, a poison as if from a scorpion.

Tarek arms himself with his new weaponry as the chest closes on its own and sinks deep into the sandy depths.

The journey begins...the scorpion stings, the lion growls, and the blade cuts as he carries his parchment forth into the unknown.