The Stronghold ~ Home of the Banu Haqim

[Ruriska]

Open for clan roleplay!

Unwanted visitors will find the entrance barred. Please DM me beforehand.

 

[Ruriska]

He was mopping.

A mundane but necessary task that he devoted his entire attention to. Just as precise as the cut of a blade, the mop swept across the tiled mosaic floor. No energy wasted. The wet trail he left behind glistened in the torchlight. When he was done, the entrance hall would be left sparkling.

Over the many, many years their clan had decayed, there was nobody left to tend to household tasks. Not that Zalaam considered himself above them regardless. They were important jobs and everyone should experience the little joys that came from serving. Just as nobody was above the touch of death, nobody was above cleaning. Not even a disciple.

He was alone now but not forever. Those that remained would return to the stronghold, to help him sweep away the dust and their work would continue. Not that his work had ever ended. Even as the clan slumbered, nobody to rule, no proper order, his blade had continued to strike. Countless bodies, countless ends.

He stopped, stood as still as a statue, all movement seizing to function. Not even a breath.

Incense swirled through the air, woody, pleasant.

He waited.  

[Sara Siren Noire]

Silence.

Movement, as though the shadows had taken a breath, their whispered exhale causing a shift in the direction that the incense smoke trailed. Wispy, delicate tendrils followed after the hidden cloaked figure's nigh-silent motion until they landed, crouched low upon an area of the freshly cleaned, and dry, mosaic tiled floor.

The flutter of fabric as her cloak settled about her met with the lightest tap of her staff against the tiles beneath her feet, the figure soon standing fully to the soft metallic sound of the golden chains that graced her form and shifted with her motions. Her head rose, revealing the face that hid beneath the cloak's hood; bright yellow eyes that had seen much through the darkness gazed upon the unmoving Disciple for a seemingly long moment before a subtle, wry smile settled upon her scarred face.

Long had Khalida waited for a sign to return to the Stronghold, having wandered the land to continue her research and observations of the ever-changing world until she might be needed again. Finally she had felt it; the silent clarion call that pulled her to come back. Finally...she was home.

"Where do you require my hands to be?" The words rolled off her tongue in her dark, velvety voice that a somewhat thick accent still clung to even after all her years. There were no apologies, no excuses and certainly no groveling; merely an inquiry on what he wished of her to begin doing to restore the glory of their Stronghold.  

[Ruriska]

His patience was ever rewarded.

A daughter of the haqim had returned home.

Zalaam assessed her, eyes golden and glowing from beneath his hood. Her presence was one of quiet strength and grace, welcomed by the swirl of incense. He knew her, as he would any of the clan who graced his presence and within moments knew she was worthy of her calling. There was no need for apologies, he would have been disappointed if she’d dare utter any. They had all wandered the earth alone and now with his elevation to disciple, those who wished to serve would return.

Finally he moved, removing one hand from the mop, lifting it to gently pull the hood from his head. His face revealed, bearded chin and scruffy hair, gaze ever calm.

“Welcome home, sister,” he said, for all of the Banu Haqim were his family. “Much dust has settled and many cobwebs spun.” His own voice was deep and measured. “A broom shall be your weapon to combat this foe.” Then he returned to his task, mopping the last of the grand entrance hall and moving his way towards the long hallway beyond.

He hardly expected her to need further prompting. If an assassin of his own could not find their way around a broom, they were in dire need of training.

Sara Siren Noire

 

[Sara Siren Noire]

In seeing him lower his hood and reveal his full face to her, allowing her the chance to gaze fully upon her new disciple, Khalida returned the gesture in kind. A hand came up to pull her hood down, shadows no longer casting over her face to reveal the scars that she bore proudly; marks of her strength against the enemies she's faced in her journey through unlife. Dark, shoulder-length hair slid into place like a silken curtain with a single small brain that had a trinket attached by woven-in twine. That serene, knowing gaze hinted by shrewdness held a warm sense of relief to see that familiarity and hear him call her 'sister'. The beginnings of a family slowly converging once more.

"It shall be done, brother." She said with a bow of her head, easily recalling where such things were kept and moving her feet to follow the memory. Staff was set aside and traded for a broom, soon returning to set upon her task.

Indeed, it was a sad sight to see their home beset by layers of dust and old webs that had collected much upon them. Such neglect...but that would soon be rectified. Being as the cobwebs were so rampant, best to start from the top down.

Her skills came to aid her even in this task, leaping and climbing her way up to the highest reaches where the dusty old strings drooped and clung. Broom in hand, she found proper places to hold on to so that she could sweep away the cobwebs and dust that it may fall to the floor to be cleaned once she made her way back down. Efficiency was her aim.

Khalida, in the motions of familiar and menial tasks, found herself falling back to an old habit she'd had since she was mortal; the soft humming of an ancient, traditional song to keep her mind focused and pass the time as she moved through the higher areas and removed the offending detritus. Another sound to signal that there was life and activity returning to the Stronghold, which would hopefully call others back as well.

Ruriska

 

[Ruriska]

To see her go so readily to the task, eased any concern he may have had for the clan's future. One disciple alone would have his work cut out for him but with one worthy blade at his side, all would be well. There would be no foe they could not defeat; even if that foe was just a lot of dust and dirt.

And so the cleaning began in earnest, two shadows, moving from one room to the other, sometimes passing by each other, other times drifting to opposite ends of the stronghold. Mopping, dusting, washing. There was much to do but they moved at a steady and unfaltering pace. When Zalaam’s work took him closer to Khalida and he caught wind of her gentle hum, a nostalgic song from ages past for both of them, he added his deeper tone to hers before he drifted away.

As the hour ticked closer to dawn, Zalaam finally laid down his broom and mop. The task was not complete but now the floor sparkled and many of the cobwebs had been dislodged and spiders rehomed. The stronghold would soon be their oasis once more.

His shadowy form darkened the doorway where Khalida still worked.

“Would you join me for some tea?” He asked.

Sara Siren Noire

 

[Seussi]

For a length of time so long that the measurement of it had fallen into obscurity, Talithbian had waited. She waited for those whispers of change in the air that would usher in a new era. She waited for her fellow clan mates to make themselves known again. She waited for the night when they would gather at the long-abandoned stronghold again, its years of disuse like a jilting betrayal. In all that time of waiting, the near-ancient vampire had done what she did best.

She survived.

She fought, and she survived.

She stole knowledge, and she survived.

She took upon herself the tasks that others would have shied away from, and she survived.

With a vicious tenacity and actions that wet her blade with blood time and time again. She survived where so many others had fallen. The world had fallen into disarray, and the rumours of a beast that quelled their numbers had grown. But she had grown too. Stronger, faster, deadlier. She secured her position in the clan as an Antediluvian, and waited again, though now she felt on the edge of it all, that precipice of change that all children of the night would soon find themselves facing.

A quiet revolution that altered everything. Old had fallen to new. New replaced what had become defunct. The Banu Haqim found themselves with a leader once more.

Her wait was over.

She came to the stronghold in silence, though she did not hide as she strode soundlessly through the entrance. Her hood was drawn back in one deft flicker of movement, and the scarf that obscured her face was gone, whispered away as if by magic. The piercing teal of her gaze roamed what could be seen, sweeping over pillars and cleaned mosaic floor. Her hips swayed as she walked, and she rolled her shoulders back slowly as she paused, her movements always deceptively languid.

“Zalaam,” Her thickly accented voice, low and sultry, caressed the air, calling to the one she had heard had taken over. “I have come, and I have brought you a gift.” She stood poised, an imposing figure, strong and proud, the slightest smile lifting the corner of her mouth as she waited.

Ruriska