Post a reply


Hosni-Faraj Aziz

POSTED: 11 Nov 2011

Hosni-Faraj "Hosfar" Aziz

Medjai. Bey.


Image
Age: 28.
Gender: Male.
Ethnicity: Egyptian.
Religion: Muslim not a very good one
Sexuality: Heterosexual.
Caste: n/a.
Occupation: Spy/Trader/semi-warrior.
Languages Known: Arabic [native/fluent (in all dialects)], English [conversational], French [conversational], smatterings of Italian and other minor languages heard in trade. The latter two, Hosfar learned from Kaseem.
Alignment: Neutral Good.
Personal Belongings:
Pattern 1914 Enfield Rifle, Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolver
Antique khanjar given to him by Shakira, which he wears on his person always
A rabicano Arabian mare he affectionately refers to as "khalba." She assures him the sentiment is mutual.
Various trinkets and souvenirs Hosfar's squirreled away from his trades

Personality
Positive Traits Negative Traits
Silvertongued.
Charming.
Funny.
Clever.
Versatile.
Fiercely protective of Kaseem.
Charismatic.
Easy going.
Good negotiator.
Wily.
Manipulative.
Sarcastic.
Heretical.
Arrogant.
Mischievous.
Insolent.
Unorthodox.
Rebellious.
Bad influence.


History



As the first born son of his family, Hosni-Faraj emerged from the womb buried in high hopes and expectations. But, as it turned out, he was nothing short of disappointing in family long descended from celebrated warriors. He wasn't as good with the sword as Benham had wished. It was clunky and awkward in his equally clunky and awkward hand. His body, unlike his immediate and extended kin, wasn't built for warriorhood, and neither was his sharp tongue. Hosfar was more suited to sassing his parents, his uncles, his cousins, and the weapons masters on the training grounds.

Maybe he was too lanky to out-brawn his fellow warriors, but he was quick on his feet in every sense of the phrase. While he often found himself in trouble for mouthing off, he could almost always talk himself out of it (if not outright run away). Mostly, though, he found that he could use his words not just to cut, but also to persuade. It helped that despite his open defiance, Hosni-Faraj was charming and easily likable. His teachers didn't seem to mind much that he mouthed off - actually, they quite adored him for it. Needless to say, he's gotten away with quite a bit.

As it turned out, however, he wasn't alone. When his little brother, Kaseem, was born, HF showered him in attention and allowed his intelligence, deliciously sharp wit, and fun flourish in ways that his parents wouldn't. Kaseem became his best friend.

By the time he was a teenager, Hosfar had all but honed his tongue, as well as his cunning. To the chagrin of his parents, rather than fight, he courted; rather than stab, he laughed; and rather than cut, he spoke. He much preferred chasing unmarried (and married alike) girls in his village to chasing warriors on the battlefield.

What seemed to be fatedly, Hosni-Faraj got his first taste of the outside world on the day of his initiation rite (the irony was not lost on him). Terrified at the prospect of being thrown out into the Sahara alone and tattooed painfully over a matter of days, Hosfar did what he does best - he ran. He ran from his duties, he ran from manhood, and most of all, he ran from his father. In what he thought was an empty caravan, he hid. Little did he know, however, he'd just hid himself in the midst of a convoy of traders and scouts travelling to Cairo. It wasn't until they were nearly a day from camp that anyone realized he was missing. A massive manhunt spearheaded by his father spanned over two days, and by the third, everyone thought Hosni-Faraj dead. On the contrary, he crawled out of the caravan and into a world he'd never seen, only heard about from storytellers and warriors lucky enough to tell the tale.

Hosfar fell in love with that city the moment he stepped foot in it, and knew from then on that he could never unsee it. It was a mystery to him that his people were so secluded and resistant to change when there was so much to see and experience. So he spoke with strangers, learned the language of their trade, memorized prices, and haggled. It was his charming personality and affinity for compromise that endeared him to his unsuspecting ride rather than draw their ire. So they took him under their wings, and the rest was history.

When he returned home, it was never for long. Eagerly, he took Kaseem along with him, knowing he, too, would appreciate such life in Cairo. His father, on the other hand, was far less appreciative. Rather, he was deeply disappointed and embarrassed by his son's cowardice and consequent lack of tattoos. It wasn't news to Hosfar, but it only seemed to encourage his insolence, and in turn, he encouraged Kaseem. Intelligentsia, he felt, were vastly under appreciated by their people.

And intelligence is what he became. He was good at listening to what was going on around him, even while bartering with customers, and thus reported back to Ardeth. In the way of collecting information, Hosni-Faraj was invaluable. He became the Bey's eyes and ears among the outside world, and with his friendly, charismatic personality, no one ever seemed to suspect a thing.

It was his eyes and ears that helped him find Shakira - a Djed - among the bazaar of the city. At first, he merely watched her, captivated. Then, he observed. He learned what she liked, and what she collected from the markets. Still, he never interrupted her life. Hosfar, having never truly courted (he flirted, and flattered, and gifted - but he never offered marriage), did what he thought was clever. To his amusement (and her frustration, he noted, bemusedly), he outbid her on everything she wanted. Sometimes, he let her win. Still, usually he took her items, but he had her attention.

When he thought she had enough, Hosni-Faraj pulled his final card and bought an expensive piece of jewelry she'd had her eye on for some time. Rather than keep it, however, he waited for Shakira outside of the markets, expecting a confrontation - but before she could rail at him, he gave her armband with a smile cocky enough to earn a slap. It stunned him, some, but largely, he was used to angry mothers attacking his face. What really stunned him was her kiss. It caught him off guard, and as just as he fell in love with the city, he was certain that he'd fallen in love with his Djedian rival at that moment.

Sworn to secrecy, they continued their love affair in cities and oases. Never home. He knows that their relationship is dangerous, if not downright lethal, but he isn't sure that Shakira grasps the enormity of Them quite yet.

In the interim, Hosni-Faraj has maintained his appearance, and only for appearance's sake has he married multiple women almost every two years, and divorced them around 6 months later. Benham is beside himself. Hosfar is entertained. But it doesn't do any harm, this charade, and he enjoys himself wheedling his father for his ill will at his sons.

Immaturity aside, he's been selected to partake in the most exciting excursion of his life for his youth and skill in his field, and he's sure that in some small way, it at least makes his father proud. Now, he looks out for Kaseem, who has come along as a scribe for their people (after some persuasion on Hosni-Faraj's part, though he'll never tell his brother as much), and for the one whom has his heart.

Writing Sample
For a few moments, Ardeth was vaguely aware of what was going on around him until he found himself slipping into a mental unconsciousness. He felt drugged. Seemingly of their own volition, his hands fished around in the box, digging into the slimy mass and throwing small, slippery appendages about him until they hit the cold steel of a blade – the blade Sutekh had promised. Junayd's blade.

Ardeth looked at it a few moments, almost thoughtfully, but he saw nothing. Felt nothing. He only felt his hand grip the hilt with no intention of letting go.

And then he was gone.

Violently, he threw Evelyn's hand off of his shoulder (unaware it was hers at all), spun on his heel, and bulldozed his way out of the warriors. His face was blank and his body didn't feel like his. It was as if Shaitan Himself had entered Ardeth.

"Where is she," he demanded in a faraway voice that he didn't recognize as his own. No one replied – and if they did, Ardeth never heard it. He didn't have to ask a second time as he charged headlong up the stairs, Akeem at his heels and then in his face, trying and failing miserably to stop the Bey from the inexorable. "Ardeth, don't do this, this is exactly what Marenaser wants from you!" he begged. "She's a civilian, like our own people! If you do this, you're no better than he --" but Ardeth would hear no more of it. Quick as an asp, he cocked Akeem square in the jaw and plowed right through him, sending his friend crashing end over end down the stairs. He didn't bother to see if Akeem had made it up and had no intention of doing so; Ardeth instead tore down the hallway in a blind rage, throwing open every door he came to until he found the unfortunate object of his wrath.

Tuya cowered the instant he found her as he stood there in the doorway with knife in hand and eyes bleeding venom. She had seen that wild look before.

He meant to kill her.

She shrieked at top volume and backed into the corner, throwing whatever she could find at him as he came after her, terrifyingly quiet and undeterred as he was. When she ran out of weapons, Tuya fell to the floor and tried to shield herself with her arms. Ardeth wrestled with her for only a few moments before he seized her long hair and dragged her out of the room, writhing and screaming and spitting. She did whatever she could – sunk her nails into his hands, tried desperately to pry them from her head, kicked – all the way down the corridor, but she was no match for his adrenaline. No one helped her.

As Ardeth reached the top of the stairs with his victim in tow, he yanked Tuya up by her hair. She never imagined it would end this way, torn from Sutekh's side, far from her homeland, and a made a spectacle by her greatest enemy. Her eyes jumped wildly around the lobby, screaming for help. The warriors only stared up at her like a pack of hyenas licking their chops, hungry for revenge. She didn't know why they wanted her – all she knew was that she was going to die here.

And then she set eyes on Meti. He was gaping up at her like a deer in the head lights, face pale and horrified. A shadow fell on her face. He was going to see her end. He was the only Djed to see her end – and he would have to deliver it to Sutekh. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, tell Sutekh I--" she rasped, but Tuya never finished. At that moment, Ardeth emitted a bone-chilling, primal roar and, in one clean motion, took the blade across her throat. She never took her eyes off of Meti, even as precious lifeblood sprayed from her jugular and she gasped for air like a fish out of water.

Hethert, Lady of the Beautiful West...

She could feel life rapidly fleeing her body with every heartbeat.

Receive me in the Field of Reeds.
Comfort me with Your turquoise tears,
Renew me in Your golden arms,
May I live a million years
In the radiance of Your love.


Tuya had promised him she would not go down without a fight.

In the end, she never did.

Her dead weight body only tumbled down the stairs and landed at its feet in an unceremonious heap, and lay there drowning in a pool of blood. Ardeth didn't move, didn't speak, didn't hardly breathe. Eventually, Junayd's blood-stained blade fell from his hand and clattered to the floor, and that seemed to shake him back into reality. He became aware of his men staring up at him in mute shock, but he couldn't say anything. Ardeth was just as mute as the rest of them. He had done a terrible, unforgivable thing so uncharacteristic of himself that it terrified him. As a Bey, he had once prided himself in his honor. But there was no honor in killing an innocent woman. An innocent woman with child.

Slowly, Ardeth lowered himself and sat on the first step of the stairs, shaking, blood-stained hands holding his face like a pensive philosopher.

At last, huskily, he said, "find...find somewhere to bury her."

Ya Allah, forgive me. Forgive me for my sins, and remit from me my evil deeds, and make me die the death of the righteous. Help us.

Help us
all.


Puppeteer


Your Name: Hannah
Age: 19
Gender: Female
How can we contact you?: You know.
Time Zone: Mountain GMT
Do you play any other characters?: Too many you'll never stop me
How'd you find us?: Google search for Mummy RPGs. THANKS GOOGLE :D
Character's play-by: Eric Balfour
Are you familiar with The Mummy trilogy?: Si.
Any plans for your character?: General havoc and comic relief. >:D Also we need more Medjai, so here I am.
User avatar
Profile

28 years old
Egyptian
Standard Arabic
(bad) Muslim

Spy/Trader/Warrior
Bey tribe

Sanny
0 posts
Medjai
 
Top

POSTED: 30 Apr 2013

[acceptedbio][/acceptedbio]
User avatar
Profile

Vicky
0 posts
Admin
 
Top
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 mummy
Return to Medjai
Post a reply


Return to Medjai



cron
Powered by phpBB © 2000, 2002, 2005, 2007 phpBB Group
Evil Eyes: The Mummy © Vicky 2007-2014 All Rights Reserved. The Mummy™ © Universal Studios. We are noncommercial, unofficial and unaffiliated with Universal Studios and no copyright infringement is intended. Furthermore, unauthorized redistribution of content posted on this website isn't permitted. Layout © Vicky.