The sight of eagles, hawks and other birds of prey circling over the caravan was not unusual. However, the large one that was appearing to approach them for the south caused a few uncertain calls from the highly skilled spotters. Modibo, glanced towards the south to see the avian silhouette approaching their wagons. Like the others, he had initially assumed it was nothing out of the ordinary. That being said... its size only continued to grow as it flew closer. Fortunately, it was the middle of the day, and the caravan had stopped underneath the shade of a rocky outcrop. It was easy for the guards to observe the creature as it aimlessly passed over the desert.

This brief moment of calm quickly turned to alarm, as the large bird's wings adjusted enough so that it began to rapidly descend towards them. There were many assumptions he could make about: how or what it was. But what he needed was an expert with some degree of certainty. The usual guides and spotters were useless as the beast was entirely foreign to him, panic entering their voice as the beast only grew larger on its approach. He opted to quickly find his supernatural patron, hoping that she would be able to provide some clarity with her calm demeanor and specialized knowledge.

"It's a roc*." Kahina translated, as Victoria was already preparing some sort of mixture of dried herbs. "We should normally be of little interest to it, but there may be extenuating circumstances that drew its ire. All the same, we are getting ready to take cover." Although it was not reassuring, he ran back to his family as the large eagle began to land. The bird appeared to hop and skip across the sands to maintain its footing as it landed on the scorching sands, sending light tremors to the surroundings. The roc stopped just shy of their temporary encampment, scanning the landscape for anything of interest.

Most of the guards stood awe struck and faltered before the gigantic transgressor, not accustomed to facing a foe of such size. The roc easily dwarfed many of the castles and homes they had seen in their years of service, towering well over three stories. The warriors had the resolve to recklessly charge into battle against an army of humans or hunt any feral beasts looking at their clients as a free meal. However, a beast of this size was far beyond what they could reasonably manage. The few men still steadfast, raised their spears towards the bird. Whether or not their small arms could do anything against a foe that size was questionable, given that the flight feathers were longer than the length of their largest camels.

The roc stuck its head into the shade to investigate their assembled group, causing most everyone to flinch. It seemed to observe every inch of the caravan in detail, almost as if it was searching for something. Their own camels remained calm, relying on their training and not immediately bolting for the open desert. Similarly, a steady hand on the horses kept them under control. No one dared move or make a sound, remaining still while the enormous bird did what it pleased. A few guards, with enough forethought not to antagonize the beast, had given calm orders to stay their weapons and not attack. They could feel the breathing of the might bird, with any loose cloth or equipment being sent flying into the air.

The long observation of their encampment appeared to satisfy whatever curiosity it held. After giving a snort, the roc turned around and began running along the sandy landscape before taking off into the sky. There was a collective sigh of relief, knowing that the impossible threat was gone. Something had obviously provoked or stolen something of value from the mighty bird, enough that it suspected them of being the culprit. It was gone now, finding nothing of interest from their assembled men.

-

In a dark secluded room in a central room of a grand palace, a small banquet was held. The guests all sat on an ornate carpet, made from only the finest blend of wool from Vegetable Lambs**. An assortment of songstresses sang to the gathered audience, voices echoing and reverberating around the private dining room. Each one wore a dress made from high quality silk and adorned with countless gems that glittered in the candlelight. Their songs, telling stories about debauchery and riches, only fed into the atmosphere of indulgence.

On the table, carefully crafted from millennia old oak trees, were a variety of dishes all carefully plated to showcase its extravagance. Fragrant stews, spiced roasts and filleted fish filled most of the table, with ripe fruits and soft bread interspersed between the various offerings. In the center of the table was a large egg; that was larger than the rack of seasoned beef ribs that rested against its side.

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For the small sacrifice of twenty men, they had procured the egg of a nesting Roc from an island located far to the south. The chefs had to carefully maintain the internal temperature to continue the development of the embryo, before boiling it alive according to an eastern recipe***. The celebrants had ceremonious broken open the enormous egg and began to consume parts of the unhatched chick, paired with spicy dipping sauce made of finely ground garlic and peppercorns.

This display of wealth and gluttony was in celebration of the one-thousandth birthday of one: Qabil al-Kufa. He was the current ruler of the Noble Enclave, a place that was once known as the Court of the Tainted. Qabil was a Djinn himself, usually keeping himself in a form akin to that of a scholarly warrior with neatly trimmed, black facial hair. When in private quarters, he would take on mannerisms and aspects of a red serpent that leaked toxic fumes from between his scales.

He had taken over the city in a silent coupe, imprisoning and binding the once mighty Malaikah: Daim. It had taken centuries of planning and gaining influence to reach where he was today, surrounded by those who supported him. Each one content with their new position, enjoying the full extent of their newfound power. Above them, watching helplessly was the former ruler: Daim. Sealed away in a golden sphere along with his wife and children, forced to watch what happened to his cherished city from within his mystical prison. Qabil gave a mocking nod towards the ceiling as he bit into the malformed heart of the Roc chick.

He started off his silent campaign for power a few centuries ago by imprisoning one of Diam's more powerful supporters, the ever disrespectful: Aswat Khatib. Aswat had already obtained levels of reality-warping power that would cause trouble for the more blessed malaikah, that was before he had been blessed by Diam. With a few careful acts of incitement and nurturing of resentment towards his fellow members of the governing court, he had managed to create a charge that had enough substance to demand corrective action. While he held favour with the commoners and slaves, adhering to the ridiculous notion that everyone should be held to the same standard, their collective voice meant nothing to those with the power to squash them in an instant.

He had managed to banish Aswat, binding him with a powerful curse of binding to a carefully crafted lamp. It would take an incredibly selfless man, like the prophet Isa (Jesus), who would forgo wealth and power to release him. It had been Diam's own idea, a soft exile for his friend thinking that he merely had to perform a selfless act for a mortal. The fool never thought to check the work of the people crafting the vessel, assuming that he would be quickly discovered and released. Qabil had quickly sent the blasted lamp into the middle of the desert, buried underneath layers of sand with far more constraints on the wishes than was requested. It would take millennia before something sentient would touch it, let alone one which could display the necessary restraint or cunning required to meet the criteria.

Over the following century, his own faction created scandals and incidents which were used to pressure those in influence to step down. The very upstanding morals that had given them the blessings of a Malaikah were used against them when reviewing their conduct. All those gathered for the celebratory feast had played the part of a neutral and morally-just member of the ruling elite, acting in accordance with the expectations set forth by Diam. It felt degrading, working for the so called "good of the people" and preaching the word of the Mohammad****. Yet, it was what was demanded in order to correct his city to its correct structure. Under his own rule of course. They were Djinns, why should they forsake their true nature in order to chase a false god.

After forty long years of study, a mystical prison capable of imprisoning a powerful Maliakah was created. A casual invitation to his estate to celebrate his second wife's latest birth was all it took to lure the foolish Maliakah in the middle of the circle. Diam's wife and children tried to help and entangled themselves in his trap. In spite of his imprisonment, each one of his conspirators still held Diam's blessings, letting them seize control of the city with little resistance.

Qabil, still reminiscing about his ascension to power absentmindedly reached for a pot of sauce to cover some particularly rare goat ribs. His hand grasped onto the handle of some unknown object. Only after pushing it aside did he pause to think about what he had grabbed. With juice dripping from his mouth, Qabil's gaze shifted to the object from which he had unconsciously grasped. It was an oddly familiar oil lamb, made of high-quality gold and ornate artistry that had been slightly worn down over time.

Then the realization of what he held set in. In shock he threw the lamp into the corner of the room, only to hear the mocking laughter reverberate around the walls. This day of celebration was now tainted by the fear that someone who could rival their power had returned. Everyone looked around, trying to find the source of laughter. The servants and songstresses were far too young to recognize the voice, but all the gathered celebrants knew it was: Aswat. Despite the shock held by those in attendance, nothing happened except the ever-increasing volume of laughter.

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