For a hand full of sand - redux

Little bits of history repeating.

"What a headache!"

Tumbling from side to side the great Djinn Abu Abdul Amir tries to find an orientation. First an orientation in time, then in space, and then he might be able to find out what kind of pathetic creature nearby has summoned him.

"Master, it worked, you have called a Djinn. I bow before your wizzardly greatness."

This squeaking voice made it quite clear to Abu Abdul Amir that it was once again a feeble attempt of a second class human apprentice at best of the dark arts to summon and control him. Still his vision isn't clear yet, but as soon as Abu Abdul Amir is back to full strength he will have a little lesson with this apprentice mage and his even weaker student about protective circles and their merits when trying to contain a foul tempered Djinn as he was.

"Greetings Djinn, I hereby command the to my service."

Abu Abdul Amir feels that he is not bound by the petty spells of this weaklings. If he only could see, if only....
To hell, with one outburst of rage the Djinn shatters the laboratory and its inhabitants. Free at last....


In Fez it is a warm summer night and the Sultan is just about to wander of to his gardens hoping to refresh his mind once again in the scent of the lush thinkness of flowers. The war with Portugal bothered him and his old shoulders already felt that the burden will weigh him down. Perreira, the accursed son of a desert jackal and only Allah knows what his mother might be has just arrived around anger with a force of 22000 portugese. Given Perreiras obvious skills in leadership the Sutlan expects a humbling defeat and so he tries to flee to his garden.
Unfortunately his recreation was denied, the garden was not full of flowery scent, but rather of sulfur and brimstone. While the Sultan still thought it strange but decided that the crimson red sulphur lotus must have opened when a towering figure emerged behind a palmtree. Clearly this figure was the source of the unpleasant scent. Again unfortunately the Sultan found no time to call for the guard since fear almost robbed his speach forever.
It didn't take long till the Sultan found an agreement with the figure who claimed to be a powerful Djinn named Abu Abdul Amir. This Djinn claimed that they already knew each other and said something complex about time and repetition. It all didn't matter to the Sultan. But when the Djinn offered his help the Sultan was all ears. And when the Djinn offered to depart immediately the Sultan was so relieved that he offered him the command over the moroccan troops just to get him and his stench out of the garden. Pleased with himself the Sultan decided that this would be a good night to later visit his harem.

"My Sultan, the portugese have lost the battle before our town. Perreira and the remnants of his troops are retreating and the Djinn chases them. We have won."
"Imbecile, you may be my messager, but you have no right to disturb my session with the doctor."
The Sultan was displeased. Of course, the war was progressing splendidly. Shortly after the first battle between the Djinn and Perreira the accursed castilians joined in on the portugese side and this made it possible for the moroccan one ship fleet to land troops on the canary islands. But that was all progress possible. Since that time all they did was defending their african homeland against myriads of small armies of the enemy who mach across morocco plunering. Now of coruse Morocco was on the verge of winning, but the war has become insignificant for the Sultan.
After the first victories the Djinn Abu Abdul Amir came to him and asked him to proclaim Yahiya al Wattasi commander in chief and his heir. The Sultan had nothing against this since al Wattasi was an able young man and he thought nothing of it when he was asked to seal the document with his blood...
But ever since his health was rapidly dwindling and he couldn't help but think that he was cheated of something.

On the first of January 1420 Yahiya al Wattasi had the honorable duty of burrying the old Sultan and take over his position. Right after the inaugural ceremony he went to the rooms of the Djinn Abu Abdul Amir for discussion. Comng out again the soldiers said he was unusually pale and had a bandaged right arm.

"Abu Abdul Amir"
"Yes." The Djinn whirles around, but there is nobody there to whom the voice belongs.
"Abu Abdul Amir"
The Djinn grows worried. This voice keeps calling him, plaing games, but he can not see the owner. This is most disturbing since he has plans to make. He wants to build a large fleet in Tanger and finally set an army over to iberia. Maybe he could force a peace with Portugal or Castilia giving him a foothold there. Oh, of course giving Morocco a foothold there. The dead of the wars have increased his strength considerably, he really does not need a disturbance now.
"Abu Abdul Amir, you had to swear an oath."
"Damn, is it you again? What else have you Efreeti to do than bother harmless old Djinni trying their best to make a living."
"Better say trying to do your best in destruction and deceit."
"Whatever you think, you got nothing on me.."
"So you think, what about the failing health of the old Sutlan."
"As you say, he was old. I got nothing to do with it. Besides the oath was given in another time."
"No it wasn't and you know that."
A searing pain shoots through Abu Abdul Amir's body.
"Alright, I understand."
"It is good that you do. So remember no cruelty, no dubbledealing, no undead Conquistadors like last time. You may rule this country from now on, but only within certain limits."
Grudgingly the Djinn submits. A given word is a given word. But he will get this Efreet back one day.

"My Sultan, we have peace"
"But Abu Abdul Amir, didn'T you want to invade Iberia for me, freeing our lands there once more."
"Time my Sultan. Time and growing strength is what we need. Please ask me again when we have grown. Besides, Portugal paied for the peace and Catilia gave us the Canaries."
"We now own the canaries?"
"Yes, with all that comes with it."
The Sultan decides that he should celebrate this 14th of May 1420 by visiting his harem. He feels a bit weak today, or better said ever since he signed that document with the Djinn in blood, but he thinks that he has strength enough for that.

On the 1st of January 1424 a group of heralds from Tlemcen arrived in Fez to announce that their Sultan has accepted the dynastic union with Morocco. In fact this meant the vassalization of Tlemcen by Morocco which will one day certainly end in annexation. This day is now fixed as the deathdate of the Sultan of Tlemcen. The Djinn Abu Abdul Amir thanked the Sultan of Tlemcen with the special gift of a rare sort of Tea which he claims 'makes you feel closer to the seven heavens of Allah'.



The coming years were joyful years in Morocco. The Sultan spend his time rearranging the administration and the Djinn Abu Abdul Amir beat back several attempts of the Portugese and Castillians to win back Tanger and the canaries. Still the five year regularly repeating war declarations by the christians began to wear on the health of the Sultan who rapidly decaied away. Luckily on the 14th of August 1437 the Sultan of Tlemcen died first and thus the lands were united under the lead of Morocco. Meanwhile Anti Atlas and the Canaries were properly colonized in the name of Allah and tax collectors began their duty there. Maybe that is why the populace didn't realize how happy those days were. But soon, all too soon, they should experience that they could have it far worse...

Man, man, one could never live quite without pitty, (1439 - 1459)

"You allowed this Djinn to keep control over the state and the humans inhabiting it."
"I deemed it best my liege. He is bound by his oath and whatever he plans, we can keep an eye on him now."
"That sounds as if you assume you are prepared to meet him whatever his plans may be?"
"I assume this Sire."
"Well, it is your duty, not mine. Remember the punishment that failure brings. You may rise, but keep your eyes lowered and your back bowed while leaving, I am discontent."

His predecessor had told the Efreet Al-Sharaf that the meetings with HIM were never pleasant. Now Al-Sharaf new it himself. It was time to secure his position, time to visit the Djinn once more.

The Djinn resides in a high up chamber of the royal casbah overlooking the city of Fez. The Sultan doesn't like this casbah and usually prefers one of his strongholds in the mountains where the air is clean and there are green plants in the gardens with fresh, clear water. Abu Abdul Amir instead prefers the city. Yes, his city, with its accumulated wealth, its busy citizens, its stench and the continuous wind carrying sand and dust from the southern desert. Sand that finds its way into every corner of the houses and huts, into every meal, into every peace of clothing, everywhere. Slowly but irresistably this sand took over the city and wasn't it for the inhabitants, the city would sooner ot later be burried. With a book in his hand Abu Abdul Amir stands at the window, regarding his city, plotting...
"Abu Abdul Amir."
"Is it you again? Please be wellcomed."
The Djinn, although his voice sounded friendly, is displeased at this once again annoying visit by the Efreet. Not only that he is bound by word to keep a low profile, he is humiliated by having to deal with this underling. One day...
"I have come to see how the life of the good people here progresses."
"I am afraid you came to the wrong address, I am only responsible for the bad people, as you certainly knew in advance. Aren't the good people yours?"
"A tricky question that is, indeed. But before I allow you to squeeze yourself out of this conversation tell me, how did Morrocco fair lately."
"You mean apart from the continuous peace talks and declarations of war with the christians that lead to nothing except loss of money? Well, we found a route southward through the Sahara towards the unelightened pagan kingdoms of the south who are still untouched by Allah's grace. On the way we also found salt which we might later turn into gold, but that is secondary. We established trading posts on that route. Besides that we have only forced the Sultan of Tunis into vassalization."
The Efreet materializes out of thin air right next to a small side table ladden with an overfully filled bowl of fruit, which apparently the Djinn has ordered just to leave them to rot there.
"You have forced you say? Haven't I made my instructions clear about these methods?"
"Oh, of course you did. But this time I can say with a grin that I had nothing to do with it. Our Sultan himself sent the diplomatic notes."
"Of course he did and you were feeding his birds meanwhile."
"Exactly."
"Be warned, I'll keep on watching you."
"Please take a fruit when you are leaving, I think we are through."
"We are through when I tell you so!"
The eyes of the Djinn narrow, he clearly fixes his gaze upon the Efreet.
"As you wish, but you will have to force me to speak from now on."
For a second silence fills the room, then the Efreet leaves leaving behind a Djinn mumbling to himself:
"So that is what you are, a little coward believing in the principals of humanity. Well, that is good to know."
The Djinn rings a bell and a servant enters.
"Bring me the plate of deer-carrion, it is time to feed the birds."
He leaves to see the vultures...


"My dear Sultan, may I introduce myself, my name is Al-Sharaf. I am a wandering seer and soothsayer. Your servants called me."
Although the bow seemes to be low enough the Sultan of Tunis deemed this stranger to be a bit arrogant for a simple traveler. He would teach him a lesson if he risked a lip. But for now he needed the help of this man.
"Yes, they say that you are an able man and I need to know many things. Allah in his unfathomable wisdom has denied me a son no matter how hard I tried with my wives. The Sultan of Morocco and the Kaliph of Cairo both eye my small country and my people fear both of them. So far I made my luck with Morocco and faired well, but the Sultans of that land have an ever shorter lifespan and I fear Allah's curse lies on my western neighbor. But the east isn't better. My lament is without end for I will have to chose one of them for my heir and none seems to be good for my people."
"Ineed you need counsel and counsel you shall have. The animal of Morocco is the lion, while Egypt has the eagle. Whichever you see first on the day when next Ramadan ends will be the right choice for your people."
"That seems to be to easy for such a matter. If you fail in your advise I shall curse thee and thine family onto the third generation. May Allah send his wrath to seek you out and make you a jackal's meal if you fail me."

At the beginning of the next Ramadan the Sultan of Tunis received a gift from Abu Abdul Amir the advisor of the Sultan of Morocco, who once again waged war against Portugal and Castillia, trying to defend his holdings. The gift was a new blanket for the coming nights, skillfully and expensively embroided with hunting scenes of desert lions....
When the Ramadan ended the Sultan of Tunis decided to abdicate in favor of the Sultan of Morocco, this was in the year 1453. Some people claim to have seen a furious man with a tame eagle riding westward from Tunis in the early hours of the day, but hat might just be legend.


"Abu Abdul Amir."
The usually so sweet voice of the Efreet seems to lack a bit of honey this time. Grinningly the Djinn turns around and waits for the Efreet to start.
"You fooled me."
"Bad sport are we? To be exact, it was first you who tried to fool me? Or what is this with the eagle?"
"That blankett,..."
"That blankett was chosen by the Sultan, not myself. I simply presented it."
"And made sure that it will be on the Sultan's bed by coercing the maid."
"Aren't we both just learning this game."
"You don't know with what you gamble. This development leads directly to war and misery for all of Morocco's inhabitants."
"It is not war or misery but glory which I seek. The others are just the byproducts."
"You will stop this immediately."
"I have already stopped it. If it pleases you I will from now on keep a low profile and encourage the slow development of our economy and the colonization of the salty south."
"Yes, that would please me."
"Very well then, we are done. You may leave now."
"I told you before that I come and leave at my will and that it is me who tells you when we are done."
The Djinn pays no attention to the Efreet. The latter swallows his anger and leaves.
"Coward, yes indeed a coward. Come birdie,..."


As soon as the first moroccan soldiers built a position near the border of Songhai two strange riders appear in the stories that merchants carry from market to market. These riders seem to come directly from Timbuktu or the desert close to it and rode steadily northwards. They only talk to each other and in a low tone and hushed voice. Despite the sun they wear hoaded-cloaks, shirts, wide trousers, gloves, turbans and seemingly cover every inch of their body with cloth. When asked for their names they only whisper "Yussuf" and "Ishmael". They have never been seen resting, never drinking, never eating while others were present. They never join a caravan and never stop in guesthouses. Their path steadily leads them north and with them their legend spreads always carried a week ahead of their position by merchants. Some claim the riders are sufi's others deem them pagan priests, but obviously they were not sick for they advanced steadily mile by mile. And one day their slow pace leads them to the village of Al-Tuz south of the great Fez. The villagers are surprised to see that the riders don't take the road to Fez, but ride into the mountains where in former times bandits used to live in caves. As soon as they were alone one of the riders points to a cave and says:
"There it is Yussuf, we have finally reached it."
"By the honor of my father who was a donkey leader in the mountains near marrakesh, we are broken figures, Ishmael."
"May I remind you that it was you who proposed the bargain with him."
"We died of thirst in the middle of nowhere and just because you sold me a broken waterbottle and thought it a good bargain. Would you have prefered to die out there."
"You know that we can't just go back and die, it is too late for that."
Meanwhile they reached the cave entrance. They dismount their horses and slowly head for the cave. Their boots creak and leave traces in the sand befoe the cave, carrying it with them over the step of the cave onto the stone floor.
"Wellcome my faithful servants, i have awaited you. We have work to do..."
"Yes master Abu Abdul Amir."
The two figures bow low revealing the putrified flesh of their necks to their master.

OOC: Correction

Sorry to disturb this. I forgot to write down the difficulty levels:

Very hard - coward

I think that is all now. Of course, if you have questions just submit them and I will happily ignore them.... my excuses, I meant answer them of course.
Come birdie, birdie....

The heat is rising (1459-1473)

"Abu Abdul Amir."
A voice can only betray so much of a person under selfcontrol as this person wants the voice to betray. With exited persons and especially excited Efreets this is a different story. The joyful mood of the speaker is barely conceiled in this statement.
The Djinn addressed with his name is certainly in a less favorable mood, but he has an excellent self control. Setting down his plate of carrion next to the new bowl of rotting fruit the Djinn turns on his heel to face the apparition of the Efreet that howers in the middle of his private quarters.
"Congratulations, even the great Khaled, your predecessor, would be amazed how you managed to squeze into the position of chief senior advisor of a dercepit, old and senile Sultan. I hope you enjoy watching your hopes wither away."
Unenthusiastically clapping applaus the Djinn prepares to concentrate on a few papers spread leisurely about his desk.
"I am afraid I must disappoint you", Al-Sharaf throws in "the Sultan with the ocean of wisdom that Allah bestowed upon him chose to make me royal advisor for LIFETIME, without being tied to his person."
If the Djinn was uninformed about this, there was no sign that betrayed his surprise.
"I have now the counselling command over Morocco and I wil use it well. Your expansionistic greed for glory and control leads straight to the financial ruin of our nation and will isolate us from our neighbors."
"Petty little boy, you talk of 'our nation'. Don't you ever dare to put me on one level with you again not even talking of the herd of human failures out there."
"It is your nation same as it is mine since our two fates are tied to it and I will not suffer that your actions spoil my future prospects. I have the power and the means to ensure that Morocco follows my advise and there is naught that you can do about it."
"And what do you plan to do then."
"We colonize Mdenna and Azaoud, stabilize our economy and make trade agreements with the southern states. You of course can keep on defending our holdings against the christians, but no advances, be warned."
"Your warning is received."
With the last sentence the voice of the Djinn dropped to an icy whisper.
"After you have finished outlining your thoughts about your future I will give you insights upon mine. I will not bow or bend to you. You are not Khaled and you will never reach as high as Khaled's kneecaps. I accept that you have current control, but I will not surrender to it. Lead Morocco alone and don't come looking for me if you need advise."
With this words the Djinn disappeared in a cloud of stench.

In the hot streets of the souk of Fez Haroun al Murawi is a prominent figure. Prominent not in the sense of well known but rather easy to spot. Born an albino he has to shun the light and keeps his whole body covered all the time. His white hair and beard are as disturbing to the other visitors to the market as are his red eyes. Haroun knows this and that is why he kept himself locked up through most of the 28 years of his existence. But today he had to leave. He needed to buy desert kobra eggs. Student of the arts of alchemy and magic he was always looking for a way to become normal. But since that seems to be beyond his capabilities he so far had to resign. However a new thought began to dominate his mind. Starting as a small whim that coincidentally found its way to his brain it was there nourished and grew. Like a worm in an apple it took over more and more space the more Haroun thought about it and slowly it grew into and obsession. He, Haroun al Murawi, will be the first wizard to live eternally. Yes, all these disgusting normal human beings were not presented the great gift that Allah offered him. He would succeed, he knew it. He was chose. Being an albino was just the manifestation of the great Allah's choice. And according to his research he needed desert cobra eggs....

Meanwhile in the south colony of Azaoud there lives the respected Mussaf Bakri. Mussaf is member of the honorable trade of border bandits that make a living out of quick raids over the border into Ashanti or Songhai territory. His life is good. He owns three camels and two horses, three wifes, five sons, three daughters, two houses, two dug wells and a garden of palmtrees. All of this payed with pure gold robbed of the traders who themselves robbed it from Mali by selling overpriced trinkets to the naive desert people. The honorable Mussaf loved this life, especially since the southern border was calm, no war and no troops present. Mussaf looks up at the sun, says a thankful prayer to the allpowerful Allah and decides to go over to eight finger Ali to play a party of Sika and get happily cheated by the son of a toothless herder and an aged and shabby goat. Mussaf laughed out of pure pleasure...

In cave near a village near Fez two figures bow low before a third.
"Everything is prepared master."
"Very well, you know when and you know how. Go now, I am well pleased with you my servants."
The two figurees leave the cave and mount horses. One of them rides southward towards the border, one northward to Fez.

The morning of the 2nd of January 1472:
"Servant, bring me another pillow for my left side, a new plate of sugared oranges a tea and a waterpipe."
Al-Sharaf enjoys his position. Ever since he arranged to replace the accursed Djinn in 1459 and handles the fate of Morocco the times have improved. He had the humans colonize Mdenna and Azaoud. He kept peace and profitted from trade. The Djinn was an idiot, but that isn't new. It was good that he kept away and hasn't been seen for a dozen years now.
"Answer me servant, did the Sultan finally succeed in producing an heir?"
"I am afraid no Sir. The are already rumors spreading that he is impotent."
Al-Sharaf decides that he should discuss this matter with the Sultan. If anything unexpected happened this might plunge Morocco into Anarchy and that certainly wasn't in the Efreets favor. He will go to the Sultan immediately tomorrow, but today there are some sugared oranges to be taken care of...

Later that day in the garrison of the moroccan southern border army.
"What did you say is your name again."
"Yussuf my commander general, but that doesn't matter. I am just a little vermin to deliver a letter from my master."
"And who is this master you speak of?"
"Take the letter and you shall know."
The person named Yussuf leaves the office of the commander leaving behind a letter on the desk. He mounts a horse and rides of towards the north before the commander could react. Slowly couriosity conquers fear and the commander picks up the letter. An hour later the whole army was assembled. The commander addressed his soldiers.
"For Allah's and our Sultans glory, to battle."
And without official declaration of war the troops invade the land of the Ashanti, not questioning where the commander has his orders from.

The same night in the Sultan's private bedroom. Awakening from an unpleasant dream the Sultan finds himself facing the blade of an unknown intruder. To scared to call for the guards the Sultan falls into a wakening stupor.
"Good evening my liege, my name be Ismael, faithful servant of the master. I am afraid you now want to question why I do this, but a wise man once said, reasons don't matter to the dead."


When awakening in the morning Al-Sharaf was overrun by the news. The Sultan dead and no heir, different parties struggling for power and in the south an unknown power has taken control over the army and attacked the Ashanti without anyones knowledge or consent.
This morning in Fez smelled of blood and smoke. Riots and fires spread through the streets and in between them the Efreet was fleeing the chaos. Blood smear all over his robe he stands in the streets between clouds of black smoke crying:
"Abu Abdul Amir, that is your work. A plague upon you and may Allah cripple your limbs and make you crawl with the face in the dirt forever. What have you done, what have you done...."

Let the bad times roll (1473 - 1509)

Muhammar Madouni is on the brink of collapsing to the dirty streets of Fez. The young boy of age 14, once a proud chamber servant of the late Sultan, has searched the souks of his hometown till exhaustion. It was three days ago that the news spread the sultan was dead. Ever since different 'honorable' nobles and conetables have tried to reach the chef advisor of state Al-Sharaf. Not that the boy liked any of these men, but they grew increasingly harsh and forceful in their demands. Although still young Muhammar knew exactly what these traitors had in mind. some of them like the one-eyed Hadji were already raising armies and stirring up the people to civil war, others were bribing foreign leaders, even christians, to interfere in Morocco. And all of them want just on thing, the throne.
'May Allah in all his beauty and bliss descend from heaven himself and free our country from these lowly parasites who must surely have a dung beetle somewhere in their line of heritage.' The young man mumbled as he moved on. His only chances is to find Al-Sharaf. Admittedly not the most brilliant of advisors, but better than the one eyed Hadji or Ussan the left handed, who were now the most likely candidates for the Sultan position. Al-Sharaf would surely govern Morocco the right way until a dignified candidate would be found for the realm.
Currently Fez had a day of calm where the dead are burried, the fires quelled and the smoke didn't hang low over the town and the boy thought it best to use this day to find Al-Sharaf. Now he had searched for long without success and his legs are already starting to deny their once faithful service. Mustafa the tea merchant, a friend of Muhammar's father sees the young man and calls him over for a talk, a rest and a cup of tea. Muhammar decides not to forgo the invitation. On his way to the merchant his hears a quiet, subdued sobbing near the stall of Nasir the fish merchant. Turning his head he can see in the corner of his eye one end of a robe of the royal advisors. He finally found Al-Sharaf, or what was left of him....

"I can not return, I failed."
It proved harder than he thought. Muhammar has to push the advisor through the streets all the way up to the royal casbah, constantly calming and soothing the hurt confidence of the latter. Nothing is more embarrasing the boy thinks as a grown up adult falling prey to self pitty.
"Your honor, no matter whether you failed before or not, Morocco needs you now. We are in anarchy on the brink of civil war. Rebels start to beseige the loyal fortresses and I don't know how long they will remain loyal given they don't know to whom they are loyal?"
"I can not. HE will punish me for my failure. He and the Djinn."
The boy starts to question the sanity of the advisor. Al-Sharaf brabbled of some superhuman HIM and a Djinn. Maybe he should sober up first before starting the administration, but first he has to reach the casbah.
Luckily the guards of the fortress seemed to remember the face of the advisor when they reached the door and showed even a sign of relief to see him. Without further problems the boy shovs Al-Sharaf to the now plundered former rooms of the advisor and sits him down before running for tea and sugared oranges in the hope they would help...

"Yussuf, Ishmael, I am proud. You both performed your duties exceedingly well."
The two Zombie servants of Abu Abdul Amir licked their lips and bowed lapping up every single word of this praise to their skills. They have pleased their master and that is all that matters to them. After a time Yussuf dares to mention the not so good news.
"Master, I have to report that Al-Sharaf ha made it back to the casbah and is currently struggling to keep Hadji and Ussan subdued. He even managed to convinced some of the army leaders that he is the rightful ruler and they support him."
"Most interesting, the Efreet proves to be less a coward than I thought. Maybe we should spend more of the 'acquired' tax money on the support of Ussan, but maybe not..."
"I also have to report that in the south the pagans start to unite in the war against us. Was it at first Dahomey only now already Songhai joined in and they say Oyo and Benin are on the verge of joining. May I add that together they have over 120000 men under arms. Even with our desert cavalry that would be hard to come by."
"I know, but is it my problem? I am not leading Morocco, I can not accept peace. I have nothing more for you to do, you may leave now and relax."
It is always amazing to see the sly smile creep upon Abu Abdul Amirs face when his listeners realize that a carefully laid out trap of his has worked out.
"Master, allow me to ask why you do all this."
"You are allowed to ask my faithful servant. Maybe I should give you a speech about glory now, but I prefer to cite a wise man who said: 'reasons don't matter to the dead' .
Yussuf and Ishmael bow low and leave. Yussuf to relax in the library, Ishmael in the torture chamber.



"So this is the current status of our efforts?"
Al-Sharaf begins to enjoy this position. Maybe it is just the number of waterpipes he consumed this day that caused the joy, but stil it is better than yeasterday. He is still unsure what he can do. When asking the general Asif about the possibilities of his armed forces the general usually grins and answers 'limited'. Still it has improved. On the first days of his 'reign' he wasn't even sure if anyone is on his side. Now he has Ussan the left handed and the one-eyed Hadji safely locked up in his cellars and the rebels that regularly crop up are quickly dispersed. Still he somehow had problems regaining full control of the tax mony. Something in the south interferes and diverts most of it. Also he so far was unable to settle the war in the south with a stable peace agreement. All of this he traces back to Abu Abdul Amirs presence. That three times accursed Djinn, may his genitals rot and fall of only to be eaten by a street dog, must have his basis somewhere in the south. Given time and patience he will find him and strike at him.
"Are you dreaming Sir? I said they offer us peace."
Oh, he forgot about the general.
"Of course, what are they offering again?"
"Timbuktu!"
"We of course accept."
His first little victory against the Djinn. On the 13th of March 1479 the war was over.

Mussaf Al-Bakri, honorable border bandit of Azaoud, and his friend the cheating eight finger Ali are a bit displeased at the situation. Anarchy is really bad for business. The caravan trade has almost completely stopped and there is not much to rob. Also it doesn't pay to be a thug if every honorable citizen is one, as is the case in Morocco in these times. So the two put their heads together and have an enlightening idea. They call it 'opportunistic trading'. From this moment on they consider themselves honorable traders and move to Timbuktu to start caravans to smuggle arms. The advantage of this commodity is that in case a good opportunity arises the arms can be put to immediate use for the honorable trade of the border bandit. They both drink to this briliant idea and hope for positive future development.
Unfortunately they soon had to find out that their new trade has a drawback. The honorable trade of border bandit, plundering caravans of foreign merchants on foreign soil, has a dispicable evil twin. It is the trade of the leeching, parasitic border thug. These wreched beings from underdevelopped countries like Songhai use the current lack of Moroccan border guard to harass and plunder honorable Moroccan arms smugglers. Mussaf and Ali curse them up to the seventh offspring. Honorable border bandit may be a good profession, but these thugs are just outragious...


Al-Sharaf grows desparate at the same rate as his consume of sugared oranges increases. Whenever he is able to crush the rebels somewhere, others crop up like mushrooms. Only lately Egypt was troubled by rebels and they had nothing better to do than to cross the border to Tripoli. They have been beaten back, but still the neighboring provinces are under control of the rebels and Egypt is too weak to fight them.
Whenever five years of peace have passed in the south SOMEONE, and he is pretty sure to know who this someone is, creates a minor border infringement and war is again declared against the pagans. No matter how many generals he exchanges the next ones always seem to fall prey to the same mechanics.
He also managed to create an alliance with Mali, only to find out that they forged this alliance to draw Morocco into their war with Portugal. He bets his beard on the fact that Abu Abdul Amir has given them the idea to this.
Of course, each of these wars ends in some way positive. One ends in the annexation of Dahomey, the other in the surrender of the portugese gold in Leone, of which miracuously not a Denar has so far reach Fez, the last war was the end of Songhai. But to hell, what can Morocco do with all those pagan provinces except crush the rebels that form there. They are poor and underdeveloped. A curse on this Djinn and his notion of glory, again.
"More oranges!"

An albino mage of significant age meanders through the streets of fez mumbling to himself. "Kobra eggs, only three days for the Kobra eggs."
He succeeded in keeping himself alive for so many years and he will certainly be able to sustain himself longer, despite the ever increasing difficulty of the task. All he needed is Kobra eggs, once again. But where to hell should he find a merchant selling Kobra eggs in a city like Fez. Anarchy and misgovernement have made the economy go steeply downhill. Not a single decent merchant was left. All he could hope for was luck. Marching on he almost bumped into a completely cloaked and hooded figure who emitted a strangely sweet smell reminding him of old lamb meat.
"You are looking for Kobra eggs, right?"

The morning of the 1st of January 1417 is another cool and windy morning in the southern Sahara desert, not betraying that heat that will set in in a few hourse. Abu Abdul Amir bows down and picks up a hand full of sand. He was almost there, almost. The news had just arrived that Cyrenaica, Quattra and Alexandira, the three egyptian rebel provinces have defected to the Moroccan empire. The people will certainly credit this to the idiot Al-Sharaf, but Abu Abdul Amir knows better. Luckily he is not the Djinn to be envious of such fake glory, he aims for the real one. With a wink of his arm he gives the general the signal to start the march. Soon there will be the final war against the remains of Oyo and Benin...

Al-Sharaf tiredly returns to his luxurious rooms at the casbah. His nerves are run down and the news of a new war in the south bring them down even further. He needs his oranges now. Upon entering the room he darts for the table of fruits.
"Good evening."
Al-Sharaf turns around to face the intruder and freezes.
"It is you? What are you doing here? HE charged me with this task."
The other draws a document from his sleeve and hands the sealed paper to Al-Sharaf with the words:
"Not any more."
The Efreet opens his eyes wide.
"How can he? Didn't I perform well?"
"To be exact no, I will take over. But be comforted, he has a new assignment for you in the lower Kongo basin. And take the oranges with you when leaving."
The other thinks to himself: "Maybe they serve as a good stuffing..."

The new advisor carefully prepares the room. First of all all windows are barred and the cracks through which even the smallest beam from Allah's ever shining and benevolent sun could break are filled with layers of thick black cloth. Several candles lighten the room and five more wait for their use. He once again checks his list, he has the doves and the cat ready, he has the chalk and most important the tome. Slowly he lifts it high, mumbles the words and opens it. Even he, accustomed to various books and arts of scripture shivers at the writings and pictures of the old madman from Oran. Abdul-al-Hazred was truely well informed when he lived, it is good that he died the way he did and noone ever checked whether he had spoken true. Khaled begins with the ritual...

"You? It is really you? I must say I somehow missed you."
Abu Abdul Amir finds himself in the conjunring circle facing his old arch enemy, the high Ereet Khaled.
"Please spare me with your haughty speech. We both know what will follow now. Your game against Al-Sharaf was fun ... while it lasted. Now I am back and you know what will happen."
"I assume I will of course again be confined to one or two rooms here in the casbah, locked up in a protective circle with no access to my undead minions."
"Of course."
"So our old game begins again?"
"Of course."
"Very well, please visit me for tea tomorrow and don't be late."
"Thank you for the invitation, I will gladly come and see how you will accomodate in your new, let me say 'prison'. And rest assured I won'T be late, I never was."
"You almost where too late this time... Oh, I have something for you."
The efreet hands the Djinn two maps of Morocco.
"They are fresh, just from this morning, the 1st of January 1509. I took the freedom to leave you a few tasks at hand."
"I will take care of them. We'll meet tomorrow."
Forcefully the Djinn disappears in a whiff of smoke. It certainly felt good to be back, but nothing could ever cure Khaled from the cold shiver he gets when meeting the great Abu Abdul Amir. He will have to keep close watch, but now to the maps first....



The EAST



The SOUTH

Law, Order and other principals...

He looks old, old and worn down. The once black hair is now filled up with streaks of white. Deep traces of age, sorrow and hard work run down his face testifying that life is not always kind to its holders. The tall man has the typical bend in his spine, clearly a man born, raised and consumed as servant. Maybe the prototypical servant. Khaled is moved by pitty.
"Your name is Muhammar Madouni, honorable and loyal servant of the absent Sultan and his helper Al-Sharaf."
"Yes your honor. However could we please get over this quick. Al-Sharaf has already informed me of your takeover and long discussions tire me. I will serve you as I did serve your predecessor for the best of this land. Just tell me what is needed."
This servant practices a loose speech. Even in discipline Al-Sharaf seems to be incompetent. There is a lot of work left for Khaled here.
"First fo all stop the peace negotiations in the south. Not all deeds of the enemy are really enmical deeds. Better to keep the troops and generals in the south now."
"As you command."
"Furthermore please go through all registers. Try to find the rightful and legitimate heir to the throne of Morocco."
"Your honor, this is futile, there is noone left."
"There must be, search!"
"As you wish."
"You may leave now, but before you start visit Abu Abdul amir and ask him for the documents about the troops in the war in the south. I need them to better organize our advance."
"My lord, I despise the Djinn, must we rely on his data."
"Yours is not to question, yours is to obey. Do as I say and leave now. It is my responsibility not yours."
Muhammar leaves with a bow.

It is a day as so many before for Mussaf Al-Bakri, former honorable border bandit, then honorable arms smuggler, now dirty and sweaty peasant in Azaoud. He has gained and lost so many fortunes in his long life that he can not remember all of them. He and his friend eight finger Ali, who has lost his tongue a few years ago when the authorities questioned the truth in his testimony before court, an unfortunate legal error, now spend their time digging ditches to canalize water to the palmtrees and maniok fields that serve as their main income now. The successive victories in the south have ruined him. how can one smuggle arms if the next borders keeps creeping away like the sea when the ebb is coming. These times are just bad times, full of misfortunes and those scoundrels who draw profit from honorable men like him struck by it.
Looking up from his work the old eyes of Mussaf see two strangers, riders coming out of the north, completely cloaked and hooded, who let their horses drink from Mussaf's water. What insolence!
"You two sons of hyenas, most foul breedings of a cheap harbor whore, may Allah send a bolt to blind you. That is my water!"
He and Ali jump up, run towards the intruders and pick up the old sabres, their friends from former times, which they always keep close.
"The water, our horses, our heritage and future are none of your business. Leave us alone and nothing will happen."
The strangers seem to be unmoved by this fierce and armed resistance.
"I tell you again to leave my water alone. Have you ever heard of asking before simply taking?"
"Yes of course we have, although we never understood that concept. Now put away those sabres before someone gets hurt. What reason do you have to be so upset?"
"Reasons don't matter to the dead."
With this cry Mussaf jumps to attack, only to be struck down by surprise when the strangers draw back their hoods and hiss:
"How wrong can one be."
...
"Ishmael, can I ask you one thing?"
"Sure you may Yussuf, what is it."
"We must obey the master, flee and carry out his plans, but why must we takes his birds with us? Wasn't it for the two idiots back at the oasis, I couldn't guarantee anything. You know how they eye us all day."
"I know, I know. Maybe we are still a bit too alive for them, but I also get the creepy feeling when they cricle our position. Still, we have to obey the master no matter whether we like it."
"Yes obey we must."
The two riders continue their way south...

The tea is rich and hot as usual, the backeries well sugared and in abundance, the fruit rotten as always, the host well behave and in a good mood, the pillow soft and comfortable. Still Khaled never feels comfortable on his teatime visits to Abu Abdul Amir. The Djinn is a dangerous enemy and it never pays to underestimate him, no matter whether he is caged like a canary bird or not.
"Would you like another cup?"
Always this friendliness, it reminded him a speciality of the Atlas mountain people. A piece of what could be the leftovers found on the kitchen floor formed in a ball and cover with so much sugar coating that no one could distinguish the ingredients.
"No thank you, my physical form will not bear any more liquid."
"Yes, the hinderances of this world. But we can not all be free to do as we want, can we?"
"No, we certainly can't. That is just the way of the world."
"Talking about limitations, I heard you didn't end the wars I caused. It appears to me you have a certain sense for glory."
"Much less glory than the hope to keep plundering troops far away from our mainland."
"Well, I shouldn't have assumed anything else. How is the search for a new Sultan going?"
"Do not play games with me. You know just the same as I do that there is no legitimate successor left. We have searched the records and the whole land. We hoped to find a boy with the lion amulett, the sign of kingship. But the amulett is lost same as the boy."
"The amulett, right."
Abu Abdul Amir unwraps a piece of cloth and draws the lion amulett from it.
"One of my servants found this one night a few years ago."
"I don't want to guess which night this was."
"Certainly you don't, but you also don't have to. Now what if I find a boy for you who miracuously has the lion amulett."
"If you found one I would be sure that he is a fake."
"And if you found him?"
"I know that this will never happen."
"Of course. But please take the amulett with you, I am no longer in charge and thus don't need it anymore."
The Djinn hands the Efreet the amulett along with a few documents.
"The plans for the war in the south, you requested them."
"Indeed I did."
"I think our tea is over now. I am sorry but I have to go and feed my birds. Please take a rotten fruit on your way if you like."
"Certainly. May I ask you what these fruit are about?"
"Certainly you may, but I don't have to answer."
"Of course. Till next week."
Both men bow lightly. The Efreet leaves for his office, the Djinn for the aviary in the garden.

The albino wizard Haroun al Murawi is a really aged man now. Dedicating all his life to the task of staying alive longer than everyone he knows he has advanced beyond all his expectations. Alchemy and sorcery are now the fuel for the ever running machine of his old heart. Without the help of the knowledge of an unknown friend he would now be rotting away. But this hooded friend has so far supplied him with all he needed to stay alive. Kobra eggs or whatever ingredient. But now the challenge increased.
"My friend, my liver doesn't work as it is supposed to, not anymore. I can restore skin, stop putrefaction, keep eyes, brain, heart working. But now a new task arose."
"I know."
The hissing voice of his hooded friend always irritates the mage. Sometimes he wonders with whom he is dealing. But then he imagines a cold grave and again puts away his doubts.
"I studied the writings of the old ones, but they all agree. The more singular problems you have to fight, the more potent the measures have to be."
"That is correct."
"But I have almost reached the end of the scale my friend. I will die if I don't find a solution, but my knowledge says there is none."
"Please calm, you still have me and my knowledge."
"You were always my help so far, will you aid me again?"
"Yes, of course, we need the old ingredients again and furthermore a young dog, a bowl and a sharp knife."
The mage is not content with the direction this is leading, but he has no choice but to die or move along...

"Mylord, may I come in?"
"Of course you may Muhammar, what news do you bear?"
"I come from the south. The wars are over, Benin and Oyo are no more."
"So we have to act before the troops find time to realize that they might impose a Sultan of their choice."
"Yes my lord."
"Did we find a legitimate candidate."
"As I told you before, there is none left. The search was futile from the start."
The Efreet sighs. Clutching at something in the pocket of his robe he continues.
"Go down to the Al-Nasir orphanage. I heard that there lives a boy named Mustapha. There is no record on his lineage thus he wasn't considered in the search so far. Rumor has it this boy owns the lion amulett."
"The amulett, impossible. It is missing since the night of the assassination. Followed every trace however small it was."
"I know, but we have to cling to rumors."
"I will leave immediately."
The servant bows and leaves. Khaled is left back alone cursing himself for his weakness and Abu Abdul Amir for the trap he had set up. Deceit and lies, the weapons of a Djinn, the weapons of the enemy and he, Khaled, has to rely on them. And still another temptation lay ahead of him. The sly Djinn had slipped the plans for the undead conquistador named "Zuweida" into the documents about the war. Now Khaled knew the conjuring formulas and the advantages of the dead one walking. The might and power that Morocco would gain are immense, but it is necromancy. Resisting temptation the Efreet takes the scroll and locks it away. A drop of blood from the Sultan is too high a price.

Ever since the inauguration of the new Sultan, Mahmoud al-Sufi, great judge of the court of appeals in Fez, has waited for this inviation. Carefully he places the horned mask upon the dark red robe and lets the bundle slide into his backpack. Leaving the house he once again checks whether the door is firmly locked and then turns and heads for the restaurant 'Aladin's wish' in the souks. The brothers in spirit have finally invited him to a meeting. The excitement is almost unbearable. For months now this secret society has accumulated ever more influence and is by now a major factor in moroccan politics. Soon he will have the chance to prove worthy of application for initiation. As much as he despises the masquerade he hopes to still make it into the honorable society. In a dark and empty alley he undoes his clothes and gets dessed for the meeing. After fixing the mask no part of his body remains recognizable. Stuffing his ordinary robe into the backpack and hiding it in a bush nearby he then turns back to the main road and heads towards his goal.
'Aladin's wish' is crowded as always. The waiter is informed and leads him to the remote side entrance to the kitchen. A secret door in the wall of the cook's steaming kingdom leads him to a stair spiralling downwards. The passage is narrow and dark, lit only by a few torches. Water is dripping somewhere and the smell of damp walls sticks to the place. After what seemed to be an endless time climbing downward he reaches the bottom of the stairs where two torches enlighten the room before an arched pathway. The engravings on the arch depict scenes that the judge doesn't want to see and thus quickly turns his gaze away. Since the torches are placed before the gateway and the room behind it is unenlightened it looks like stepping into dark nothingness. Unsurprisingly for the judge the nothingness has a floor and only after a few steps he has to turn right and faces a pillar supported enormous cave on the far side of which a fire is burning before what seems to be an altar to him. By Allah, I hope this is no cult against the eternally benevolent's will. Intrigued and magically attracted the judge blends into the crowd of robed figures wearing the horned masks that has already assembled. He guesses that there are about 40 already here and still more to come.
Later the judge doesn't remember much of what happened. There had been a gong somewhere and the master had entered. Completely covered by a robe and a ceremonial mask he has delivered a speech and given out tasks. He was assigned no task, but he also can not remember what tasks others have. In fact, he also doesn't know anything more. Neither does he know whether there was a celebration, or any pagan rites, nor whether he behaved well or scorned his fellow conspirators. All he remembers is the putrid aroma that went with the presence of the master and the time of the next meeting. He somehow has to go there to find out more...

Khaled feels the loss of his servant. The day the new Sultan was inaugurated, the 1st of January 1511, Muhammar had died of a heart attack. The other servants found him on the floor leading to the Djinn's quarters, a fresh bowl of fruit in his arms. First Khaled suspected Abu Abdul amir, but the protective circle is still in place and there is no way the Djinn could have interfered outside of it. Although years have passed since, there is no servant there to replace Muhammar, yet.
Wasn't it for his visits to Abu Abdul Amir the Efreet would be bored by the calm politics that currently were daily duty in Morocco. In 1512 he had licenced a Sufi order to preach Allah and the words of the prophet to the pagan south and ever since a stream of preachers and butchering Imams quelled forth from Fez into the south. Their effectivity could be doubted, but not their cruelty. Still this didn't bother Khaled too much. The rest of the time he spent orgainzing and optimizing the economy.
"Good evening my friend, please come in. The tea is already prepared."
"Good evening Abu Abdul Amir. It is a pleasure seeing you."
Sugar coating came again to his mind...
After exchanging pleasantries for some time and conducting mindless small talk the Djinn focuses on a small matter of interest.
"Did you hear that two girls in the orphanage claimed to be sisters of the Sultan."
"I heard it, but none is trustworthy."
"I took the freedom to take care of them, I hope this doesn't interfere too much with the great Efreet's plans."
"Depending on what you did with them, sold them to slavery or buthchered them?"
"No, I will not rely on such measures anymore, as you certainly know. I secured a better future for them. On the first of January of this year, 1513, they married the King of Mali respectively the chieftain of the Hausa as royal brides."
"You did what? They are not even legitimate."
Khaled felt once again his temper rising against the Djinn. Once more Abu Abdul Amir has taken him by surprise.
"Not legitimate, really? I heard nothing contrary."
"Of course not."
And you will not, basdard, Khaled continues in thought. He could never admit the fraud without risking Morocco's relations. It's lies again, lies that he, Khaled, covers with his reputation for the better of Morocco. The Djinn outmaneuvered him again.
"I am afraid I have enjoied your hospitality for too long now. I have matters of foreign diplomacy to attend to. Thank you for your help with the sisters. I am so thankful that I want to repay the favor. I have seen that the fruit in your rooms are always rotten. This is unbearable and I wonder why you didn't complain so far. You are no prisoner, but a guest. I will order the servants to refresh the fruit in your room twice every day."
"Thank you." the Djinn answeres coldly through his teeth.
Both salute goodbye, the Efreet leaves thinking 'that evens the score'. The Djinn leaves in a foul. Upon reaching the aviary he has started to talk to himself: "Patience, all will be solved by patience old boy." Reaching for the leg of an eland he calls his pets: "Come birdie, birdie..."

The continuing years were dragging on slowly and somehow unexcitingly. Morocco had a lot to convert, colonize and orgainze in the south. The Sultans came and left the throne as always and slowly the Hausa tribe and the Mali kingdom were persuaded to accept a different outlook on their moroccan neighbor, culminating in the vassalization of the Hausa in 1548. The Efreet Khaled is content, but bored. With every meeting the Djinn Abu abdul Amir grows friendlier and the Efreet feels like a rabbit freezing before a snake. There was less and less he did and no new ideas in his policies, while the Djinn obviously was planning something, but the Efreet lost track. Immobility and fear were starting to create paranoia and a feeling of helplessness while waiting for the strike. There must be something he can do to advance and again take the initiative. He has to overrun the Djinn and take him by surprise. Maybe he needs a spy, maybe another new weapon. Pondering for a long time he finally remembers the "Zuweida" scroll. Shuddering he drops that thought again, trying to ban it from his mind. Still with every day in idle stasis the temptation mounts, a curse on the Djinn...



Morocco politically



and Morocco economically

I want to believe!

"Is there any life out there? Is anyone reading my thread? Will anyone answer me? Am I entertaining or boring?"

----

taken from 'Hemingway in Doubt'. Completely written and performed by a menagerie of gnomes in overlong pants.

Note

Thank you for the posts. I already feared no one reads the thread. A new installment will follow eiher late today (CET) or tomorrow. So far I plaied till 1769 and will finish the game soon.

Cheers.

There is no rest for the wicked...(1549 - 1569)

"Ishmael, can I ask you one thing?"
"Sure you may Yussuf, what is it?"
"Have you ever thought about eternity?"
"What do you mean, eternity. Eternity is eternal. It is, how shall I say, unending."
"No, I understood that. But have you ever thought about being in Allah's heavens eternally. I mean, everything is only fun as long as it lasts, isn't it. Now what about eternity. Is it everlasting fun, or what if it ever turns out to be less fun, how long will it last then."
"You seem to be a bit confused today Yussuf. Trying to become a philosopher in your old days, are you?"
"Who tells you that these are my old days. am I young for an undead? I don't know. That is what bothers me. Practically we could exist like this forever. Maybe we will one day rot away, but then we just switch to ghost status and it drags on."
"Now I see what you mean by eternity."
"It is good to see that you understand me. Do you think he will set us free when he has achieved his goals."
"I don't know. But what does being free mean to you now."
"Free to die."
"And what then, eternal afterlife? Switch one form of eternity for another, maybe less fortunate but with no tradeback? Do you really want to be free?"
"I don't know Ishamel, I don't know. But what do I care. My master has plans for me and as long as that is so there is no way out for me."
"Let us get back to work. There is no use arguing with eternity if you are a part of it yourself. It is like an arm blaming the whole body for being part of it. Nonsense."

It is another of these heated mornings in the streets of Fez. The sun seems to be trying to bake the earth into one rock hard cake with a dust toping. Khaled watches the traficing in the streets from his high window in the casbah. He loves these people, yes he really does. No matter what deal of trouble they cause. For example the mobile water and tea merchants. They could simlpy carry around shapeless containers for their merchandize, but that would be too profane for humans. As soon as there is more than one carrying the container they start to compete. One starts to carry it on his back while the next counters by not only carrying on the back, but using a skillful technique to give out water or tea without setting down the load. In the end we arrive at the scene which presents itself now. Merchants carrying richly ornated pieces of art on their backs, giving them the appearance of small ships, the containers being their single mast, trying to stir through the ocean of humanity filling the souk. An utterly complex and at the same time hilariously ridiculous product of what humans then call tradition. That is maybe what he loved them for, tradition. A knock at his door distracts him.
"Enter."
"Great advisor and protector of the realm, I bring new maps of the south and news from the street."
The servant that entered was just another one of those faces. No one was there to match Muhammar. What could he expect.
"Thank you, please give me a short summary. Something new on the maps?"
"Yes oh exalted one. Portugal has built trading posts in Douala on our southern borders and there are also claimed posts in unkown places to the south which they call Kribi and Muni."
"Wherever that may be, but please continue."
"Also in Nouakchott south of our Tassaret a nation named Hainault started trading."
"Is that everything?"
"I heard rumors that the Sultan convinced the Mamluks to join our alliance."
"He didn't do that on my advise, I wil have to talk to him about that. Who is behind this."
"That is the talk from the street I want to bring you. There is a rumor about a brotherhood of influential citizens who try to mingle their way into a position where they can influence our politics."
"Now that is most interesting. I thank you for this, you may take an orange before leaving. I know to whom I have to talk to now."

The hooded friend has given him the address and that usually means that it is completely correct and the only way he can chose. Haroun al Murawi doesn't feel to well. In fact he hasn't felt too well ever since the sacrifices started. It is repelling to have to end the lives of animals to prolong ones own. It is cruel and at the same way humiliating. He sometimes even dreams that he grows a tail. But it was beyond him now. His will was firmly fixed on staying alive. He once tried to end this, simply stop the sacrifices, he failed. He tried to run into a sword, he failed. His will to stay alive was now stronger than his self. As if it had already manifested as another being in this world, a being which now is his master. And with loving cruelty this form is closely connected to the hooded stranger who offers him cure and disease in one package. He wouldn't let him die.
Months ago the mage had already started talking to himself. He sometimes whispered for a whoel ally when walking until he realizes that he is talking and stop ashamed of himself. Not ashamed of what the others might think, but ashamed of his weakness and the continuing loss of control. He questions where this might end.
Continuing his way to the next step on the ladder to the penultimate goal Haroun al Murawi is currently on his way to the Al-Nasir orphanage. Poor little basdards there. Their life is miserable. He will help one. The orphanage will receive his money, oh yes, and the child will be in a better life. The stranger was right, better and more powerful while even more humane than the dogs. The mage didn't even feel it when his shoulder bumped into another pedestrian. Only the goal is what matters, only eternity...

"Oh, is it already time for our tea, again. I am so to say unprepared. Isn't our assignment only in two days?"
"Please quit this masquerade, of course it is in two days, Djinn."
Khaled really isn't in the mood for the usual games. He had a hard day, in fact a hard week and the feeling of losing control while being forced to sit idle eats away at his patience. He needs a few answers and needs them quick.
"Abu Abdul Amir, I know that you are doing more than just feeding birds here."
"Of course I do. In between plotting a coup d'etat and trying to get out of the circle of protection I am desparately trying to hide a fruit from your refreshing roomservice. Now please guess which of these plans, if any, is bound to succeed."
"I always love it when you feign honesty. Maybe I should offer you the priviledge of regulatr visits by Imam Ali-Kardazli. I heard that he would love to solidify your faith."
"Thank you, he will be most wellcome as long as he cares to step within this ring of chalk which I can neither leave nor even touch."
"I will of course instruct him correctly."
"Of course you will. But we somehow lost the theme of the conversation. Where did we start."
"I want to know whether there is a secret society and Fez and if there is one how is yoru connection to it."
A short moment of silence gived the efreet enough time to look around the room. He wonders for one moment when he sees a plate with freshly cut slices of orange. Then the Djinn answers.
"Humans, you know, it is just one of those games they play as times."
"Do not try to child me."
"I heard of such an organization, yes. They are responsible for the fact that our Sultan made a diplomatic slip which you certainly dislike."
"What kind of a slip. The alliance with the Mamluks?"
"No, he forced Mali into submission yeasterday. Tomorrow the Sultan will be crowned king of Mali and name himself protector of the western Sahara and the Niger."
"How come I am not informed?"
"It seems that you know the wrong persons. But I am afraid that is all I can tell you about this. May I now leave, I have to feed the birds."
"Yes of course. I am glad to hear that you long for spiritual help and guidance. Since I don't want to be named cruel I will not withhold you this support. From tomorrow on the Imam Ali-Kardazli is free to visit you at any time he wishes. I hope you are thankful for this privledge."
"Yes, as always."

Mahmoud al-Sufi, great judge of the court of appeals in Fez, has an appointment on the morning of today, the 15th of march 1559. It is just one day ago that the king of Mali has resigned and the news hasn't even spread through the whole town. Still he has already an appointment with the master of the brotherhood. Certainly he will be thanked for his help in the task of bringing down Mali. Certainly he will rise in rank and honor and enjoy more privledges. It will be his day. On his way to Aladin's wish a strange man bumps into him. An albino. Without excuse this imbecile moves on, mumbling to himself. Although Mahmoud is close to cursing the son of a sewer rat he is moved by pitty for an indiviual stricken down by the weight that Allah's posed on his shoulders and thus drove him to madness, deservedly in the judges opinion. But now he has to concentrate as he reaches the ally where he by now habitually changes his clothes. Just when he is about to fully drop his robe he feels a stinging pain in his back. The fresh blood on the robe proves to him what he expected. He is a victim. Turning around he looks into the eyes of a hooded assassin. He knows these eyes, but where from. This can not be, it can not be him, .. . the master .. .

"Oh exalted one, may I enter."
"Sure you may."
"Oh great advisor Khaled, I have gathered the data on the brotherhood you wanted."
"Very well, please place it on the table."
The servant lies down three scrolls, scribbled all over with a summary of the intelligence gathered. The Efreet Khaled is irritated by the fact that the servant doesn't leave. The minion is still lingering around the entrance, it appears as if his conscience is bothering him.
"Anything else." The efreet snaps.
"Yes my lord. I am afraid there have been a few accidents this morning."
"Accidents?"
"I am afraid all persons mentioned in these documents in connection with the Mali coup are dead now."
"Dead?"
"Yes, some stabbed in the street, others poisoned, one hung and one drowned. All within three hours."
The Efreet is now completly confused. He lost track and control. What started as his glorious return is now turning out to be a desaster, if he doesn't react.
"Servant, bring me the medic of his majesty."
"Yes, sir."

The following years brought again a calming period in moroccan politics. There were a few lootings in the south after the annexation of Mali, but mostly it staied calm. Khaled had enough time to make the arrangements. He studied the text, gather what is needed and now he is ready to start. It had taken a lot to pry a few rops of blood of the Sultan from the medic, but now, after years he is prepared. Now he will strike back and take the lead again. The path to control may be dark, but Khaled just hopes that the ends satisfies the means. Cursing the Djinn and his temptations he starts constructing Zuweida.

On the 1st of March 1562 the whole city of Fez has gathered in the streets to wave goodbye to the daring five thousand riders that will follow the new great muslim-conquistador named Zuweida on his expeditions. No one had heard of Zuweida before, he seemed to come right out of nothing. Most claimed that he must be a touareg since he is always compeltely covered in cloth, but nothing is known with certainty. Whoever he might be, the advisor Khaled trusts him and thus the people trust him. Only one could care less. This oen is ocne again on his way to the Al-Nasir orphanage and has no sense for conquistadors and colonial-imperial bliss.

The table in Abu Abdul Amir's room is again prepared for tea, as usual. Khaled is already there while the host is still out feeding the birds. Just when the Efreet is about to start searching the room with his eyes the Djinn enters.
"Please excuse the delay, my beloved Haroun has a digestive problem and currently needs special care."
"Think nothing of it. Last time when I came here I wondered what you are doing with the freshly cut oranges. I hope my servants still keep the fruit fresh to your pleasure."
"Of course they are. These oranges are just here for one reason, to be sugared."
Khaled pauses in puzzlement.
"That was Al-Sharaf's delight."
"You are quite right. Did you taste it?"
"No, let us try it."
"Alright."
Both pick up a slice of sugared orange and eat it. Khaled is the first to speak again.
"Disgusting, isn't it?"
"It is, it seems even Efreets can err."
They both then turn back to the conversation.
"You heard that today we sent out our first conquistador. We will try to fully map the coastline between Tanger and portugesee Douala of course while meanwhile staking claim to it."
"That is good to hear. I am gald that you found a promising youth to take that job."
"Yes, it wasn't easy."
"I am sure you remember the last experiments I made with it. I was able to create an undead minion for the job."
"You know I certainly wouldn't do that."
"Of course. By the way, half the construction plans for the conquistador are missing. You wouldn't happen to know where they are?"
"Half of them?"
"Yes, the constructive part. I only have the list of drawbacks left."
"I am sure you have no problem with me taking this list. After all, you don't want to be exposed to the temptation this might present."
"Of course, please take them."
The Efreet finds it hard to concentrate on the rest of the tea. The Djinn had once again outmaneuvered him and now he will have to see what damage is already done and what further damage can be hindered.

Khaled didn't have to read the list to find out the drawbacks, they soon started to show. First of all Zuweida has great losses in his regiments. To compensate those he attacks helpsless native villages on the was he passes through, kills the inhabitants and turns them into mindless Zombie slaves to fill his ranks. The longer his marches were, the viler the army looked. Luckily they didn't pass over much moroccan territory, but stuck to the unknown.
The second and more severe drawback is that Zuweida neither rests, nor sleeps and knows no borders. On the 27th of September 1666 his armed managerie followed him over the border into portugese Douala, thus provoking war. After burning and plundering the whole potugese outposts there and killing thousands of natives he finally reported to be missing on the 22nd of Oktober 1568. According to reports from the newly founded moroccan trading posts in the area of Muni and Kribi the army of undead despair under the lead of Zuweida attempted to cross the Kongo and enter the catholic congolese kingdom and was washed away into the sea. I, Khaled of the Efreets, write this down in this book together with the current maps of the moroccan empire, to prove my hope for redemption from my deeds. I was tricked by the accursed Djinn Abu Abdul Amir and I am responsible for al the horror that the army of Zuweida has caused. No matter how great the glory of Morocco might be later, these scars will never fully heal. I am also responsible for all the dead that the holy men in the south have caused while preaching the words of the prophet to the pagans. May Allah weigh my guilt . . .



Morocco in the east with economy.



Morocco central with diplomacy



Morocco south with converted faith



The last european renegade (Yes, it is Hainault!)

Stories of faith and devotion....

Nature is a pecurliar thing. Some claim it neither forgives nor forgets. These folks base this believe on a strong conviction that there is something as a steady equilibrium of forces which could exist infinetly unless disbalanced by the destructive interference of an individual. They claim that nature hunts and strikes down such an individual, thus preserving its existing state of balance. Khaled the Efreet believes in this equilibrium, this golden age of nature. Therefore he fears retaliation for the hideous act of conjuration that manifested itself in the murderous Zuweida. Nature had to suffer through the undead conquistadors deeds, that is for sure.
Abu-Abdul-Amir the trapped Djinn does not believe in an eternally existing equilibrium. For him the natural equilibrium is a product of constant struggle between almost equally strong forces. If one force grows stronger it does not defy nature, but in fact just shift the equilibrium and in consequence change nature in his favor. The Djinn fears no retaliation draws amusement from what he calls the 'superstitious servitude to an inexistent quality' which leads to despair and inactivity of many a brilliant individual.
It is once again time for these two enemies to meet for tea and discussion.
"Good day to you, my dear Khaled. Please come in, take a seat and a piece of cake. I will be with you in one minute. I just have to read this passage in our holy book. You know, the esteemed Imam Al-Kardazli, whom age begins to whither away, has asked me to read this and repent my deeds. I must say a funny concept this begging for redemption."
The Djinn seemed to be in a good mood and Khaled is sure it is due to the Zuweida incidents. Thousands of dead humans and one senseless war fought only to please the mind of an egocentric who claims to aim for glory. The room that the Djinn names his prison was clean with an edge of an almost antiseptic appearance. Of course the Djinn wouldn't have to touch a bed or eat something, but must this one demonstrate it thus frocefully to the world. Abu-Abdul-Amir really gets more and more peculiar with evey day in prison.
"Funny that you start the conversation with the theme of redemption. I assume you don't see any reason for you to kneel and repent. The Zuweida incident was all my doing."
"You know that it would grieve me if someone claimed that the Zuweida incident really was all YOUR doing, but I am sure the responsibility and the guilt certainly fully fall on your shoulders."
"As I said, I already assumed this. But we can not change a thing in the past, can we. What I have to admit is that the actions of Zuweida had their benefits when our expansion is concerned. We were able to progress to the coast of almost all of north-western Africa. Only a small strip is reserved for the nation that now names itself the Netherlands."
"Have you come to test my spies? Did you really assume I didn't know this before?"
Both entities rest the conversation for just one moment to take the first sip of tea.
"You made a real hot tea this time."
"Are you trying to evade my last question, my dear Efreet? Be this as it may, I don't need an answer from you."
"Still your witty self after all these years of being locked up. I must say I came here half hoping to get an excuse for the Zuweida trap you laid. That usually is below your style. Almost as bad as the brotherhood murders."
"How come you assume Zuweida was a trap and how come you assume I have anything to do with the brotherhood? I am surprised that you consider me a many armed monstrosity able to manage hordes of secret machinations all from one prison cell under close surveillance of Imam Al-Kardazli."
"Yes, I guess I was jsut wrong and paranoid. You certainly have nothing to do with this. It is after all far beyond your capabilities, trapped or not. I must look for other reasons. Please excuse my paranoia. Maybe I didn't treat you the way I should and overestimated your villany. I will start to look for other sources immediately."
Without waiting for a reply the Eftreet leaves halfway through the tea, leaving back a slightly annoyed Djinn.

The steps leading up to the Al-Mansur mosque in Fez are crowded with faithful believers and merchants, beggars and cutthroats, emirs and soldiers. It is as always a noisy and colorful parade of human live in Morocco. Slaves hurry to and fro on errands for their masters. In the middle of the tumoultous picture the Imam Al-Kardazli leaves the mosque, takes a short glance at the human cacophony that crowds the square before the mosque and thanks Allah for life and its colorful variety. He moves over to a merchant to buy an orange and just by chance his eyes fall on a completely cloaked figure seemingly trying to get into eye contact with him. As soon as this contact is established the figure approaches the Imam. Judging from its garments the person could be a berber or touareg, but the movements were those of an old man and a short flash of white skin distracts the Imam from the thought. Although on his way to his visit to the trapped Djinn in the palace the Imam decides to talk to the stranger.
"Good day to you, may Allah send you the benevolent blessing of eternal sunshine on your head."
"May Allah bless his great Imam. My name is Haroun al Murawi and I am afraid for me eternal sunshine is no blessing, however benevolent Allah's sun may be."
The Imam is confused by this answer and swallows for a moment.
"You seemed to be looking for a moment to talk to me?"
"Yes honorable Imam, there is a shadow on my soul and it starts to devour me. I fear for my faith and I sincerely want to be a good muslim. Help me Imam, help me."
"It is good that you have turned to me, please tell me what challenges Allah in his wisdom poses for you."
"It all started with my birth as an albino....."
As Imam Kardazli reaches the rooms of the great Djinn Abu-Abdul-Amir he is still shivering from the conversation with the albino mage Haroun al Murawy. He is unsure whether he really wants to help a man who comitted such vile deeds as this children sacrificing beast. But he was approached in good faith and with the will to repent and better. After all, maybe the man is just insane and...
"You seem to be distracted my dear Imam, do you want to coem back at a more convenient time."
The voice of the Djinn tears Al-Kardazli out of his dreams.
"No, no, my instructions are explicit and I also do not want to miss any of our meetings, Djinn. I just had a most interesting meeting with a man named Haroun al Murawi."
For a short moment the Imam thought that a shiver ran through the Djinn's body. Now the Djinn simply gave him an interested look over his shoulder while preparing tea.
"A meeting, by chance?"
"Yes, the man is a repenting sinner."
"The same that you want to turn me into. I read the part you told me and I am most interested in understanding the concept. Maybe you could tell me the story of this sinner and I can try to understand and capture the concept through the example."
"But the confession was confidential."
"Doesn't the prophet say that a sin is diminished by every man it is confessed to?"
"You may be right, but the story of this man is most stirring."
"So please begin..."

""Ishmael, come here."
"What is it Yussuf?"
"We have new orders from the master. The bird just arrived."
"Very well, where do we progress to?"
"You are required to bring the schemes in the east to fruitition."
"The brotherhood is prepared and it will take only a few letters and gifts. I will make the journey to Cairo and the Oman myself."
"Very well, I am glad your project goes better than mine."
"Why, what do you have to do?"
"The mage has contacted the Imam and spilled some information, not all but unfortunately too many. I will have to patch this up."
"I am sure you will. Ishamel, may I ask you one question."
"Sure you may Yussuf, what is it?"
"Do you believe we can win?"
"Whom do you mean by we?"
"Yes, that is my problem, too."
"Let us get on with our duties and figure it out while working. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."

"Abu-Abdul-Amir."
"Oh, it is you. You are taking on habits of you predecessor. I thought we agreed that we meet regularly for tea and apart from that we use the human concept of knocking on doors not simply passing through them."
"I am sure you can live with it. I mean as long as the protective circle is in place and as long as your oath holds you have no choice."
"Be this as it may, what did you come here for."
"Did you know there was a revolt in Oman and Portugal lost its holdings there."
"A revolt you say."
"Apparently. You don't happen to know how this could happen?"
"What should my involvement with Oman be?"
"Well, someone already inproved our relations so far that I had to find out that we have already traded maps with the newly found state."
"Isn't this good."
"I don't know, but now we have portugese maps."
"Splendid, isn't it my dear Efreet."
Khaled is certainly not the Efreet to easily loose his temper, but this Djinn is as slippery as a fish and Khaled starts to once again tire of being always a step back.
"At least one thing you must admit, you are responsible for the declaration of vassalization of the Mamluk Caliph."
"Yes, I thought it a nice gift for your birthday."
"My birthday, how nice. I guess it will not take a full ten years before the caliph in Cairo drags us into a war with the infintely strong Ottoman Empire."
"That is most likely."
"You know what I think of such gifts?"
"Yes, I do. I just thought that it was time to show you my gratitude for the last priviledge you conferred to me."
"Oh, you enjoy it?"
"Of course, it is now an integral part of my life. I wouldn't know how to pass my days without the hours spend with the lady Sina in contemplation and discussion about the marvels of flora and fauna."
"I am happy that our relation has improved to the point where we don't forget to honor the other with a gift at a time."



progress 1

After obtaining the portugese maps the Efreet Khaled again opened up teh sealed laboratory. The conquistador Zuweida was a fiasco, but that was mainly due to the use of human flesh. But who said that constructs are reserved for Djinn's only. Maybe using brass he could achieve a more 'humane' result. After all, even though he didn't agree with the means applied ot obtain them, the Efreet has no objections against using the portugese maps. There are still plenty of undiscovered spaces on the african map and it certainly wouldn't hurt to see them in moroccan hands. Maybe the mere size of such an empire might keep its enemies away. Thus the Efreet starts experimentation.

"Oh my brothers, we have succeeded."
The cellar is filled with heads. Once again the brotherhood has gathered and the mere number of heads in the cellar made it clear to Ishmael, undead servant of Abu-Abdul-Amir and grand master of the brotherhood for lifetime, that they are a force that can not be ignored. He has spend years on quietly expanding his network and now they have almost reached their peak. The master has to be happy.
"The glory of Morocco is our aim and we have made another step on the ladder to eternity. Have you ever had the time to watch an anthill. I don't want to tell you something about the small ant and how important it is for the whole anthill, for that is untrue. The anthill can loose millions of ants and will not care as long as the hill itself stands and has a quen. Ants, ants liek you are, do not pride in being important. They do their work and they are happy. Happy because they live in the comfortable position of being memebers of the biggest and richest anthill around. An anthill which allows them a live in more luxury than any anthill around. It is not personal glory and vanity, it is luxury that drives them."
A short pause.
"Morocco is an anthill. We, the brotherhood, are the ants in this hill. But unlike others we do not pride in our deeds, we do not work simply for our own glory. We do not pride in our vanity. We work to live better and to make Morocco a better Morocco for all ants. So far the hill always grew and propsered. Now I tell you that, although some of you don't believe it, it will continue to grow. Now some of you question where this growth will end. I tell you that there does not have to be an end. I tell you that one day Morocco will encompass all of Africa. Jsut imagine how rich the ants would be in such a hill."
The cheers prove to Ishmael that the brotherhood understood.

In the casbah there is tea time once again. The sun shines upon its roofs and the inhabitants struggle to find a shadowed place. As Khaled enters the room of the great Djinn Abu-Abdul-Amir he is surprised for one moment. Has the Djinn over the last years struggled to make the room ever whiter and cleaner it was now turned into a colorful hell. Bright red pillows and limegreen tapestries mixed with earthbrown carpets. Even a few plants were potted around the 'cell'. It also appeared that noone has cleaned the room in years.
"Greetings dear Djinn."
"Good day my friend, how may I help you."
"I need some information about brass and bronze."
"Please take a seat. I have a good from a german alchemist, 'Poepelmann's guide to gold synthesis', I bet there are answer for you in there."
"Thank you. I am afraid I have to cancel our tea today, I am busy."
"You disappoint me, but go on. We must obey when duty calls."
"Thank you, I will make it up another day. Also thank you for the book."
While leaving the Efreet turns around once again since one question still bothers him.
"By the way, I see you started to change your room."
"Yes, I thought it time."
"I am surprised, what brought this change about?"
"I grieve a loss, the Imam Al-Kardazli, my benevolent friend, died."
"When did that happen."
"By sunset."
"Oh."
The Efreet leaves. Only when a subeam hits his face he realizes that something is wrong. Now he has to hurry.

The laboratory is by now the main living room of Khaled the Efreet. Right after he couldn't hinder the vile murder of Imam Al-Kardazli he plunged himself into work upon the new conquistador. He has accepted that he can not intercept the constant nuissances that the Djinn keeps in store for him and so he decided to change the strategy on a large scale. He will concentrate more on making his own politics than trying to clean up behind the Djinn. Finally he has found his competitive spirit once again and the game is on. His first move is already planned.



progress 2

On the day that the whole city of Fez celebrated the new conquistador Messaoud, who volunteered to further explore Africa for Morocco, the city dwellers again flooded into the streets. Same as Zuweida years before this conquistador arrived right out of nowhere and took their hearts by storm. The stores about the last conquistadors atrocities have already receded and so nothing hostile lingered in the air as the troops left the doors. Only two days ago the messengers reported that the french had burned down the dutch trading post in Nouackchott and moroccan traders were already on their way to the province. Everyone was in happy anticipation of another chapter of moroccan imperial glory.
Everyone but one, Haroun al Murawi. Sitting in his secret hideout in a cellar the albino mage wheeps like a childe. It was weeks ago that the Imam Al-Kardazli was murdered and ever since he hasn't left the cellar. He had put all his hopes and dreams on that man and the potential redemption. Now the murder stopped him and he was more than sure who was responsible. Ever since that day he hasn't seen his cloaked benefactor and that was punishment enough. The urge to prolong his life was once again calling and he knew his time was running out almost as fast as his will to resist and die this time.
"You have been a naughty boy Haroun, haven't you."
A wave of fear and hate ran through the mage. There was his torturer and helper, the unknown murderer of the Imam.
"You wanted to free yourself. I can understand that. Why did you have to talk to the Imam? Don't you trust me anymore."
The mage winds away fearfully.
"I am your friend and I would never do anything against your will. If you had just told me that you don't want to go on, that you rather prefer to die, I would have freed you at once. I don't want to force you."
"Whaaooa, hmma ahhham...."
About to loose his mind the mage crawls away further.
"Please let me help you. Tell me what you want. Life or death? I can grant both."
The mage cowers on the floor. With a last effort he cries out:"Life."
The cloaked stranger picks him up and cradles him in his arms.
"I will take care of it, yes I will. Now rest dear Haroun. You are with friends. I will help you and keep you alive."
The mage slightly glides away into sleep.
"I still need you." Mumbles Yussuf, the servant of Abu-Abdul-Amir, as soon as he is certain that the mage sleeps.

"It has been quite an interesting time lately, hasn't it."
Khaled and Abu-Abdul-Amir sat in the room playing chess, Khaled the white pieces, The Djinn the red ones. The room was again freshly decorated in white and has now its clean looks again.
"You managed to explore the rest of Africa with a brass-man, impressive."
"And you kept us out of the war with the Ottomans."
"That was hard work. I feared for our interests in Egypt."
"Excuse me, you meant your interests in Egypt."
"Certainly, but luckily the Ottomans contended with the trans-Sinai side and Nubia."
Khaled draws a pawn, sips some tea and continues.
"Then there was the vassalization of Oman."
"Nice move of mine, wasn't it?"
"Surely. Given teh omani presence in Africa I assume you plan to force them."
"As always I will inform you of my plans after their execution."
"Naturally, as you did with the offspring."
"That was a hard piece of work."
"You cought me of guard. I completely lost track of the two orphans you dressed up as Sultan's sisters and married to Mali and Hausa. then, centuries later, you come along with a legitimate heir of one of them who in consequence has a right on the throne."
"But you were able to divert my puppet into this petty state SUS. A nice move that was. I almost achieved control over the Sultan, wasn't it for this."
"And you had nothing better to do than drop the puppet and attack SUS as soon as you know you lost."
"Burning old bridges is always important if you want to be forced to progress without being hindered by deeds of the past. The sins following you first have to rebuild the bridge before they can go on the hunt again."
After this Abu-Abdul-Amir draws a horse and also continues.
"I am glad that we are past the 'punishment by privledge' state. I hated to have to interfere with lady Sina."
"That was most unfair, but effective. No, I will only interfere again if your deeds grow too large."
"Wasn't the annexation of the Mamluks large?"
"I am afraid, no. It was important, but not large."
Both laugh.
After tea the Efreet leaves thinking of further measures to contain the Djinn. The Djinn hopes that his involvement with the brotherhood and other projects will not be discovered. Both don't like their current status quo, but one can not have everything.



central Morocco



eastern Morocco



southern Morocco