|
|
| Line 1: |
Line 1: |
| | + | {{Work in progress|leader=[[User:Incognito|Mare123King]]}} |
| | + | |
| | + | |
| | {{Character Infobox | | {{Character Infobox |
| | | name = <small>Nergal</small><br />Bassam Hussaini<br /><small>Michael Henderson</small> | | | name = <small>Nergal</small><br />Bassam Hussaini<br /><small>Michael Henderson</small> |
| Line 13: |
Line 16: |
| | | death_date = | | | death_date = |
| | }} | | }} |
| − | {{Quote| '''The fragile nature of the human mind exploited to the fullest. Inside the web of lies, sits the spider of deceit.'''}}
| |
| − | =The Burden of Caste=
| |
| − |
| |
| − | As every man who lived on Samarra understood, the caste is the most important thing. A man born a noble, is again entitled to be a noble, but a man born a slave, is a slave until he proves otherwise.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | <br>
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Bassam was a son of a respected member of the Warrior Caste, but his birth could not come in a worse timing. His father had a weakness for gambling, but he was rich and loss was not too much to him. He didn't realize how much he was losing, until he lost his freedom one night, in a game of dice. He had condemned himself he thought, but the part of the bet was also the freedom of his wife, and his unborn son, Bassam.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | <br>
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Hence, Bassam was born a Slave, condemned to work on oil rigs for the rest of his life, or until he could earn his freedom. He was swiftly separated from his mother when he was at the age of ten, and could work, but his father he never met, for he was sent to an oil rig far away from his. He had to clean machinery, carry oil cans, all under the scorching Samarran sun, with no form of protection. He would often collapse, faint from the constant heat, but the whip was always there to make him stand up again. His master often thought, he is young, this is too much for him, he will not live to come to age. But instead, Bassam kept going through, getting stronger from every experience, what did not kill him, made him stronger.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | <br>
| |
| − |
| |
| − | =Light and Darkness Intertwined=
| |
| − | A usual day, like any other, on the great Silver Rig on a small hill from which the Palace Temple District could be seen, sore wounds from the whip gaping, tanks of oil passing over his arms over and over, the sun mercilessly scorching, Bassam hoping for touch of fresh breeze, but it is nowhere to be found. The slave driver hanging over his head, whipping him for every little mistake he made, while his arms could no longer work, the pain would go away, and only the sound of the whip slashing suggested that his back was being torn apart.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | <br>
| |
| − |
| |
| − | In this usual day, and all the hell that comes with it, Bassam was giving his best on the rig, when at a point, the Slave Driver motioned to hit him, and make him go faster, as they were behind schedule. Suddenly, a stranger gripped the Drivers wrist hard, and the driver motioned to stab him with his knife, but stopped when he saw a man in purple robes, a hood over his head. The Driver quickly kneeled while he just stood there, saying nothing. Soon after, Bassam's shackles were removed, and the man in robes took his hand fast, dragging him away as if he was possessing some divine strength. Despite him resisting, Bassam was dragged over the ground for an hour, before the long night finally came.
| |
