((A week late, so not reflective of current events - I need to de-lazy and post more.))
Master Gogonji's orders had been clear: Turn her efforts to the Highlander, the Mamluk once owned by Kabir, and coopt him from Cato sas Longinus. An was fairly sure she understood why Master Gogonji favored a more indirect approach to the Garlean - he feared a lack of control that might result in another situation akin to the Rosewater incident. Such a dog, he had noted, must be properly leashed and muzzled to be of use. An was inclined to agree, given the intricacies of the hunt last time.
And so, this Mamluk would be the wolfhound to hunt their elusive wolf. An set out to find out what she could first from open sources. She knew from Mamluk's meetings with Cato that he had a most distinctive name, and that he was a member of a Sagolii-based cell of the Ala Mhigan Resistance known as the Embers of Rhalgr, led by a mysterious figure known as the Sandfox whose movements Cato had been keen to discover. Mamluk was a giant of a Highlander, perhaps six and a half fulms and north of 250 ponz of pure muscle, red-haired and bronze-skinned with a heavily scarred body. And that was the extent of her knowledge.
That unique name was certainly suggestive - or title, really. A "mamluk" was an archaic fashion of referring to a particular caste of warrior-slave; indeed, public records indicated a slave known only by that title had had several owners over the past decades, most recently and substantially by an Ul'dahn merchant named Kabir Sandstrike. While An could find no records of Mamluk's true name, records at the Gladiator's Guild indicated Kabir would fight Mamluk against other slaves and beastmen mercenaries in first blood or incapacitation-style matches for eleven years. Kabir had owned several other gladiator-slaves over the years, but gauging from their win-loss records at the guild, Mamluk was his most successful, even being gifted another slave as a wife the year before the Calamity, though she was resold not long thereafter according to public sale records.
Another bill of sale indicated Mamluk purchased his own freedom some time after that, and continued fighting in the bloodsands as a freeman until an abrupt stop about a year ago. That explained his scars, she supposed.
As for Kabir - old newspapers revealed he had disappeared several moons after Mamluk purchased his freedom. His official status was "presumed dead". Having caused her own share of mysterious disappearances, An idly wondered if Mamluk had been responsible, but there were no public record indications he was under suspicion of murdering his former owner. Pity she no longer had access to the internal security service files.
More interesting to her was how he had obtained the money to buy his freedom. Gladiator's Guild policy was that even slaves retained a portion of their winnings - in escrow at the guild if necessary, to keep the money from their owners' greedy hands. Such funds were often used to buy freedom. It was part of the "Ul'dahn dream" after all - even slaves could rise above their station, as long as the way was paved with gold.
But with Mamluk's win/loss record over the eleven years he was owned by Kabir, he should have made that sum several times over and been free far earlier. An was intrigued. Money trails were often the fastest route to the heart of any mystery.
That was all open source information revealed on Mamluk. An weighed whether or not to approach the Arbiter. Surely a hardened gladiator had participated in the Grindstone's lucrative bloodsport; but she doubted he would delve into his extensive records of participants without wanting to know why she wanted to know.
On the Embers of Rhalgr, she found little additional information in the press or other sources. It was yet another Resistance cell without much reputation, one article wrote, making noise and doing little else out in the desert; another article claimed it was known for being comprised largely of starving refugees and religious zealots. She did find one report linking the Embers to a raid on a Garlean supply convoy, but not in the Shroud and with a paucity of details.
An knew more about the Sandfox from her contacts at the Gilded Knuckle than she was able to find in open source research, largely because of the size of the bounty on his head. Number five on the Garlean top ten most wanted list among Eorzeans, he was said to be a warrior-priest of Rhalgr and a thorn in the Garleans' side since the fall of Ala Mhigo. He had been given the sobriquet "Sandfox" for good reason, known for thriving in harsh and barren locales, evading capture for years in the wilds, harrying Garlean troop movements and supply lines with infrequent but persistent guerilla tactics and inspiring many with fiery sermons on Rhalgr's will.
It seemed entirely within character for the Sandfox to be forging the Embers into a more effective and renowned force, An concluded. Perhaps Mamluk had grown disillusioned with the Ala Mhigan cause, or with the Sandfox; certainly he had spent enough time at his meetings with Cato haggling over money. A former slave was likely keenly sensitive to monetary pressure. But it didn't quite add up with his history. Too many unknowns still, and An didn't wish to theorize without data. She had a baseline of information; now the true work of uncovering the man's contacts and motivations could begin.
* * *
Ornh's steady breathing on the other side of the camp told Mamluk he'd finally fallen asleep; the red-haired Highlander sat up and added a few logs to their low-burning campfire, though the night was so warm they scarcely needed it. Jackals, though.
Mamluk's eyes dropped to his partner's sleeping face. Who are you, really? It didn't really matter, now.
They'd fought earlier. It was probably inevitable. Ornh had had a bellyful of death and was sick from it. He was the type that handled grief with anger, fear with anger, loss with anger. Mamluk understood that. Anger was a lot easier to live with.
"How long have you been looking for an excuse?"
Since Cyrille, really. Mamluk had obliquely answered Ornh with a story about Ser Rebeccah Price, however. A woman he'd met who thought herself strong, wise, and mature, the Ishgardian knight had held court over a bevy of eager young bucks looking to get her into bed and steal away her heart. It had been nearly a year since Cyrille for Mamluk then, and he had been trying to keep his head above water, air in his lungs, and nothing else.
He'd thought Ser Price understood he wasn't just another one of those bucks. During the course of their friendship, he'd attempted to be a calm, rational advocate for looking before you leaped - not something dragoons did, apparently. After Ser Price had declared her intention to hunt a murderer targeting dragoons, who had already successfully killed several, alone and unaided, Mamluk had rushed to Limsa and did his best to convince her not to go it alone.
As he'd walked away, he heard her laughing to a Roegadyn friend about how Mamluk was just like the others, only interested in getting her into bed, and should be castrated.
It was then that the drowning man had stopped struggling. He'd let the waters close in around his head. He hadn't been romantically interested in Rebeccah, but he had trusted her, the first person he'd dared to trust in over a year. And Rebeccah had completed what Cyrille had begun. Trust, especially in Mamluk's line of work, was a poison to the one giving it. It burned on the way down before it killed you.
Now, he was Ornh, thrusting an arm down into the water to grab at him, because Ornh was sick of being left behind. Ornh, with his anger and his cynicism and his quick jokes and his wariness of the Sandfox and of the cause and his habit of pretending his very real damage was just another quip. Ornh had tried to walk away from the operation tonight Mamluk's duty in that case was clear; Ornh had known that too, saying, "Do what you have to do when my back is turned."
Damn it.
Sometimes, you made a decision in the moment that was only revealed down the line. Mamluk was pretty sure now he knew how all this would go. He sent a sarcastic prayer of thanks to the Spinner.
He settled back down onto the ground and stared wearily up at the stars. He had told Ornh he didn't trust him, and Mamluk didn't. Trust burned on the way down. But sometimes, that didn't end up mattering. He didn't want Ornh and his anger to end up underwater too, so he supposed that forced him to grab ahold and hang on.
For now, at least. Until Operation Heavensfury was through.
Master Gogonji's orders had been clear: Turn her efforts to the Highlander, the Mamluk once owned by Kabir, and coopt him from Cato sas Longinus. An was fairly sure she understood why Master Gogonji favored a more indirect approach to the Garlean - he feared a lack of control that might result in another situation akin to the Rosewater incident. Such a dog, he had noted, must be properly leashed and muzzled to be of use. An was inclined to agree, given the intricacies of the hunt last time.
And so, this Mamluk would be the wolfhound to hunt their elusive wolf. An set out to find out what she could first from open sources. She knew from Mamluk's meetings with Cato that he had a most distinctive name, and that he was a member of a Sagolii-based cell of the Ala Mhigan Resistance known as the Embers of Rhalgr, led by a mysterious figure known as the Sandfox whose movements Cato had been keen to discover. Mamluk was a giant of a Highlander, perhaps six and a half fulms and north of 250 ponz of pure muscle, red-haired and bronze-skinned with a heavily scarred body. And that was the extent of her knowledge.
That unique name was certainly suggestive - or title, really. A "mamluk" was an archaic fashion of referring to a particular caste of warrior-slave; indeed, public records indicated a slave known only by that title had had several owners over the past decades, most recently and substantially by an Ul'dahn merchant named Kabir Sandstrike. While An could find no records of Mamluk's true name, records at the Gladiator's Guild indicated Kabir would fight Mamluk against other slaves and beastmen mercenaries in first blood or incapacitation-style matches for eleven years. Kabir had owned several other gladiator-slaves over the years, but gauging from their win-loss records at the guild, Mamluk was his most successful, even being gifted another slave as a wife the year before the Calamity, though she was resold not long thereafter according to public sale records.
Another bill of sale indicated Mamluk purchased his own freedom some time after that, and continued fighting in the bloodsands as a freeman until an abrupt stop about a year ago. That explained his scars, she supposed.
As for Kabir - old newspapers revealed he had disappeared several moons after Mamluk purchased his freedom. His official status was "presumed dead". Having caused her own share of mysterious disappearances, An idly wondered if Mamluk had been responsible, but there were no public record indications he was under suspicion of murdering his former owner. Pity she no longer had access to the internal security service files.
More interesting to her was how he had obtained the money to buy his freedom. Gladiator's Guild policy was that even slaves retained a portion of their winnings - in escrow at the guild if necessary, to keep the money from their owners' greedy hands. Such funds were often used to buy freedom. It was part of the "Ul'dahn dream" after all - even slaves could rise above their station, as long as the way was paved with gold.
But with Mamluk's win/loss record over the eleven years he was owned by Kabir, he should have made that sum several times over and been free far earlier. An was intrigued. Money trails were often the fastest route to the heart of any mystery.
That was all open source information revealed on Mamluk. An weighed whether or not to approach the Arbiter. Surely a hardened gladiator had participated in the Grindstone's lucrative bloodsport; but she doubted he would delve into his extensive records of participants without wanting to know why she wanted to know.
On the Embers of Rhalgr, she found little additional information in the press or other sources. It was yet another Resistance cell without much reputation, one article wrote, making noise and doing little else out in the desert; another article claimed it was known for being comprised largely of starving refugees and religious zealots. She did find one report linking the Embers to a raid on a Garlean supply convoy, but not in the Shroud and with a paucity of details.
An knew more about the Sandfox from her contacts at the Gilded Knuckle than she was able to find in open source research, largely because of the size of the bounty on his head. Number five on the Garlean top ten most wanted list among Eorzeans, he was said to be a warrior-priest of Rhalgr and a thorn in the Garleans' side since the fall of Ala Mhigo. He had been given the sobriquet "Sandfox" for good reason, known for thriving in harsh and barren locales, evading capture for years in the wilds, harrying Garlean troop movements and supply lines with infrequent but persistent guerilla tactics and inspiring many with fiery sermons on Rhalgr's will.
It seemed entirely within character for the Sandfox to be forging the Embers into a more effective and renowned force, An concluded. Perhaps Mamluk had grown disillusioned with the Ala Mhigan cause, or with the Sandfox; certainly he had spent enough time at his meetings with Cato haggling over money. A former slave was likely keenly sensitive to monetary pressure. But it didn't quite add up with his history. Too many unknowns still, and An didn't wish to theorize without data. She had a baseline of information; now the true work of uncovering the man's contacts and motivations could begin.
* * *
Ornh's steady breathing on the other side of the camp told Mamluk he'd finally fallen asleep; the red-haired Highlander sat up and added a few logs to their low-burning campfire, though the night was so warm they scarcely needed it. Jackals, though.
Mamluk's eyes dropped to his partner's sleeping face. Who are you, really? It didn't really matter, now.
They'd fought earlier. It was probably inevitable. Ornh had had a bellyful of death and was sick from it. He was the type that handled grief with anger, fear with anger, loss with anger. Mamluk understood that. Anger was a lot easier to live with.
"How long have you been looking for an excuse?"
Since Cyrille, really. Mamluk had obliquely answered Ornh with a story about Ser Rebeccah Price, however. A woman he'd met who thought herself strong, wise, and mature, the Ishgardian knight had held court over a bevy of eager young bucks looking to get her into bed and steal away her heart. It had been nearly a year since Cyrille for Mamluk then, and he had been trying to keep his head above water, air in his lungs, and nothing else.
He'd thought Ser Price understood he wasn't just another one of those bucks. During the course of their friendship, he'd attempted to be a calm, rational advocate for looking before you leaped - not something dragoons did, apparently. After Ser Price had declared her intention to hunt a murderer targeting dragoons, who had already successfully killed several, alone and unaided, Mamluk had rushed to Limsa and did his best to convince her not to go it alone.
As he'd walked away, he heard her laughing to a Roegadyn friend about how Mamluk was just like the others, only interested in getting her into bed, and should be castrated.
It was then that the drowning man had stopped struggling. He'd let the waters close in around his head. He hadn't been romantically interested in Rebeccah, but he had trusted her, the first person he'd dared to trust in over a year. And Rebeccah had completed what Cyrille had begun. Trust, especially in Mamluk's line of work, was a poison to the one giving it. It burned on the way down before it killed you.
Now, he was Ornh, thrusting an arm down into the water to grab at him, because Ornh was sick of being left behind. Ornh, with his anger and his cynicism and his quick jokes and his wariness of the Sandfox and of the cause and his habit of pretending his very real damage was just another quip. Ornh had tried to walk away from the operation tonight Mamluk's duty in that case was clear; Ornh had known that too, saying, "Do what you have to do when my back is turned."
Damn it.
Sometimes, you made a decision in the moment that was only revealed down the line. Mamluk was pretty sure now he knew how all this would go. He sent a sarcastic prayer of thanks to the Spinner.
He settled back down onto the ground and stared wearily up at the stars. He had told Ornh he didn't trust him, and Mamluk didn't. Trust burned on the way down. But sometimes, that didn't end up mattering. He didn't want Ornh and his anger to end up underwater too, so he supposed that forced him to grab ahold and hang on.
For now, at least. Until Operation Heavensfury was through.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
Howl's Wiki
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