Baraka stood at the south gate of Iconium at twilight, watching the storm clouds gathering over the mountains in the distance. The town behind him bustled with evening activity, and dotted lights began to show across the plain as the farmers and herdsmen turned in for the day.
His eyes were drawn to a figure on horseback galloping towards him on the packed earth road, plumes of dust catching the last of the light. The rider slowed the horse gradually to a trot and finally a walk as he approached Baraka.
The black horse was of finest Vardiotori stock; strong and fiery, yet disciplined. The rider was more of an enigma. The strong frame and cold blue eyes of a northman were broiled lean and scorched by years of desert sun, laced with the scars of a thousand battles. He was clad a mix of old ragged chainmail and bedouin robes. A battered western longsword hung at his belt and a fine horsebow, with a bristling quiver of steel tipped arrows hung at the pommel.
The rider paused briefly to scratch at his second recently healed decapitation scar, then dismounted with the fluid ease of a horsemaster and approached Baraka.
General Grog smiled and taking the startled Iman gently by the arm, turned and began to lead him towards Sultan Jalal's palace.
Turks Blitz: 106 provinces / 21 turns
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