π ππππ πππππππ ππ πππππππ. Thoughts that swirl and slither around the teachings of a mentor most respected; they seep into the wisps of hashish remnants cloaking Al-Mualim in his mind and dare to infect the old man's voice with susurruses that don't belong to him. Arrogance from Solomon's Temple is still breathing, bruised mayhaps but not yet mayyit*. Add ignorance to it, and you have his consciousness howling in denial and defiance against the image that somehow fits so well to his mentor. πππππ is a seed most dangerous, he should know, for he and his brethren have used it many a times against foes and rogues. ' Rip it out before it dulls and breaks your blade, child. ' In his younger years, this phrase was uttered one too many times in the teaching grounds. Memorized and sunk deeply into the hollow of each brother's ribs; hence, currently, it is bearing teeth in fear and violent desires toward the absolute teachings. Still though, tonight, his humbled self finds it impossible to dismiss these su'alat**: What if doubt is not just dangerous but also a guide to wisdom? Does Allah truly demand πππππ loyalty or is it men? Deep is the frown that settles on his brow. Would Malik or any of his brothers listen if he were to speak of this seed in his chest? ππ, comes the answer as unabated as the remarks of this strange, surreal woman in front of him. This is the second time he finds himself laying his eyes on her. In this exact same place. Moonlight seeps through the windows of the library tonight as well, this time a tad brighter than then. Perhaps, she too is an image created by the scent of the calming, burning mix of herbs filling the west section of the Castle. Tonight, and that night too. Even so, what are the odds of Allah sending a sign to him? A sign of either catastrophe or wisdom. Who to say? Who to know? Has he gone mad? A light scoff. All he knows is that his mind is in need of rest. Rest that never comes.
β You call my creed folly, yet your only proof has been tricks. How are you different from the sorcerers who whisper lies into men's ears? β
The book in his hand is finally closed, however, his eyes remain hungrier than ever for knowledge. Solemnity reeks from his tone but there is a crack on his pillar of faith. The curiosity within, behind all that dogmas, is seeking to be broken free, to be fed. Punishment can come later ππ this all turns out to be a witch's nonsense. πππ ππ πππ.. Ah, then the glory of knowing shall aid his blade. | starter call , @ofspvrta
