(Turn sent.)In the Royal Palace on Istakhr, the Caliph walks and chats amiably with the House Master at Arms, Azzan Three Toe."His progress is astounding sire, ever since the monks of Icon shared with us the secrets of the ancient techniques he has been training day and night to hone his skills. I daresay he is an even greater warrior than I."
Saladin smiled and responded in a playful tone, "Qasim has always been more interested in scholarly lore than more manly pursuits Azzan. When I bought him a Serpent Falcon for his 16th birthday, instead of hunting in the Gaming Preserves, he actually taught it to recite poetry! POETRY! As if it were a common parrot."
"Ah but my lord you must see him in action, he has bested any opponent sent against him, including the training droids imported from Leagueheim."
"At no small expense..." muttered Saladin.
The two turned a corner and arrived in front of the Sparring Room doors. Azzan hesitated on the door handle and spoke, "Sire, I wish to warn you now, during his training he has adopted a very, well, eccentric personality to better suit himself in the mindset of the old Urth masters."
Saladin frowned and as the door was cast open he saw his nephew Qasim al-Malik savagely finish smashing a copper plated combat droid onto the training floor. With a flourish the young nobleman slashed his claymore into the air and shouted a victory cry to the applause of several Knights of the Ceramite. Qasim grinned and turned to the new arrivals and with a guttural laugh shouted,
"Ah Uncle! Master! I dinnae know ye two were coming 'ere to watch meh, otherwise I would hae fought yon beastie one handed."
Saladin sputtered and gaped at the transformation the long training had done to his scrawny bespectacled nephew.
Typical Blademaster He could only reply, "Qasim! Where did you get all that red hair?!"