Jafar gathers support from the desert tribes

Jafar and Zafira had been riding the flying carpet for hours towards the capital, taking turns guiding the carpet while the other slept. It was a good thing flying carpets had some sort of magical **** field holding the people on it in place. Otherwise, the one sleeping would surely be ejected. Despite the field holding them in place, the people on it were not restricted in their movement. They could move on the carpet as if it was perfectly still. It was unexplainable in the same way Jafar's body shrinking to allow him to possess women while being able to make his manliness come out of her feminine parts was unexplainable. Such was the mystery of magic. It operated outside the realm of the laws of physics.

It was Jafar's turn to guide the carpet. Zafira was sleeping soundly next to him as he rode them towards their destination.

The moon was high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the endless desert sands when Jafar spotted a cluster of tents in the distance. His eyes narrowed as he studied the scene. It was a desert tribe, and from the banners flapping in the gentle breeze, he recognized it as the Bedouin of the Shifting Sands, a people known for their fierce loyalty and unparalleled horsemanship. They were also great snake wizards. They were potential allies in his fight against Zakaria.

As the flying carpet drew nearer, the sentinels of the tribe began to stir, their hands tightening on the grips of their scimitars as they spotted the unmistakable shape of a flying carpet approaching. The sight was strange and unsettling, the desert tribesmen were naturally wary of outsiders and this mysterious rider of a forbidden flying mount could not be a good sign.

But as the carpet touched down gently on the sands, a figure emerged from the shadows. Jafar had chosen to land the carpet at a respectful distance from the camp and at a spot that was in plain view of the sentinels, the soft thud of the carpet's descent echoing faintly in the stillness of the night. His form was unmistakable even in the moonlight; tall and commanding, with eyes that seemed to bore into the very soul of anyone who dared to look into them. He stepped off the carpet, his white robe and red turban billowing slightly with the desert wind.

"Zafira," he called out softly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. "Wake up, we have arrived."

Zafira's eyes snapped open, and she sat up with a start, her bow and quiver of arrows clattering to the side. She had been in a deep sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of the flying carpet. She looked around, trying to get her bearings.

"Where's the capital?" she said.

"We've not reached it yet. We've stumbled upon potential allies. Now get up, don't take your weapons with you and follow me with your hands up."

Jafar and Zafira approached the camp with their hands raised high, palms outstretched to show they bore no ill will. The sentinels, their faces obscured by the shadows of their keffiyeh, studied them with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. Jafar knew that his every move could turn them against him at any moment. As they drew closer, the sound of whispered conversations grew louder, and the flicker of torchlight danced over the faces of the tribe members who had gathered to see what the disturbance was.

"We seek an audience with your chieftain," Jafar announced in a clear, strong voice that carried over the desert night. "Our business is urgent and concerns the future of the sultanate."

The sentinels exchanged wary glances before one stepped forward. "Who are you to demand an audience with Sheikh Abdul?" one of them asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his scimitar.

Jafar's eyes gleamed with a hint of amusement. "Have you heard of the Faceless One?" he replied, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand whispers. The mention of the Faceless One caused a ripple of tension to spread throughout their bodies. They had indeed heard the stories; the Faceless One was a figure of legend and fear among the few who had heard of his existence, a wizard of unparalleled power whose very name was enough to make the bravest of men tremble.

"And you're gonna tell me that's who you are? Remove that piece of cloth covering your face. I wanna see it"

"I wouldn't be the Faceless One if I did."

"Then you have exactly ten seconds to leave before we kill you."

"Very well. Come on Zafira, let's go"

Jafar and Zafira took a few steps away from the camp before he turned around abruptly. "Perhaps a little demonstration of my power would convince you that I am indeed telling the truth..."

With that, Jafar lifted his arms into the air. Suddenly, the desert floor began to writhe and undulate as snakes of all sizes and shapes slithered out from their hiding places. They moved with an eerie grace, their scales glinting in the moonlight like a sea of liquid silver. The Bedouin sentinels gasped and stepped back in horror, their eyes widening as the creatures surrounded them.

Soon, the sheikh of the tribe himself came out of his tent, desperately trying to persuade his own snakes to answer the call of their master and come back to him, but it was no use. Jafar was way too powerful. They now answered to him alone.

The sheikh followed his snakes all the way to Jafar and saw hundreds of other reptiles surrounding this mysterious stranger. The sheikh looked at Jafar with a mix of fear and awe. His snakes had always been loyal to him, and the fact that they were now under the control of this stranger was a clear sign of his power. He was a man who knew his people's capabilities with serpents, and he had never seen anything quite like this.

"Who are you, you who are so powerful in magic?" he asked.

"I am the Faceless One and I've come to seek your aid against the usurper, Ibrahim Zakaria" he said as he made all the snakes collectively hiss at him and the sentinels at the same time.

The sheikh's eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. The snakes obeyed the stranger's will, and for a moment, he was lost in the power that was on display. "You are indeed the one," he murmured, his voice shaking with reverence. He lowered himself to one knee, his hand over his heart. "We stand with you, Faceless One."

The sentinels, seeing their sheikh's submission, followed suit. Their faces were a mix of awe and fear, their bodies bent in deference to the power that had so effortlessly claimed their loyal serpents who had been magically trained for years to only obey them. They had heard the whispers of the Faceless One, but to witness such magic firsthand was a revelation that surpassed any tale.

"Excellent, I will now return your snakes to you!" said Jafar as the snakes of the sheikh and the other tribesmen came back towards him, ready to follow their master's command once more. Sheikh Abdul could not get over it. He had formed such a strong bond with these snakes over the years, that he thought no other wizard could ever be powerful enough to usurp his control over them, yet Jafar did it like it was nothing. The other snakes dispersed and the tribesmen got back up.

The sheikh nodded his head in acceptance. "You truly are the Faceless One," he murmured. "Come, let us speak in my tent. I will give you anything you require."

Jafar and Zafira followed the sheikh into the tent. The interior was richly decorated with intricate tapestries and plush pillows. A brazier burned in the center, casting a warm glow over the space. The sheikh gestured to a low table laden with food and drink.

"Please," he said, "refresh yourselves. You must be hungry from your journey."

Jafar politely declined the offer of food and drink. "Thank you, sheikh, but to do so, I would need to remove my mask and show my face, which is out of the question."

Not wanting to press someone as powerful as the Faceless One, the sheikh nodded.

Zafira, however, took the opportunity to pull off the scarf that covered her face, revealing the stunning beauty that hid beneath. "My identity is not as precious as the masters, so I’d be glad to accept" she said, her voice filled with mischief.

The sheikh's eyes widened as he took in her delicate features, her full lips and her piercing gaze. She had high cheekbones and a nose that was as sharp as the blade of a scimitar. Her skin was a deep, rich brown that was kissed by the desert sun. The sheikh felt a stirring in his loins that was not entirely appropriate, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. Now was not the time for such things and besides, he knew she belonged to someone else, someone he'd rather not upset.

He turned his attention back to the Faceless One, his mind racing with questions. "What is it that you require from the Bedouin of the Shifting Sands?"

"Like I said, I am planning to rid our capital of the usurper. I will **** him and once that will be done, his remaining lackeys will be thrown into chaos and confusion. That's where you come in."

"You want us to march on the capital and to take it all by ourselves? That's suicide! There aren't enough of us."

"No, you will not be alone. You will be joined by other sympathizers that are living among the civilians. They will open the gates from inside for you and the other tribes I will recruit between now and then. You will also be joined by...myself, the most powerful wizard in the world."

"Hmm...it's a good plan, but...what will happen after that? Will you become sultan?"

"No! I am not interested in governing and politics. It would only take me away from the spirituality and mysticism that govern my life."

"Who will be sultan, then?"

"Al-Rahman"

"Al-Rahman? So that's your plan? Replacing one anti-magic oppressor with another?"

"Not exactly. Al-Rahman is very old and close to **** and his daughter is known for being vocally opposed to her father's policies on magic. Moreover, she has recently married a provincial governor whose father was highly opposed to the sultan's decision to outlaw all forms of magic. That same governor is known for being an almost carbon-copy of his father. The princess and her new husband are our best chance."

The sheikh nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "And what if this provincial governor isn't as much of a carbon-copy of his father as we thought he was?"

"Then I will fight him as I fought Al-Rahman before him. To me, whoever is in charge of this sultanate doesn't change anything, because I know that no matter how hard they try, they will never manage to catch me. I am as untouchable as I am faceless. I do it for the other wizards. For those that will remain after my ****. I do not want magic to disappear from these lands after my passing. You’ve seen what I’m capable of. Let me tell you that if this governor, this Jafar, follows the path of Al-Rahman and Ibrahim instead of that of our ancestors, I will not even give him time to sit on his throne before ending his life!"

The sheikh nodded solemnly. He could see the conviction burning in Jafar's eyes, even through the slit of his mask. "My tribe will fight with you," he said firmly. "We have suffered much under the sultan's tyranny, and we wish to see a world where magic is not feared but revered."

"Then get to the capital in 3 days and wait for the signal. Where can I find other tribes to join us?"

The sheikh paused, his expression contemplative. He reached for a rolled parchment and unfurled it across the table, revealing an intricate map of the surrounding lands. He pointed to several locations marked with the symbol of a snake, the emblem of the Bedouin. "These are the locations of the other tribes sympathetic to our cause." he said as he pointed towards several locations on his map. Most were only tens of kilometers away. "They have been waiting for a leader to unite them. Convince them of your cause, and they will follow you into the city."

Jafar nodded, his mind racing with strategy. "Very well," he said, his gaze lingering on the map. "I will visit these tribes and secure their allegiance. We must act swiftly, for time is of the essence."

The sheikh looked at him with a mix of admiration and concern. "But, Faceless One," he protested, "surely you must rest before you embark on such a journey. The desert nights are treacherous and the path to the capital fraught with danger."

Jafar's expression remained steadfast. "My time is precious, sheikh. Every moment I spend here is a moment that Zakaria remains in power. I must be swift."

The sheikh nodded solemnly. "I understand," he said, his voice heavy with respect. "May God guide you on your quest."

With a final nod to the sheikh, Jafar turned and strode out of the tent, Zafira following closely behind. The sentinels, their eyes still wide with a mix of fear and awe, watched them go, their heads bowed in respect. As they approached the flying carpet, the sheikh called out to them.

"Faceless One, take these gifts with you," he said, holding out a pair of ornate snake-shaped armbands. "They are enchanted with the power of our tribe. They will protect you on your journey and serve as a symbol of our allegiance."

Jafar took the armbands, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he slipped them on over his robe's sleeves. He could feel the power of the Bedouin magic pulsing through them, a subtle but reassuring presence that would bolster his own abilities. He nodded in thanks to the sheikh.

They climbed onto the flying carpet once more, and with a flick of his wrist, Jafar sent it soaring into the sky. The desert night rushed beneath them as they made their way towards the nearest tribe. They spent the next 2 days travelling, sleeping in shifts on the carpet, rallying tribes wherever they went and on the end of the second day, they approached the capital. They landed far enough away not to be seen and looked at the city cautiously, trying to find a way to get in without being seen.

The once-bustling city lay eerily quiet beneath them, the only sounds the distant calls of the muezzin and the occasional bark of a stray dog. The gates that usually saw a constant flow of caravans and travelers were now firmly shut, with guards patrolling the perimeter with a vigilance that was unheard of in peacetime. The city had become a prison for its own people, the joy and vibrancy of the capital smothered under the heavy hand of the Royal Inquisitors.

Zafira looked up at the towering walls, her mind racing with the challenge that lay before them. She had been in and out of the capital many times in her life as a spy and thief, but never before had the stakes been this high and the opportunities to get in so few...

"How are we going to get in without being seen?" Asked Jafar as he studied the city walls, his mind racing with possibilities.