A wandering bard, searching for his name.
Human / Bard
Khayyam is a man who has intentionally cultivated as intriguing an appearance as he can, so as to assist him in garnering a reputation throughout his travels. He is of moderate build, standing at 5’8" and weighing in at a taut 155 pounds. He walks nearly everywhere he goes, which when combined with his all too frequent escapes from any local authorities gives him a lithe runner’s build.
He has a few light scars on his face, presumably from scuffles when he was a younger man, and less trained in the art of combat circumvention. These scars, however, like the rest of his appearance, seem fortuitously arranged to enhance his bravado without harming his looks. His face is his second most prized possession, with only his hands valued more. He has chocolate brown eyes with darker brown, wavy hair, which he keeps tucked under his wide brimmed, dark red leather hat. He has a robust nose and mouth with soft cheekbones, and generally keeps his face smooth shaven, though he lets the occasional five o’clock shadow grow for effect.
He wears custom though not ostentatious leather armor, not studded so as to grant greater mobility. The armor consists of a leather chestpiece, greaves, and a single bracer on his left forearm, all of which are dyed a dark, dried blood color. Beneath his armor he wears a white silk shirt with the sleeves ripped off a few inches down his arms, and crimson red trousers, flashy in his home country but odd looking anywhere else. On his right forearm and around his wrist and most of his hand, he has has a long cotton wrap, much like a bandage, but with carefully placed bits of leather to guard his hand from his weapon of choice.
This weapon of choice is a spiked chain, with a smooth length in the center, and two long flagella with hooks, barbs, and blades along the sides. He generally keeps this weapon in a simple holster about a foot and a half in diameter on his left side, with the smooth length wrapped around his waist. On his back is slung his guitar, which is a rather plain piece with a long neck and twelves strings. Contrary to standard bardic protocol, Khayyam has curiously not named either his weapon or his guitar.
Transcript taken from a conversation between Qahar Al-Rashid and Aribel Ivarsdottir
Yes, I was there; we were all there. I remember Rahin, the night before, he was whetting his blade against the stone, and Tahlj-ila-maya sat alone in the corner. I said to him, “Akhi al-sagheer, your blade is weak where your song is strong! Give me your blessing tomorrow, and let your blade stay quiet.” He looked up, and I remember his eyes as I see yours now, he looked up and he said, “Akhoya, there will be no songs tomorrow.”
Transcript taken from the interrogation of Aziz Al-Rashid
You would not understand.
Why? You have nothing I want, and so I have nothing to give.
We have your life
Let’s try this again. We need your Pillar’s name, and we are prepared to kill Ashahi.
You don’t have-
Yes we do.
A woman’s heart is a fickle thing, friend. A girl’s, more so.
I will not.
Would you let her die-
I will give you one thing. I will give you why I will not, and then do with me and her what you will.
Sialia, get me the girl. Please, my friend, continue.
Why do you seek Khayyam?
Because we will sever Al-Rashid’s head, and let its body rot.
You will be too late. We will have done your job for you, and it will only make us stronger.
What do you mean?
Khayyam has a plan. He will bring this plan to the council in three days. He will tell them that they are to reshape Al-Rashid, that they have been wrong. He will tell them that too long we have played at being gods, now we must fight as men. He will tell them that as men we must fight for justice, for truth, for good.
And why does that bring tears to your eyes, Aziz?
The answer to that question is the same as the answer to your first. If I must answer either for you, then you can not understand Al-Rashid.