South Commons -- Leopoldville(#363RAJs)
The church of Our Lady of the Divine Blessing dominates the southern section of the Leopoldville commons. The neighboring graveyard is marked off by a small fence, while clumps of tropical trees hover ominously over the environs. No small amount of landscaping has kept the jungle back from the town, and around some of the huts clustered near the church grow flowers and vegetable gardens. At the south end of the commons the road -- more a bleak track than anything -- winds down towards the coast.
The savannah encompasses the town on all sides; a thornbush fence has been constructed to limit access to and from the bush and help fortify the location. A native village sits not far to the southeast, just inside the protective ring.
Obvious exits:
Rose House Alfred's Hut North Church Graveyard Savannah Prescott House Native Village Road to Matadi

Naeem walks back into down from the outskits or savannah, a rolled up mat under one arm and a book in the other. He seems a bit distracted, eyes not really focused on where he is going though they are ahead.

There's little chance that the Swara would pass up a good opportunity to simply observe the antics of humans up close. The luxury of his shapeshifting gift, also his curse as his ears don't quite as keenly detect the approaching man. His own mind is distracted with the small chunk of wood he is whittling with a simple bone-handled knife, crudely made but for all purpose use. As soon as Naeem steps into his peripheral vision though, he looks up from his carving briefly to track him and his meandering path.

Despite his distraction, the feeling of eyes on Naeem pierces the mental fog. He blinks, eyes turning towards the figure and after a moment, offers the man a nod in greeting. It wasn't immediatly apparent, but the paint on the man's arms draws his attenion in paticular. He pauses a moment, undecided as to a course of action now that he has two conflicting desires.

[Naeem's homid desc]
A small slender man with soft, almost feminine, features and green eyes. Obviously of Arab descent, Naeem's dusty taned skin remains smooth under a long mane of raven black hair that is woven into a tight braid that reaches his mid back.
He is dressed in traditional egyptian or islamic clothing of north africa: a thawb made of cotton that rests loosly down to his ankels; feet covered with leather sandels. He doesn't wear much jewlery; only a small crescent moon charm on a thin woven cloth loop around his neck and a ring with a complex carved design of smooth lines.

Azi watches Naeem with a purposely held back gaze of interest, the two native men meeting eyes for the second of contact. Noticing the book and odd clothing, the Swara simply sits at the base of tree his back leans upon, content in letting his eyes tell him what he needs to know. The silent nod is returned in greeting.

[OOC] Naeem thinks he should mention more explicitly that the ring has the sigil of the Bubasti carved into it in his @desc, heh. Hard to see, though.

[OOC] Azi says, "As Azi's little paintings like to migrate occassionally whenever he shifts, the Swara mark is in there somewhere, along his arms."

Coming to a decision, Naeem moves towards the man, his graceful movement made considerable /less/ so by his own frame. HIs eyes fleeting look into teh mans eyes, but the thrust of his attention is on the markings on the arms. Peculiar they certaintly are. Naeem speaks in the language that it seems most people know: heavily accented French. "Ah, good evening. I am sorry, I hope I am not disturbing you? I am simply curious.." He nods towards the skin decoration in a kind of explination.

Azi rises as Naeem approaches to meet him. At the question, Azi takes a moment to parse the accent. He glances at his arms, and looks back up at the strangely clothed man. His own attention stays upon the speaker's face, reading features and watching the charm slung around his neck shimmer in the coming twilight. "It is the paintings of my teacher," the Swara replies with no hint of insincerity, or any hint that he has been disturbed. Very quickly the Swara's eyes depart from the man's face to flow over the loose clothing until he comes upon the ring. It doesn't stay there long, though, returning to watch the man's windows to his soul.

Naeem nods slightly at that, his own eyes toren between the man's face and the markings. "Ah, there is a meaning behind them, or do you just prefer the look?" He pauses, slightly ashamed at his socially forward presumption. "I have not seen anything like them before." He tries to explain, whether or not it needs be said, "Myself, I only wear simple adornments and keep my body clean. They are very attractive though. They suit you."

Azi eyes Naeem with a scrutinizing gaze, trying to decide what is the motive behind this man's attentiveness to his body and its markings. "They have meaning. They are a part of me, as my teacher will always be. She walks with the spirits now." The Swara is not shy in his own respect, returning the man's question to him. "Your clothes, I also have not seen before. Not like the 'mzungu', and not like the villagers here." The implied question of origin then comes marching forward, as his brows crank upward.

Naeem smiles a bit, friendly -- ignoreing the fact that he has no idea what the word 'mzungu' means. "There are a few similar, but I do not thing any here that are quite like me, no. I am from the northeast: A city named Cairo." He glances down to his own clothing, "This is what my people wear. So far, it has been comfortable here as well. I fear that may not be the case once the rains start agian. That's an interesting patter.. may I?" He motions to the arm, in the dim light it's almost impossible to make out the darker pattern of the pained coat from much distance at all. At least with human eyes.

Azi doesn't recall any mentions of Cairo whatsoever. Then again, to the white woman who taught him the languages of the Europeans, he hardly ever truly paid attention. The man's avid interest in his arms however, cause a bit of withdrawal to a tense distance in his eyes. "The rains will bring new life to the savannah, with better hunting as the grass grows longer, and thicker for cover." He in turn looks at his arms as well to see if there was anything wrong with them that perhaps escaped his watchful eye. With obvious reluctance, Azi offers one arm, his left, to Naeem. It is held before him, the marks of dots, bars and flowing lines around the forearms the most obvious. But the Swara's mark lies carefully hidden amidst a confusion of painted patterns designed for secrecy. Only the keenest in the special knowledge could pick it out amidst the patterns along his right shoulder hidden in growing shadows.

As it happens, Naeem is a keen one. Not terribly well built, but he has a good eye and a mind to parse it. He comments as he pears curiously, "I have often wonders how to hunt. My people stopped the practice many centuries ago.." He steps bac, "Your teacher was very skilled. I have never seen anything quite like before. I would not be mistaken to suggest that it might be a family custom?"

"Not of family, but of custom," Azi replies as he takes his arm back. Gazing towards the sunlight slipping down the horizon, he half-lids his eyes in decision. "The time comes for night hunting, when the sun finds his resting place on the grass." The Swara turns back to the man and sets the wood chunk down upon the rootbase of the tree. "You have a calling, Man from Cairo?" The question is a little distracted in tone, hints of instinctual eagerness calling the Swara towards the savannah.

"Yes. I am a spritual man, of sorts. My people call it a 'ulama', but I mostly study the past. That is why I am here, in fact. This land and mine are tied by the past, in a way. We may share a future as well, by this 'town's presence." Naeem pauses a moment, his eyes going out to the savannah as well, but he has one last question, "Why hunt at dusk?"

Azi swallows down that one carefully. Another spiritual man. Hiding his doubts carefully, the Swara nods towards the grassland. "With the dusk comes life. The 'impala' come together closer as darkness settles. It is when the cats, the nightstalkers, hunt under the eye of the Sister." Azi's words come almost reverently towards the end, dark eyes watching the shaded sky light up with early stars. Then he turns back to the man. "You do not hunt, Monsieur? Then where does your food come from?"

"My people have cultivated the land along the Nile river since before recorded history. Tended livestock for wool. We built monuments to the gods: Bast, Ra, Amon, Tahuti and countless others. I am a bit out of my element here, I admit. At the moment, I rely on the meager supplies of the villiage." Naeem watches the man for a reaction to the name dropping, since the lantin based workd man's languages refer to their kind were based, largly, by that very mythology. He raises his hand, offering the man a look at his ring, "My people prefer decorations like this. Do you like it?" It's small, but in the faint moonlight the engraving along the band is clear enough. Rather like the hidden symbol on the man, only a bit less. Similar swirls, though.

If there was any real correlation between names, it was rather lost on the wind for the feline-born. The ring, however, garners interest in the way a new toy waved in front of a cat would spur some attention. The swirls in particular cause the native's eyes to flow over and under, subconsciously recognizing in a way, but not actively acknowledging. "It is an interesting ring, Monsieur. A gift?" The painted brow hikes up a centimeter expressively, a knowledge-seeking, inquiring light evident in his dark brown eyes.

Naeem nods, "Yes, you could call it a gift. From my teacher." He motions to the wilderness beyond with his head and eyes, "Could you teach me, sometime, the basics of the hunt? I find it facinating, in a very utilitarian way." He smiles, "I came here to find some independance, it is attractive to me. I am a man of scholarly study, but I am not without some talent."

Azi takes care to examine from almost every angle within a polite sphere of distance, then at the question of the hunt he gazes at the dark-skinned man. Looking him over once more, the Swara grunts softly. "Come," he says, turning on foot to indicate that a short lesson might at well start now, while he's fresh and ready to run.

Naeem pauses, not wanting to carry his prayer mat and Qu'ran. His decison is quick, though. The book is foled into the mat, and the mat is placed behind the rok, hidden from view. This late at night, in paticular, it is impossible to see without intentinally looking. Besides, who would really want the two items anyway? He's clearly excited, though. Partly because it's new, partly because his well foudned suspicion may develop into a certainty. Regaurdless, it's worth going to him. Once it's stoed away, he follows.

Outside Leopoldville -- Savannah
Encompassing the small colonial outpost stands a ring of thorn bushes which limits the approaches to the town. Beyond this makeshift fence flourishes a mixture of vegetation, blending the biomes of the traditional African grasslands with those of the rain forest. Shorter brush are punctured by taller emergent evergreens. Stanley Pool remains the dominant geological feature of this region, while the barrier hills of the basin are bisected by the tremendous rush of the Congo over the series of cataracts towards the ocean. Scores of smaller ravines and tributaries pour into the big river and convert this region into a dynamic series of bluffs, cutbanks and rocky plains.
Obvious exits:
Road to Matadi Kintamo Leopoldville Eastern Barrier Mont Leopold

Into the bush the two go, the feline-born becoming charged with a sort of electric feel of the hunt in his spirit as he moves along. They travel quite a distance it seems, but then the whole of the grasslands look to the Swara as a roadmap. He heads towards the watering hole not far off, a result of the nearby Congo's underground seeping and the recent rains. Taking care not to forget he is being watched by animal and man alike, Azi pauses long enough for Naeem to catch up. He tests the wind for its direction, moving accordingly to some instinct as he explains in as quiet a whisper as he can manage. "Approach slowly, with the wind blowing your scent away from the prey."

Naeem watches intently to the strange natives actions, quickly undersatnding the usefullness of that paticular approach. He nods, rather than speaking an affirmative to the man. Another comment almost makes it thoguh his lips, but he bites it back, waiting to see what will happen. It doesn't seem like the time. Still, it's hard to see in the evening twilight. He silently wonders how this man will manage.

Unbeknownst perhaps to the human form, Azi has made use of his learned gifts taught to him by his teacher. His scent whisked away by some invisible running water it'd seem, he goes undetected by the nose. The impala and antelope don't necessarily stay near the waterhole itself, giving themselves enough room from the water's edge to hide within the brush and leap away when necessary. Eventually the native draws himself into a stalking crouch similar to the sprinter of the savannah. The lanky legs of his human form, however, almost doesn't seem to fit with the stance. How will he manage? Azi holds up a hand behind him to have Naeem stop where he is. The impala raise their heads, ears up and twitching. The sound of the Cairo man's fabrics blowing in the breeze must have alerted them.

Like a loaded spring Azi shoots out of the grass in a flash, scattering the herd animals in all directions leaping with vigor. In the twilight, it would almost seem impossible for a normal human to catch such an agile animal. And it could be the eyes...it could be the twilight... but soon enough the Swara is a blur to sight, running with almost as much speed as the animals themselves. He's picked one out, a buck that skitters over the grass in rapidly changing directions. Still the native stays on its tail, running it behind a thorny bush. Naeem only sees the leap and the thrash of the bush. The hunt ends only seconds after it began.

Naeem follows the clear hand directions, pulling up and crouching in place. His eyes squint in the twilight to spot the targeted prey. Before he can, though, Azi makes his move. The movement draws his eye with it though the quick run and dipping behind the brush out of sight. By the sound of the struggle, it's clear that the chase is at an end there. Knowing he really couldn't follow that up (and in anycase, the hear has dispersed and run away to saftey -- except the victem). A heart beat later, he moves softly though the brush towards where he beliees the chase ended. He comments sofly once in ear shot, "That is a trick I do not think is so easily learned."

Hard breathing is the first to be heard as a reply, and then a remarkably soft roll of French comes in between breaths. "Non... it takes many a try. The land was generous tonight." When coming back into view, the sound of a carcass being dragged out from the bush follows the native hunter. His hand wrapped tightly around the buck's throat, it's clear the animal didn't suffer from punctures to the throat, but from suffocation with its dry tongue lolled beside its death-dulled eyes. Azi drops the prize down, squatting beside it and continuing to catch the breath which escapes him. "The lionesses have coordination and more than one set of claws. Even they are sometimes not this lucky." He grins a feral smile of triumph towards the man standing above him.

Naeem nods and eyes the beast, "They seem to be a haughty breed." He pauses, and moves aside, the fabric of his robe flaring our a bit, "I wonder, did you choose which to go after first, or only take an an opertunity as you saw it?"

"Both," Azi replies as he leans down almost to touch foreheads with the impala. His voice drops to a low purring whisper, almost reverently thanking the animal and its spirit for the meal it will provide. The rumble dies away. "I first sprang for a female, but this one caught his hoof on the thorn bush's root. Faltered, and presented himself."

Naeem smiles slightly, "That too, would take much practice." He crouches down, not sure why but it seems appropiate since they aren't moving. He picks absently at a strand of wild weed, considering things a moment, "Do you know the meaning of that symbol that his hidden on your shoulder?" He pauses, but like he is wont to do, he feels a compultion to explain whether needed or not, "I know what it means. I saw it once, many years ago, but I never thought I would see it in practice."

Unlike the sun rising in revelation, here Azi's eyes set upon the man crouched beside him and the breathless prey. Calmly he studies Naeem with extended examination, looking beyond simply the face and eyes to try and see some meaning... and decide whether to reveal. Honor Your Silence, says the Karoush. And so the Swara does, answering the man with a tilt of his head to the side and an arched eyebrow asking him to explain further.

Same scene as before, but with different faces. Not that Naeem's aware of that fact. Still, he's aware he has the upperhand -- if it could be called that -- since he's pretty sure the man didn't recognise the symbol he offered. "Normally I would not bring up anything -- I am generally content to leave each to his own -- but I am a stranger here. I think it is important that there not be a misunderstanding." He stands slowly to glance around -- quite far from the town, but it pays to be careful. "I am a cousin. My name is Ulama Naeem ibn Husani, but I have another name." Not seeing anyone but themselves and the creatures around, he changes, his form filling out the robe but between his naturally slim frame and relativly small feline face, his warform is less built for battle and more simply darkly impressive. And actaully managed to fit in the fitted robes, even if it is slightly uncomfortable tail-wise. He hopes, to himself, that he hasn't compleatly misjudges the situation -- fixing his error could be bloody. *I am also known as the Scribe-of-Tahuti* There is more to be said, but he waits to see what the reaction is; paticulary to see if he runs or not.

After a sprint like that, running for Azi doesn't seem quite the option. Still, it is the stranger who first changed, and not he. The name though, rings true in his mind. "You are him, the small black cat upon the savannah." No fear runs through the Swara's eyes apparently since he does not run upon the sight of the catman. Soon, Azi breathes outward to shift as well. This one, to the match the form of the Bubasti. In his crinos, he rumbles out with the catshifter's language. *So, I do know what that symbol means upon my shoulder. I, am Born-of-Fire.*

[Naeem's *Scribe-of-Tahuti* crinos desc]
A tall black humaniod cat. Like an egyptian god brought to life, his form radiates occult power. His physical presence, at least compared to other Bastet, is hardly imposing. Just clearing six and a half feet, this beast doesn't even tower over some humans.
A cloth thawb covers his body, though there's not much cloth to spare his frame and it only goes down to his calves. His hair is an extreamly short and fine stark black, his face angular with a snout forming a dull triangle under jade green cat eyes.

Scribe-of-Tahuti nods curtly in resopnce to the first observation, though making the implication as fast as it takes for the other to begin shifting. In the end, the simple puzzle solves itself in his head and externally at the same time. *You are the cheerful cheeta, then. I hope I have not been intruding. Within the town, I am a stranger among the men. In the wilderness, I am Naa agian.*

Fireborn rumbles a quiet affirmation, though not quite agreeing on that description of cheerful. *The pregnant woman was one of the dogs. The jackals so far, hate them for coming. So hears the Fire.* The crinosed cheetah slowly melds into a less obviously Veil rending form of a normal cheetah, recognizable by his spot pattern to those who look for such identifications. Gazing upward, he sits down beside the dead prey animal. You wish for some? he queries up with a rising toned purr. Certainly the enterprise of fresh meat would be appealing in comparison to the pale apes and their food.

Scribe-of-Tahuti follows the lead, now that things are clarified, by leaning down to all fours and shifting to his feline form. The change not affecting the robe requires his ducking his head and backing out without tripping. A feat that he's gotten use to and good at. Not his most natural form, but out here he needs practice anyway. If you don't use a language, you forget it, so he dives in resisting the urge to communicate non-critical things the 'easy way' even if the communication is crude. Yes. You are generous in offer. He silenly pads over to examine the unfamiliar beast.

Fireborn keeps watch over the prey instinctively, his wary eyes watching the blades of grass and their movements. The herd doesn't seem to return readily, but the beasts do wander on the other side of the waterhole. Turning back to Scribe, the cheetah coughs roughly to expunge some dust from his system. Then after a short period more of looking out, he starts in on the buck's flank. The reddest, meatiest part of the animal with the highest nutrition needed by the cheetah's high energy muscles, he eats rather quickly. In between bites, he glances over at Scribe, expectantly waiting to see if the small cat knows which bits are the right ones for eating.

Well, he doesn't. Other than childish pouncing in the streets of Cairo, he's never been in a position such as it. Curiously, the thought of eating raw meat isn't upsetting -- in fact, it's clear the's rather hungry. Still, a dinner table is his forte. If the creature were boiled on a platter, there would be no problem. Well, he unexplicitly decides, go for what you would go for had the creature been cooked. A small whine still escapes, though, and in the end it's simply his physical hunger that drives him forward rather than any conscious decision. After sniffing at the creature, he tests his teeth to the tearing of flesh hig on one of the creatures forelegs where it meats the torso. If there are feline dining manners, he is clearly unaware and any 'normal' behavior is a fluke.

Then again... it's not like he knew right off which was the right part either. And it suits whichever cat's taste, as well. Fireborn eventually works his way over towards the belly of the impala and with sharp, medium small fangs manages to cut open the tough hide and expose the soft innards. Best to eat fast, he rumbles out with a careful scent along the wind. The Choosers may come soon enough.. if others don't come first.

It takes some practice, but the necessity to get though the tough hide in order to be able to tear out the meat itself reveals itslef readily enough. In his haste, less because of the rumbled warnign and more because of his own desire to be full, he tries differet ways to get though quickly. A quick glance to the larger cat. Dispaite his stature, it seems his feline ancestors were in fact predatory afterall, and his teeth well suited to the task. *I wonder what my ancestors hunted along the Nile, before the settlements were created* He pauses, realising his personal slip up. *I have much yet to learn. Thank you for this initial lesson, Fireborn.*

Fireborn purrs in content of a meat-filled belly, though one may notice he didn't even touch the innards. The flanks are nearly all eaten however, the red meat gone down his gullet. *Perhaps they ran after the smaller prey,* the cheetah notes at glance between size relations of the kyphur cat and the impala. At the thanks, he tilts his head and rises to his paws. *This is the land of the Shadow Folk. Our ways will empower it and protect it. And to do so... the ways of the land must be learned.* He pauses halfway into the brush. Good Hunting, Past-Seeker.