Rashaad sat on his bed. The water dripped down tan skin and through years of scarred flesh. He prepared for tonight in a ritualistic manner. One he developed over centuries. First his clothes. Despite being one of many similar garbs, he still methodically dressed himself. Every buckle or strap was slowly fastened, tied and adjusted to perfection.
Next, his evening prayers. He took one of many scrolls and laid them before him. His original copy of The Qur'an had been lost decades ago. Thanks to in no small part his flight from Spain following the wake of anti-assamite sentiments by the princes. And majority of that was due to the Muslim-Christian conflicts. In short his treasured copy was more than likely destroyed. This one however was written from a combination of memories from an assamite that was Iman, Aniisa and himself. Though he felt he may have gotten some passages confused. Or completely mixed up. It was no bother really. This was just symbolic. Thirty minutes of praying and now it was the fun part.
He took a basin and prayed over it. Then unwrapped Aniisa from her cloth cover. He placed her down in the basin. He took a smaller dagger and held it to his wrist. "May my blood burn my foes." He cut his wrist and let it drip on to Aniisa. The sword made a slurping sound and it previously shiny metal turned black. He took Aniisa and wrapped her back in the cloth. He returned the basin to it original place. Returning the scrolls to the shelf.
He straightened his bedsheets and headed toward the door. Giving his haven a quick scan before shutting on the lights.
