Rosewater Oasis your excellence

@Arkane

He welcomed the heat, the touch of Ra’s brilliance against his skin, as if the god himself reached down to anoint him. In his jaws, he carried an offering—bones polished smooth, sharp desert stones, and dried herbs gathered from his oasis. A token of gratitude. A request for favor.

When he reached the highest dune, Samir stopped. The winds swirled faintly around him, shifting the sands at his feet. With care, he set down the offering, arranging it neatly upon the sun-warmed ground. His head dipped, and his molten gaze fell shut.

“Ra, who sees all,” he began, his words quiet but firm. “It is beneath your gaze that I rise, it is upon your favor that my throne is built. See here the tokens of my devotion, humble fragments of this earth that pale against the radiance of your creation.”

He paused, his gaze flickering upward for a fleeting moment before returning to the sands. “Grant your blessings, O Keeper of the Horizon, that the waters of my oasis may never run dry, that my enemies may wither beneath your unrelenting heat, and that my name may echo eternal, as steadfast as your journey through the heavens.”

His tone deepened, taking on the weight of prophecy as his words spilled forth like an incantation. “Let my bloodline flow as your rays do, unbroken and enduring. Let my dominion rise as your chariot ascends each dawn. I bow before your might, O Great Judge of the Day and Night, and in your honor, I vow this land, this life, this legacy.”

Arkane did not enjoy the sun— not even after countless years spent within Rahotep’s bustling court, basking in its warmth. Perhaps it was simply in his blood. Some small part of him feared he would forever miss the icy year-round winters of his homeland. Now, particularly, he felt the sun, Ra, beating down upon his brow with an audacious fierceness.

Arkane hauled himself up the dunes frontside first, rear legs sinking into the hot sand as he moved.

“I am Arkane Aydamir, former grand marshal of revered Pharaoh Rahotep, sent from Ta-senet to serve his son, treasured Pharaoh Samirseti Vahanet. I am to be his personal guard, his constant companion, his living shadow for as long as his majesty will have me.” The brute lowered himself with averted eyes, belly fur brushing the hot sand as his nose did the same. He knew already whom he was addressing, the favor with which Samirseti’s name was blessed. Such an honor was nearly within his grasp, and he would not let it evade him now. Not when power was so close he could almost taste it.

He inhaled gently, stirring the sand between his own paws. The Pharaoh’s scent was sharp— distinctly masculine with a firm, unmistakable authority to it. It was how the grand marshal had known his superior without having ever seen his face up close. A good thing, too, for Arkane could sense irritation upon him, could see it in the rigid stance he upheld even as his new plaything groveled like a weary peasant at his feet. This one would take some time to warm up to him fully, he could tell, but he would have his way. In the end he always did.

The beast did not move, hardly breathed for fear of disturbing the sand around his Pharaoh’s paws. Instead he fixed his gaze firmly downward, as he had taught himself to do so many years ago. Piety earned quick favor among the boastful and the haughty. His confidence would remain tempered, carefully restrained until the time was right. Too much personality was unbecoming of a man of his social standing.

“I am at your disposal, for as long as you will have me.”

The former grand marshal—an envoy from Ta-senet, no less. His father’s court had sent him a gift wrapped in submission, bowing low before him in the desert heat. Samirseti allowed a faint flicker of amusement to touch his lips, though his gaze remained steady, unyielding. Composed, imperious, and inscrutable. The former grand marshal—an envoy from Ta-senet, no less. His father’s court had sent him a gift wrapped in submission, bowing low before him in the desert heat. Samirseti allowed a faint flicker of amusement to touch his lips, though his gaze remained steady, unyielding.

He circled Arkane then, a black-and-gold panther pacing with precision, his eyes never leaving the groveling form. A grand marshal, he mused, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. A man accustomed to giving orders, now bowing to receive them. How fitting. Tell me, Arkane, what does it feel like to set aside your crown of command and kneel before your Pharaoh? He came to a stop before the man once more, lowering his head just slightly to peer down at him. The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

You say you are mine, my shadow, my sword. But shadows are fleeting, and swords dull with time. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Arkane’s lowered muzzle. Prove to me, Grand Marshal, that you are more than just a pretty gift sent to curry favor. Let us see that your worth extends beyond the whispers of my father’s court. He had so willingly left it behind for many reasons. Treachery being one of them. Few were as loyal to Rahotep as they were to the divine one before him. Samir would not fall to the same fate. Samir lifted a paw, its gilded claws glinting in the sunlight, and swiped it gently along the line of Arkane’s powerful jaw. The touch was neither harsh nor tender, but commanding—an unspoken order. Rise, he intoned.

As Arkane obeyed, towering to his full height, Samir tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over the broad, scarred expanse of the man’s body. Power rippled beneath Arkane’s dark fur, each scar a mark of battles fought and survived, of lessons learned and strength earned. He was a monument to resilience, to might—and Samir approved.

A low hum rumbled in the back of the Pharaoh’s throat, almost like a purr of satisfaction. I have no use for disloyal things, Arkane. Tell me—do you bend only for me?

He could feel it in the air— amusement, dominance. The Pharaoh enjoyed watching him bow like a wounded dog. Arkane had a feeling he exerted his power in such a way fairly often.

Good. He was meant to.

“I do not need to give orders to know power, sire. I feel it here, at your feet.” He answered honestly, nostrils flaring outward in a breath.

The brute could feel the smaller man’s breath fanning against his face, brushing his lips, gauging his reaction. Oh, he would be a difficult prize to win, but his loyalty would be priceless. With the favor of a Pharaoh, there was no telling where Arkane’s influence would reach. He would prove himself, no matter the cost.

The Grand Marshal rose slowly to his paws as he was ordered to do so, tongue sliding across his teeth with practiced care. Samirseti would test him, he knew. And he would pass with flying colors, or his rise to power would end abruptly.

“Know this. I bend for you and you alone, and I will prove it to you in any way you desire. Be it on the field of battle, forged in blood, or within your enemies’ chambers in the dead of night. You need only say the word.” Pointedly, he did not look down. Molten eyes remained fixed on some distant horizon, acutely aware of the Pharaoh’s piercing gaze upon him. To meet his eyes without direct invitation would be a challenge, a slap in the face.

Samirseti's hum deepened, low and indulgent, as he watched the once-groveling figure rise before him. The sharp, gilded eyes that burned into Arkane’s form were alight with interest, flickering over every scar, every subtle shift of muscle. This was a man who had been honed by the fires of conflict, tested by the harsh elements of life, and yet stood unbroken before him. Arkane spoke with conviction, his words carefully measured but filled with the promise of unyielding loyalty, and Samir found himself pleased.

Good, Samir murmured, voice a silken rasp.

Samir circled him now, much like a panther might circle its prey—not with intent to kill, but to judge, to weigh the value of what stood before him. He stopped beside Arkane’s flank, his muzzle tipping upward ever so slightly, close enough for his breath to ghost along the edge of the man’s scarred cheek. He stepped back then, gaze locking onto the horizon for a moment before sliding back to Arkane, molten eyes alight with something predatory and dangerous. Perhaps I shall test you sooner than later. There is no greater honor than to serve the will of the Pharaoh. His smile now was sharp, like a blade, cruel yet inviting. And no greater punishment for betrayal.

His tail flicked once behind him, dismissively, but he did not fully turn away. Instead, he inclined his head, a gesture so slight it may have gone unnoticed. For now, you will remain at my side. Alay-Basi—a commander of my armies and my personal guard. Samirseti stepped back slightly, his tail flicking once behind him, his regal posture unwavering. Come now. Walk with me. Tell me of your journey.

Samirseti was wary of him, but had no real cause for concern. In time, Arkane would earn his trust, his loyalty, his protection. He would make himself invaluable.

The Pharaoh stalked him with quiet intention, breath brushing the fur of his cheek in some unspoken promise. Belonging, duty. He was wrapped up in something bigger, and to step out of line now would mean a fate worse than death.

Arkane would not be so foolish.

“I will not disappoint you.” The words were rough, but held no hint of deception. He meant them as he said them, crimson eyes narrowed with intent. As Samirseti moved, the beast followed loyally, slinking after him with the grace and poise of a cat.

”My journey was largely uninteresting. I do not wish to bore you with the details, Majesty.”

Nonetheless he spoke of his travels, softly and with little detail. Truly there had been little of consequence, aside from a failed hunt or two. He had insisted on traveling alone, for it was his job to defend Vahanet’s Pharaoh, and thus his voice was gravelly from disuse. What sort of coward would he be if he accepted protection for himself?

he listened in silence as arkane spoke, the beast’s gruff recounting of his travels met with a faint smirk. a protector who spurns protection, samir observed, his tone touched with something akin to amusement. good. the pharaoh has no use for those who would cower.

he is strong in his stride, his shadow spilling across arkane as he turned to meet his eyes. the fire of ra burned behind his own. loyalty is a blade, arkane. wielded well, it will cut through all opposition. wielded poorly, it will turn upon its master.

you seem to understand this.

“If I had died on my journey here, it would have proven me incapable. I stand here before you having survived alone.”

There was a fire behind his own eyes, carefully tempered, and he met the gaze of his superior with a soft grunt.

Samirseti has seen through him, perhaps. But that does not have to mean the end. No, it seemed simply to be a warning. Remain loyal, and he would be rewarded handsomely. Prove himself a snake…and he would be dealt with. A fine enough agreement. Arkane did not intend to betray the Pharaoh— not when there was so much to gain out of making him an ally.

“I know my purpose, Majesty. Every step, every promotion has led me to this moment. Believe me when I say there is nowhere else I wish to climb, no higher calling which I seek.” Some honesty minced into his words, evident in the brute’s intense gaze. He wanted above all else to be here, beside the man in power.

samirseti leads arkane to the crest of a sandstone rise where the sun dips low on the horizon, casting the oasis below in hues of gold and amber, its waters shimmering as though ra himself kissed the surface. the hum of life fills the air—birds darting between the palms, the murmur of wolves tending to their duties, and the whisper of wind brushing through the reeds.

pausing at the rocky edge, the pharaoh lifts his scarred foreleg, adorned with kisses of battles past. he gestures broadly to the paradise sprawling beneath them, the heart of vahanet beating strong and steady.

behold, he announces. the lifeblood of our kingdom, given to us by the gods themselves. every drop of water, every blade of grass, every breath taken beneath the shade of these palms—it all exists because the gods willed it so.

he inhales. here i give you power, arkane. here, you take your claim: as my sword.

can be a cameo!

the golden nape of samirseti is striking underneath the glory of the sun. and a dark man, face half painted by white, is with him. strength is in both, but the darker man was sculpted by the gods of war and bred for battle.
not too much like her, had fate not led her into nobility. the royal wife emerges from the shade of the palace, parting vines and leaves to greet the new man. the curves of herself ran along samir's side, passing a kiss to his cheek before approaching arkane with a dip of her head.

welcome, sir. the gods smile on you, to have brought you to us. her eyes halflidded. may i lead him to the waters so he may rest? she would glance to samir, a grace in her cadence and stride.

As Racharra approaches, Arkane again falls to his knees, chin brushing the sand with familiarity.

“They do indeed, Majesty. I could not be more grateful for the gift they have given me.” He remains as he is, head and body bowed before the Pharaoh’s other half. She commands as much respect as he, and any slight upon her is intolerable. Arkane imagines he might have felt similarly for the woman he once called wife, had she been a beast deserving of any respect.

She, too, he would have to win over.

a gentle chuckle upon seeing the approach of his beloved to-be. a purr upon tongue as she grants him a kiss, and waltzes away, not before he returns one of his own behind her ear, nose brushing softly the brown fur there.

gilded eyes shine approvingly upon arkane as he kneels before hemet-nesut. observant man, he says, offering him gesture that he rise with the swipe of a black paw. dropping to the sand where it roamed once more, quickly. he moves forth to place himself at the side of his wife.

they are the picture of the gods' will.

please, racharra. he speaks lovingly of her. this man is alay-basi. sent by pharaoh rahotep to serve as my guard. my sword. black chin lifts as eyes rake over arkane once more. his name is not fitting. not within his court, and so with an appraising hum; a tsk, and then click of teeth, he says:

you shall shed your previous name. the gods would call you nectanebo. alay-basi to the pharaoh. shield of vahanet.

he lifts paw. so, go. find me when you have settled.