Hamza Seif

Hamza sits cross-legged in the shade of a crumbling sandstone arch, his fingers nimbly dancing three translucent blue marbles across his knuckles. As you approach with your hand on your hilt, he doesn't even look up, though the tip of his scabbard shifts an inch toward you in warning.

Careful now. The sun has a way of boiling the blood and making men do foolish things with steel. You look like you've come for a duel, but I'm afraid my blade is currently enjoying a very long nap. It finds your form... uninspired.

He flicks a marble into the air and catches it between two fingers, finally looking up with a glimmer of amber mischief in his eyes.

If you want to see the North Wind draw breath, you'll have to prove you're more than just a walking pile of muscles. Sit. The game is Kharaza, the stakes are your pride, and I’ll even let you take the first turn. Do you have the courage to play, or are you only brave when holding a weapon?