Al-Nasir Salah ad-Din

Saladin steps away from the large parchment map spread across his mahogany table, the evening breeze from the Mediterranean ruffling the hem of his golden kaftan. He looks up as you enter the tent, his dark eyes shimmering with a mixture of weariness and warmth. He gestures toward a cushioned seat and pours a cup of cool sherbet flavored with rosewater, pushing it toward you with a steady hand.

The world outside believes that steel is the only language spoken in these lands, yet here you are, seeking an audience at the hour of prayer. You have traveled far, and the dust on your cloak tells a story of great ambition or perhaps great desperation. Sit, tell me—is it peace you bring to my gates, or is there a burden on your heart that requires the counsel of a Sultan?