Red Oasis

[BriskSG]

Kaliff Alibar is the Red Oasis, an immortal master of blood whos only purpose is to find, protect, and serve the blood decendants of the prophet Muhammad.

After the death of the last blood decendant that he served durring World War I, the Red Oasis has been searching for the person who carriess the strongest of Muhammad's ancient bloodline.

DESCIRPTION OF POWERS: Kaliff is able to absorb and create blood in his own body, as well as shape and move blood in the bodies of others. When in close combat he can heal wounds or drain blood from the bodies of those who defy him. He immortal, though he ages and can die. He has died countless times, but always reconstitutes after an hour due to the mystical energies that keep him bound to the mortal coil.

Kaliff Alibar (aka Red Oasis)
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Birth Date: 627 AD Age: 1376 yrs

Eyes: Brown Hair: Black Height 6'3" Weight: 190
Sex: Male Species: Human

ABILITIES
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INTELLIGENCE: 3 STRENGTH: 3 AGILITY: 3 SPEED: 2 DURABILITY: 5 HEALTH: 5 ENERGY: 15

ACTIONS
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Master of Blood: 4
- Create/Manipulate Blood
- Combine with Close Combat
- Healing
- Drain Energy

General Knowledge: 4
- History
- Religion
- Politics
- War

Close Combat: 6
- Scimitar
- Spear
- Hand-to-Hand
- Dagger
- Cat o' Ninetails
- Staff

Social Skills: 3
- Clergy
- Language & Culture: Arab
- Language & Culture: Persian

Acrobatics: 3


MODIFIERS
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Immortality
Reconstiture Self
Precognition Flashes

CHALLANGES
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Haunted Past: 3
Deadly Enemies: 3
Devote Muslim

[BriskSG]

RED OASIS ORIGIN
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649 AD -- Steppes of Central Asia
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It was upon a barren plateau, made bare by generations of never ending wind and sun, that the agreement was reached. Al-Doran, representative of Ali, cousin and son-in-law of the late prophet, sat upon the cold hard stone warming his hands over the new flame rising from the fire pit. Across from him, sitting with apparent comfort on the hard stone, the tall and lean Dario offered a mug, glistening red with warm blood from a freshly slaughtered bull. "Drink... we are now bound to the portents and scripture of the Prophet. As is well known, we have always worshipped the one true god, though we were ignorant of his proper title. May Allah have mercy upon us all." the old mystic looked up into the night sky, watching the stars of the zodiac for many moments before lowering his gaze once again to Al-Doran who took a tentative sip. It was warm, and made his stomach churn. "In recognition of this great agreement between our peoples, we wish to provide a gift." Dario says with a pause, "A gift?" asked Al-Doran, "A gift far greater then any we have bestowed in our history." The old mystic rose from the hard ground, his walking stick supporting his weak bones. "Every bull over the age of three years has been gathered. The dance and sacrifice will begin shortly." "Sacrifice?" Al-Doran replied with growing unease. The mystic looked down at the short Arab, "Yes, the blood of every bull will be spilt. Its strength and vigor will infuse my son... our gift to you." Al-Doran looked down toward the flickering fires below. Shadows cast forth from the roaring flames as the Zoroastrian Mystics made their way toward the center of the camp, a small oasis surrounded by several Persian Ironwoods. "Come my Arab friend, it is time. Dawn nears", Dario invited, leading the way down the narrow path, the winds fiercely tugging at the mystics red robes. Al-Doran followed, watching the path and the nearing circle of Zoroastrian Mystics with equal caution. As the two neared, the mystics began to kick up dust in the beginnings of an intricate dance. They both took a seat on comfortable pillows at the southwest end of the oasis spring.


The voices of the Zoroastrian Mystics chanted "Blood is Strength... Blood is Power... Blood flows toward life... Blood flows from death... Blood was gifted by God... Blood was corrupted by Satan*... Blood is Strength... Blood is Power... Cleanse this Blood... Cleanse this Power..." To the North-East, the grouping parted, and Dario's son approached. Shedding his clothing he waded into the spring until the cold water reached his chest. The chanting grew to a roar "Blood is Strength... Blood is Power..." The mystics slowed their rhythmic dance as thirty bulls were brought forward by young boys of the tribe. Each mystic drew a long dagger, slitting each throat of the 30 bulls. The blood flowed down hill toward the oasis. The deep red blood, warm and thick, began to mingle with the cold waters of the oasis, causing a light red mist to appear and linger above the darkening water. The blood swirled around the young man, long praised as the greatest warrior of the tribe. It was the young man who had first come to his father and the tribal elders with the teachings of the Prophet, having learned of them while raiding along the roads to the east. He was the first convert in his tribe, and was key in helping to broker the peace between the Arabs and his people, who would have surely been eradicated if they had not seen the light of Islam. He was happy he was chosen to be the servant to the Prophet's line. The sun began to rise above the mesa flats. The waters gave way to the blood, sticking to his skin as he turned to face Mecca; he knelt down into the water, the red liquid covering his head. He bowed three times beneath the water.

The Zoroastrian Mystics increased the tempo and speed of their chant, each throwing a different ingredient into the oasis; Salts, vinegars, fragrance, and spices. The young man knew he would not rise above the waves in this life. He knew what must be done. The Mystics voices boomed as they cried out the last stance of the enchantment, and the young man opened his mouth to drink. The blood filled his stomach and lungs as he drank of the water. The water of the oasis began to clear, becoming pure water again. Silence. The chanting stopped, and the young man did not appear from the water. Al-Doran could barely contain his loathing for the ritual. "He... killed himself. Why?" "Because he must leave his old life behind to become one with Allah, and offer the protection of my people to the descendants of the prophet. Only in death can he be cleansed of Satan's taint. You will see." the young man's father replied, with a hint of sadness upon his face. "I shall miss my son. Now come, you have a long journey to make back to Mecca. Let us gather you’re belonging along with those of my son..." The old mystic stood and escorted him toward the tents on the edge of the encampment. Nearly an hour passed when he returned to the oasis spring with horse and camel in tow. Standing near the oasis was the young man, dressing himself in a blood red robe and taking a staff. Al-Doran stopped shock evident on his face, "You are dead!!!" "It is true I died, yet I am not dead. I am the promised gift. I am now sworn to the descendants of Muhammad, the Prophet. I will protect and serve for time everlasting. I am the gift of my tribe. I will travel with you to Mecca where I will serve your Caliph, Ali." the young man replied throwing a pack over his shoulder.

And so it was that the one who be renamed "Kaliff Alibar" was risen again from the dead to serve the long line of Muhammad's family through the ages.

A long journey had begun, a journey that continues to this day, and to the end of time itself...


*The words "satan", "paradise" and "amen" are of Zoroastrian origin.