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Description
(Yes, he's got a light blonde mustache - laugh and face the wrath of my contingent of angry muses)

- Spoiler for History of Magic, chapter 8. Don't read if you don't want to know:

A young man of about 22 was walking into view, but instead of the black attire of a Medjai, this man wore a loose beige coloured robe marked with ancient writing. His blonde hair shone in the desert sun, glittering almost as brightly as the earrings he habitually wore. His eyes, a pale lavender colour to match his sash, were very unusual for a man of his decent and were lined sharply with kohl.

"Akh! Brother! Play with us!"

"Can I ride your motorbike, Akh, please?"

"Oh please, Akh, please?"

Sabir snorted at the sight of the man with children dangling off "Ahk's" arms and shoulders like overgrown Christmas ornaments. No self-respecting Medjai warrior would ever put on such a display in public... but then, the man wasn't Medjai.

Khalaf recognised the man as the unorthodox chieftain of the Tomb Keeper's tribe whose escapades were often criticized and scandalized by the other tribes, but underneath that, there was resentment and apprehension.

...Malik Ishtar had done something that no Medjai had ever dared...

"Akh! Akh! Akh!" the children chanted, breaking Khalaf's train of thought.

"Another time, children," the man promised, grinning. "Akh is busy, and if he doesn't attend the meeting he's supposed to attend right now, old Sabir will crack Akh's head open with that sword he's so conveniently sharpening."

This time, Sabir did snort loudly. "The elders will not be happy that you are late, Ishtar."

"I can't remember the last time they ever were," the man said flatly and shook off the pleading children. "Na'am, na'am! I'll give you a ride some other time," he promised the children, and they left with reluctant pouts and waves.

Turning his full attention to his remaining audience, Malik saluted crisply. "Marhaba, Sabir."

"Marhaba," the warrior nodded in return. " Now get in before they lose all patience," he instructed, jerking his head at the tent flap he was guarding. " And take this young one with you."

Khalaf blinked.

"Sure," Malik shrugged, and gestured for the boy to enter before him.

Swallowing, Khalaf raised the tent flap and entered, immediately picking up on the low, tense voices inside.

"I'm Malik of the Ishtar clan," the man introduced himself softly with a knowing grin.

"Khalaf of the Azrak clan," Khalaf nervously whispered back.

"You are the chieftan's son?" Malik asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Yes."

"Just relax," Malik assured, pushing past the inner flap.

The voices were louder now, but they stopped when the two newcomers walked into view. Malik raised his head proudly in the opressive silence, daring anyone to comment on his presence.

Finally, one spoke, addressing the younger boy. "Khalaf. You are late."

The young boy winced, floundering for an answer. "Ab..."

He was saved, however, when Malik stepped smoothly forward instead. " Forgive me, Khanh Azrak, it was entirely my fault. Your son was delayed because he chose to escort me," Malik saluted.

"Khanh Ishtar, we were not entirely sure that you would come," another voiced from the left.

"How could I refuse?" Malik replied politely, shrugging, but Khalaf thought he heard the man mutter, "Nothing I like better than being in a tent full of grumpy old men," under his breath.

Description
(Yes, he's got a light blonde mustache - laugh and face the wrath of my contingent of angry muses)

- Spoiler for History of Magic, chapter 8. Don't read if you don't want to know:

A young man of about 22 was walking into view, but instead of the black attire of a Medjai, this man wore a loose beige coloured robe marked with ancient writing. His blonde hair shone in the desert sun, glittering almost as brightly as the earrings he habitually wore. His eyes, a pale lavender colour to match his sash, were very unusual for a man of his decent and were lined sharply with kohl.

"Akh! Brother! Play with us!"

"Can I ride your motorbike, Akh, please?"

"Oh please, Akh, please?"

Sabir snorted at the sight of the man with children dangling off "Ahk's" arms and shoulders like overgrown Christmas ornaments. No self-respecting Medjai warrior would ever put on such a display in public... but then, the man wasn't Medjai.

Khalaf recognised the man as the unorthodox chieftain of the Tomb Keeper's tribe whose escapades were often criticized and scandalized by the other tribes, but underneath that, there was resentment and apprehension.

...Malik Ishtar had done something that no Medjai had ever dared...

"Akh! Akh! Akh!" the children chanted, breaking Khalaf's train of thought.

"Another time, children," the man promised, grinning. "Akh is busy, and if he doesn't attend the meeting he's supposed to attend right now, old Sabir will crack Akh's head open with that sword he's so conveniently sharpening."

This time, Sabir did snort loudly. "The elders will not be happy that you are late, Ishtar."

"I can't remember the last time they ever were," the man said flatly and shook off the pleading children. "Na'am, na'am! I'll give you a ride some other time," he promised the children, and they left with reluctant pouts and waves.

Turning his full attention to his remaining audience, Malik saluted crisply. "Marhaba, Sabir."

"Marhaba," the warrior nodded in return. " Now get in before they lose all patience," he instructed, jerking his head at the tent flap he was guarding. " And take this young one with you."

Khalaf blinked.

"Sure," Malik shrugged, and gestured for the boy to enter before him.

Swallowing, Khalaf raised the tent flap and entered, immediately picking up on the low, tense voices inside.

"I'm Malik of the Ishtar clan," the man introduced himself softly with a knowing grin.

"Khalaf of the Azrak clan," Khalaf nervously whispered back.

"You are the chieftan's son?" Malik asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Yes."

"Just relax," Malik assured, pushing past the inner flap.

The voices were louder now, but they stopped when the two newcomers walked into view. Malik raised his head proudly in the opressive silence, daring anyone to comment on his presence.

Finally, one spoke, addressing the younger boy. "Khalaf. You are late."

The young boy winced, floundering for an answer. "Ab..."

He was saved, however, when Malik stepped smoothly forward instead. " Forgive me, Khanh Azrak, it was entirely my fault. Your son was delayed because he chose to escort me," Malik saluted.

"Khanh Ishtar, we were not entirely sure that you would come," another voiced from the left.

"How could I refuse?" Malik replied politely, shrugging, but Khalaf thought he heard the man mutter, "Nothing I like better than being in a tent full of grumpy old men," under his breath.