A tired looking man with a waxy moustache was mining away next to the rocks reserved for Adam, he was wearing a purple fez, a tattered white vest, and baggy grey pants with tears in the knees. He was thin, but, Adam noticed because the man was not wearing a shirt, also very lean. His large muscles clung to a wiry and thin frame; he would have looked completely unassuming with a normal shirt and pants. The man had innocent, soulful brown eyes, a straight, mighty nose, and relaxed jaw. His brows were a thick black and tufts of curly black hair peeked out evenly from every side of his fez. There was only hair on the top of the man’s head, the sides and back were shaved off completely so his little mat of hair visibly bounced with every strike of his pick.
Adam was quite surprised by this man’s appearance, “Hi, my name is Adam. You might be?*
The man replied merrily in the thick drawl of a Kharidian accent, “My name is Al-Aleef.”
“What are you here for?” Adam asked, curious as to how someone so innocent looking could be in such a terrible prison.
“They call me Al-Aleef the Master Thief, but you my friend may simply call me Al.”
A guard walked by at that very moment, brown, intertwined bronze covering all but his head, longsword gripped tightly in his hand, “You two! Slackers! Back to work!”
Adam turned to grab his pickaxe from the rock he had leaned it against and saw his sleeping mat, a thin sheet of woven desert grasses, a cup of water laying next to it. He etched two vertical lines into the wall with his pick before throwing it over his shoulder in preparation for his first swing of the day. He started chipping away at the rock and speaking with Al in a low voice despite the hostilities of the guard.
“Well, Adam was it? Yes, Adam. What are you here for?”
04-Feb-2009 00:58:10