![Job: Watch the World Burn! [Basima Hakim] Empty](https://2img.net/i/empty.gif)
The massive amounts of wheat and sweaty men pouring into the farmer's market produced a foul odor that slapped Bisma's nose when she entered into the Neutral Ground's plaza of agriculture. The rough sound of her boots against the ground was overshadowed by the booming activity of farmers selling off their stock to one another. Morning, it would seem, was the market's primetime of business. A displeased frown formed on the woman's face at the realization as she thought of how lost she must have looked among the throngs of people in the street. She looked from stall to stall but moved forward in search of the men who sought her out. "The Farmer Market's Ministers" is what they called themselves, as if they were men of honor. However, they seemed more like men of corruption from what Basima could gather about them. After all, no person of virtue would come to her for help.
The small woman looked upward into the glowing morning sky to see a vulture flying overhead. "Jail Bird" made several laps until eventually landing on Basima's right shoulder with a piercing caw. The ugly bird landed with surprising grace and earned an appreciative smile from the dark wizard as it raised its crooked beak forward like an organic compass. Basima followed the direction of her loyal friend toward a dull, gray building without even a sign to designate its purpose. She looked at the bird on her should for assurance and, upon receiving another loud cawing noise, beckoned Jail Bird off while she commenced her business. As she crossed through the rough iron doors in the front of the building, she entered into what she could only make out to be an auction house being set up for later that day.
Finding what she searched for proved easy. The auction house's workers mistook her for some farmer's wife and pretty much allowed her to go around unhindered until she happened upon a shallow door with the words "The Minister Council of the Farmer's Market." She faintly knocked on the door twice with the back of her knuckles as a warning before entering into a hearing room with a long ten-person desk in the front and a bunch of empty seats in the back. The long desk was occupied by nine men, each with a small name plate in front of them. They appeared much less formal than Basima would have suspected and seemed awfully anxious to get through the moment.
One of the men looked up with confusion and asked Basima, "Can we help you?"
She humbly smiled at the minister and responded, "I am here because a bird of mine brought a strange letter to me, and it appears to have originated from this council." Basima produced an envelope with the broken seal of the city's farmer market and handed it to the man at the center of the desk. He pulled the letter out and read it over with a pale face. It was that letter.
"I... or we... were not expecting someone so..."
Basima humbly waited for the man to search for his words, though she knew full well that he meant to say that he did not expect a small and meager-looking woman. She almost wanted to stab him for it.
"Regardless of what you were expecting, I am what you've got." That continuous smile was beginning to become creepy for the group of men. It didn't sit well with the sternness of the voice.
The head of the council raised his head back and accepted the card he had been dealt. He pointed to the end of the long desk, where the one empty seat was at. The nameplate in front of it said "Francis Jekis." "He's the one the letter told you about, and here is where you'll find his farm." The head of the council pulled out a piece, directions to the Jekis Farmstead, from his sleeve and slid it across the desk for Basima, who scooped it up and smiled off at the council.
"I will turn his farm into ash." She bid them farewell and said nothing more, not even hinting at her name. They probably felt safer not knowing it anyway.
The morning turned to day and the day into night. In that time, Basima bought torch supplies from the city's limitless markets. When the sun was setting, she headed for the country side and waited contently at a hilltop, where she could see sprawling fields in every direction. She assumed the fields were all from different farms, but she quickly realized they all belonged to her target, Mr. Jekis. It was very easy to see why nearby farmers would be wary of the man when he had a practical monopoly on land and crops.
As the sun finally disappeared and the vulture sitting in a nearby tree cawed at her, Basima knew it was time. She assembled her torch and lit it ablaze. The moonlight was faint enough to give the torch control of the night's light. The woman waved her oversized match around to get one final look at the golden fields of wheat before descending down the hill in an easy walk. She casually strolled down a path that divided two of the fields and barely pressed the fire in her hand against the crops before they became engulfed in flames as easily as paper. Basima hardly had to do anything for the flames to begin spreading across the fields like a running wire. Soon, the cold night air was replaced by growing clouds of warm smoke while the darkened sky was beaten by branches of fire.
When Basima reached the end of the trail that led through the field, she found herself before the large red barn. The snorting of horses flowed through its tiny windows, like they knew what was coming. The pyromaniac of the night walked passed the part and grazed the barn’s wood with her torch. It burned almost as easily as the fields.
Basima’s arson was not going unnoticed. About thirty meters from the barn, Mr. Jekis stood gasping on the front porch of his house. The middle-aged man watched with a deep horror as he witnessed his livelihood turn to ash. It was because of this horror, perhaps, that he was drawn toward the blaze growing around his farm. He approached the burning barn with his hoe in hand in search of answers to this insanity, taking several minutes to cross the gap. It must have felt like a lifetime to him as his eyes could not comprehend the terror while his mind was consumed by anxiety. That terror, the terror of uncertainty, subsided with the replacement of anger when he witnessed the silhouette carrying a torch. He could not make out Basima’s features and neither could Basima make out Mr. Jekis’ features. Somehow, though, they both knew the other’s intent.
Mr. Jekis rushed toward the figure and waved his hoe around like a staff. Basima hardly paid him any mind as Jail Bird swooped down from the dark sky and dug his talons into the man’s chest. While the bird fluttered its wings in the man’s face, Basima slow walked past Mr. Jekis and headed for his house. The same cycle as the barn and fields followed, with the woman brushing the flame of her torch on the wooden house in a formula perfect for fire. When she was thoroughly satisfied with the result, Basima watched the poor man struggle on the ground to get the bird off of him until he solidly whacked it off with his gardening hoe. By the time he had gotten on his feet, however, the small figure on his property was headed toward an opposite field that had yet to be burnt. He had to stop her.
The man ran for her but she had already taken refuge in the tall crops of the field. He tried to follow the burning heat of the woman’s torch, but it proved fruitless as the field they were both in began spreading the flame within it. The smoke above him grew stronger and the heat grew greater until Mr. Jekis just started swinging his hoe around himself in hopeless desperation.
A sudden bump. Mr. Jekis backed up into a glowing teal wall that turned out to be more of a cube. It was comfy in size but had no apparent way out, which might have been a good thing given the flaming crops around the cube.
When Basima stepped through one of the few bundles of crops not yet enflamed and stood in front of the distraught farmer (the barrier between them of course), Mr. Jekis uttered, “What kind of magic is this!?”
Silence, perfect silence. The surrounding flames highlighted Basima’s smile that, just for second, morphed into something sinister before reverting back to its content happiness.
“Let me out! Let me out now!”
Basima tapped the wall of the cube and pointed toward the opposite end, where the flames we growing stronger. “I think you will find that my prison is the safest thing for you.” The farmer turned even paler at the realization of his predicament before falling over like a helpless child. Basima paid no mind to his reaction and just turned around and disappear into the crops, only moments before the entire cube was surrounded by fire. The life of Mr. Jekis would only be as long as Basima’s little prison.
By the next morning, the Minister Council of the Farmer’s Market had received word that Mr. Jekis and his entire farmstead had been reduced to ash, just as Basima had promised.
The small woman looked upward into the glowing morning sky to see a vulture flying overhead. "Jail Bird" made several laps until eventually landing on Basima's right shoulder with a piercing caw. The ugly bird landed with surprising grace and earned an appreciative smile from the dark wizard as it raised its crooked beak forward like an organic compass. Basima followed the direction of her loyal friend toward a dull, gray building without even a sign to designate its purpose. She looked at the bird on her should for assurance and, upon receiving another loud cawing noise, beckoned Jail Bird off while she commenced her business. As she crossed through the rough iron doors in the front of the building, she entered into what she could only make out to be an auction house being set up for later that day.
Finding what she searched for proved easy. The auction house's workers mistook her for some farmer's wife and pretty much allowed her to go around unhindered until she happened upon a shallow door with the words "The Minister Council of the Farmer's Market." She faintly knocked on the door twice with the back of her knuckles as a warning before entering into a hearing room with a long ten-person desk in the front and a bunch of empty seats in the back. The long desk was occupied by nine men, each with a small name plate in front of them. They appeared much less formal than Basima would have suspected and seemed awfully anxious to get through the moment.
One of the men looked up with confusion and asked Basima, "Can we help you?"
She humbly smiled at the minister and responded, "I am here because a bird of mine brought a strange letter to me, and it appears to have originated from this council." Basima produced an envelope with the broken seal of the city's farmer market and handed it to the man at the center of the desk. He pulled the letter out and read it over with a pale face. It was that letter.
"I... or we... were not expecting someone so..."
Basima humbly waited for the man to search for his words, though she knew full well that he meant to say that he did not expect a small and meager-looking woman. She almost wanted to stab him for it.
"Regardless of what you were expecting, I am what you've got." That continuous smile was beginning to become creepy for the group of men. It didn't sit well with the sternness of the voice.
The head of the council raised his head back and accepted the card he had been dealt. He pointed to the end of the long desk, where the one empty seat was at. The nameplate in front of it said "Francis Jekis." "He's the one the letter told you about, and here is where you'll find his farm." The head of the council pulled out a piece, directions to the Jekis Farmstead, from his sleeve and slid it across the desk for Basima, who scooped it up and smiled off at the council.
"I will turn his farm into ash." She bid them farewell and said nothing more, not even hinting at her name. They probably felt safer not knowing it anyway.
The morning turned to day and the day into night. In that time, Basima bought torch supplies from the city's limitless markets. When the sun was setting, she headed for the country side and waited contently at a hilltop, where she could see sprawling fields in every direction. She assumed the fields were all from different farms, but she quickly realized they all belonged to her target, Mr. Jekis. It was very easy to see why nearby farmers would be wary of the man when he had a practical monopoly on land and crops.
As the sun finally disappeared and the vulture sitting in a nearby tree cawed at her, Basima knew it was time. She assembled her torch and lit it ablaze. The moonlight was faint enough to give the torch control of the night's light. The woman waved her oversized match around to get one final look at the golden fields of wheat before descending down the hill in an easy walk. She casually strolled down a path that divided two of the fields and barely pressed the fire in her hand against the crops before they became engulfed in flames as easily as paper. Basima hardly had to do anything for the flames to begin spreading across the fields like a running wire. Soon, the cold night air was replaced by growing clouds of warm smoke while the darkened sky was beaten by branches of fire.
When Basima reached the end of the trail that led through the field, she found herself before the large red barn. The snorting of horses flowed through its tiny windows, like they knew what was coming. The pyromaniac of the night walked passed the part and grazed the barn’s wood with her torch. It burned almost as easily as the fields.
Basima’s arson was not going unnoticed. About thirty meters from the barn, Mr. Jekis stood gasping on the front porch of his house. The middle-aged man watched with a deep horror as he witnessed his livelihood turn to ash. It was because of this horror, perhaps, that he was drawn toward the blaze growing around his farm. He approached the burning barn with his hoe in hand in search of answers to this insanity, taking several minutes to cross the gap. It must have felt like a lifetime to him as his eyes could not comprehend the terror while his mind was consumed by anxiety. That terror, the terror of uncertainty, subsided with the replacement of anger when he witnessed the silhouette carrying a torch. He could not make out Basima’s features and neither could Basima make out Mr. Jekis’ features. Somehow, though, they both knew the other’s intent.
Mr. Jekis rushed toward the figure and waved his hoe around like a staff. Basima hardly paid him any mind as Jail Bird swooped down from the dark sky and dug his talons into the man’s chest. While the bird fluttered its wings in the man’s face, Basima slow walked past Mr. Jekis and headed for his house. The same cycle as the barn and fields followed, with the woman brushing the flame of her torch on the wooden house in a formula perfect for fire. When she was thoroughly satisfied with the result, Basima watched the poor man struggle on the ground to get the bird off of him until he solidly whacked it off with his gardening hoe. By the time he had gotten on his feet, however, the small figure on his property was headed toward an opposite field that had yet to be burnt. He had to stop her.
The man ran for her but she had already taken refuge in the tall crops of the field. He tried to follow the burning heat of the woman’s torch, but it proved fruitless as the field they were both in began spreading the flame within it. The smoke above him grew stronger and the heat grew greater until Mr. Jekis just started swinging his hoe around himself in hopeless desperation.
A sudden bump. Mr. Jekis backed up into a glowing teal wall that turned out to be more of a cube. It was comfy in size but had no apparent way out, which might have been a good thing given the flaming crops around the cube.
When Basima stepped through one of the few bundles of crops not yet enflamed and stood in front of the distraught farmer (the barrier between them of course), Mr. Jekis uttered, “What kind of magic is this!?”
Silence, perfect silence. The surrounding flames highlighted Basima’s smile that, just for second, morphed into something sinister before reverting back to its content happiness.
“Let me out! Let me out now!”
Basima tapped the wall of the cube and pointed toward the opposite end, where the flames we growing stronger. “I think you will find that my prison is the safest thing for you.” The farmer turned even paler at the realization of his predicament before falling over like a helpless child. Basima paid no mind to his reaction and just turned around and disappear into the crops, only moments before the entire cube was surrounded by fire. The life of Mr. Jekis would only be as long as Basima’s little prison.
By the next morning, the Minister Council of the Farmer’s Market had received word that Mr. Jekis and his entire farmstead had been reduced to ash, just as Basima had promised.
