Shajah Ha'qued – The Tree of Three Gifts
"Madan'hir needs no sun to grow its gold"
They say everything in the kingdom of Madan'hir has two faces — much like its Madaniyya, the gleaming gold coins known to merchants across a thousand lands. Its few cities, sun-scorched and ancient, rise from the desert's warm embrace, where spice-laden winds carry tales across shifting dunes. Yet the majority of its land, its true heart, beats slowly, patiently within the emerald depths of the Great Mire, where the air hangs heavy with the scent of damp earth and verdant decay. There, within the swamp's deep, dark waters, lies Madan'hir's most precious wonder: the Shajah Ha'qued – The Tree of Three Gifts.
But the true marvel, the aspect that built the pillars of Madan'hir's empire, lies not in spice, but in the wood itself. When a Shajah Ha'qued is felled by axe and blade, its mighty trunk never sees sun or kiln.
When finally retrieved from the depths, often hauled from the gripping mud by pairs of patient longhorns, the Shajah Ha'qued logs have shed their soft, living essence. It is no longer merely wood. Its surface, once the dark of night and almost porous, now possesses a density that feels impossible for timber. It's as hard as iron, capable of deflecting a blade with a resonant thud, yet astonishingly light. This newfound lightness is particularly wondrous, lending itself to constructions that would otherwise be burdened by immense weight. The subtle fragrance of the spice bark is gone, replaced by a clean, almost mineral scent, like a summer rain on ancient stones. Born from the waters, this is the Shajah Ha'qued's second gift — a body of iron and water, its soul a sacrifice to the Madani people.
built almost exclusively from ripened Shajah Ha'qued, which protect its vast trade routes.
While the journey to transport the wood across the vast, sun-scorched expanse of the desert is arduous, the profits are high — and many a fortune has been made on a single caravan.
The unique properties of the wood allow kaharan shipwrights to craft vessels that ride higher on the waves, cut through currents like scimitars, and withstand the battering of storms and naval engagements with unparalleled durability. A kaharan warship, its hull gleaming with the telltale dark, polished sheen of Shajah Ha'qued, is a formidable force — and the dread of every pirate that roams the seas.
Appearance and Habitat
The Shajah Ha'qued appears unassuming at first glance, much like the quiet strength of the Madani people. Its dark, fibrous trunk rises from the still, murky waters, its bark a deep, rich brown, almost black when wet. Broad, leathery leaves, the color of aged jade, fan out from its upper branches as they reach the water's surface, drinking deeply of the dim sunlight that pierces the endless mist surrounding the swamp. A faint, sweet-and-sharp aroma emanates from its bark, almost imperceptible in the humid air, a whisper hinting at the pungent secret within. This bark, painstakingly stripped from the living tree in thin, curled slices, is deemed the Shajah Ha'qued's first gift. Once dried under the shade of woven reed mats near fiery kilns, it transforms into an ochre, aromatic spice. Its flavor, a dancing symphony of earthy depth and a surprising, almost citrusy zest, enriches nearly every local dish. From humble spiced breads to lavish tagines, its subtle presence, often just a whisper or two, is essential to the Madani cooking.But the true marvel, the aspect that built the pillars of Madan'hir's empire, lies not in spice, but in the wood itself. When a Shajah Ha'qued is felled by axe and blade, its mighty trunk never sees sun or kiln.
Al-Sahra'a, rih'huha min al-ajala.
Wa-nisma'u al-dabab, anfas al-wahal al-batih, al-amiq.
Jawharuna hiya al-intizaar al-sakin.
Ka'l-khashab, yusbihu hadid fi'l-zulmat.
Nahmilu sukoon fi'l-damm.
Qalb la yalin, ka'l-ashjaar al-qadima.
Wa-nisma'u al-dabab, anfas al-wahal al-batih, al-amiq.
Jawharuna hiya al-intizaar al-sakin.
Ka'l-khashab, yusbihu hadid fi'l-zulmat.
Nahmilu sukoon fi'l-damm.
Qalb la yalin, ka'l-ashjaar al-qadima.
The desert wind speaks of haste,
We listen to the mist, the mire's deep, slow breath.
Our strength is the quiet waiting,
Like wood becoming iron in the dark.
We carry stillness in our blood,
An unyielding heart, enduring like the ancient trees.
Fragment of an old Madani Song
We listen to the mist, the mire's deep, slow breath.
Our strength is the quiet waiting,
Like wood becoming iron in the dark.
We carry stillness in our blood,
An unyielding heart, enduring like the ancient trees.
Instead, the stripped logs are submerged deep within the very mire from which they grew. Anchored with heavy stones, they sink into the dark, murky waters, returning to the swamp's slow, breathing pulse.
Years pass—often five, sometimes seven, even ten—a duration measured not by human decree, but by the silent, unseen magic of the swamp. There are no chanted spells, no complex alchemical processes described in ancient texts; merely the swamp's gentle, watery hands.
What happens in those unseen depths remains a mystery, but slowly, imperceptibly, the wood undergoes a profound change.
Years pass—often five, sometimes seven, even ten—a duration measured not by human decree, but by the silent, unseen magic of the swamp. There are no chanted spells, no complex alchemical processes described in ancient texts; merely the swamp's gentle, watery hands.
What happens in those unseen depths remains a mystery, but slowly, imperceptibly, the wood undergoes a profound change.
Trade
It is this iron-hard, feather-light timber that forms the bedrock of Madan'hir's wealth. Hemmed in by scorching sands and the Great Mire, the desert kingdom claims neither harbors nor warships of its own. Instead, Madan'hir trades this precious material to Ri'kahar, a formidable mercantile power that rules the seas by trade and blade. Its immense navy features mighty war-dhows
Give Madan'hir a harbor, and they would not merely sail the seas; they would rule them forever.
Zayid al-Bahri, The sultan's fist
Zayid al-Bahri, The sultan's fist
While the journey to transport the wood across the vast, sun-scorched expanse of the desert is arduous, the profits are high — and many a fortune has been made on a single caravan.
The unique properties of the wood allow kaharan shipwrights to craft vessels that ride higher on the waves, cut through currents like scimitars, and withstand the battering of storms and naval engagements with unparalleled durability. A kaharan warship, its hull gleaming with the telltale dark, polished sheen of Shajah Ha'qued, is a formidable force — and the dread of every pirate that roams the seas.
Importance to the People
From its iron-light wood and fragrant spice, the Shajah Ha'qued forged an empire for the Madani—and this, they say, is its final, greatest gift. Forged in the Mire's depths, bound by soil and water, the tree has woven the very heart of a kingdom. Its roots run deeper than the earth, its branches stretch far into the silent sea, and its essence flows through every Madani vein, every coin, and every ship that cuts the distant waves.
This place awaits the whispers of fate.
The Heartwood Aegis
The Heartwood Aegis
The Heartwood Aegis is a shield forged from a single, seamless plank of Shajah Ha'qued. Its broad, polished surface, near-black yet whispering of the Mire's emerald depths, is reinforced by blackened bronze bands etched with subtle, winding roots. Its grip, wrapped in tough serpent hide, offers an unyielding hold, while a smooth, dark boss of kaharan obsidian at its center seems to drink all light surrounding it. Impossibly light, the Aegis grants surprising agility for such robust defense. Yet, its iron-hard face deflects even the mightiest blows with a deep thud, absorbing every strike with ease. From its surface radiates a subtle coldness, drawing force and looks alike into its depths like the Mire's patient embrace. Wielded by the greatest of Madani champions, it instills profound, unyielding calm, mirroring the Shajah Ha'qued's stoic resilience.
A silent sentinel, it is a bulwark against all threats, absorbing fury to return only the swamp's stillness.
Tales from the Dunes
Never mistake a Madani's quietness for softness. They are like their tree: unassuming to the eye, but try to break them, and you'll find only iron and stillness.
Hafar Al'Shadi, Kaharan spice trader
I have charted stone and earth, whispered to the dust of eons, and steeped wood in the very waters of alchemy.
Yet, the Shajah Ha'qued, cradled by that breathing mire, laughs at all I know.
Yet, the Shajah Ha'qued, cradled by that breathing mire, laughs at all I know.
Layla Mara'dir, Master Alchemist
What an interesting material. I like how the machinations seem to fall somewhere between magic and science. I also really like the quotes in the sidebar.
So happy you enjoyed it - the quotes are always one of my favorite parts to write.