"Deliverance, Part II"

Log Date:
	1/25/99

Log Cast:
	Khalid Atar, Hashim (NPC), Ulima (NPC), assorted Agni-Haidar (NPC),
assorted Akhunds (NPC), Kiera, Faanshi, Thalia, Jhonan (NPC), Aurora

Log Intro:
	At the behest of Khalid Atar, the winged halfbreed Kiera has
taken warriors and priests with her to the tents of Clan Sarazen in search
of the shudra girl Faanshi... Faanshi's heart-mother Ulima... and the
Warlord Hashim. Ordered to bring the three to the Khalid, Kiera discovers
that the Warlord has almost killed the shudra, and thus, she must summon
a healer to tend to Faanshi. In the midst of tending her, the healer
discovers that the shudra, too, is a healer.
	And thus, the three from Clan Sarazen are brought before their
God-King, to await his judgement...

----------
Tent - Varati Camp - Somewhere in the Empyre(#2117RFJnh)
     Though all which surrounds the God-King should, and usually does, speak 
  reverently of his stature and position, this, his war tent, only whispers. 
  The God-King does not travel in this war with his entire retinue of people 
  or trappings, but his quarters are quality and, in their way, lovely to look 
  at. The material of his tent is fine-woven, water-tight and dyed to please 
  the eye. Its structure is elegant, notable, but without undue 
  pretentiousness. The Khalid-Atar's mobile desk, his bedding, is of fine 
  quality, but practical. Suitable. The area is less cluttered, more roomy, 
  than other tents, but never-the-less, space is conserved pragmatically, 
  effectiveness being far more desirable than impressiveness. 

Night has long fallen, by the time that Khalid hears that yes, not only have 
  the warlord of Clan Sarazen, the wisewoman of Clan Sarazen arrived, in the 
  company of about half the Agni-Haidar that were supposed to accompany Kiera, 
  and one of the Akhund, but now Kiera herself and a few more Agni-Haidar and 
  the other Akhund, and the shudra named Faanshi have joined them, in the 
  alcove to your main-tent-proper. The chill freezing rain has given away to a 
  miserable sleet and those mages who can, warm the place, so hot bodies who 
  have been moving quickly under so much armour now begin to steam and smell 
  of sweat even, in the cramped waiting space.

The Warlord of Sarazen... his expression is strange, hollow-eyed. His 
  weathered features are set in a mask of bizarre tranquility, as he slowly 
  and softly and repeatedly runs a dagger blade over the whetstone held snugly 
  in one gauntleted hand. The wise-woman of Sarazen, by contrast, looks a bit 
  out of breath with the pace with which she was brought into the camp of the 
  Khalid, though she has arranged her wizened face into a stoic expression. 
  And the shudra... she is carried securely in the arms of one of the 
  Agni-Haidar, a light blanket wrapped about her.

Seated in his chair, behind the desk that has been setup in his large tent, 
  Khalid scratches a few more notes on a piece of parchment. To the side of 
  him, leaning against the desk, is a large staff. From its design and jewels, 
  it would appear to be Atlantean in heritage. Standing near him, at the 
  moment is Thalia. And on the table, next to her, is another scroll. The 
  God-King of the Varati raises his blue eyes, so as to regard the Empyrean 
  woman as he murmurs, "That is from your brother, Amadeo. It arrived a few 
  days after the missive from your daughter, Oriane. You should read his 
  requests and tell me what you think."

The command tent is currently guarded and occupied by ten of the black and 
  silver royal guard, while two members of the Atarvani also loiter within the 
  confines of the shelter. The weave on their robes mark them as the 
  high-ranking judges of the priestly caste, the Nabi. As the entourage makes 
  their entrance, Khalid's attention is stolen from his current conversational 
  partner to those who have intruded upon his domain. Albeit, on his own 
  request.

Tranquil grey eyes rest upon the God-King's face as he speaks and Thalia dips 
  her head into a faint nod once his words have gone silent. Sweeping her 
  attention to the desk, she reaches out a slender hand to lightly trace her 
  fingertips down the length of the scroll--expression thoughtful and mutely 
  curious. Her musings are disturbed, however, by the group of people entering 
  the tent and a quiet breath drawn as her eyes snap over to them. Taking hold 
  of the scroll which lays beneath her fingers, she takes a step aside to 
  settle herself a touch behind Khalid. Stay? Go? She will simply wait and see 
  how things play out.

Torn between being miserable because of the bitter cold outside, or the 
  crowded conditions inside, Kiera carries her wings somewhat mantled, 
  evidence of her being distinctly annoyed with the last three persons who 
  brushed up against her. She does, after a moment, manage to lose her 
  back-ward position and work her way to the front of the group. 
  "Khalid-Atar," Kiera bows her head then, "I have brought them, as you 
  requested. The shudra is direly wounded." She pauses, to add weight to the 
  next word: "Beaten. I had a healer tend to her, before she was brought."

Indeed, as the Agni-Haidar who bears the shudra makes his way into the tent, 
  the healer who has accompanied them instructs the big warrior to carefully 
  hold her so that he can once more inspect her condition. It is equally 
  apparent when Ulima's black bright gaze flashes to the young girl, even as 
  she reluctantly holds her place under the sharp gazes of the party that has 
  escorted them her. Only Hashim seems to ignore the girl entirely, his 
  lifeless stare turning complacently in the general direction of the 
  Amir-al's desk, yet not quite yet focusing upon the God-King himself. The 
  dagger and whetstone are still in his hands, and the small blade glints 
  faintly in what light is in the tent as he slowly draws its edge along the 
  rock.

Sparing a sidelong glance at Thalia, as the others make their entrance, Khalid 
  murmurs, "Stay," before focusing his attention on Kiera. "I see." Blue eyes, 
  hooded and veiled by thick, silky black lashes flash out towards the young 
  girl, then onto Hashim and Ulima. "Sachen," he calls out after a moment, 
  "Bring Jhonan here. He should be able to tend to her wounds." Black wings 
  stretch, almost lazily, as the God-King levels his fiery gaze on the Warlord 
  of Sarazen. "I do not tolerate open blades in my presence, lest they are 
  drawn on my command."

The dagger ceases its motion against the whetstone, and for a moment or two, 
  Hashim blinks owlishly at the Khalid, as if not quite comprehending what the 
  issue at hand is. But he then sheathes the dagger, and the whetstone 
  vanishes into a pouch. Without the slightest sign of life in his black gaze, 
  he rumbles placidly, "As the Amir-al commands."

Nodding to the command of his liege and God, one of the robed Nabi immediately 
  withdraws from the tent. This order, from the lips of any other, would be an 
  insult for such a high-ranking Atarvani, but it does not evoke a second 
  thought in this member who has just recently seen the raw power of his diety.

Hah. Hah. Hah-hah-hah. Kiera doesn't look smug, to those who don't know her, 
  but to those who know her... She enjoyed Khalid's reminding Hashim of the 
  way things are. Kiera shifts her wings to a more comfortable, less defensive 
  position, and waits. Not her show now, but she'll enjoy watching.

Faanshi lies slumped in the support of the big Agni-Haidar who had carried 
  her; the warrior keep his impassive regard, apparently unbothered by needing 
  to continue to hold the girl. In this crowded tent there doesn't appear to 
  be anywhere else to place her, at the moment. All the while, the gaze of 
  Ulima remains fastened upon Faanshi's face and frame, and the old woman 
  pulls in a silent sigh of relief as the young shudra begins to stir. There 
  are voices around her; she can hear them. Many voices... people, in the 
  Warlord's tent? Surely not... but as someone's hands gently and firmly touch 
  her, and an odd alien warmth surges through her, she feels something alien 
  within _her_ fire off in response. "No," she whispers to no one in 
  particular, vaguely worriedly. "Don't want to hurt..."

"So, Warlord, we meet again. Tell me, my loyal subject, why you have been 
  brought before me. I am sure you have some inkling of knowledge on the 
  matter." Khalid's tone is sharp, biting and edged. While the words might be 
  smooth and deceptive, there is a dangerous flare to his lethal blue eyes. He 
  shifts again his seat, as one hand strays to the hilt of his silver-tipped 
  whip.

Hashim steps forward, unbidden, and prostrates himself before his God-King in 
  a movement whose grace is at odds with his big powerful frame. His forehead 
  goes down to his fingers, and his voice floats up steadily from his lowered 
  figure: "I expect it is because of the demon, Amir-al."

The Adept healer, the Nabi Jhonan, comes hurrying in in response to the 
  summons of the Khalid. Quietly and quickly briefed, he steps up to the 
  Agni-Haidar who holds the shudra, placing his hands upon her and frowning 
  lightly down at her in concentration... only to jerk in very slight 
  startlement at her murmur, or perhaps something that goes along with it. "Be 
  at peace, child," he can be heard to whisper, very softly, even as his 
  expression takes on a sharper concentration.

Thalia glances at Khalid as he asks her to stay, nodding her consent. As if 
  that was needed--would she really consider walking out on the God-King of 
  the Varati? Certainly not after he obliterated a city, thank you kindly. 
  Turning her eyes forward once more, she passes the scroll she holds from one 
  hand to the other before finally settling it back against the small of her 
  back. She keeps her curiousity in check, the Empreal woman appearing passive 
  and calm. A silent observer set within the shadow of the Amir-al. 
  Straightening slightly, she draws herself up enough to gain a better look at 
  the girl all bundled up and the very whisper of a frown pulls across her 
  lips.

"Rise," utters Khalid in something near a bored tone. Yet, that illusion is 
  dispelled once a single glance is spared towards the God-King's fiery blue 
  eyes. "Demons, you say? Ah, weave me your story, Hashim. I have not heard a 
  good tale in many years." Venom rolls off his tongue as he cautions, "Yet, 
  know the penalty of attempting to deceive me, Warlord. I am not know for 
  my...generosity." Thick feathers hide the presence of Thalia, momentarily, 
  as his wings stir once more. Soon enough, however, they are pressed against 
  his back.

Beyond the tent walls, freezing rain washes down from the sky. The weather has 
  been poor ever since Lycenae was destroyed, and ash has mixed with earth on 
  the ground to leave it muddy and, at night, icy. Of course, it is winter, so 
  this is to be expected. Brisk breezes are not so uncommon either, and the 
  tent-flaps flutter open on the heels of the Nabi, Jhonan, with a 
  particularly strong one. Rain spatters across the threshold.

Ulima flicks a dark glance forward to Hashim as the Warlord takes on the brunt 
  of Khalid Atar's wrathful attention, and there's an odd mix of pity and 
  peace in the old woman's lined countenance... perhaps she has expected this. 
  But if she has, it is apparent that she doesn't like it.

Hashim, in the meantime, rises as he is bidden, entirely calmly, entirely 
  tranquil. "There is not much of a tale, Amir-al," he replies in his deep 
  ponderous tones. "The shudra girl is a demon. I was going to bind her to 
  keep her from running loose upon the camp... but you summoned us to your 
  presence before this could be accomplished."

Shuffle. That's Kiera, who was standing utterly still, and that is not in 
  response to the wind, which she could as easily quash as ignore. She's 
  taking the latter route, but the wing-shuffle at Hashim's words, and her 
  sharp gaze to the Khalid, is only an attempt at silent communication, to one 
  who knows how how long Kiera can remain motionless.

"Mm." Disappointed with this answer, or perhaps expecting it, Khalid cants his 
  head so that blue eyes may take in the countenance of Ulima. "Your tale, 
  priestess of my mother." Curt and to the point, the God-King seems to have 
  little patience for nonsense this eve. He leans back into his cushioned 
  chair, so as to hear what may be said. "I wish the -entire- tale. From the 
  start."

Jhonan, in the meantime, soon lifts his hands from the girl held in the arms 
  of the Agni-Haidar... and the girl stirs more visibly, green eyes opening, 
  cognizance in their regard. She immediately starts upon finding herself 
  surrounded by the faces of strangers, and a choked little sound of fear and 
  dismay escapes her as she begins to realize that her location has changed. 
  Significantly. One hand shoots up in search of the veils she had been 
  wearing... now gone.

Ulima, in the meantime, steps quietly forward, kneeling with a bit more 
  difficulty than Hashim had done on her more aged legs. "I speak at your 
  bidding, Most High," she replies, her voice grave and a trifle quavery with 
  her venerable years, but without hesitation. "The tale begins with the 
  marriage of my sister's daughter to the Warlord Hashim of Sarazen."

Moments after that icy wind blew into the tent, bringing with it a smattering 
  of rain, the flaps part again. This time, a human hand is the cause. Someone 
  has dared to intrude upon the God-King's private domain while he is 
  conducting an audience, and that someone is Aurora. She enters silently and 
  halts upon finding the confined space even more confined. Her hair is 
  uncovered, wet, and plastered to her skull, and more rainwater drips from 
  the hem of her kamiz. Seems she's taken an impromptu 'shower' in the rain.

Ulima's voice...! Faanshi's gaze snaps round in that direction, and the girl's 
  countenance, noticeably paler by nature than that of most beings in this 
  tent, goes a shade paler. But now that she is stirring, the healer Jhonan 
  nods briskly to the Agni-Haidar who holds her, indicating that she should be 
  set upon her feet. Faanshi nearly falls once this is standing, but between 
  the Nabi and the warrior, this does not occur.

"Go on." Khalid's gaze slips past Ulima, towards the newest arrival and it 
  causes a shift in his own stance. His solid jaw clenches, for but the 
  briefest of moments. Yet, no orders are forthcoming to remove Aurora from 
  the premises and with a wave of his slender, bejewelled hand, he utters, 
  "Continue." Blue eyes lid over entirely.

Ulima, thusly bid, goes on from where she kneels: "I saw that there would be a 
  doom upon my sister's daughter if the marriage occurred, O Khalid, but I 
  could not stop it. Yaminah was wed to Hashim."

As she speaks, a slight flicker of... something... crosses the unnaturally 
  still visage of the Warlord. A trace of wistfulness, perhaps; a trace of 
  pain. "Yaminah," he whispers.

And Ulima continues: "Her doom was a Sylvan, who loved her, and whom she 
  loved."

Those who might notice Aurora's quiet entrance, and who would care to study 
  her face, would glimpse a subtle change in her expression at Khalid's 
  reaction to her arrival. Her throat works, and her hand falls away from the 
  tent-flap. She remains where she is, standing just within the entranceway. 
  Troubled grey eyes leave the Amir-al as she skims over the others, and 
  because Ulima is speaking, her gaze settles on her at last.

Kiera returns to being still, now cocking her head to listen to the voice to 
  the side of her. It's night, and Kiera, being Kiera, now finds herself 
  fighting to remain awake, despite the stimulating surroundings. She does, 
  however, miss the arrival of Aurora.

There is no noticeable shift or further change in Khalid's expression. In 
  fact, one would wonder if he has fallen asleep, for his eyes are closed, his 
  wings are still and he shows no interest whatsoever in what is transpiring.

The woman in the white robe remains kneeling before the God-King, her head 
  bowed, but her old voice clear and quiet and strong. She continues her tale, 
  keeping it short... but perhaps of her brevity, the implications of the 
  situation are made all the more clear. She speaks of how Hashim put the 
  Sylvan Jord Lonewalker to death; of how Yaminah was found to be with child 
  by the Sylvan, and how Hashim would have put her to death, but for Ulima's 
  persuasion that the child might be his, and might be a son; how, at last, 
  Yaminah took the Jhor when she bore the baby. And how Ulima saw that the 
  child would save the life of Hashim when her first flow came upon her... for 
  the child had magic within her. "Healing magic, Amir-al."

Throughout all of the wise-woman's quiet words, Hashim's face and frame grow 
  even more preternaturally still. A faint hint of life animates his black 
  gaze at each mention of the name of Yaminah... setting off the rest of his 
  uncanny lifeness stance and expression. Slowly, he begins to look less 
  tranquil, and more troubled.

From Faanshi, there is a tiny gasp, promptly stifled as she slaps her own 
  hands across her mouth.

"Ah. Quite a tale, priestess of Ushas. I wonder, if my mother saw you now, 
  whether she would judge your words wise or not." Khalid's lips curve 
  slightly at the edges, as his deadly blue eyes open anew. No, he was 
  certainly not sleeping throughout this tale, but rather absorbing the words 
  with serious intent. "A half-breed. And one with magic. Mm." His gaze 
  flashes towards Kiera as he queries, "Your own thoughts on the matter, 
  little hawk?"

Ulima makes no vocal reply to the Khalid's conjecture; if Ushas might have 
  opinions about her tale, Ulima is not the one to speculate upon them. She 
  merely sketches a symbol of the sunrise across her breast, inclining her 
  head into a slightly lower bow as her God-King speaks, and falling into 
  silence now that someone has been called upon.

Little hawk. The words startle Kiera back into a full wakefulness, so that her 
  eyes blink wide open and her mind reels back to catch the words spoken. 
  "Someone..." Kiera couldn't name them right now even if pressed, "Told me 
  that halfbreeds are feared, because they have magic. Timin has magic. I did 
  not know if Minowee or Proudwing or Geraldine did. Do." Blink, the hazel 
  eyes are shuttered, then focus fully on Khalid, "I did not know that the 
  Faanshi had magic. But the soldier who guarded her said she had burning 
  hands. I did not touch them."

"Corrupted healing magic?" For the first time during the entire audience, 
  Khalid seems to take an avid interest in the situation. His attention 
  riverts to Ulima as he presses, "Speak on this matter and explain why her 
  hands burn those she touches?"

Interest commands the depths of Thalia's features as she listens, as subtle as 
  it may be. A pursing of the lips here, an arch of an eyebrow there. 
  Occassionally she looks to Khalid, regarding how reaction molds his 
  expression. The faintest rustle comes from behind her, the woman no doubt 
  toying with the scroll she rests against her back, and her gaze trips from 
  face to face. On some it lingers longer and on others it passes in a 
  heartbeat. Through it all, though, she remains absolutely quiet and out of 
  the way.

The girl kept towards the entrance of the tent turns a darker shade of gold 
  along her cheeks, and dips her head towards her hands, looking distinctly 
  uncomfortable. Her hands flutter about for a moment, like lost birds looking 
  for a place to roost, before she presses them tight to her chest.

"Sometimes, O Khalid," is Ulima's solemn reply, "Faanshi's magic is greater 
  than she can contain. She has... harmed, when she was to heal."

"The demon has seared my flesh," comes an eerie, almost inaudible murmur from 
  Hashim, "to purge my sin from my body..."

And Faanshi, looking stricken, tries to shrink down between the Agni-Haidar 
  and the priest who flank her. The Healer Jhonan studies her out of the 
  corner of his eye, looking rather disturbed himself by this unfolding tale; 
  this little slip of a maiden, a halfbreed at that, is a healer?

Aurora stands unobtrusively at the rear of the tent, and she watches and 
  listens in silence. She does not shiver, for all that she is soaked with 
  rain. It is warmer in the tent, and maybe she's clenching her teeth to keep 
  them from chattering. She pushes a strand of wet hair back from her face, 
  and her gaze darts between Ulima and Khalid, and then, the subject of this 
  discussion -- the girl, Faanshi.

"Very well." Khalid pins Hashim to his place with a sharp retort, "Warlord, 
  when I desire to hear your voice, I will command it. Otherwise, you will not 
  speak. I will know your sins soon enough." Having launched this minor verbal 
  assault on the Clan leader of Sarazen, the God-King makes a study of 
  Faanshi. "Come," he intones. "To me. Place your hand in my own, so I should 
  know your power. And tell me the truth of these tales." His right hand, 
  ungloved, extends towards the half-breed shudra.

No longer directly in the Khalid's attention, Kiera draws in a breath and 
  looks again toward Faanshi, noticing - and lingering her gaze on - Aurora 
  for a moment. From within the tent, the air warmed by the Khalid's presence, 
  eddies, then drifts toward the Teacher. Kiera's attention draws to the other 
  halfbreed, remains there now as she is called forth.

Faanshi turns as white as it is possible for a girl of her complexion to turn. 
  The Agni-Haidar releases his firm grip on her shoulder, the grip that had 
  been intended to keep her from falling to the tent's floor; on her other 
  side, Jhonan, trusting he's done what he can to make sure she can move under 
  her own power, releases her other shoulder. And Faanshi moves uncertainly 
  forward, her eyes going no higher than the hand stretched forth to her... 
  for she remembers that the imphada Kiera has told her not to look upon the 
  Amir-al unless he bids it. Remembering, too, that she is to kneel, Faanshi 
  goes to her knees once she is in range, and closes her slender golden 
  fingers about the right hand of the Khalid. "Ulima speaks the truth as I 
  understand it, Amir-al," she says, her voice small.

Watching the girl, the old woman kneeling nearby gives the tiniest of smiles, 
  the look of a mother taking a small kernel of pride in a daughter upholding 
  patiently taught lessons... and Hashim does indeed fall silent, but his gaze 
  has drifted off into the air, that faint air of troubledness still creasing 
  his dark, stony features.

Slender, graceful and smaller than the hands of the people he rules, Khalid's 
  grip is still powerful and firm. "Rise," he instructs, "And gaze upon me. 
  For I shall weigh your soul this day and know the truth of your words." As 
  if on cue, his ebon wings spread open to their full width and glory, 
  shrouding Faanshi in shadow. His other hand slips up from his resting place 
  within his lap, so as to cup the girl's cheek.

Aurora's gaze had settled on Kiera for a few seconds, but as Khalid Atar 
  spreads his night-black wings to cast mirror-shadows of them upon the tent 
  walls, her eyes are drawn to him. A line bisects her brow as she frowns in 
  vague consternation, but she does not speak, or make any move to interrupt.

Faanshi's hand, held, flutters again like an uneasy bird before she 
  tentatively firms her grasp, needing to do so to rise up as she is 
  commanded. A tremor courses up the length of her arm, ending in a swallow 
  that ripples along her slender throat. But stand she does, and her green 
  gaze lifts up to the azure one of the Khalid. She, too, is smaller than most 
  Varati, paler, slighter; there is something subtly Other about the structure 
  of her face, and most of all in those leaf-hued eyes. Once her eyes reach 
  the face of the Khalid, another gasp escapes her, and her expression turns 
  to one of mingled awe and fright and wonder.

For a long moment, Khalid gazes into the depths of Faanshi's green eyes with 
  his own intense, unyielding blue ones. Like the seas meeting the forests, he 
  drinks of the girl's countenance and general demeanor, as if he were able to 
  see into her very heart and soul. Moments pass without word or interruption 
  until finally the God-King releases Faanshi's hand and face. "Step back, 
  shudra," he instructs. As he focuses his attention on Hashim, he calls back 
  to Thalia, "Thalia of House Tritonis, what council would you give me?"

From the look of the shudra girl, gazing into the very depths of her soul is 
  exactly what the dark-winged Son of the Dawn has done. Visibly shaken, but 
  with more awe and wonder in her gaze and slightly less fear, she bobs her 
  disheveled dark head and steps back, instinctively moving near Ulima and 
  sinking down to her knees beside the old wise-woman. Ulima just as 
  instinctively reaches to clasp Faanshi's shoulder; Faanshi, in the meantime, 
  gazes wide-eyedly at her hand, the one the Khalid had held, as though it has 
  turned into something entirely new and strange.

A quick breath is brought in as she is called upon and Thalia sweeps a glance 
  about the room, considering. She does not answer right away; it is foolish 
  to plunge forward without thought. However, her answer is not terribly long 
  in coming and arrives in soft, calm tones. "A man is defined by his 
  actions," she speaks, her attention focused solely upon Khalid now. "Perhaps 
  it is not the girl who is the demon, but someone else." She is reluctant to 
  give her opinion any further, being a stranger to this culture. That said, 
  she slips back into silence and waits...

"Thank you, Thalia." As his right hand sweeps up to brush away unruly black 
  locks of hair from his forehead, Khalid says, still in the direction of 
  Hashim, "Since you have seen fit to join us, Aurora, do you have any opinion 
  on the matter." His tone is distant, almost cold. Blue eyes do not once 
  touch upon the wingless Empyrean woman.

Hashim still gazes off into space, his expression now oddly twisted, pained... 
  remorseful, perhaps. If he is registering the voices of the Amir-al and 
  those upon whom he calls, the Warlord of Sarazen shows no sign of it.

Beside Ulima, Faanshi touches the hand the Khalid had held to the cheek the 
  Khalid had touched, and begins to look as one whose world has suddenly grown 
  much, much bigger than she'd ever thought could be. The wise-woman curls a 
  white-robed arm about the girl's shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort.

As she is addressed, Aurora stiffens slightly, for she had not been expecting 
  it. Her grey eyes fall on the members in question -- first Hashim, then 
  Ulima, and finally Faanshi. There is no discernible change in her expression 
  until she lifts her eyes to Khalid. Unlike others in the tent, she will look 
  on him, directly, meeting that fierce, blue gaze without fear -- at least,
  if he were looking upon her. Her mouth sets in a firm line, and her shoulders
  straighten as if she's steeling herself for the reply. "I would not wish to
  judge hastily, or deny anyone the opportunity to... explain themselves." She
  pauses, and it seems as if something else hangs in the air -- some 
  subtle tension that has nothing to do with the current situation. But it 
  passes as her gaze moves on to the Empyrean standing at Khalid's side. "But 
  given what I have heard, I would agree with the Domina Tritonides. The child 
  is not the 'demon,' here."

"Thank you for your council, Aurora." Khalid's words are absolutely devoid of 
  emotion, or perhaps too laden with them to be easily discernable. "Warlord 
  Hashim," he intones in a dry tone, "I find your tale to be 
  somewhat...lacking. Perhaps you would wish to revise the statements you have 
  made?" There is a promise hidden in his words and black wings raise, just a 
  bit, as if the hawk was ready to pounce upon its prey.

The sound of his name delivered in the cadences of his God-King does seem to 
  strike a chord of response in the Warlord, though the big warrior does not 
  shift his stance or his gaze. "I... _was_... certain she was a demon, O 
  Khalid,_ he murmurs, sounding oddly confused. All had seemed so clear in his 
  tent...! And then, he looks at last round to the Khalid, saying plaintively, 
  "I did not wish her to harm the men of the armies."

"This answer does not satisfy me, either. You have known her all your life. 
  She has healed you in the past. Do not bandy words with me, Warlord." 
  Khalid's lips slash a tight, cruel line that speaks volumes of the anger 
  that must be contained in his black heart. "You understand my surahs, yes? 
  Respect? Honor? Compassion? Yet, you do not obey them?"

Hashim's bushy black brows knit together over his troubled black eyes, and 
  those nearest the Warlord might be able to tell that the man is beginning to 
  tremble. "I... have erred, Most High?" he rasps, the sound coming painfully 
  up from his throat as beads of sweat begin to break out across his brow.

Snorting loudly, Khalid hisses out his response, "You have -erred-, Warlord." 
  Like a coiled snake ready to strike, he speaks, "And greatly. For your 
  abuses on a shudra would be one matter, but that you have -lied- to me and 
  broke my sacred surahs is something unpardonable." With a single flap of his 
  wings, he rises to his full height and stature as he announces, "I shall 
  give you two choices, Warlord. You may undergo the Jhor or you may battle 
  me. If you do the latter and are victorious, you shall be allowed to leave 
  this army and return to your vara. Unmolested. If you fail in combat with 
  me, I shall teach you the true meaning of pain."

Unnoticed by most, perhaps, Aurora's eyes close, and with a shift of wet 
  fabric, she folds her arms across her chest. The tent seems colder, all of a 
  sudden, and it is not entirely due to those chilling words from the 
  God-King's lips. An unsteady breeze circles through the small audience, and 
  without a word or a nod of farewell, the wingless Empyrean steps backward 
  toward the entrance.

Something in the tone of the Warlord of Sarazen makes the wise-woman Ulima 
  lift her head -- something akin to a kind of compassion, though the woman 
  makes no sound as she draws Faanshi close to her in a loose maternal 
  embrace. The pronouncement of Khalid Atar, however, brings Faanshi's head up 
  as well, and the girl presses close to her heart-mother, still looking 
  thunderstruck.

And as for the Warlord, Hashim turns pale, stricken, the very life seeming to 
  drain out of him at the words of his ruler. He sinks down heavily to his 
  knees, trembling harder now, the very image of a man whose personal reality 
  is crumbling to ashes about him. He does not bother to point out that he had 
  not consciously lied -- after all, if the Khalid has told him he has erred, 
  then he has erred, period. "I will... undergo the Jhor... Most High," he 
  whispers.

"Very well. Poison, fire or disembowelment?" Is there a hint of disappointment 
  in Khalid's voice at Hashim's choice. Has the bloodlust of the God-King of 
  the Varati not been sated? Flicking a glance towards the ranking officer of 
  the Agni-Haidar, he issues, "Send for fifty men of the Agni-Haidar. And ten 
  of the Akhund. Have them waiting outside the command tent."

Having seen and heard enough, Aurora slips soundlessly outside. The rush of 
  the rain is more pronounced for a second as the tent-flaps open, and then it 
  returns to being slightly muffled as the wingless woman disappears outside.
Aurora leaves the tent for the encampment beyond.
Aurora has left.

Even as the words leave the lips of the God-King, the officer in silver and 
  black cuts a sharp nod in acknowledgement, before retreating from the tent 
  on the heels of Aurora.

And in the meantime, the Warlord Hashim kneels there, his mind reeling, his 
  gaze now twin dark points of despair. He has sinned against Khalid Atar; he 
  can think of no other way to atone for it now save the Jhor, and without 
  consciously considering his answer, he rumbles in crestfallen tones, "All... 
  three, Amir-al..."

To this, the woman Ulima presses her eyes closed, a wince flickering across 
  her lined visage. She cradles an ashen-faced Faanshi close to her breast; 
  neither the priestess nor the shudra dare to move, to speak, to breathe.

Despite breezes, despite the Voice of the God-King, despite the fear that 
  stinks the place, the hawk-winged halfbreed finally succumbs to her nature, 
  and sleeps, where she stands, utterly relaxed. In Aurora's absence, finally, 
  the air becomes utterly still.

"You talk foolishness, Hashim. I have never heard of the Jhor being conducted 
  in such a manner." Shaking his head, Khalid resettles into his chair as he 
  states, "Guards, take the Warlord away. Oversee his Jhor in the morning, 
  when he may face both my father and mother." As the royal guard move to take 
  hold of the Warlord of Sarazen, the God-King murmurs, "May Ashur Masad have 
  mercy on your soul, for I have none."

Thalia watches all this with the same calm expression she's worn throughout 
  the evening, her gaze slipping along the soaked darkness of Khalid's wings 
  as he draws himself up. She is shielded from understanding Khalid's 
  judgement by her ignornance of Varati culture, although her brow does dip 
  down faintly as he offers Hashim a battle. As the man falls to his knees, as 
  choices are presented, the gravity of the God-King's pronouncement begins to 
  hit her. She shifts her weight, a subtle move of focus from one foot to the 
  other, as a troubled gaze volleys between the Amir-al and the Warlord. 
  Nervous? Uncomfortable? Yes, that, tied in with a compassionate instinct 
  growing frantic within her heart. But she remains silent; calls forth no 
  objection.

He tried; that is all that crosses the mind of Hashim, as his offer to atone 
  as best he could consider is rejected. The doomed Warlord, now as ashen as 
  the shudra, now does nothing but bow his head in acceptance of his fate as 
  the Agni-Haidar approach him. He gets to his feet under his own power, and 
  departs the tent in the same fashion, but there is a mechanical dullness to 
  his motions now, the lifelessness that had dulled his eyes now seeming to 
  drag at his entire form.

Still kneeling together on the floor of the tent, Ulima and Faanshi remain 
  silent. The girl wears the face of one clinging to a single familiar object 
  in the face of a universe turned utterly unknowable, while the old woman 
  simply holds the maiden protectively near, her wrinkled mouth moving in a 
  silent prayer to Ushas -- her own request that the Lady of the Dawn will be 
  merciful upon the Warlord.

In short order, the Kaimakam in black and silver returns, to report crisply as 
  he salutes, "Fifty Lions and ten Akhunds have been gathered, Amir-al, as you 
  have commanded."

Residing in his seat, Khalid studies both Faanshi and Ulima. "The matter of 
  the Warlord is settled. Now, I must decide what to do with the both of you. 
  My Clanmate, Kiera, has asked that Faanshi be her shudra servant. I am 
  agreeable to this idea. You, Ulima, may also act as an advisor within Clan 
  Khalida, if you so desire. I free you both from Sarazen." He cocks his head 
  as the Kaimakam reports in. "Clan Sarazen will be short one Warlord by the 
  next morning. I wish to ensure none within the Clan feel a level of 
  disloyalty for my decisions. You will take your troops and oversee 
  the...exchange of power to the new Warlord. Cut down any who object and make 
  sure the new Warlord is one I can trust. And one who has more sense that 
  Hashim did. That is all."

The Kaimakam promptly salutes again, saying brusquely, "It shall be done, O 
  Khalid." He is gone again, swiftly, to oversee the advancement of the 
  gathered men into the camp of Clan Sarazen. From outside the tent comes his 
  barked stentorian orders, and the trampings of sixty pairs of feet that fade 
  quickly off into the winter night.

The two women, the old and the young, are left as the lone representatives of 
  Sarazen within the tent. Faanshi's green eyes go wide again in shock at the 
  words of the Khalid -- clearly, becoming one of Clan Khalida had never 
  crossed her mind as a possibility, this night. Her glance flashes to Ulima, 
  and although she does not voice her frantic question, it is communicated 
  clearly enough to the old priestess. Through whatever inner sight the woman 
  possesses, or simply through an adoptive mother's knowledge of her 
  heart-child, Ulima smiles serenely and murmurs, "Choose as you feel is 
  right, my child, I shall not leave you."

With that, Faanshi nervously returns her gaze to the winged figure of the 
  God-King. She has to swallow hard to secure control of her voice, but once 
  she does, it sounds soft and clear within the tent: "I will willingly serve 
  the imphada Kiera, Amir-al." Never mind that the imphada Kiera has yielded 
  to the hawkish side of her nature and fallen asleep; Faanshi has not noticed,
  for her attention is riveted upon the Khalid.

"Very well, shudra. You will change your attire to wear the colors of Clan 
  Khalida. You will also be paid. Eventually. For now, for the pains you have 
  caused my army and my men, you will receive nothing more than food, clothing 
  and shelter. Until I deem otherwise. Or my Shakir believes you deserve 
  more." Khalid purses his lips, then says in firm tones, "You had best be 
  skilled in your duties, girl, for disposing of a Warlord is no paltry 
  matter, though his crimes were deserved of it." Glancing at Ulima for a 
  moment, he adds, "You will stay with her, priestess. And ensure her magic 
  does not go awry. When I have judged whether she deserves better, we shall 
  consider the possibility of entering her into the Atarvani. Or perhaps the 
  Ushasti."

Though she does not say anything, Faanshi's embrace round Ulima grows tighter 
  with this new pronouncement of Khalid Atar. _Paid_? Money of her own? The 
  idea strikes her as beyond belief... and then, _that_ strikes her as 
  ludicrous, in the face of everything else she has seen and witnessed this 
  night. The young shudra pulls in a shuddering breath while Ulima calmly 
  inclines her aged head, saying simply, "By your bidding, Son of the Dawn."

And then, before she can stop herself, Faanshi blurts, "Amir-al, may I... ask 
  a question?"

"Yes?" Khalid had already begun to turn towards Thalia, for the matter in his 
  mind was closed. "What is it, shudra girl?" His gaze resettles on the young 
  halfbreed. Pausing for a moment, he speaks, "There -is- one other matter I 
  wish to make clear. You will both be returning with us to Haven. I have 
  found that city to be a corrupting influence on my people. If either of you, 
  after the enormous generosity I have shown, begin to behave in a way similar 
  to the candala, I will summarily put you both to death. Is this understood?"

To this, Ulima only bows her head in deferential acknowledgement. Faanshi 
  blanches visibly, and then hastily nods her own head, breathing out, "Yes, 
  Amir-al. I only wish to know... what will my duties be? How should I serve?" 
  She flicks a momentary glance to Kiera, and upon finding that the winged 
  imphada appears to have... fallen asleep?, the shudra girl's features 
  reflect a shy sort of disappointment. But there's also a hint of growing 
  excitement there, a childlike delight, just barely kept in check. "Shall I 
  ask the imphada, or..." Then, her temporary surge of bravery leaves her, and 
  her voice trails off into silence.

So quiet. Aside from that one time she was asked to offer her opinion, Thalia 
  has said and done nothing to draw attention to herself, keeping company with 
  her thoughts. A simple shadow observing from the background. Grey eyes trail 
  about the tent, regarding its occupants in more detail. A greater amount of 
  time is spent observing each person, pressing memories to her mind.

Peering over at Kiera, Khalid arches an eyebrow at his currently sleeping 
  Clanmate. "Yes, I suggest you speak with the Imphada on what your specific 
  duties are. I am sure she will teach you properly. But -always- remember 
  your place. You are shudra. That you serve Clan Khalida is no importance. 
  Your freedom has been paid with a high price, girl." Despite the harsh 
  words, despite the seeming coldness to the half-breed girl, there is a 
  gentle note to his tone.

"Thank you... Amir-al..." Faanshi does not stammer, but perhaps this is only 
  because she takes the time to pull in breath enough to steady her voice 
  every so often, between her softly enunciated syllables. "I will remember." 
  She bows her head, clasping her slender hands at her breast now, as she 
  tentatively pulls free of Ulima's embrace. The wise-woman gives the maiden 
  another serene, maternal sort of look.

"That is all. The Agni-Haidar will ensure your possessions are moved to the 
  tents within Clan Khalida's camp. Find one of the Atarvani and ask them 
  which tent you should reside within." Khalid twists his wrist, in a sharp 
  gesture of dismisal. "That is all."

Ulima bows her head again, and Faanshi, quickly studying her heart-mother for 
  cues, mimicks the old woman's gesture. The shudra rises first to her feet on 
  her young legs, turning automatically to provide an arm which Ulima can 
  grasp to haul herself up to a standing position. Ulima sketches one last 
  obeisance to the God-King; this, too, is mimicked by Faanshi, before the two 
  women retreat to the tent's entrance.

The warrior who had carried the shudra girl into the presence of the Khalid, 
  his features impassive and revealing nothing, nevertheless steps forward to 
  volunteer to escort shudra and wise-woman out into the winter night. 
  Grateful for the man's offer, the two silently accept it, and with that, 
  they are gone.

[End log.]