"A Most Peculiar Gentleman Caller" Log Date: 8/11/99, 9/15/99 Log Cast: Cassius, Faanshi Log Intro: Sickness has begun to spread into Haven from the Tent City, much to the horror of the young shudra Faanshi -- but her efforts to contribute her untried magic to the efforts to stem the tide of illness overcoming the refugees of the recent war have gone badly awry. The halfbreed has to her deep dismay caused a small riot within the Tent City and has since been banned from setting foot in the place until she can either do so under a healer's supervision... or do so in control of her power. In the meantime, she has been fortunate enough to find a teacher in the person of the Sylvan adept FallingStar, but as of yet has been advised not to risk returning to the aid of the ailing ones in the city of tents. And so Faanshi has reluctantly consigned herself to spending what time goes unclaimed by her new acarya in her more mundane duties within Atesh-Gah, fretting over whether she is truly fulfilling her purpose for being properly when she's limited to scrubbing floors. But at least one person appears to find more purpose in the shudra girl than putting a decent polish on the marble on which the nobility walks. Faanshi, however, is quite unaware that Cassius Augustin, former naraki, Aegian and ambassador, has heard rumors of a powerful healer among the servants of the Children of Fire. And she is quite unaware that he wishes to speak with her until a message reaches her that she -- a humble shudra -- has received an important visitor... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Evening Date on Aether: Monday, February 4, 3906. Year on Earth: 1506 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Last Quarter Season: Waning Winter Weather: Clear Skies Temperature: Cool *==========================================================================* Dusk is approaching -- earlier now while winter has its hold on Haven -- and though the skies are clear, there is a frigid breeze blowing in from the south. It sends leaves and other debris skittering across the courtyard, and ruffles the feathers of the Empyrean standing within. Ever since the plague has started sweeping through the city, security has been tighter than ever before, and Atesh-Gah is no different. Thus, the Agni-Haidar guardsmen instructed the ambassador to wait while a servant was sent to fetch the shudra he requested to see. The two janizars stand on either side of the embassy's grand entrance, watching the Empyrean with a vaguely smug demeanor, though little of that shows on their stoic faces. For Cassius' part, he looks irritated. There is little to attract his interest in the courtyard in the dead of winter, so he stands, and waits, surreptitiously tapping one foot. It takes some minutes -- but soon enough, a slender figure in the colors of Clan Khalida, scarlet and navy and gold, comes on swift feet out of the main doors of the grand building that is the citadel of the Varati in this city. Nervousness and more than a little fright lend speed to Faanshi's steps; all she knows is what the messenger has told her, that an Empyrean of high rank wishes to see her. Green eyes over a blue silken veil scan the courtyard. Then the maiden espies the one who must be her visitor -- such an odd concept; 'her visitor' -- and she takes a fraction of a second to pull her composure into place. At last she draws near, dropping a respectful curtsey, her hands joined palm to palm at her breast. "Namaste', Imphad--Dominus," she murmurs in humble tones, belatedly remembering the Empyrean term she's learned as of late. "I am Faanshi of Clan Khalida... how may I serve?" Her head remains slightly bowed, keeping her gaze pointed downward as she speaks. Cassius Winter. The man's eyes are the frosty shade of winter; glacial in their reserve and implacable in their unwavering scrutiny. The strength of his gaze is only heightened by his sharp, angular features and thin-lipped mouth. His hair adds to the illusion of winter, for it is silver in color, clipped short against his temples but longer at the brow and nape, where it curls against the collar of his tunic. He is garbed for the weather in a heavier woolen tunic, decorated with a geometric pattern of purple thread at the hem and cuffs, to mark him as an Aegian. Over this is draped a himation, deep blue in color, with a subtler design in silver to signify the colors of House Augustus. A cloak of fine make helps ward off winter's chill, and it often falls between his wings, which are a dull, off-white; their plumage sparse in patches. Though the man's face remains inscrutable, his wings are often testament to the emotions beneath the facade -- twitching or rustling in an agitation that he will not display otherwise. His tall frame is not well-padded, like so many of his colleagues'; instead, he has a lean physique with hands as rough as any common laborer's. Nor does he adorn himself with jewelry or other ornaments -- his buskins are fashioned from sturdy leather, and only a single ring upon his right hand bears the insignia of his family's House. Respite from waiting is granted in the form of an unassuming female dressed in red, blue, and gold. Cassius turns toward the entrance at the sound of footsteps, and watches the young woman approach, his irritation superseded by a bemused expression. His lips tip upward at the corners, and perhaps he is remembering that this humble shudra was one of the few to treat him deferentially during his confinement within the embassy. In any case, he greets her politely. "Ave, domina. Or would you prefer that I call you 'imphada?' I am afraid I risk presumptuousness in referring to you by the name you were given." His head cants quizzically to one side, and despite the chill in the air, he motions toward a nearby bench. Evidently, this is no hasty meeting, and he has not yet stated his purpose. He seems content to exchange no more than pleasantries for the time being, acting as if the surroundings were his own comfortable quarters rather than an inhospitably cold expanse of lawn and trees. The maiden's gaze might be down, but she has glimpsed enough of this man -- and heard enough of his voice, now -- that she realizes all at once that she knows him. Cassius. The man who had been a naraki here in Atesh-Gah, after the war... and the father of her long-absent mistress, the Imphada Kiera. Behind her veil, Faanshi swallows hard and counts herself grateful for the concealment it provides for the consternation she is sure would be all too visible in her face if it were fully readable. After a moment, though, she bobs her head earnestly, moving to step and sit where invited. But although she moves with a maidenly grace, her motions are those of a servant -- or perhaps simply a maiden of the Varati, for she holds back as if expecting the Empyrean to sit first. "I am only a shudra, Dominus," she says earnestly, her gaze still demurely lowered. "I have no title." "Then perhaps I will call you 'dominilla,' for it means 'little lady' among my own people, and I prefer that over merely 'shudra.'" Sensing her reticence, he sits. There is a flutter and unfurling of those great white wings -- bearing only traces of the damage they received in Atesh-Gah -- and then they are folded once more behind him, the longest pinions just brushing the ground. "Just how old are you? I am usually a decent judge of age, but the veil makes it difficult." His tone is conversational yet courteous, and his expression remains vaguely bemused. Gone is the irritation he displayed upon finding himself relegated to waiting in the courtyard like some lackey. 'Dominilla'. The unfamiliar word makes Faanshi blink, causing her to lift her head for a moment, just long enough to possibly give away a spark of curiosity in her leaf-colored eyes. Her only response to that, though, is a bob of her sari-covered head. In the meantime, once the statesman has settled himself, Faanshi allows herself to sink onto the bench as well. She keeps that demure posture, however, settling her hands into her lap and pointing her gaze down to them. But she also sits slightly turned towards her visitor. "I have recently attained my eighteenth year," is her quiet reply. "Eighteen?" Cassius repeats, sounding surprised. "My daughter is not much older than you." And then, belatedly, he remembers that references to a daughter are not 'safe' in Atesh-Gah, where he was forced to admit a past transgression for all to hear. He looks discomfited for a moment, then hastens on. "Eighteen is not very old... especially for one said to wield great power." He glances sidelong at the young woman, gauging her reaction as best he can, though the veil is a hindrance. The word 'daughter' gets a reaction, though it's a subtle one; Faanshi draws in an audible breath. And the words 'great power' get another reaction. The maiden in sari and veil goes very still where she sits, save for the way her hands abruptly tightly interlock in her lap, the fingers of one curling into the fingers of the other. "I... am very young, yes, Dominus," she agrees after a moment, that soft voice sounding a trifle more hoarse than it had before. "But I... cannot say whether my power is... very great." "I do not know whether you are being honest, or merely modest," Cassius remarks. He had taken note of those reactions; overlooking the first and cataloguing the second, his pale eyes lingering on her interlocked hands. "I do not listen to every rumor I hear, but the ones about you have intrigued me. Once, it was said that your touch 'burned,' and that you were possessed by a demon. Well, dominilla, I do not believe in demons. And I certainly do not think that you are one. But I *am* curious as to just how far your powers extend. You can heal, you can 'burn'... what else can you do?" Again, Faanshi's composure seems rattled by her visitor's words, and this time Cassius succeeds in getting her to flash a startled look at him. Those eyes go wide over her veil before she remembers herself and looks down again. Now, though, her knuckles have gone visibly pale with the force of her grip. "I... am... only a healer, Dominus," she breathes uneasily. Cassius rests his hands upon his thighs and studies the young woman steadily. The discomfiture he'd displayed at the mention of his daughter is gone now, as if it had never been. He appears relaxed, and his expression no more than polite interest. "'Only a healer?'" he echoes. "That is nothing to belittle, dominilla. Among my people, those with the affinity are said to be favored by the gods themselves. Apollo Acesian, one of our greatest gods and the founder of Delphi itself, was a healer. Among other things. I do not think he ever dissembled or downplayed his talent. You should take pride in what you can do, dominilla. It is a great thing. I am merely curious as to... how great." Faanshi does not dare, not yet, to risk another peek at the elegant winged man beside her -- but the words he speaks do cause her to turn her head ever so slightly more towards him, as her curiosity leaps upon the crumbs of new knowledge proffered in those polite sentences and hoards them away for later consideration, exactly as the squirrels in the city park hoard their nuts for the winter. But it still takes her a few moments of struggling for proper words before she can give Cassius an answer. "The third holy Surah teaches us to take pride in ourselves," she says at last, and something that might be conviction gives a bit of strength and clarity to the gentle voice. "But the fifth one teaches us to temper it with wisdom. I am most grateful that the mighty father and merciful mother of the Amir-al caused me to be born with my magic... but... I-I do not know enough yet to say whether I can... call it great. I... do not know how to measure such things, Dominus." Cassius' next words hold an edge to them -- not directed toward her -- but a coldness born of desperation. "Great enough to heal those who are dying from the plague in the tent-city?" he asks. That simple query surges through Faanshi's system like a splash of icy water through a mountain ravine, and she cannot suppress a tiny cry of dismay. Her hands clench in her lap; her eyes clench shut over her veil. It has been days since she set foot in the city of tents, but memory and the dreams that come to her at night have not yet let her forget the grabbing hands and frantic faces of the swarm of Empyrean and Mongrel men and women who overwhelmed her while she was there. "I... I have... been there," she murmurs after several seconds, her voice now audibly uneven. "I-I am... forbidden to return, Dominus..." Cassius' brow knits over a pair of icy blue eyes. "Why?" he asks, studying her with a new intensity. If he is remorseful over having caused that flash of dismay, he does not show it. Slowly, but inexorably, the maiden's slim sari-wrapped form settles back into its prior humble posture -- but now her shoulders are rigidly braced, and try as Faanshi might, she cannot seem to make herself relax them. When she speaks again, her voice has dropped to an even softer volume, turning stoic and almost toneless, but no less respectful. She does not attempt to hide the truth, being an inherently truthful girl. "I cannot control my power very well when there are many who are sick or injured around me. The Imphada Shakir forbade me to return to give aid to the Tent City unless there is a skilled healer to oversee me or unless I do the tasks of a shudra among the tents... or until I am taught to control myself." Interesting. She does not stammer when speaking blunt, harsh truths about herself. Intrigued despite the seriousness of the subject, Cassius asks, "What happens when you lose control?" He himself is no mage, and with the exception of a halfbreed daughter that he barely confirms is his own, he has no close relatives with the affinity. Magic and its many subtleties have only ever been a subject he has studied, as he might study history or politics. Never an insistent, buzzing thing inside one's head, throbbing at one's fingertips, seeking release -- as inexorable and persistent as a river held back by a dam. Eventually, somehow, it will find its way through. The first answer to this question is a long, drawn-in breath. Faanshi's eyes remain closed while she delivers the second answer: "The... magic comes out of me, Dominus, and... it... heals." Cassius' brow draws together and he asks, "But how is that a disadvantage? Is that not what it is *supposed* to do?" Behind her veil, Faanshi bites her lip, hard. _Calm,_ she urges herself, seizing a moment to look for that center place inside her her teacher has told her to seek when trying to take control of her magic. That same center place where she has stashed away certain thoughts and feelings that have lingered within her ever since she returned from a certain journey... and which now give her enough of something like courage to be able to say despite the memories of nightmares tugging at her mind, "It is... a disadvantage... when I... have hurt when I should have healed... and when there are many who need healing... who need help... and who all come to me at once... and... I cannot help them as I should... because I am not yet... strong enough." It occurs to her all at once that tears are beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes, and her voice sounds odd in her own ears... perhaps because she's speaking through a lump that's swelled up in her throat. _Ushas, there were so many of them...!_ Cassius digests these words in silence at first. He has heard accounts of the uncontrollable side of magic -- has read tales of it, heard stories, and, on occasion, even glimpsed it firsthand. But it is still something strange to him -- something unfamiliar. Therefore, he chooses his next words with care. "You say that sometimes you... hurt rather than heal." He swivels slightly on the bench so that he is angled more toward her, and his expression is grave and serious as his pale blue eyes seek out her green ones. "Faanshi," he asks, using her given name to lend weight to his next question, "in your experience, is it possible for a healer, or group of healers, to... hurt a large number of people? Through magic?" His icy eyes fairly bore into hers, as though he might wrest the answer from her mind rather than her lips. "To perhaps... make them sick... rather than well," he finishes. There are very few ways that Cassius Augustin could have startled the young shudra any more badly. At this last inquiry of the silver-haired Empyrean's, she goes noticeably rigid where she sits; the gaze that the statesman manages to capture when her face snaps up in dismay and shock at the concept is full of an unease so palpable that it is easily discernible despite her gauzy veil. "D... dominus," she manages to say, "I have never known such a thing, but... I am hardly wise or experienced in--" And with that, the maiden cuts herself off, blushing furiously, not exactly sure what words she needs here. It takes her much effort to conclude, "--in... a great number of things in the world... or in what... one healer can do to one person... much less one to many... o-or many to many..." The smile he gives her is easy, almost reassuring. The wintry guise that he wears like a shield can be shed when he chooses, and the demeanor he displays now is one of almost fatherly concern. He reverts to using his original nickname for the young woman as he says, "Dominilla, forgive me. I did not mean to elicit such discomfort. I am even less experienced in such arts than you, and so my ignorance concerning the limits and abilities of these powers is great. I had only wondered..." he pursues, while casually waving a hand, "whether a caducean of your skill might know of anyone powerful enough to perform such a feat. Perhaps you have overheard discussion of it in the past?" The gentling of Cassius's demeanor earns him a bemused glance from the maiden; fatherly concern is among the various things in the world with which she lacks experience, after all. Why is a man of such obvious rank showing her such graciousness, especially when he is Empyrean? Still, though, it might be noted by an astute eye that such graciousness seems to ever so slightly put Faanshi at better ease even if it is alien to her. She give a subtle little start at the unfamiliar word 'caducean'... and then manages to answer with a trifle more steadiness in her soft voice, "I am only a shudra, sir... I... do not know many mages... and I know no other healers." "'Only a shudra,'" Cassius echoes while stroking his chin thoughtfully. For just an instant, there is a thread of ill-concealed bitterness in his tone as he muses, "Just as I was 'only a naraki' for the duration I spent within Atesh-Gah?" His hand falls back to his lap and his wings give a minor twitch behind him, as if to reaffirm the lack of bonds keeping them still and folded; such as he wore during his confinement. "Whatever you are is a matter of perception, dominilla. Shudra to some, healer to others... demon to a few. What are you to yourself?" He abandons his previous line of questioning for the moment in order to fix her with a steady, penetrating gaze, and somewhere beneath that glacial blue is a glimmer of the fierce, hot pride that allowed him to survive slavery without crumbling. Changed, yes, but not defeated. He looks for some echo of it in her, if it even exists. It seems to be Faanshi's habit to keep her gaze demurely lowered -- but with the force of the stare levelled upon her, it also seems almost impossible for her to look away from him. One might almost wonder why anyone bothers to make the girl wear a veil; certainly, the blue silken stuff that hides the physical details of the lower half of her face from view does nothing to conceal the emotions that flash across those big liquid eyes, and nothing to conceal the nuances of reaction displayed by her slender frame. Now, shock grips her all over again, but shock of a different kind. "No one has ever asked me that before, dominus," she blurts, far too stunned to stammer, far too stunned to spout a good servant girl's demurrals. "Then I will be the first to hear your answer," is Cassius' simple and straightforward reply. But how to answer? That's the tough question, isn't it? Faanshi glances away, longing for Kosha's presence at her side so that she could do something with her restless hands; without a dog's fur to stroke, they have to occupy themselves resting in the maiden's lap once again. What is she, indeed, to herself? Shudra... halfbreed... healer... demon... Varati. All of these words have been used to describe her, but which of them feel to her to actually ring true? With difficulty, she pulls in a breath, releases it, pulls it in again. Only then does she have enough composure to answer quietly, "I am... _me_, to myself, dominus. I have... been shudra for as long as I can remember, because I am halfbreed. I have magic in me and that is why I am alive. I am a loyal servant of the Amir-al, and Ushas his holy mother. I do not know what else would be important." And with those last few words she looks up again, timidly. Fierce pride carried Cassius through his time of slavery... but it may well be something else that carries this girl through the servitude that seems to be her lot. There is certainly no pride, or at least no obvious pride, in her expressive green eyes. But there is a certain quiet stoicism in her voice and in her gaze... and a certain wariness, especially when she calls herself halfbreed. He accepts these words with a similar quiet steadiness. There is no obvious change at the term 'halfbreed' -- he acknowledges it in the same manner as he would shudra or healer. That is, there is no revulsion or contempt evident upon his face, but curiosity does seep across his countenance. While he casts a glance past her to the pair of silent sentinels standing sentry at the entrance to Atesh-Gah, he asks, "Do you always wear that veil?" His eyes skim back to her, the gaze more pointed than the casual voicing of the question would warrant. Hoping to ease any discomfiture his question might cause, he effects a faint smile and muses, "I wonder what so compels Varati women to hide away from the world. Or am I simply an 'unworthy kafir' not fit to look upon the face of even a shudra?" In tones that suggest she is once again blushing vehemently, Faanshi murmurs, "It is not because you are kafir... but because you are a man." Down goes her gaze, settling upon her hands in her lap. Her voice remains earnest, however, and oddly enough grows a slight bit more assured in the simple act of providing information requested -- requested, for that matter, in civil and courteous tones rather than in orders. "It is... not proper for... a maiden to show her face to the eyes of men. But I... take off my veil to eat and drink." Cassius cants his head downward, hoping to catch her gaze as he asks, "Even an old man -- one quite at the mercy of his wife?" There is a smile implicit in his words, and they could almost be termed 'teasing' -- though perhaps she is not as experienced with such familiarity as some. Faanshi is arguably hardly experienced with teasing herself -- but she actually has encountered such a gentle version of teasing before, and once even from an Empyrean. And so she finds enough bravery to glance up again, even though she is not bold enough to look the visiting statesman in the eye. "I... do not think it would be proper, dominus," comes her apologetic murmur. "If we were better acquainted, or perhaps if I were your shudra, or we were not in the courtyard... but here the sentries can see me." Not a stammer here, either. Faanshi may be unversed in many things, but she does apparently know the proprieties of servants. "Ahhh," Cassius voices as his glance darts to the sentries. He eases back, relenting, and answers, "Of course. I would not want to cause you any trouble, dominilla, and I'm afraid that my presence itself and my request to speak with you has caused you discomfort. You have answered each of my questions courteously, while I hound you about possible improprieties." He makes a soft 'tsking' sound and shakes his head, a faint smile belying his amusement. "Forgive my boldness, dominilla. And thank you for your time and patience." Yet although it sounds like a dismissal, he does not yet rise. He is still curious and intrigued, watching to see what she might do or say next. It _sounds_ like a dismissal, yet, he isn't moving. This suggests to the shudra girl that _she_ should therefore be the one to withdraw, and she straightens up a bit where she sits, poised to rise. She is not yet standing, however, and thus she cannot curtsey; instead, she clasps her dainty hands at her breast and inclines her head deeply over them. "You are welcome, dominus," she ventures shyly. "Respect is the seventh of the holy surahs, and I was taught to be courteous to all peoples. I... am sorry, if I-I have been nervous. I do not receive many visitors." Although she very well could, she does not clarify, 'Especially Empyreans, especially ambassadors'. "Is there any other service I could provide you?" Perhaps he derives some small satisfaction from doing the unexpected, and seeing the color flare in the smidgen of golden skin he's allowed to see, or hearing the stammer in her soft voice. In any case, Cassius *does* rise, now, sweeping his wings back into a graceful arch and bending his head to her while he extends one hand to assist her to her feet. There is no reason he should behave so courteously to the servant of a people who, by all rights, should be his enemies. And said servant is a halfbreed besides, by her own admission. All the same, he waits with his hand extended, as gallant as any courtier before a lady, and the only threat to that illusion is the sardonic curve of his mouth and the insouciant arch of his brows over amused blue eyes. The gallantly proffered hand provokes not only a deep blush but also a tiny startled gasp from the veiled lass. Gingerly, she reaches forth her own hand to take the one offered; those slender fingers and that slender palm might immediately be noted to be daintily made. She rises with more grace than one might expect of a servant as well... or perhaps, at least, the potential for grace, for Faanshi is all too obviously flustered by the magnanimous gesture. "Th-thank you, dominus," she murmurs. He expels a quiet chuckle -- a sound which does not often pass his throat, just as those eyes are not often thawed by genuine warmth. But something about the shy young shudra seems to have elicited such a response. He gives her hand a light squeeze before releasing it and straightening. "There is one service," he remarks musingly, referring back to her earlier question. "But it is not for me. For yourself." A bemused smile still curves his lips, though his tone is nothing but serious. "Sometime when you have a moment, free from duties, take off that veil and view your reflection. See what you can see, Faanshi. Something other than a shudra or halfbreed or demon or healer." The smile turns a little awkward, for such conversations, too, are a rare thing for this aloof Aegian. He tips his head and takes a step back, finishing with, "See what else is there. Sometimes you see more than you know." And then, in a more normal tone, he offers, "Vale, dominilla. I should let you return to your duties." 'Vale'. Another new word. Even aside from the odd concepts Cassius Augustin has been kindling in her fertile young mind, even aside from the conversation as a whole, if anything else the fact that she's picked up new words in the course of this exchange has made it an unexpected pleasure for the healer. "Va-le," she repeats hesitantly, tasting the word, testing how it sounds. "Yes... I do have things that I must do before I retire for the night." A pause, and then, more shyly: "I will... I will try to do as you ask. Namaste', dominus!" Once more she offers that deep bow over the hands clasped at her breast. And so with that farewell, and with a faint smile still easing some of the severity from his features, Cassius steps away from the young woman and the bench, and spreads his wings for flight. They hold only the faintest traces of his confinement in Atesh-Gah, but they will never again be as pristine as they once were. Some marks -- some changes -- are permanent. All the same, an Empyrean taking to the skies is still an impressive sight, and the wind generated by his take-off sends dried leaves skittering across the frozen earth, and stirs the veil concealing the shudra's face. In moments, he is airborne, and soon lost in the overcast grey of a winter sky. [End log.]