"An Interruption to Grief" Log Date: 4/8/99 Log Cast: Sevilen, Faanshi, Kamila, Nandin, Chana-Cari Log Intro: Khalid Atar has taken an Empyrean wife -- and taken on as part of his family her two daughters as well. But the marriage of the dark-winged Son of the Dawn, for all that it has caused a storm of jubilation as well as consternation across the Varati kingdom, has had a rather more immediate effect in the life of the shudra Faanshi. It has seen the quiet death of her heart-mother, the Ushashti priestess Ulima... and now, without her elderly kinswoman to give her companionship and guidance, the young shudra has abruptly found herself in the position of being entirely alone... and lonely. Ulima is gone. Her mistress Kiera has vanished, and so has Kiera's slave Murako. The Imphada Aurora who had offered to try to teach Faanshi control over her magics has returned to the Empyreans -- and Faanshi has heard rumors that she is to marry the new Empyror. Even the young Sylvan shaper Patrin, who had moved Faanshi by his gifts of flowers to her, has been sent away from Atesh-Gah. And thus, without a single friendly face about her, the heartbroken halfbreed maiden grieves for her dead kinswoman... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Night Date on Aether: Saturday, June 18, 3904. Year on Earth: 1504 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waning Gibbous Season: Summer Weather: Sprinkling Rain Temperature: Comfortable *==========================================================================* You wind your way through an opening in the bushes and head toward the fountain. Fountain - Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven Concealed within the ring of tall, carefully groomed bushes and the oddly comforting sight of droop-branched willows, is the merry and gurgling presence of a marble fountain. As meticulously cleaned as the rest of Atesh-Gah seems to be, the intricate stonework deceptively simple in appearance. Perhaps ten feet across, the fountain itself is filled with clear, cool water that bubbles forth from a raised pedestal in the centre of the great circle. Carefully tended gardens of bright flowers provide a colourful trim to the circle of trees, their combined scent filling the air with a subtle and sweet fragrance. The temptation to linger here and bask in the soothing feast of the senses is only increased by the presence of the four stone benches that are placed around the fountain. Contents: Sevilen Obvious exits: Courtyard Sevilen stands beside the fountain, gazing into the clear waters. At the sounds of motion, he turns, emerald eyes regarding the new person entering with an unblinking gaze. It is not hard to miss the girl, even in the lamplit twilight of the garden; her garb, the brilliant red and blue and gold of Clan Khalida, is liable to stand out in a much darker evening setting. She ventures in on hesitant feet from the courtyard, a furtive glance shot round her surroundings before she draws closer to the fountain, not yet seeing that there is another already there. Her frame is slender; her height, tall, but not towering, not in the slightest; her stance, that of one who is very nervous, very weary, or perhaps both. Slim golden hands, about all that can be spotted of her heavily garbed and veiled figure, carry a tiny incense bier. Silence. Sevilen watches in silence, and interest. This is a new sight for him, and he does his utmost not to disturb. He may well be carved from stone, for he neither moves nor blinks, and even his chest remains still, as if not breathing. Does she believe herself alone? Very likely, and perhaps all her senses are thoroughly caught up in what she does, making sure she misses the silent figure not too far away. The girl in her brilliantly-hued garb kneels at the side of the fountain, setting the bier down on its surrounding wall, and with unsteady hands fishes into a hidden pocket to produce a tiny chunk of flint. It takes her a few tries before a miniature flame is kindled in the bier; at last, though, a tendril of fragrant smoke curls up from within it, and those hands shakily clasp before her breast as her head bows over them. With a veil obscuring a good portion of her face, it is impossible to tell if her lips move, but a tiny sound does escape her... a barely audible noise of crying. While loath to interrupt, Sevilen's curiosity bests his judgement. He inhales deeply but quietly, attempting to determine the fragrance used. Does she mourn? Or has she been wronged? He lets the curious thoughts play over his mind a bit, eyes studying the figure of the woman for a long while. When at last he moves, it is merely to blink once, slowly, lashes closing over his eyes for a single second. The scent wafting in little breaths into the air, to one who knows such things, can be noted to be the product of a single herb -- one for clearing the head and heart. One might only wonder, however, whether it's doing its job for the kneeling girl. Seconds become minutes before she finally lifts her head, just enough to peer with a liquid leaf-hued gaze towards the fountain, and another little ragged breath escapes her as she then dips her head again to blow out the flame within the bier. Sevilen speaks softly, letting his silvery tenor murk it's way to you over the soft burble of the fountain. "Your sorrow touches me. What is it that brings you such grief?" His eyes remain on you, unblinking, though the rest of him moves not a bit. The blue-saried head snaps up, and a frightened little noise that might have been a squeak had it any breath at all behind it sounds from behind the azure silken veil. Green eyes go wide, and a hoarse voice escapes the girl at last: "F-forgive me, imphadi, I did not know you were here... I-I am sorry, I did not mean to disturb...!" She starts to try to scramble to her feet, fumbling to pick up the bier. Sevilen Slight of frame(for Varati), Sevilen stands at perhaps five foot ten inches tall. His black hair is bound back and tied behind his head, though it's length falls over his shoulders and back. Eyes of a startling emerald green look out from a lean face, with graceful cheekbones and slim jaw. At rest, his lips quirk slightly, giving him something of a permanent muse. The slender bent continues to finish out his body, with slight shoulders and long, lean arms and legs. His hands are light, and fingers nimble. When he speaks, his voice is a soft, silvery tenor, with gentle timbre. He wears a long tunic of a creamy tan color, with a haik and silwar of an earthy brown, trimmed with intricate designs in glittering gold thread. Functional, sturdy sandals protect his feet. Sevilen lifts a hand, palm out, his motions slow and careful. "DO not rise. I should not have disturbed your grief. But I grow curious, in truth. Why do you weep?" His voice is calm, schooled and soft. His eyes watch with curiosity, and not a little compassion. The notion that someone should be making this inquiry of her seems to startle the girl. She pauses, those green eyes of hers blinking tearily, before her head swiftly dips again. "I-I... weep because I am... alone," she confesses in a breathy whisper. Returning your gaze with silent understanding, Sevilen waits until you are finished speaking to reply. "I understand." He murmurs, hand trailing over the waters of the founting, never quite touching. "I often come here because of that. Does the herb you burn help you?" He inquires gently, eves never leaivng you. A pause, and then, tinily: "S... some. A-a little, imphadi..." The girl does not shift position now, remaining kneeling there by the fountain, hands clasped and her head humbly bowed. Sevilen inclines his head. "You must tell me where you find it." If he moves, it's not anywhere you can see. "What inspires you to weep so, here?" he inquires, in that same gentle tone. "My... heart-mother... left it to me," whispers the girl. "She... she was Ushashti, a-and she was teaching me the herbs...." With this, she trails off, her voice catching on the last syllable, providing perhaps an answer to both the statement and the question made to her. "I understand. I shall not interrupt your grief further." he speaks softly. However, you may notice, at some point, there there is a single hawk's feather tucked by his belt. An unusual charm for Varati. An interruption to grief... half of Faanshi surges up to crave such a thing, while the rest sternly chastises her for thinking of it. The internal conflict causes the kneeling girl to go still, green eyes risking a peek at the figure nearby. Her gaze comes to rest on that feather, and with that her thoughts just go... black, her attention caught. Sevilen remains silent, watching the kneeling figure before him. He waits, quietly, for an answer, or perhaps a declination. Either way, he seems cetain to watch in silence until some kind of sign is given him. Kamila enters the lovely seclusion of the fountain area from the courtyard. Kamila has arrived. Nandin enters the lovely seclusion of the fountain area from the courtyard. Nandin has arrived. As the night hangs heavy over the garden and courtyard of the Atesh-Gar, clothing the air in sparse rain, two new figures stroll in a casual manner towards the burbling fountain surrounded by not only lush greenery but two unfamiliar others, brightly-clothed and seemingly within pleasant company. Well, if pleasant company can be said of the girl kneeling at the fountain before a small bier, and looking nervously at the young man not far away from her, then perhaps yes, Faanshi is in pleasant company. She starts, though, at the sound of footsteps drawing near, and her teary eyes flash a startled glance from Sevilen to the others entering the garden. Nandin's heavy footstep are heard even before he is seen. He walks besides Kamila, always a step behind, perhaps because where he in front, no one would see her. He looks at the young people a moment then glances to his wife Nandin Standing at the impressive height of 7 feet, Nandin is a pure mountain of muscles. His ebony black hair that fall to his shoulder, slightly oscure his dark face, a face that seems so hard and severe, a face that doesn't often light up with a smile, if ever. His black eyes stare at people, as if looking for a challenge, or a wrong move on their part, and he seems easy to take offence. His skin is dark, and stretches tightly over his muscles, his chest thick and massive, his arms huge, his legs powerful, obviously, this body was meant for strength and battle, perhaps designed by the gods themselves for the art of war. Over his massive chest, contrasting with his severe appearance, he wears a dark blue silk shirt, which opens up in a "V" at the front, allowing all to see his impressively muscled chest. A wide leather belt supports a massive hammer of war, its silver head gleaming in the light. The head of the hammer is big, perhaps as big as his two fists put together, and could crush in any head and break just about any bone quite painfully. The handle of the hammer, which is wrapped in rough leather, rests against his blue breeches, made of some thick cloth, and a silver line runs along each side of his legs. His attire is simple, but still, he draws attention Kamila The Varati woman before you must surely be owed a favor by Time, as she seems to be forever caught between her middle twenties to early forties without having an exact age. Perhaps her agelessness could be due to her seemingly flawless complexion? The suppleness of her skin? The endless laughter contained within her obsidian eyes? The refined and poised manner by which she carries herself? It's hard to say for sure what, exactly, it is about the woman that maintains her youthful seeming... Then again, it's hard to determine the age of a woman concealed from nearly head to toe in silver-accented, royal blue silk. From the top of her ebony-haired head, which is currently swathed in a thin scarf and veil, to her flat-slippered feet, which only occasionally peek out from beneath the hem of her saree... she is a vision in cobolt grace; a study of Varati refinement. Her exposed hands are decorated, each finger, with chained silver rings... the thin links leading to finely-crafted silver bracelets. Even though you cannot see her mouth (or any other part of her face save for those piercing black eyes), you can tell that most all of her words are delivered with a slim, pleasant smile. Sevilen turns to regard the sound of approaching footsteps. He inclines his head to those entering, and speaks in a soft voice. "Namaste, Imphadi, Imphada." Kamila says nothing upon initial contact with the incense-maker and the Khalida shudra. Instead, she travels in her cloud of navy and silver over to the edge of the fountain, peering into it as if to see the raindrops disturb her reflection. "Namaste," murmurs the girl kneeling on the ground. Her voice is hoarse, and her blue-saried head bows, her gaze locking itself on the slender golden hands she has clasped at her breast. "I-If I may serve, command me..." Nandin remains close to her, standing behind her as he looks about, his gaze coming back to the other two people a moment, and he nods his head in a slow and lazy greeting Perhaps a bit unaccustomed to the greetings and certainly not used to offers of service from out-of-clan slaves, Kamila pauses in her contemplation and looks over the pair again... to check and see if she had perhaps misjudged them. She inquires, just to be sure, "Do you address us so, abd?" Apparently nonplussed by the cool nature of hte others, Sevilen doesn't shie his gaze from either. Unblinking emerald eyes watch the imposing man, until the woman speaks. Then the gaze shifts to her, neutral, observant. "Yes, imphada," comes the soft whisper from Faanshi. She doesn't look up, nor does she change her kneeling position on the ground. Nandin hmms and then rests a large hand on his wife's shoulder, "Wife, it is time for me to return to my duties. I must leave you now." he says, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, as much affection as he will show and then he nods to the others as his heavy footsteps take him away Kamila's voice, though muffled mildly by her veils, issues out with strength all the same, "But I am not of your clan, abd, how is it that you could serve me?" It's not really meant in a 'mean' way so much as a simple inquiry. Kamila turns her head up and looks towards her departing husband, "I will see you when you return, husband. Be careful." Nandin leaves the garden fountain and steps back into the main courtyard. Nandin has left. This seems to startle the maiden, who peeks up uncertainly with those liquid leaf-hued eyes. It takes her a moment before she looks down again and whispers humbly, "The s-seventh surah teaches us to be respectful, imphada... I-I merely thought that I would ask..." Sevilen watches the conversation with quiet composure, as still as the stone of the fountain's carving. Chana-Cari steps out from behind two cypress trees. Chana-Cari has arrived. Chana-Cari enters from the courtyard. her face is pale and her hair which is normally so weel-kempt is out of place and hanging in her eyes. She stops when she notices others in the clearing. "Oh! I'm sorry...I didn't think anyone would be here." Sevilen stands by the fountain, his eyes ont he kneeling shudra nearby. When Chana enters the area, he turns to regard her, in silence. A subtle nod is his greeting, and a loft of one slender brow his response to her words. It would seem that believing the garden uninhabited seems to be going around, this night, in Atesh-Gah. Veiled and heavily swathed in her sari though she might be, still Faanshi manages to convey the impression of being deeply rattled, as she reaches for her bier and begins to get to her feet. A brief, fleeting glance is given to Chana-Cari, to whom she whispers uneasily, "N-namaste, imphada, it is a-alright..." Chana-Cari blushes in the dark. "I am sorry. Namaste." Her eyes are sullen, not showing signs of tears, but you can guess they had been there not too long ago. Weeping, too, appears to be going around. Faanshi swallows hard behind her veil, and takes an involuntary step back away from the other maiden, taken aback by what she sees about the other's eyes. Chana-Cari keeps her head towards the ground. "Good-eve, Imphadi Sevilen. Should I leave?" She motions back to the courtyard, but doesn't seem to have enough confidence to return. Chana-Cari A young woman, 16 or so, is before you. A long deep blue robe hangs to her ankles, the sleeves falling to her wrists. At the hems there is an intricate pattern embroidered with silver thread. Around her neck are several silver necklaces, all showing great craftsmanship and skill of the maker. On her right hand is a ruby shaped into a flower and set in a silver band. On another finger is a small golden band with a deep red gem on it. The detail on the ring is very intricate and delicate. Long brown hair is pulled back into a tight braid, ending at the small of her back. A closer look reveals red in her hair as well. Golden flecks dance in her brown eyes, which are framed by long lashes. A pair of delicate blue slippers adorn her feet. She is of average height, but rather slim. The robe hides her curves, but you can sense them in her graceful movements. Her skin is a light chestnut shade. A light scent of jasmine wafts about her. [With the arrival of so many others in the garden around the fountain, Faanshi is deeply shaken. Part of her is grateful for the overtures from the soft-spoken young man... and part of her is moved by the obvious dismay of the other girl who has arrived on the scene. But the grieving young shudra cannot find the strength within herself to stay and try to see what troubles Chana-Cari -- and besides, it does not seem her place to do so. And thus, Faanshi withdraws... End log.]