"His Memory Given Honor"

Log Date:
	9/24/99

Log Cast:
	Ianthe, Faanshi

Log Intro:
	The city of Haven has finally weathered the plague that has haunted
it for months on end... but not without some cost. Many who live within
Haven have grown convinced that the Mongrel race is somehow responsible
for the disease and the widespread deaths it has caused. Much to her shock
and dismay, Faanshi has heard dire rumors of the attempted burning of none
other than Milane, Thomas Murako's Hand, and her subsequent disappearance.
Morever, an attempt of the shudra maiden's to listen in on a speech given
by Thomas himself in protest of this has shown her firsthand how hatred 
can be all too easily inflamed by an alarmingly well-timed flood of rats
through a crowded marketplace.
	Now, worried for her friends from Avalon, having heard further
rumors that Thomas Murako and yet more Mongrels have departed Haven yet
not knowing whether Thomas is well, the healer girl has been fretting ever
since. Her only real compensation is having been dismissed from duty in
the Tent City outside Haven... for there is no longer a need for her to
heal plague-stricken refugees, and even better, there is no longer a need
for her to be hauled about by the imperious Nabi Devaki. That alone is 
almost enough to lift Faanshi's spirits up to unaccustomed heights, and
her current cheer is aided by a spring morning and the presence of her
ever-loyal canine. As it turns out, however, the young shudra is not the
only one visiting the old city garden....

*===========================< In Character Time >==========================*
             Time of day:  Morning
          Date on Aether:  Wednesday, April 23, 3905.
           Year on Earth:  1505 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waning Gibbous
                  Season:  Spring
                 Weather:  Wind
             Temperature:  Cool
*==========================================================================*

Old City Garden - Haven

     A strange thing, to some, to see such a thick, unbridled mass of forest 
  within the city walls. Even during the brightest days, it is shady here; 
  looming tree branches above filter out the sunlight, casting shadows that 
  might be relieving during a warm summer day, or alternatively fearsome by 
  night. The heart of the garden is most often alive with the chirps and 
  chitters of the wildlife that makes its home here.
     Still, some civilization prevails, if only tentatively. A wide, roughly 
  cobbled road stretches east to west, suitable for the usual traffic of a 
  city street, if a bit precariously. Benches line the various man-made paths, 
  reminding the visitor that this is indeed intended to be a respite from the 
  bustle of the town, and is not merely some uncontrolled mass of trees within 
  Haven.

Contents:
Ianthe
Obvious exits:
Streets <E,NE,SW>  Garden Archway <W>

In the cool morning air, the clamor from the city retreats here in the face of 
  nature's reign. Ianthe is seated beneath a tree, legs outstretched as she 
  leans against the trunk, wings lazily stretched behind her. She watches the 
  garden with a very sad, very tired expression, moving not a bit.

Springtime, and a young dog's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of -- well, 
  young female dogs. But given that young female dogs are in short supply in 
  Kosha's life at the moment, he'll settle for a romp into the city gardens 
  with his beloved mistress at his side. His deep-throated bark heralds his 
  coming before he is really in view, but it doesn't take the hound very long 
  to come scampering (yes, scampering, never mind that he is rather large to 
  be scampering these days) along the path.

Just behind him, Faanshi hurries with a gait full of pleasure for once, and 
  eyes full of affection for her exuberant four-footed bodyguard. "Slow down, 
  silly," she chides him tenderly, without showing any particular inclination 
  to actually make him do so.

Ianthe's gaze drifts over and spots the dog a-scampering, and a smile comes to 
  her lips. It's a rare thing these days, and she watches with enjoyment as he 
  romps in the garden. She keeps to her perch beneath the tree, though, giving 
  a little stretch of her shoulders as she realizes just how long she's been 
  out in the chill.

Slow down? What in the world for? The air is fresh with the scents of the 
  season, the sun's light is warm with the newness of the morning, and -- 
  wait! What's that in the bushes? As he and Faanshi come near to where the 
  Empyrean woman has stopped for her own solitude, the dog swivels his head 
  around all of a sudden, ears perking up at some small rustle in the 
  undergrowth. Is it a bird? Is it a squirrel? Whatever it is, Kosha wants it! 
  With another bark, he flings himself at those bushes -- and for a moment 
  looks as though he might be flinging himself at Ianthe until he goes 
  muzzle-first into the greenery. Crash!

A laugh erupts from the reclining Empyrean as the dog pounces, bright and 
  ringing in the air. Ianthe doesn't move save to lift a hand, just in case 
  Kosha goes off course, and she takes the time to glance up at the veiled 
  figure tagging along behind him. "Good day, miss." A polite greeting to a 
  Varati, from an Empyrean? True, she isn't dressed much like an Empyrean, but 
  rather like a mongrel. And not only that, but a mongrel man! Well, if 
  mongrel men ever wore purple.

Ianthe
        Lustrous waves of soft, white hair fall to the small of Ianthe's back 
  in a curtain of snowy curls. Not an exceptionally tall woman, she is not 
  short either; she stands about five feet, four inches tall. With smooth, 
  muscular lines, and a generous, feminine curves, Ianthe cuts a distinctive 
  figure, especially upon noticing the pair of brilliant white wings that 
  spring from her back. She has quiet, cautious eyes that are the color of the 
  sky in the evening; violet blue. A pert nose, high cheek bones, and a 
  delicate chin give her the sort of face that graces statues. Her body is 
  firm, and feminine; with narrow shoulder, and a gentle flair to her hips. 
  Long, slender, shapely legs grant her a cat-like grace. Delicate, tapering 
  fingers with short nails seem to complete her. Each movement is graceful, 
  and gentle; she does not seem to be the exciteable type. 
        She is dressed not as an Empyrean, but in clothing that seems to be a 
  bizarre mixture of Sylvan and mongrel costume. A loose, pale violet tunic in 
  soft, sturdy cloth is belted over snug black trousers that cling to her slim 
  legs. The tunic is embroidered with a simple, square 'key' design around the 
  square neckline in a darker purple. Rough leather boots rise to her 
  mid-shin, buckled tight against her leg so as not to come undone during 
  flight. A loose, mid-length cloak is fastened around her shoulders, swinging 
  to her knees in a smooth, warm fall of dark violet wool. A sword is buckled 
  around her waist, plain leather scabbard and worn wooden pommel peeking from 
  beneath her cloak. A long dagger hangs from the opposite side of her hip.
        She is currently quite pale and drawn-looking, having lost weight and 
  generally looking as though she's been very ill recently and is only 
  beginning to recover.

"Kosha! Kosha, be careful--" Faanshi skids to a startled halt as the dog quite 
  happily launches himself into furious battle with whatever he's just 
  cornered -- something fairly sizeable and rather annoyed at being cornered 
  by a dog, from the sound of it. Shrill squealings intersperse themselves 
  with the hound's throaty growls, along with the now much louder rustlings 
  that mark the activity behind the concealing leaves. But then the maiden's 
  green gaze flashes to the winged woman, and as soon as Faanshi realizes that 
  this stranger was not unduly startled by her pet, she clasps her hands to 
  her breast and hastily bows over them. "Namaste', domina -- I, I hope Kosha 
  did not frighten you?"

Ianthe aims a frown at the bushes, a bit worried by the sounds of battle, but 
  spares a moment to nod at Faanshi, "He did not." She rises to her feet 
  slowly, with the care of movement of someone whose energy is carefully 
  rationed. Recovering from illness, perhaps. She also fairly bristles with 
  weaponry, and from the scars on her arms and the wary way she glances 
  around, it's evident that she's not unused to fighting. Still, she gives 
  Faanshi a pleasant enough smile before heading towards the bushes, "It 
  sounds like your little companion could use a little rescuing."

_Little_? Faanshi blinks a bit, her brow crinkling at the other woman's 
  observation, but all she says is an anxious, "I hope it is not a skunk -- he 
  caught a skunk once and he stank for a week!" The shudra maiden edges closer 
  to the bushes, trying to get a glimpse of the dog. Tiny twigs fly hither and 
  yon, and Kosha's hindquarters thrash about as he wages war with his prey. 
  Once, he can be heard to yelp, but whatever causes it does not stop his 
  battle. Where Ianthe is obviously familiar with fighting, the veiled maiden 
  is just as obviously unfamiliar with it -- she is, after all, apparently 
  unarmed and she does not carry herself like a warrior. "Can... can you see 
  it, domina?"

Carefully, Ianthe parts the bushes and looks down into the fray, a wary 
  tenseness to her form as her wings flex against her back. The growling 
  continues, and Ianthe calls, "It looks like he's gotten ahold of a raccoon, 
  miss." She frowns and watches for a few more moments, trying to gauge the 
  outcome of the fray and work out a strategy. After all, only a fool would 
  just reach in and try to seperate the two...

Dog and raccoon are indeed passionately engaged, and each has dealt the other 
  noticeable blows; Kosha's muzzle has taken at least two scratches, and the 
  raccoon is bleeding along its side. There's clearance for the smaller 
  creature to get away if it can only get out of range of Kosha's fangs and 
  claws, but at this point it doesn't look as though either combatant is about 
  to back out of the fight. If anything the noise picks up as Ianthe peers 
  into the melee.

"A raccoon," Faanshi repeats, her voice a little faint. Perhaps she's reacting 
  to the scent of blood beginning to spill into the air? "They've hurt each 
  other... he must be hungry..."

With a short nod, Ianthe tugs her cape free and wraps it loosely around her 
  arm as a primitive sort of armor. "Aye, that he must. Be ready, miss. I'll 
  bring your dog out, and hopefully the raccoon will flee." She waits, timing 
  her pounce for when Kosha is just about ready to attack again and the 
  raccoon is cringing back...And leaps forward, strong arms going across 
  Kosha, one near the base of his throat, the other across his middle. She 
  arches back, wings pushing as well, and dog and Empyrean fall back away from 
  the bushes. Ianthe stumbles a bit, managing to keep her balance, and does 
  her best to retain her hold upon the dog without harming him.

What? What? Hey, hey, he was fighting that thing! Kosha wriggles in 
  astonishment and aggravation as he is abruptly tugged backwards from his 
  attempt to capture himself some lunch. In no time at all the raccoon 
  promptly zips off into the undergrowth -- and Faanshi, concerned only for 
  the hound, scurries forward to try to calm him. "Kosha! Kosha, stay, Kosha, 
  peace, stay, good dog...!" she cries, even as her hands begin to reach 
  forward for his scratched and bleeding muzzle.

Ianthe oofs as the dog's struggles to be free causes him to kick her stomach, 
  "Ouch! Silly hound, you'll hurt yourself doing that." After a few moments, 
  when she is sure the raccoon is gone, Ianthe sets the dog down upon the 
  ground. She keeps a firm arm around him, though, to ensure he doesn't zip 
  off in pursuit.

Kosha's head snaps back in the direction of the retreating raccoon, but when 
  he hears Faanshi's voice, he begins to settle down. A plaintive little whine 
  escapes him, though, as if in protest of being denied his prey -- or perhaps 
  of the fact that it wounded him? "He has a warrior's heart," murmurs Faanshi 
  as she kneels in front of her dog and the Empyrean stranger, "but he forgets 
  sometimes that he is not one of the Agni-Haidar." With that, then, the 
  maiden lifts a slender golden hand to Kosha's injured muzzle... and aether 
  flows, soft and gentle, closing the scratches in the flesh beneath the fur.

Ianthe's eyes widen in surprise, "You're a healer." A statement of fact. She 
  lets her arm slide free of the dog as he settles down, but stays crouched 
  nearby in case she's needed again. After all, one of the few things she does 
  very well is pounce on things.

Green eyes peek up momentarily over the veil, and while the dog abruptly 
  changes moods, happily licking the fingers that touched him, the maiden 
  murmurs simply, "Yes, domina." No fear of Kosha bolting now. He wriggles 
  forward, trying to climb into Faanshi's lap; never mind that he's a bit 
  large to be a lapdog, and that Faanshi doesn't actually have a decent lap at 
  the moment.

With a little nod, Ianthe rocks back on her heels and regards Faanshi 
  curiously, "The Varati healer who works in the tent city?" Apparently 
  Faanshi's reputation has circulated rather far, for an Empyrean to hear of 
  it.

Faanshi blurts, "You... how did you know--" And she freezes there with one arm 
  looped lightly about her dog's neck, the other hand still poised against his 
  nose. Her eyes flash up again, wide and surprised above the top edge of her 
  veil.

Ianthe's lips twitch just a little bit, "Tales of your dog have preceded you." 
  She straightens, unwrapping her rather ragged cloak and slipping it back 
  around her shoulders with a smile, "And it was just a guess, really. I am 
  pleased to meet you. They call me Ianthe of Avalon."

Kosha has a reputation? The thought seems to startle this tall slender 
  creature in sari and veil; Faanshi peers down at her adoring dog, then, 
  bemusedly. His tail wags in reply, and as the maiden begins to pat his head, 
  she glances shyly upwards. But she is startled twice by the Empyrean's 
  words, for her next reply is a gasped, "Avalon--you are of Avalon?" Her face 
  is half-veiled, but the pleasure in her expressive eyes is unmistakable, and 
  so is the brightening of her voice. "Then I am very pleased to meet you too, 
  Domina Ianthe!" The blue-covered head bobs earnestly in punctuation of those 
  soft clear words. "My name is Faanshi, and this is Kosha." Contentedly, the 
  dog whurfs.

A soft laugh escapes Ianthe and she nods, "Aye, I am of Avalon. It is also a 
  pleasure to meet you. I've heard your name well-spoken of by my fellows." 
  She stretches a bit, that tired look reasserting itself over her as she 
  looks down at Kosha and smiles, "He's a fortunate dog, to have a mistress 
  who cares for him so."

"He is my best friend," murmurs the girl in the veil. Her gaze flits down in 
  what may be a rush of embarrassment at the thought that others in Avalon 
  might be speaking of her, but still, Faanshi's curiosity nudges her gently 
  into asking, "Do you... know Thomas? And Milane, and StormBearer?"

Ianthe chuckles, "Thomas, aye, the others, not likely. I have not had much 
  time to visit Avalon, to my regret. I...Things have kept me here in Haven. 
  But I know Thomas, indeed." She looks curious, "Are you a citizen of Avalon, 
  Faanshi?"

To this, Faanshi slowly shakes her head, while continuing to gently scritch 
  the dog beside which she still kneels. "No, domina," comes her very soft 
  reply. "I am only a shudra... but I know Thomas... and I have been to 
  Avalon." Is that a wistful note in that gentle voice of hers? Quite possibly.

"Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of. Most of Avalon were slaves or shudra 
  at one point or another." Ianthe offers as she folds her wings against her 
  back. "And to visit Avalon is certainly the first step, should you ever 
  decide to join us."

Faanshi's eyes, the only visible part of her face, turn ever so slightly 
  distant. But her voice is earnest and her reply prompt: "I hope to -- but 
  there is much I must do first. Domina Ianthe, if..." And the kneeling girl 
  looks up, tentative, hopeful. "If you are of Avalon, do you... do you look 
  for people in Haven, to ask to move there?" It is an almost childlike 
  question, innocent. Yet there is something knowledgeable in those green eyes 
  as Faanshi speaks, a cognizance that suggests that perhaps, just perhaps, 
  this girl with her dog understands something of why people may in fact wish 
  to move to the fledgling nation.

Ianthe replies quietly, "Yes, Faanshi. That is what I do here, or at least, 
  that's what I try to do. Things are hard in Haven, but I do what I can to 
  encourage people to go to Avalon." She is quiet for a moment, glancing up at 
  the sky as she says softly, "And I help people who would not normally be 
  able to go to Avalon. Those who have...encumbrances."

Encumbrances. Like, for example, sworn duty to serve the adopted daughter of 
  the God-King of the Varati, not to mention the God-King's own statement that 
  should a certain shudra act like a candala, he will assuredly put her to 
  death. Faanshi mentions neither of these, however. She does say softly, 
  anxiously, "Did you see Thomas's speech, domina? In the Rialto, when the 
  rats came?"

The Empyrean is quiet for a moment before she shakes her head, slowly. "I've 
  been ill. I was not able to go, though I wished to and heard afterwards 
  about the riot...Do you know why the rats came?"

"Ill -- you are all right, now?" Green eyes full of trepidation risk a full 
  glance up to the winged woman, as Faanshi seems to realize for the first 
  time that there are signs of recent sickness about the other female's face 
  and frame.

Ianthe nods, a little smile playing about her lips, "Aye, I am well-enough 
  now. The worst of it's past, though I am still more tired than I should be." 
  She seems disgruntled by this; the attitude of an active person forced into 
  rest by illness.

Relievedly, Faanshi murmurs, "You did not feel sick, but--" Then she cuts 
  herself off, as if the rest of that thought has little consequence, and goes 
  on instead, "I do not know where the rats came from, but I hoped... you do 
  not know if Thomas is all right? There were many men... who wanted to attack 
  him!"

Ianthe shakes her head, sadly, "No, I'm sorry. I haven't heard much from 
  Avalon since it happened. I think everyone is trying to keep a low profile." 
  She says reassuringly, "I am sure that there would be word if he had been 
  injured, though. Do not fear for him. He is a strong man, and I'm sure that 
  he will handle the threat well."

"He is very strong and brave," Faanshi agrees readily, "the bravest man I 
  know... I just..." And she trails off again, embarrassment palpable in her 
  quiet voice for all that her expression is mostly hidden by her veil and her 
  lowered eyes. Further words escape the shudra girl in a rush, while her 
  attention is ostensibly riveted upon the dog who has cuddled up against her 
  chest. "He spoke with such passion about Avalon and about them trying to 
  burn Mongrels, and then the rats came, but I do not know where they came 
  from... and there has been such.. anger and hatred in the city since the 
  plague, I-I am very worried... I have been praying for guidance and wisdom, 
  and... Domina Ianthe, could you tell me... do you know if there are any I 
  might heal?" Her gaze ventures up again, liquid and plaintive. "Who will not 
  mind if I heal them... and... maybe listen, if I ask them to go to Avalon?"

"I have no doubt that there are some, somewhere in the city, Faanshi. But I 
  cannot tell you who or where they are just yet." Ianthe speaks after a 
  pause, but there is a quiet respect in her voice, "However, should I find 
  any, I will seek them out. It is good to know that you are willing to help 
  others find freedom, even if you yourself cannot just yet."

"I want to help," murmurs the veiled maiden. Just that, nothing more. But 
  those four words are delivered with a conviction at odds with what seems to 
  be her habitual shy demeanor.

Ianthe looks at Faanshi for a moment before nodding. "Then you shall. If I 
  find anyone in need of a healer, or who wishes to go to Avalon, I will 
  arrange for you to meet them." She warns softly, "This may be dangerous for 
  you, Faanshi. Not all in Atesh-Gah would look kindly upon your helping 
  Avalonians."

Childlike her speech might be, but something older and steadier flickers 
  across the green gaze that rests now upon the winged warrior woman. Not so 
  much of an innocent as one might suspect, this healer girl. "The holy surahs 
  say that I should help," she answers. Is she actually squaring her 
  shoulders? And is that a glimpse of somethng stoic in her eyes? "And Thomas 
  and Milane and StormBearer are my friends, too."

Ianthe's own violet eyes twinkle faintly with amusement, but she nods to 
  acknowledge the other woman's response. "So they do, and so they are. I 
  would expect no less from a friend of Thomas'." She smiles tiredly and rests 
  her hand idly upon her sword, a gesture of habit, as she looks around the 
  garden carefully.

Something that might be a smile lightens the leaf-colored eyes of the shudra 
  maiden, and something that might almost be confidence keeps her gaze 
  uplifted towards the winged woman. "He is a good man," she answers in 
  gentler tones, almost marvelling. "My second friend...!"

Ianthe nods a bit, though there's a flicker deep in her eyes, "Yes, I suppose 
  he is. In his way." Her voice is neutral, though she seems amused by 
  Faanshi's response, "I am sure you have no trouble making friends, miss. 
  Kindness is a virtue that everyone finds appealing."

To this, however, the maiden blinks a few times, and looks abashed. Once more 
  her gaze drops to her dog; the dog, at least, seems to unhesitantly adore 
  her, but then again, she healed him, did she not? "I have only a few 
  friends, domina," she murmurs, "and most of them... are in Avalon, except 
  for Imphada Kiera, and Craft, and Lyre..." Faanshi pauses, blushing now 
  behind her veil, hotly. Words come to mind but constrict themselves in her 
  throat.

A pale eyebrow arches and the Empyrean smiles, "Craft and Lyre? And Kiera? 
  Why, you could not find better friends in all the world." Her smile falters 
  and she speaks softly, "I was so very sad to hear of Craft's death. You have 
  my condolences."

Abruptly, Faanshi freezes. "Wh... what did you say, domina?" she rasps out in 
  startlement.

Ianthe's wings tense and tremble slightly as she realizes the young shudra did 
  not know. "I am sorry, Imphada. Craft Astorius perished of the plague not a 
  fortnight ago." There is compassion in her eyes, and a deep sadness -- the 
  loss of a friend and comrade in arms weighs heavy in her gaze.

For a moment or two, the maiden is simply paralyzed, as if the words Ianthe 
  had uttered somehow failed to register with her. But the wetness that wells 
  up in Faanshi's eyes soon gives the lie to that. Since her hands have gone 
  still Kosha raises his head and nudges at her, but she does not seem to 
  notice. "No one... n-n-no one told me," she blurts out at last, her voice 
  now sounding choked and even smaller. "He was... very nice to me... no one 
  told me..."

Ianthe moves forward, a hand raised to Faanshi's shoulder as she awkwardly 
  offers what little comfort she can, "There, there, Faanshi. No one told me 
  either, I had to hear it from the gossip mongers in the bath. He was the 
  greatest of men, kind and honorable, and I will miss him very much." Her own 
  voice is a bit choked up.

Now wait a minute. It is a spring morning, and as far as Kosha is concerned, 
  his mistress should _not_ be acting unhappy! A small whine escapes the 
  hound's throat, and once again he nudges at the shudra, this time with a bit 
  more force. This returns some of her attention to him, and with shaking 
  hands, Faanshi pats at Kosha's head to try to assure him she is all right. 
  But the touch to her shoulder also seizes a share of her awareness, and with 
  an effort she struggles to keep her composure as she gazes liquidly up at 
  the woman before her. The veil does nothing to mute the stricken grief in 
  the shudra's eyes; death, one might guess, is very new to her. "Plague," she 
  murmurs unhappily, and then with more urgency she adds, "Y-y-you know Lyre? 
  The bard?" A flare of worry tears across her consciousness, enough to almost 
  propel Faanshi into rising to her feet. "Is _he_ all right?"

A slow nod, and the Empyrean withdraws her hand. "Aye, as far as I know. I 
  heard him play at the Siren Song just two nights past. He seemed 
  well-enough, if a bit melencholy. He sang ballads the entire night, to the 
  dawn, of all things." She speaks softly, as if worried about upsetting the 
  young shudra any further.

Something like a sniffle sounds behind Faanshi's veil, and reluctantly, she 
  removes a hand from her dog's ruff, beginning to search her own person. Her 
  fingers quest between the folds of her sari and emerge with a simple scrap 
  of cloth with which she dabs at her eyes; then, though, she lowers it for a 
  moment and stares at it, strangely. "This... is odd for him, domina?" she 
  asks then, bemused.

Ianthe quirks a grin, "Aye, it is. And for the Siren, too. Usually you hear 
  drinking songs there, or fighting songs, or dancing music if they've a girl 
  on the table..." Her voice trails off as she realizes that this is probably 
  a bit inappropriate for the young innocent. "At any rate, he doesn't 
  normally sing songs like that. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought he 
  had a young lady on his mind." She shrugs. "No business of mine, though."

Feeling as though she's been grabbed up by some sort of fierce wind and spun 
  round in circles, Faanshi blinks several times and pulls in a breath. Half 
  of her wants to grieve for Craft -- the first Empyrean man she can remember 
  who ever was kind and friendly to her -- while the rest of her becomes 
  immersed in a strange sort of curiosity about what more the domina Ianthe 
  may know of the Mongrel bard. "I... I will pray for Craft's soul tonight," 
  she decides solemnly, words struggling forth from her again. "I-I do not 
  know... what happens to the souls of Empyreans... do you go on to next 
  lives? I hope he is at peace..." Shaken, Faanshi then finds herself adding, 
  "You... heard... Lyre sing?"

"We believe that the soul passes on to another land, one where sorrows do not 
  exist and joy is to be had." That might be a slight exaggeration, but Ianthe 
  isn't about to say otherwise. "But I think that perhaps Craft's soul is so 
  good and true that the gods will send him back again, to have a new, happy 
  life. He was a hero, who ended the war between our people and helped Avalon 
  come into being, whether he knew it or not." She is quiet for a moment 
  before she smiles, "Yes, I have heard him sing. He is a fine musician."

Hearing Faanshi speak seems to assure Kosha somewhat, and the dog cuddles up 
  closer to her, resting his head against her knees. Faanshi settles down 
  again into a kneeling position there on the ground, her stance comfortable 
  enough that she must be long familiar with it. Timidly, softly, she muses, 
  "Perhaps... perhaps if he is born anew, and Khalid Atar and his Holy Mother 
  and Father are merciful, I will be friends with him again... I only, I only 
  met him a time or two but he was very kind to me, like Lyre...." Ah. Here 
  we have the source of her consternation, perchance -- a similiarity of 
  circumstances? And now the maiden trails off again, flustered, but perhaps 
  not quite so badly stricken.

The other woman speaks hesitantly, as if trying to choose the right words as 
  she speaks. "I cannot believe that the gods would be so cruel as to not 
  treat such a good man well, no matter what exactly happens to him." Ianthe 
  glances away, "But the love of a friend is indeed powerful, and good, and I 
  can't help but think the gods would reward him for it."

"I will pray," Faanshi murmurs again, as if the thought of that simple action 
  gives her strength and hope. Then, finally, her gaze ventures to Ianthe 
  again as she appears to regain at least some portion of her composure. 
  "Thank you for telling me, Domina Ianthe... I... am very glad to hear that 
  Craft helped make Avalon!"

"As am I. If, and when, it is within my power to do so, I will see that his 
  memory is given the honor that he is due." Ianthe smiles quietly and looks 
  up at the skies again, "Do you live in Atesh-Gah, Faanshi?"

His memory given honor... Faanshi starts, eyes going involuntarily wide as a 
  thought wings swiftly through her head, so obviously palpable despite the 
  blue silk that shrouds the lower portion of her face. "Yes, Domina Ianthe... 
  I..." Distracted now, she goes on, "Do you... do you know what might be 
  proper to... give a bard, to ask him to make a song...?"

Ianthe's smile is faint -- still holding sadness for the talk of lost Craft, 
  but still a bit amused at something. "For Lyre? I should think a smile would 
  do it. He's remarkably inexpensive, at least when a lovely woman asks him." 
  She pauses, tilting her head, "If you should like, I can take a message to 
  him on my way home. He doesn't live that far from my house."

"StormBearer is a bard too and I, I would ask him, but I think he went back to 
  Avalon," Faanshi explains, now gazing up into the air in an odd mixture of 
  sorrow and apparently intense thought... and apparently, oblivion to the 
  suggestion as to what sort of payment she might offer the Mongrel bard. By 
  now the poor dog is visibly confused; first Faanshi pets him, and then she 
  doesn't, and then she does. Kosha peers back and forth between the two 
  women, striving his doggie best to regain at least some measure of 
  attention, or to get the slender golden hand that remains absently placed 
  upon his head to resume its scritching. "But you see... perhaps... perhaps 
  he would make a song for Craft? And sing it, and then people would hear him 
  be honored, and... you know how to find him? You could... you could ask 
  him?" She hasn't actually mentioned Lyre Talespinner's name again, but she 
  doesn't need to. Green anxious eyes fix a hopeful gaze upon the Empyrean, 
  not at all unlike the anxious gaze with which the hound regains his mistress.

"I surely could, Faanshi. Would you want me to tell him that it was your 
  idea?" Ianthe smiles faintly, idly crouching to offer a hand to Kosha for a 
  skritch. "I would not like to take credit for a thought that was not my own."

"Oh, I... I don't know if it should be my idea..." Flustered anew -- but by 
  the notion of taking credit for the concept or by the discussion of the 
  bard, it may be difficult to determine -- Faanshi shakes her head a little, 
  her hands now wringing fretfully just before her. Kosha snuffles at her 
  plaintively, but then Ianthe's hand is offered to mollify the animal. While 
  the dog sniffs in exploration at those proffered fingertips, the shudra girl 
  goes on, "You knew that Craft h-helped make Avalon, and, and I didn't know 
  that... perhaps you could tell him better... if he lives near you, y-you 
  know him better? I, um..." Flustered. Definitely flustered.

"Oh, well, I've hardly spoken to him before. I've just heard him play now and 
  again. I can deliver a message for you, though, if you like." Ianthe offers 
  a little smile and starts to skritch Kosha's head, glad that he forgives her 
  for the earlier wrestling over the raccoon.

"I--" Faanshi's mouth might be hidden, but it's fairly likely that her lips 
  have just formed a soundless 'oh'. So much for the idea of getting someone 
  apparently older and more confident to handle conversation with that 
  alarming bard for her. A message is one thing -- but trying to provide 
  enough knowledge for the making of a song? Still, though, the shudra girl 
  nods slowly... and then a few times more. "Yes... if you would... please?"

Ianthe quirks a brow and nods, "Fair enough. What shall I tell him?" She rocks 
  back on her heels, a little grin coming to her lips, "I could arrange for 
  him to meet you somewhere...Say, here, at any time that's convenient for 
  you."

Quite willing to let bygones be bygones as long as his head gets scritched, 
  Kosha thumps his tail happily against the ground. Faanshi, in the meantime, 
  has her gaze solidly riveted downward upon her hands now -- and upon that 
  small scrap of cloth she is still clutching, for she's forgotten to fold it 
  up again and return it to the pouch hidden beneath her sari. "If you... 
  would tell him, please... that Faanshi asks to speak with him... a-about a 
  song for Craft... Astorius..." This last is pronounced with just a bit of 
  hesitation; perhaps Faanshi hadn't even known that second portion of the 
  once-Optio's name? Her head begins to bob then, as she whispers, "Here... 
  yes, here... in the afternoon...? I could come in the afternoon...."

With another little smile and a good long skritch for Kosha, Ianthe 
  straightens and nods, "I shall tell him, Faanshi, and I'm sure he shall come 
  as you ask. After all, it's not often that he writes songs for a lady of the 
  dawn." She drops that to see if there's any reaction, a sly twinkle in her 
  eyes as her wings fold idly behind her.

Oh yes, there's a reaction. "He wrote a song for Ushas?" is the innocent 
  lass's prompt and hopeful reply. And Faanshi peeks upward, returning her 
  wide green eyes to view.

A silvery laugh rings out as Ianthe replies, "Perhaps, perhaps. But I did not 
  know that Ushas had eyes of the green leaves or skin of gold." With that, 
  she grins mischeviously and crosses her arms, rocking back to await another 
  response.

_Some_ things are obvious enough for even a lass of Faanshi's sheltered 
  experience to comprehend -- or at the very least, to begin to do so. Alarm 
  and consternation at what the Empyrean might well mean sweep through her. 
  With small nervous gestures of her hands, little motions like the 
  flutterings of a frightened bird, the halfbreed girl folds and refolds the 
  scrap of cloth and hides it away again beneath her sari. But now she has 
  nothing to do with her hands, and so she frets unthinkingly with the blue 
  cloth that swathes her slender frame. Surely he couldn't have meant... 
  surely not. Surely not! "I... h-have not been blessed with a vision of the 
  face of... of the Lady of the Dawn," she mumbles, her cheeks growing hot. 
  "O-Or the favor of the Most High, that he... he might speak of the visage 
  of... his Holy Mother to o-one such as I... I could not... say what Ushas 
  looks like..." And she shoots to her feet, now far too unnerved to kneel 
  quietly in the grass. Kosha rises beside her, tail wagging uncertainly. Does 
  this mean he gets to hunt some more?

The Empyrean fights a smile and says gently, "Of course. It was presumptuous 
  of me. And who is to say what the Holy Mother of Khalid Atar looks like, 
  indeed? Perhaps he sings only of what he imagines." Still, there is laughter 
  deep in her eyes that she cannot hide. After all, it's not often that Ianthe 
  encounters someone who is just so darn cute. "Rest assured, Imphada, that I 
  shall deliver your message with all due haste." She offers an odd salute, an 
  open hand over her heart and a short bow. "I shall take my leave, if you've 
  no further need of me?"

"Th-thank you, Domina Ianthe, I... I mean, no, do not let me keep you," the 
  veiled maiden breathes as she struggles once more for calm. "And thank you 
  for helping me and Kosha...! A raccoon is too big for him... thank you...!" 
  No doubt about it. Flustered.

Kosha, by way of contributing to the conversation, barks firmly at the sound 
  of his name. His tail starts wagging a bit more swiftly.

With another short bow, Ianthe chuckles and says, "You are most welcome, 
  Faanshi. I'll see you later." And before she's done speaking, her huge white 
  wings flex and propel her into the sky with smooth strokes that whistle 
  faintly of feathers, carrying her up into the cloudy sky.

[End log.]