"The Search Begins"

Log Date:
	5/3/99

Log Cast:
	Medea, Faanshi, Maat, Aine, Starfang, Old Brindy (NPC beggar emitted
by Faanshi), Woodchuck, Steele, Elanus, Timin, Safira, Spotted Dog,
Adonis, Uneri, Jasmine, Giles

Log Intro:
	It has been weeks now since the passing of Ulima Jaroun Khalida,
Faanshi's elderly great-aunt... and weeks, too, since Faanshi has heard
from her wayward mistress Kiera, or Kiera's naraki Thomas, both of whom
have disappeared.
	Faanshi has attempted to carry on with the tasks that those in
charge of the upkeep of Atesh-Gah have assigned her in the absence of any
instructions from her mistress... but as the days have progressed, the
young shudra halfbreed has grown increasingly discontent, and increasingly
lonely for friendly faces. Even Patrin, the young Sylvan shaper she had
met before, appears to have taken his leave of the Varati citadel.
	Alone, trying to assure herself that Ulima will be happy reborn in
the service of the Amir-al, Faanshi has been deeply at a loss as to how to
occupy herself. She has striven to quietly practice her magic on what denizens
of Atesh-Gah will allow her to touch them -- the animals and the smallest of
small children. Her efforts have won her the vigorous affections of a little
puppy, and that has helped somewhat to soothe her loneliness even as she
continues to miss Kiera and Murako.
	At last, however, it has occurred to her that if she truly wishes to 
properly serve Clan Khalida, then her first duty should be to find out what 
happened to her mistress... and perhaps also, her mistress's missing naraki...

*===========================< In Character Time >==========================*
             Time of day:  Night (Dawnside)
          Date on Aether:  Wednesday, August 4, 3904.
           Year on Earth:  1504 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waxing Gibbous
                  Season:  Summer
                 Weather:  Partly Cloudy
             Temperature:  Warm
*==========================================================================*

Main street crosses the Rialto, which is busy and bustling as you enter.
The Rialto - Haven(#159RDJM)
     Reigning over the Rialto is the very heart of Haven: the Delphic Citadel. 
  It dwarfs the other buildings, which cluster around it like so many children 
  seeking a parent's protection. Day or night, rain or shine, its walls seem 
  to glimmer with a light of their own, as if, over the centuries, the magic 
  within had slowly permeated the entire structure. The main tower soars 
  higher than the tallest tree, and each side tapers inward so that it 
  resembles a giant obelisk. Four smaller towers stand at the four points of 
  the compass, representing the unification of each race under Delphi's 
  government.
     And here is where they all gather. The Rialto is the famed marketplace of 
  Haven, full of shops, stalls, and brightly colored tents. The shouts of 
  merchants, the haggling of patrons, the music of entertainers, and the 
  laughter of children create a nigh-constant cacophony that assaults the 
  senses. But the Rialto is nothing if not exciting, and crowds often gather 
  here for important events and public addresses.
                      (Note: 'places' are enabled here.)                      
Contents: 
Medea 
Maat 
Aine              
Starfang                   
Obvious Exits:
  Streets <N,S,E,W,NE,NW,SE,SW>  Delphic Citadel <DC>       

Medea's cheeks once more find color a shade of a dark rose. As she accepts the 
  wrapped bundle, she offers a few coins in exchange. Then the bundle is 
  unwrapped by a single hand, while the other holds it, and a few pieces of 
  delicious bread are taste. "Oh.. you make the most divine bread." She offers 
  a piece to Maat, "Care to try a piece? He is by far the best baker in all of 
  Haven, if not Aether."

The vendor curls his knotted fingers about the coin and bows over his hand 
  with a grin before turning back to disappear into the booth and check on his 
  baking.

It is not her size or her garb that distinguishes Faanshi Khalida as the 
  shudra girl ventures hesitantly into the chaotic morass of beings, booths, 
  and activity that is the Rialto of Haven. To look upon her from afar, she is 
  simply a slender figure in Varati-style garments in the colors of Clan 
  Khalida: scarlet and blue, trimmed with gold. What might distinguish her, 
  though, is the hesitance of her passage and the way her head darts this way 
  and that, wide green wondering eyes taking in everything in sight... but 
  flitting nervously away should she cross gazes with anyone near her.

Maat reaches out one pale hand to take up a bit of the proffered bread from 
  Medea. "Thank you, Domina. Do you have time to speak of something less than 
  business, but more than pleasure?"

Aine grumbles to herself--since there is most certainly no one to hear. 
  Something about the hour and lazy vendors. She tugs at her tunic impatiently 
  and then finds a place to jump up and sit on a rickety countertop to wait.

Starfang spots Faanshi's darting head. She smiles and changes her tune to 
  something playful, innocent, like a butterfly. The little trills are in near 
  perfect sync with Faanshi's movements and getting better at keeping track of 
  her through watching her.

Medea's mouth is swiftly stuffed with the savory bread while she just nods. 
  The look to her face is one of someone half starved, half embarassed at how 
  hungry she is, then as yet another piece is shoved into her mouth, she 
  blinks. Oh no. That last piece was one too many. Her skin turns a delicate 
  shade of green before she carefully covers the half eaten bread. A hand 
  rises to her mouth, covering it, and she just tries to nod to Maat. Healer 
  she might know how to be, but mother she does not.

It is all so very... _large_! Oh, the Varati armies had been large, to be 
  sure, but that vast host of soldiers had moved and lived and marched under 
  the dictates of military order... and the presence of the Khalid. The 
  Rialto, on the other hand, seems the very picture of chaos to the eyes of 
  the shudra girl. Faanshi gasps as a pair of young men bearing platters of 
  fresh food bound for a booth hasten past her, and she ducks out of the way 
  just in time to prevent a collision, only to bump into a beggar woman who 
  creels plaintively at her in protest... and then in pleading for a coin. The 
  shudra blinks, turns, and crouches down by the old mongrel, murmuring softly 
  and sheepishly to her.

Maat tilts her head to the side, looking amusedly at Medea. "Are you alright, 
  Domina? Would you like to sit down? Or perhaps visit some place quiet that 
  has a pot?"

Starfang watches the old mongrel, just in case. Her play doesn't falter, but 
  her smile does. The music dies down to a soft murmur, alternately fluid or 
  broken.

Medea seems likely not one to wait that long, as movement is not destined in 
  her future. Instead, she shoves the bread forward at Maat, hoping she will 
  accept it while she herself comes to land heavily on her knees. A hand rests 
  on the stone of the Rialto floor and a chamber pot rises from its 
  surrounding essence. Oh dear oh dear oh dear, could probably be heard from 
  her as she moans softly. The sheer effort of creating the pot proably did 
  more to harm her than the benefit of having it there could be. Her hands 
  come to rest to either side of the pot's cold surface, and offering some 
  semblance of privacy, her wings spread. Yet even they seem to hold that 
  greenish tinge of one not exactly feeling that well.

In the early morning hours not too many beggars are out -- but this determined 
  old dame has claimed her little patch of pavement by the wall for years now, 
  and the reedy tones of her practiced spiel can be heard from some distance 
  away. Faanshi, kneeling there before her, is not so easily heard, but the 
  girl's leaf-hued eyes brim over with a flare of what may well be startled 
  compassion. She shakes her sari-covered head anxiously, trying to pull her 
  hand free of the old one's grasp, and then something a trifle odd seems to 
  happen between them. The mongrel matron blinks, straightens a little where 
  she sits, and then peers down startledly at herself. But before she can try 
  to accost the girl in sari and veil, Faanshi has darted off into the 
  marketplace, out of range.

Starfang suddenly raises the volume of her play as the Varati darts away, 
  again taking on that chaotic, erratic melody.

_Oh, Blessed Mother of the Khalid, that was close..._ Shaken by her encounter 
  with the beggar, her senses tinged with the aftermath of what passed from 
  her hand to that of the old woman, Faanshi puts as much distance between 
  herself and the mongrel as possible. Her gaze flits in all directions now, 
  looking for something reasonably safe on which to alight, something to 
  steady her, something to give her focus. That green regard skitters uneasily 
  past every person she can see in range, but after a moment, what finally 
  catches her attention is the music. She slows her steps and finally comes to 
  an uncertain halt, peering around for the source of the sound.

Maat takes the bread and holds it, looking down at Medea. She slips the piece 
  of bread that was in her hand under the opaque veil and there is a motion, 
  as if she has taken a bite. Stepping to the right, she speaks with the 
  vendor who had originally sold Medea the bread. A second package appears on 
  the counter and Maat picks it up, then steps back to stand before Medea, 
  waiting for the woman to finish her association with the suddenly-created 
  pot.

Starfang switches to a faltering tune. Trying, then stopping a new theme a 
  couple of times.

Starfang
Of average height, she fails to impress much, from a distance. When seen from 
  a shorter distance, her round face with haughty, deep green eyes challenges 
  your very presence. The numerous freckles on the bridge of her round nose 
  fail to reduce that near contempt for anything that isn't herself. 
  Sometimes, she smiles at people in a way that ridicules everything they 
  stand for. The simple dress she wears reveals but a modest amount of 
  cleavage, mainly because that's about all there is. Her sleeves flare and 
  stop a hand's length above her wrists, revealing a sturdy bracer with a 
  sheathed dagger on her left forearm. Her skirts stop about two hands' length 
  above her feet, revealing stubby calves, with feet in light leather 
  slippers. Her skin is tan, matched beautifully by the golden brown of her 
  long hair, which falls down her back, almost to her waist in a none too neat 
  braid.

Not that she has much in the way of experience with music, but still, the 
  snatches of melody that come to Faanshi's ears strike her as a little odd. 
  Now more out in the center of the marketplace, she turns around in a slow 
  circle, trying to figure out where the music is coming from. Her arms curl 
  about herself, slender golden hands curling into loose fists and crossing at 
  her breast.

Being a shaper is at times a detriment. Especially when things change without 
  volition. This is not one of those times. As Medea rises from the awful 
  business of illness, the pot seals itself up. She wipes her hand, frowning 
  at the new ornament in the Rialto, then looks up towards Maat with an 
  apologetic gaze, "Um. Sorry about that." She scratches her head, 
  considering, then asks, "Go somewhere, yes. That might be good." Looking 
  briefly down at the pot, she taps a foot. Then a nod, and she bends to 
  gather it to her, cradling it as if she were going to carry it off with her. 
  Well, that certainly looks like what she's going to do, as she then turns 
  and starts towards the Citadel.

Starfang's music dies down to a gentle, smooth and soothing tone. Very 
  peaceful. She smiles at the Varati, waiting while she continues to play.

Pandora makes her way south, toward Seaside.
Pandora has left.

Maat continues to hold both packages from the baker, falling into step with 
  Medea. "Lead on, Domina." Holding the second package forward, she says, "You 
  might want to try this instead of straight bread once your stomach has 
  settled."

Medea's shoulders slump a little at Maat's words, then she nods and replies, 
  "I have seen many give birth, been present at the moment. Even tended to 
  women who have gone through the many stages." Then the color tinges her 
  cheeks and she looks rather ashamed at a moment of weakness, "But I fear it 
  is nothing at all like actually dealing with it oneself." She shakes her 
  head, then pauses as threat of another 'difficulty' hits her. Eased for a 
  moment, she starts again forward.

Ah... _there_. That one, over there, with the reed flute. Faanshi peers 
  towards the female between a pair of stalls, not too far away... and then 
  summons up the courage to approach her. Perhaps she could get a little 
  guidance on her quest. As she draws near to Starfang, Faanshi dips her head, 
  her gaze shyly lowered towards the ground. "Good m-morning, imphada," she 
  blurts out. "Your flute is very nice... if I may... may I ask you a 
  question?"

Starfang stops playing for a moment. She smiles, "You may ask anything you 
  would."

Maat suggests, quite politely, to Medea, "You might try eat less more 
  frequently. Of course, the situation is different from woman to woman, but 
  for those that are prone to stomach problems, certain foods help quite a 
  bit, I have found." Again, she holds out the second package to Medea. "Hard 
  tack, for example, is not the most tasty of foods, but it helps the stomach."

"I am looking for the Imphada Kiera," the girl in scarlet and blue pipes in 
  plaintive tones. "Kiera Khalida... and a man named Thomas... but he also is 
  named Murako... do you... do you know where I might find them, imphada?" 
  Faanshi risks a peek up, just long enough to see that the young woman with 
  the flute has green eyes. Like hers. But the shudra's gaze swiftly plummets 
  again, nevertheless.

Starfang looks a little sad at the shy one before her, "I don't bite, you 
  know." She sighs softly, "As for Kiera and Thomas, also known as Murako..." 
  She shrugs, "I wouldn't know."

Medea looks back to Maat as she makes the Citadel's gates. A closed mouth grin 
  is offered, then she nods, "Thank you." Then without much more 
  consideration, she heads into the citadel itself, carrying her pot.
Medea steps through a tall set of gates and enters Delphi's grounds.
Medea has left.

What with that veil covering most of her features, it's rather hard to read 
  Faanshi's expression -- but still, she nevertheless somehow succeeds in 
  relaying palpable dismay as her shoulders slump and a barely audible breath 
  sounds from somewhere beneath that veil. "The Imphada Kiera is smaller than 
  me, but she has wings, and sometimes she turns into a hawk," she clarifies 
  anxiously. "And Thomas... Murako... he is a mongrel, but he looks nice, 
  and... well, you are sure, imphada?"

Jelara alights in the Rialto's square on light feet.

Maat flicks a look over at Faanshi, then walks into the Citadel after Medea.
Maat steps through a tall set of gates and enters Delphi's grounds.
Maat has left.

Starfang shrugs, "Look around you... there are many mongrels here, there are 
  many Empyreans here. I do not know them all by name, nor even by looks." She 
  nods her head to Jelara, "Does Kiera look anything like her?"

Jelara
A spirit of fire personified..that's what what this Empyrean woman resembles.A 
  firebright river of curls graces her head, the color of the setting sun 
  streaking the sky. Normally the curls are secured at the nape of her neck 
  but tendrils escape no matter what she tries. No pale eyes for her..piercing 
  dark grey ones..like the moon covered by a veil of clouds on a stormy night. 
  They might kindly be called silver but are more like steel. Her skin is pale 
  as milk and the angles of her face are fine boned with sweeping high 
  cheekbones and brows. Her wings are that of a dove..gleaming white with the 
  barest of pink sheen in the them when the light hits them. Of good 
  figure..bearing and an easy purposeful stride. Jelara's usual expression is 
  one of amusment and merriment..unless she is working in which case her focus 
  and drive are such as to make her oblivious to the rest of the world. Her 
  hands are covered in fine white scars from her craft and are 
  strong..calloused. A pair of tiny gold hoops threaded with the clearest of 
  amber beads and uneven chunks of polished diamonds peek through her ears and 
  an armband of gold etched with the image of a dove encircles her right arm. 
  She wears a silk toga that has been dyed the colors of sunset. The hem is 
  deep dark ochre and the color lightens as it rises..ochre to orange to gold 
  to yellow until just at her shoulders the fabric lightens to a pure white. A 
  bit of gold braid is wraped around her waist and crisscrosses her chest 
  until it is secured at her shoulders. A draping length of dark blue forms a 
  bit of a cloak or veil should she draw it up over her head. On her feet are 
  a light pair of sandals to protect her feet when she walks.

Jelara walks down teh row of stalls..bright wings arched in back of her bit.

The shudra girl turns, peeking timidly in the direction that the flute player 
  indicates... and involuntarily, Faanshi catches her breath. White wings, 
  clothes of such brilliant hues... no, Kiera is not who comes to mind when 
  Faanshi's gaze ventures to the one who has just landed within the square. 
  But Faanshi does not want to think too heavily of either the Imphada Aurora 
  or the Imphada... er, rather, the Maharani Thalia right now, and so she 
  contents herself with murmuring to Starfang, "No, imphada... that one is 
  taller and her wings are white."

Jelara dickers quietly with a gem merchant.

Starfang sighs softly, "So.. I just go by height and color of wings? Surely, I 
  could point many out to you, of same height.. And wing-feathers can be died 
  in any color.. Doesn't that Kiera have some mark? Some distinctive trait?"

Woodchuck is lured in from the north by the aroma of baked goods.
Woodchuck has arrived.

Jelara is dickering quietly with a gem merchant.

Faanshi bites her lip underneath the shelter of her blue silken veil, not 
  wanting to mention the offensive h-word if she can help it... and so, she 
  settles for venturing, "She... has pointed ears, too, imphada, and she has 
  feathers in her hair."

Woodchuck
A scrawny Sylvan kid finally maturing into adulthood. His figure is not that 
  of a fighter, standing at a mere 5'4 with a near gaunt and skinny frame 
  causing him to look malnourished. Yet his walk is confident, and he has a 
  form of grace to him a feline could be proud of.
        His face is true to his people, with eyes of clearest jade that might 
  appear near luminescent against the light copper of his skin. Skin which is 
  smooth and well taken care of, but for the small laugh lines forming around 
  his mouth. The hair is a deep, firey red, flames constantly hinting at 
  unkempt even when recently cut into shape. The stark red lips of the face 
  are oft moistened by his thin tongue, whilst the voice that comes from them 
  is a nasal form of tenor.

Starfang hms. "An Empyrean graisha?" She chuckles, "Fancy that." She returns 
  her attention to Faanshi, shrugging, "Well, I can't recall having seen her. 
  What about the mongrel?"

Woodchuck trots into the Rialto, a large mug in his hand that is almost filled 
  to the brim with ale. My, the sylve must be still out drinking, even at this 
  hour. But his face looks the same...perhaps the young man has a high 
  tolerance to the liquor, or perhaps he is just in a constant state of 
  drunkeness. Or maybe he seems barely changed because of the simple fact that 
  you can't get much wierder than Woody. No way.

Faanshi murmurs dejectedly, not expecting this woman who plays the flute to be 
  able to tell her of the whereabouts of her mistress's naraki, if she has not 
  seen her mistress. But she nevertheless answers, "He has brown hair and 
  brown eyes... and his skin is brown too, but he is not as dark as a Varati, 
  and, well..." She trails off, and once more shyly ducks her head. "He 
  looks... nice," she finishes in a tiny voice.

Starfang shrugs, "Haven't seen a handsome brown mongrel, either, no. Sorry, 
  shy one, but I can't help you." She shrugs again.

Woodchuck meanders himself further into the square, blinking a few times as 
  his eyes attempt to focus on a few of the people close to him. His shuffled 
  feet carry him slowly over towards the talking pile of clothes (That means 
  Varati woman, in Woody-speak) and the familiar but now friendly flutist. 
  "But if your lookin' fer a handsome sylvan, then ye found th' right guy!" he 
  giggles, raising his mug momentarily before taking a sip.

"Thank you," Faanshi whispers to Starfang, her shoulders slumping again, 
  making her look rather like a tall but drooping blue-and-red-hued flower. As 
  Woodchuck ambles into earshot and delivers his greeting, she visibly starts, 
  her head darting around and her gaze instinctively falling, before she 
  realizes that the newcomer is shorter than her, and therefore keeping her 
  eyes lowered doesn't really mean much. Trying to look down even lower, she 
  murmurs in startlement, "I... um... no, but thank you, imphadi..."

Starfang's mood drops. Steeply. She glares at Woodchuck as he should be dead 
  by now, if not sooner. "Well, hello there." From the sound of it, she bit 
  back at least five nasty things, just then.

Woodchuck chuckles, nodding upwards the the woman. "Who're ye lookin' fer? 
  Mebbe ol' Woodchuck cin' help ye...I knows every man up n' down th' docks, 
  an' a lotta people 'round here, too..." he lets loose a small hiccup before 
  turning his attention to star, brow quirking as eyes focus and unfocus on 
  her. "Eh? Hello t'ye too..." Hmm. There was something about this woman, some 
  feeling...oh, he can't remember right now, and is too spiritually lifted to 
  let trying to remember hatred bring him down. "...how're ye?" he smiles 
  toothily towards the other sylve.

Steele enters the hustle and bustle of the Rialto from the northeast.
Steele has arrived.

Faanshi's blue-saried head lifts just enough to let her peer at Woodchuck's 
  shoulder, a rather safer place to look than a stranger's eyes, at least as 
  far as the shudra girl is concerned. "I seek my mistress, imphadi," she 
  whispers. "The Imphada Kiera... Kiera Khalida. And a mongrel named Thomas... 
  and named Murako, too..."

Starfang sighs deeply, and just mutters softly. Oooh... He's getting on her 
  nerves already, small minded little boy. Her eyes narrow to a point where 
  one wonders if she can still see.

Into the market place comes one of the tall Varati warriors, the steel shod 
  boots upon his feet ringing with each passing step as he passes down the 
  street. The tall form of Steele seems to dominate those about him, though he 
  offers on reason for them to fear him.

Woodchuck slaps a hand on his knee, giggling. "Good ol' Tom Murako?..." he 
  blinks at this. "Well 'e might no' be so good, and 'e might no' be so 
  old...never met th' guy...but I have heard of 'im..." he grins wide, looking 
  back up to the woman again. "But yer gon' have t'fly pretty fast t'catch up 
  with that guy..." he giggles again, turning to slap Starfang on the shoulder 
  lightly in jest. "This gal's lookin' fer Tom Murako!" he grins broadly, as 
  if it was the funniest of jokes.

Faanshi, to this, can't help but look up in obvious surprise and hope. "You 
  know him?" she blurts, rather more loudly than seems to be her wont -- which 
  means mostly that the words escape her in a clear, soft alto rather than a 
  barely audible whisper.

Starfang catches the hand and twists it before letting go. No, _not_ her 
  friend. At all. Ever. Forget it. Not even with the free toaster. She scowls 
  at Woody.

Woodchuck has his hand twisted, letting out a loud cry of pain (although he 
  isn't really that hurt) and almost dropping the mug of ale in his other 
  hand. "Watch it! Ye hurt me!" he yells, as if the incident had to be an 
  accident. But he turns back to the Varati woman, downing a gulp of ale to 
  take his mind off his hand. "No, no, no, no. I don' -Know- 'im...I know -of- 
  'im!..." he thinks on this and blink. "Wat? Have ye been livin' under th' 
  ocean or sometin'? Big ol' Varati husband won' let ye out of yer cell, izzat 
  it?" he giggles and hiccups again. "Murako's like a hero or sometin'..."

"I-I don't... have a husband," Faanshi murmurs, not at all certain what to 
  make of this ebullient creature before her. But he's heard of Thomas, a.k.a. 
  Murako, and so she isn't quite prepared to flee, not quite yet. "A... a 
  _hero_?"

Woodchuck nods exitedly. "Yah! All th' mongrels an' outcasts are in love with 
  'im...'e took a bunch of 'em up with 'im t'this Empyrean place where they's 
  livin' now...I 'member I made a pretty copper off this one guy who needed 
  directions to th' place th' refugees were camped at before they left...what 
  a sucker!" hiccup. Then giggle .

Elanus enters the Rialto from the northwestern intersection of Fairway and 
  Border.
Elanus has arrived.

"Then... he... he is not in Haven?" Faanshi breathes, sounding positively 
  mournful... or at least, looking it, if the acute disappointment in the 
  green eyes visible over the top of her veil is any indication. Her hands 
  come up to clasp just before her chin, slender golden fingers intertwined in 
  palpable anxiety.

Jelara has left.

Elanus travels along North, toward the Fairway.
Elanus has left.

Woodchuck nods. "Y'heard it 'ere first, Tommy skipped town...'s that 
  simple...but don' sound too sad 'bout th' whole thing...I'm shure that if ye 
  ran quick enough ye could catch up with 'im in about a few weeks..." he 
  laughs again, taking a big gulp of his ale. "Sorry, hon, but 'e just ain' 
  'ere...but as fer th' other person ye seek, I ain' never heard of 'er..."

He is not in Haven. Faanshi considers this, nibbling her lower lip under her 
  veil, her leaf-hued gaze reflecting strong dismay, her hands wringing 
  unconsciously. Questions tear back and forth through her thoughts, as the 
  shudra girl struggles with what to do with this information. "You have... 
  been very kind to share this with me, imphadi," she whispers at last, 
  humbly. "I... will try to keep looking for my mistress, but if there is any 
  service I can perform for you in return..."

Maat steps from the gates of Delphi and into the rialto.
Maat has arrived.
Maat walks out of the Delphic Citadel. Pausing for a moment at the gates, the 
  woman looks around the Rialto, then moves toward one of the food vendors to 
  satisfy an urgent need.

Woodchuck considers the womans words to him silently, head moving this way and 
  that as he strikes a different pose every five seconds or so. "Hmmm. Hrm. 
  Hummmm. Hym..." he smiles brightly. Oh, an open favor, is there a better 
  thing. But with his clouded mind he isn't in a goos state to take advantage 
  of anyone, and he probably couldn't even count a payment of coins at the 
  moment, let alone convince her to pay him for his information. "Ummm..I 
  dunno...but if I think of sometin' that I need later I'm gonna 'member that 
  ye owe me a favor...kay?"

It is probably a good thing that Woodchuck is inebriated and can't think of 
  coins, for no coins does the shudra girl possess. She says shyly, bobbing 
  her head over her clasped hands and dropping a little curtsey, "As you wish, 
  imphadi... I sew very well, and I, I have a few herbs that I could trade..." 
  She pauses, not sure she wants to say too much, but fairness dictates that 
  she clarify, "For healing, and for teas."

Maat picks up several food items, then paces deliberately toward Faanshi and 
  Woodchuck, closing the distance with only a few strides. The woman says 
  nothing, but puts a bun under the covering of her veil and eats it while 
  waiting.

Woodchuck quirks a brow, taking another long gulp of his ale. "Umm...Oh I 
  dunno..ye gon' tah be in Haven long? Or are ye goin' to go an' chase after 
  Murako? Cuz if ye are stayin' in town, I'll jus' come an' find ye when I 
  need sometin' done..." Oh look, another clothes pile approaches, but this 
  one dosn't speak. "'Ey..." the sylve says, pointing to Maat. "I know ye..."

Maat continues to eat, not choosing to respond to Woodchuck or respond about 
  his rather rude manner of speech. The gold eyes look at Faanshi instead.

"I... have to find my mistress, too," Faanshi begins uncertainly, but when 
  Woodchuck's attention wanders off to the approaching woman, the shudra 
  trails off. Her head turns; her gaze takes in the imposing figure of Maat, 
  and she, too, finds this newcomer familiar. Hastily, Faanshi drops another 
  curtsey, this one rather more pronounced, and she murmurs timidly, 
  "Namaste', imphada... good morning..."

Maat rides roughshod over Faanshi's greeting by not bothering to return it 
  with any approaching delicacy or politeness. Imperiously, the woman says to 
  Faanshi, "Why do you ask about Thomas Murako and Kiera?" Unspoken, but 
  almost heard as an after-echo is the derogatory, 'the halfbreed', prefaced 
  before Kiera's name.

Woodchuck frows to the silent clothes pile that should have a woman buried 
  somewhere underneath, quirking a brow as she jumps into the conversation. "I 
  was jus' tellin' 'er that Murako's movin' up t'that Empyrean place...but I 
  dunno who tha' Kiera woman is..."

Timin arrives right into the thick of the Rialto from the south.
Timin has arrived.

Faanshi shows no sign of protest to Maat's lofty demand; indeed, the girl 
  merely trails off as soon as Maat speaks, her head remaining humbly bowed so 
  that she does not look the woman in the eye. "Kiera Khalida is my mistress," 
  she whispers, "and I thought perhaps... that she left Atesh-Gah to look for 
  Thomas, because he was her naraki. I... am trying to follow the will of the 
  Khalid, imphada. He told me that I should serve Imphada Kiera... so... I 
  need to find her..." Not at all certain whether Maat will accept this 
  answer, yet having no other answer to give, the shudra trails off again 
  rather than firmly concluding, when she's proferred what words she can.

And morning-time brings the spill of a new sun, beginning to heat up Haven to 
  the proper summer temperatures. As well as the stirring merchants in the 
  Rialto, ready to display their wares, hawk them on unsuspecting patrons. 
  Coincidentally, it'll get at least one (other) halfbreed in the area. That 
  damned shopkeeper. Perhaps ready to start a new day of haggling and 
  bargaining. Good stuff.

Safira steps from the gates of Delphi and into the rialto.
Safira has arrived.

Maat takes a slightly sticky hand out from under her veil. Obviously, she has 
  finished her breakfast while listening to Faanshi's explanation. The golden 
  eyes flick over to Woodchuck, as if assessing his words then the eyes return 
  to Faanshi. In the process, they fall on a person in particular, that damned 
  shopkeeper. Flicking the sticky hand in the direction of Timin, she says to 
  Faanshi. "Ask the halfbreed. Last I saw her south of the mountains, she was 
  in his company. He may know where she and her satchel were destined."

Safira exits from the Citadel, accompanied by a tall Varati woman who is 
  obviously her escort. She looks around, heading straight for the food 
  vendors. Delphi simply does not make good Varati food.

The halfbreed--? Another one, Maat means? Startled, Faanshi blinks in the 
  direction the woman indicates, and then hastily bobs her head once more to 
  the older female. "Thank you, imphada," she murmurs. "I will do so."

Woodchuck turns away from the two varati women he was speaking to, his legs 
  sort of drunkenly stumbling him over towards the food vendors area. Once 
  there, he finds his favorite table and hoists his small body onto it, 
  sprawling out comfortably. He lets out a loud sigh and watches the merchants 
  and patrons at the food stalls.

Maat takes out a handkerchief and wipes her sticky hand. She continues 
  speaking in an emotionless voice to Faanshi. "As for Thomas Murako, he has a 
  camp to the north of Haven. Ask for Ianthe in the city of tents if you 
  cannot find Thomas's camp." Her voice is dry now, as if she does not expect 
  Faanshi to have enought intelligence to find Thomas' camp. "Or if you cannot 
  find the second encampment just south of his first encampment."

Nor does Faanshi show any sign of protest or indignation at the older woman's 
  tone, either -- if nothing else, what she has seen of the city of Haven thus 
  far has struck her as so alien and overwhelming that she is not entirely 
  certain that she will be able to find her way back to Atesh-Gah unaided, and 
  accordingly, the shudra unthinkingly matches mindsets with the 
  higher-ranking Varati woman, for all that their opinions on the matter have 
  hardly been shared. She bobs her head again, whispering, "I will try to 
  remember. Thank you, imphada... thank you. Is there... may I serve you 
  somehow, in exchange for the information...?"

Safira moves directly to one of the food vendors, mouth practically watering 
  as she orders Nasi Goreng from the vendor. She then remembers her other 
  errand. She needs to get some red cloth. Well, her stall is still standing 
  so, may as well get the fabric there rather than settle for inferior 
  merchandise from someone else. Safira sold only the best. Now if only she 
  could get the stall sold...

Maat's eyes grow pleased at Faanshi's response. "If your mistress allows you, 
  naraki, I have some chores for one that is willing to fetch, carry and 
  clean." She holds up a finger. "But, you are of Khalida. Be sure that you 
  are allowed to offer your services so freely. Not all clans are happy to see 
  their property working for others." The admonishment is not exceedingly 
  sharp, but it is not kind either. It is a statement of fact in its bluntest 
  terms.

Yep. Another halfbreed. This one's just traded copper for breakfast: a cold 
  biscuit and a rather large plum. It's a living. And Timin will munch, while 
  his feet carry him in a wander, to let he look over the Rialto goods. Hard 
  job he's got, shopping the morning away.

Faanshi is shudra, not naraki -- but she does not dare to correct this woman. 
  Halfbreed she is, and therefore, at least as far as most of Atesh-Gah is 
  concerned, she might as well be a true slave; certainly, this is what the 
  girl is accustomed to. The only sign of reaction to Maat's little slip is a 
  momentary flicker of Faanshi's green eyes, and that only visible if one can 
  actually get a look at them with the way her head remains bowed. "I will 
  make sure, imphada."

Woodchuck rolls over onto his back on the food vendors table, taking the final 
  gulp of ale from the mug and setting it beside his head. He stares up at the 
  sky and blinks a bit.

Why Timin would argue over the cost of that worthless bracelet in his hand is 
  beyond most. If it's worth five soldi, he's lucky; if he can sell it for 
  ten, he's just good. But. The arguing will stay at a respectable volume, 
  while the general bustle of the Rialto begins to pick up. And Timin 
  continues to devour his meal.

Maat does not see the flicker of Faanshi's eyes as she looks down coolly at 
  the girl from above. Turning on her heel, she moves away from Faanshi 
  without any further word. Her strides take her toward a particular 
  merchant's stall, now closed, but which once sold cloth and other fine 
  materials. She looks the stall over, for all purposes, seeming to have 
  completely forgotten about Faanshi and never admitting to have seen 
  Woodchuck at all.

Safira turns from the food vendor with her food, arching an eyebrow as she 
  spies Maat looking at her stall. She looks from the bowl to the stall and 
  back again, sighing as she sets the bowl on the table and walks over to the 
  stall. "Pardon me, Imphada. This is my stall. Are you perhaps interested in 
  its purchase? I am Safira, and the stall has been for sale for about a month 
  now. It is in good shape, recently built, and comes with almost all the 
  inventory. I no longer need it since I am in Delphi."

Alone again, far less shaken by Maat's behavior towards her than by the 
  information the woman has imparted, the halfbreed shudra girl timidly turns 
  her attention in the direction where she had seen Timin. Timin -- another 
  halfbreed, and not only that, but one who knows and even seems to care for 
  the Imphada Kiera. It takes several minutes before Faanshi is able to summon 
  up the courage to approach the young man, and once she finally crosses the 
  market towards him, it is with all the hesitance of a dog expecting to be 
  shooed away or even beaten. She does not try to interrupt his haggling once 
  she is within range, and only when a good moment presents itself does she 
  blurts out, "Pardon me, Imphadi Timin... m-may I speak with you for a 
  moment?"

Maat turns and looks sharply at Safira. She bends her head in greeting to 
  Safira. "Greetings, Imphada. Yes, I have been examining your stall. It looks 
  quite sturdy. Would it be possible for me to obtain a glance at your 
  inventory?" Unlike her former coolness to Faanshi, the woman's voice is now 
  pleasantly polite and inviting of further speech.

Maat
Swathed from head to toe in layers of thick, protective cloth, the figure is 
  slender enough to give the impression of femininity. Cloth circles the head, 
  winding about in turban-esque fashion to only allow a pair of golden eyes to 
  be visible. Hands emerge from within the folds from time to time, displaying 
  a tasteful array of gems and exquisitely crafted jewelry on well-protected 
  flesh; the color of creamy coffee, the sun has only rarely kissed these 
  hands. All shape of the body lies hidden beneath the folds, revealing only a 
  hint of curves and ankles to tease the viewer's perception. Yet, the despite 
  the limited view of the person hidden by the cumbersome garments, the 
  precise carriage and sure movements provide clues toward an authoritative 
  person used to holding the reins of command.
Blue cloth wraps around a brass cap, covering it entirely except for the small 
  spike at the very pinnacle. Thick, opaque blue cloth hangs from the cap to 
  just above the shoulders on three sides like flat curtains, hiding all but 
  the face from view. The headdress seats itself low on the forehead while a 
  facial veil composed of the same material as the cloth hanging from the 
  sides of the helmet covers the nose and mouth. The end result is a face 
  where only the eyes and brows are visible. A long robe with voluminous 
  sleeves flows over the body, cinched at the waste by a sash of metallic 
  brass cloth. On the upper arms, the cloth is brought close to the body by a 
  spiral brass armband with a sphinx head at its tip. The robe splits over the 
  legs to reveal large, balloon-like pants that hide all shape. The pants 
  collapse downwards to cover the buskins like an Emperor penguin's belly 
  plopped over his egg. Yet, when the legs lift, it can be seen that the pants 
  are tightly wrapped about the ankles.

Timin
Best not to say 'handsome' or 'beautiful'; it would be a lie. 'Handsomish,' 
  and perhaps 'striking' are suitable. Dusky skin, a shade or so lighter than a 
  deep golden brown, smooth. The face wants to be angular, sharp, cut from a 
  harsh, rough stone, but it isn't. Smoother features: a soft edge on the jut 
  of a cheekbone, a rounded, yet somewhat protruding chin, with a touch of 
  jet-black stubble. Slim, on the way towards near-gaunt. Thin lips, an 
  ordinary nose. Azure eyes, nearly half-lidded, stare out. An unmarked face, 
  decorated only by the starburst tattoo around the right eye, and perhaps a 
  lock of the short-chopped black hair, trimmed neatly above.
It's a tallish figure, even with the hint of a slouch that effects it from 
  timeto time, and wiry. Lean muscle, most like, were it visible. It's not a 
  large man, necessarily. Clad in simple attire: a large tunic, deep charcoal 
  grey, is belted at the waist. Covered in a long, hooded grey affair, thrown 
  over the shoulder mainly against the weather and elements. A large black 
  belt, with dull brass buckle, leads into simple breeches. At the end, the 
  near-obligatory leather boots, carrying this one through a firm, assured 
  stride, brief and relaxed in its execution.

Safira nods, bowing slightly to the other woman as she retrieves the key from 
  her sari. She gives barely a glance at her escort before unlocking the door 
  and throwing open the shutters. "There are a few bolts I would like to keep 
  some fabric off of, but other than that all inventory stays with the shop."

The Other Halfbreed has a mouthful of biscuit when Faanshi approaches, still 
  bantering with that fat Rialto merchant, finally slamming down four soldi 
  for the trinket. Sweeping it away, only to turn at the greeting. 
  Chewchewchew...blink. Swallow. And the typical-Timin smile is curved with 
  the lightest tinge of apology. "Just Timin, imphada. If you believe the 
  Varati, I hardly warrant such a greeting." A clap of slim fingers brushes 
  breakfast-dust away. "What I can do for you..." Azure eyes narrowing gently. 
  He knows this, he knows th...ah. "Faanshi, correct?"

Not exactly one to argue honorifics, Faanshi only uncertainly bobs her head, 
  missing the gaze Timin turns to her, for she's not looking at his face. 
  "Yes, im... yes. H-have you seen Imphada Kiera...?"

Maat folds her arms over her chest, waiting for Safira to finish opening up 
  the stall. Once it is open, she looks at the bolts of cloth available, 
  reaching out a hand to touch various pieces. The eyes assess all the stall 
  contains then names a price for Safira that is 25% below market price. 
  "Since you wish to keep some pieces of cloth and since it is not new," the 
  woman explains.

Safira frowns and shakes her head. "It is only 6 months old. And I will 
  subtract the market value for whatever cloth I keep." She names a counter 
  price, 10% below the original.

Maat considers Safira's counteroffer then asks, "Have you paid city tax on the 
  stall? Are there any back taxes to consider?" She reaches a hand out to 
  touch a few of the bolts again.

Interesting topic Faanshi brings up. Especially with the current goings-on at 
  the Atesh-Gah. Timin's eyes pause, flick over the veils and silk, before the 
  gentle nod. "I have, yes. Quite often, in fact." His smile, for a change, 
  lacks the amused, arrogant air so *very* common to this particular 
  halfbreed. "She is well."

Spotted Dog travels along North, toward the Fairway.
Spotted Dog has left.

Safira nods to the first, then shakes her head to the second. "The taxes are 
  all up to date. The stall is completely paid for. It was built by the smith 
  Kovar, who owns the stall next door. There are no outstanding debts 
  whatsoever."

Maat folds her arms over her chest once more. She taps the nails of one hand 
  against the opposite upper arm. "Very well. I will accept the counteroffer." 
  She looks over at the Delphic Citadel. "I can have a contract drawn up by 
  the end of the day and brought to the Citadel with the money. I do not carry 
  that much on my person," she says to Safira.

Woodchuck rolls off of the tables he was laying on, burping softly. He stands 
  and gazes around lazily, before grabbing his now-empty mug and shuffling 
  north.
Woodchuck travels along North, toward the Fairway.
Woodchuck has left.

Safira nods. "Understandably not. It is a pleasure doing business with you, 
  Imphada. I will leave word at the infirmary where I may be found when your 
  servant comes. I will make a list before then of the materials I wish to 
  keep, and will try to get them cut before then."

The relief that flares out across Faanshi's eyes, that radiates from her 
  frame, is so palpable that it must have been quite the terror that had 
  previously gripped her in regards to Kiera's welfare. Her gaze shoots up, 
  long enough to peek hopefully at Timin's countenance, and she breathes out 
  hastily, "Oh, Mother of the Khalid... I was so frightened... i-is she in 
  Haven? I must find her..."

Maat inclines to Safira. "It has been a most profitable morning, Imphada. I am 
  pleased to have been blessed with the opportunity to meet you." She moves 
  away from the stall so that Safira might close it up.

Safira nods, bowing slightly in return. "And you, Imphada." Safira does indeed 
  close the stall up for now. Food first. She will return after she has eaten.

Another pause. Timin's mouth parts gently, before the furrow cross his brow. 
  "Is...is there a problem, Faanshi?" Approaching the shudra, ignoring the 
  calls of the merchant, pleading for more of Timin's business over his 
  shoulder. "I don't mean to pry, but...well, no. Kiera is not in Haven." This 
  is a delicate portion right here.

Maat moves away from Safira after another bow. "Till we meet again, Imphada. I 
  shall go and have the contract prepared." Turning, she walks briskly through 
  the Rialto and heads north.

Safira returns to the food vendors, eyeing her now cold soup with distaste. 
  Ah, well, at least it has been a profitable morning. She goes to get a fresh 
  bowl.

Maat travels along North, toward the Fairway.
Maat has left.

Ohhh dear. With that blue silken veil hiding half her face, it is not exactly 
  easy to tell if Faanshi goes pale. But one may well be able to conclude that 
  she does, for that can only be immense disappointment and more than a little 
  fear that well back up into her leaf-colored eyes, and with a pained and 
  crestfallen gaze like that, surely she must be pale. "I-is she... is she 
  very far away?" she asks at last, in tiny, broken tones.

Ohno. Can't have Faanshi going pale. "She is very close, yes. Not far at all." 
  Close enough to drop in on Timin with decent regularity. 'course, wings 
  help, but still. The halfbreed is stepping forward again, a bit closer. 
  Leaning down, trying to get his gaze under hers. Eye contact. And there's a 
  more healthy smile, creeping up. "Close enough for a visit, perhaps."

Gracious, one can only wonder how Faanshi manages to walk, the way she keeps 
  that gaze of hers riveted on her toes. As Timin crouches down a bit, she 
  can't help but cross his regard with her own, and it is with an obvious 
  nervousness that she lets this occur... though her attention swiftly 
  plummets again as soon as it does. "Did... did she go to look for Thomas?" 
  she blurts. "She just went away, and it has been so long since she left, 
  and..." Wait a minute. It occurs to the shudra that something in Timin's 
  information is alarming; that word 'visit', perhaps, implying that Kiera is 
  now living... somewhere else. She blinks, and then concludes, "Do... do you 
  think she will want to see me?" Something in _her_ tone, now, speaks of more 
  fear, and something in the way Faanshi's stance alters suggests she is 
  bracing herself beneath her sari for an impending blow.

Safira finishes her Nasi Goreng, quite contentedly it would seem. She stands 
  and returns to her stall, setting about getting the things she wants before 
  the sale is complete. She disappears into it.

See, there's the tricky part: Timin really doesn't know what Kiera's 
  intentions are. Although, she's been able to drag him out of the city more 
  and more now to visit, when he can find her. The forest is too damned big. 
  So, well, he's not arguing with her: Timin has long determined the futility 
  of trying to argue with Kiera. "I can ask, of course. I see no reason why 
  she wouldn't." Honestly? He has no idea. She's only spoken of you a few 
  times. Probably didn't want Timin getting Ideas.

Faanshi would not be so brave as to make such a request of anyone else -- but 
  this is Timin, and perhaps, she thinks to herself, perhaps he will not mind. 
  And so she peeks up again, something suspiciously haunted in her eyes, 
  something lonely. "The Amir-al told me to serve her," she explains 
  anxiously, "and... and if she is not here, then I thought that perhaps I-I 
  should find her..." For a moment, the shudra trails off, before regaining 
  enough courage to finish her sentence. "You will see her? You will ask if I 
  may come to her?"

Adonis enters from the eastern exit, narrowly missed by a clattering cart.
Adonis has arrived.
Adonis wanders in silently, arms wrapped about himself loosely, head tilted to 
  the side in distant thought.

He's much easier to approach than the Varati. Mainly 'cause, well, Timin 
  doesn't have half of their complexes. He makes up for that with a nice batch 
  of his own. "I will indeed. I'm sure she'll be happy to hear from you." So 
  Timin is assuming. He's got to find Kiera, first, in order to get her 
  information. Which has been daunting, at times.

Two halfbreeds walk into the Rialto... er. A well-known bawdy joke might begin 
  with that line, but there is nothing even remotely bawdy about the 
  sari-and-veil-clad figure in earnest conversation with the shopkeeper Timin. 
  Faanshi pulls in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself against an assault 
  of conflicting emotions, and finally managing to bob her head to Timin over 
  the slender golden hands that she lifts to her breast, pressed palm to palm. 
  "Thank you," she breathes, "thank you... so much... I have been so very 
  worried...!"

Adonis watches the pair a curious moment, leaning down once to scratch at 
  banaged legs carefully.

Adonis
At the nexus of manhood, Adonis is all limbs. Like a wirey colt, this thin 
  arms and legsare tight with narrow muscle. He is somewhat tall for a boy his 
  age, but not overly so. His face is square and boyishly handsome in a 
  bookish way, full of sharp angles. His nose is an upward point, chin long 
  and sharp, holding a shallow cleft. His mouth holds chiseled lips, that 
  cause dimples to appear when he smiles. His eyes are a perfect sky blue, and 
  crystal clear. And at the top of his head is a mane of curling golden locks, 
  kept short, but not neat, the hair often tumbling into those pure blue eyes. 
  He wears a simple toga, white with thick pale blue stripes. Along the hem is 
  stiched a golden vine pattern. It is held about his waist with a golden 
  tassled rope. Upon Adonis' feet are a pair of low leather sandals, painted 
  gold. His wings are long, too long, perhaps, and the perfect white of carved 
  marble.

Adonis takes in a deep breath then releases it slowly, turning his head look 
  look about the shops.

Uneri arrives right into the thick of the Rialto from the south.
Uneri has arrived.

Jasmine arrives right into the thick of the Rialto from the south.
Jasmine has arrived.

Adonis moves about the Rialto silently, his thin chicken legs wrapped in 
  bandages, wings twitching nervously anytime a merchant in a hurry zips by 
  too close. He hugs himself loosely, just appearing to be wandering.

Uneri moves to one of the market stalls that sells crafts and jewelry. 
  Removing a small pouch from her waist, she casually asks the merchant, 
  "Would you be in a mood for some jewels from the sea?"

"I wouldn't worry, Faanshi. Your mistress has been in good health and good 
  spirits." And she's not mad at Timin anymore. Amazing what happens when you 
  stop sleeping around on your mate. "I will deliver your message as soon as I 
  am able. Can I find you at the Atesh-Gah?"

Jasmine looks around as Uneri talks to the merchant. She sees Adonis all 
  bandaged up and frowns. She leaves Uneri's side approaching the Empyrean and 
  motioning toward Delphi with a questioning gaze.

Adonis blinks, catching Jasmine's beckon, then grimaces, clearing his throat 
  as he moves towards her, head bowed.

Faanshi seems to be regaining at least a bit of composure, as she pulls in a 
  breath and once more timidly bobs her head. "Yes," she whispers. "A-and 
  thank you again, im... Timin. If I could serve you somehow for this favor... 
  please let me know. I can sew, and I can clean..."

Uneri continues talking to the merchant who has indicated a mild interest. She 
  spills out a few items from the pouch for his perusal.

A soft chuckle, low and baritone, from the shopkeeping halfbreed. "I thank you 
  for the offer, Faanshi." He's already shaking his head. "But if I accept 
  anything from you other than your conversation, I do believe you mistress 
  will disembowel me." Such is love. And a wink, dropped from Timin, to the 
  whispering shudra. "A good morning to you, imphada." And Timin will turn, 
  heading down the streets leading out of the Rialto. More business to take 
  care of. To the docks.

Jasmine shakes her head. She's not beckoning, merely suggesting. She motions 
  to the bandages, then points to Delphi with a questioning gaze.

Timin has left.

Adonis shrugs loosely, kicking at a pebble.

Jasmine chews on her lip. Obviously he doesn't understand. She glances at her 
  companion, who is still in conversation with the merchant. Well, perhaps the 
  man can read. She picks up her slate and writes -Read?- on it, showing it to 
  Adonis.

Adonis lifts his head looking to the slate, then nods, then looks to the 
  woman. "C-can't you sp-p-peak?"

Jasmine smiles and shakes her head. She writes -Jasmine kan not spek. Jasmine 
  kan rit a litl. Y du u not go tu delfi? Tha kan fiks yor legs.- She shows 
  the slate.

Alone again. And... mission accomplished, she supposes. Feeling somewhat at a 
  loss, Faanshi glances after Timin as he takes his leave, and then turns in a 
  slow circle to survey the marketplace. She has learned what she sought to 
  learn, and therefore, should she not return to Atesh-Gah? There's only one 
  problem with that, though: the shudra halfbreed girl isn't at all certain 
  which way the citadel of the Varati lies from here. And so, she takes a few 
  faltering steps in the direction of the entrance of Delphi, trying to figure 
  out who in the increasing swirl of the crowds of this marketplace might be 
  someone who would deign to give her guidance.

Adonis bites his lower lip as he reads, brows pressing together, then shrugs, 
  looking to the ground again. "I dunno."

Uneri calmly speaks of the merits of the pearls that she has laid before the 
  merchant, "They are of good quality. If you like them, I can get more. Plus, 
  there is a supply of mother-of-pearl that can be had if you find need of 
  such supply."

As it happens, however, the first person that notices Faanshi is someone who 
  had noticed her earlier this day, when she'd first entered the marketplace. 
  An old mongrel beggar woman, hobbling about on legs that have been 
  mysteriously rheumatism-free since a chance grasping of the shudra's golden 
  hand, has come into range of Jasmine and Adonis. She does not read the words 
  on the slate, but the gestures between the two are clear enough, and she can 
  be heard to cackle gleefully, "Why bother t' go in there, laddie? Ask 
  _her_!" And she points a gnarled claw of a finger off across the 
  marketplace, where the scarlet-and-blue-clad Faanshi is considering whether 
  it would be proper to ask directions of one of the many merchants in sight.

Adonis turn at the old woman, withdrawing slightly, then lifts his head to 
  study Faanshi again, withdrawing further. "I.... I d-d-d-d.... d-d... don't 
  think s-so. I-I'm sure I'll b-b-b-b..." He huffs, "BE fine."

Jasmine shakes her head, furrowing her brow. She writes, -Dont u hrt? Tha kan 
  mak u fel betr. Tha wil not hrt u thar. Tha hav savd mi lif.- She looks at 
  Faanshi and smiles. -Mabe thu grl kan help tu.-

Adonis backs away. "I r-r-really d-don't-t want t-t-t-to..." The severity of 
  the boy's studder shows how scared out of his wits he is about now.

Uneri glances up to see how her friend, Jasmine is doing.

"Hah! She's a healer, she is! Chased the aches right out of me old bones with 
  one touch of 'er hand!" the old woman declares, and waggles a stern digit at 
  the apparently timid winged youth. Piercing dark eyes survey Adonis for a 
  moment, and then the beggar hobbles closer, bringing with her a reek of old 
  clothes and old mongrel. It's anybody's guess how long it's been since this 
  aged dame has had a bath. "Is it because she's not a Delphi healer, laddie? 
  Old Brindy, she's seen every healer that comes and goes outta there for 
  fifty years now! She's a new one! Hear that, girlie?" And the beggar raises 
  her aged voice, clearly calling out to Faanshi, now. "If ye hang round here 
  much longer, the Espers'll find ye!"

Adonis's eyes go wide and he waves his hands at the hag, "No, no, shhh!"

Uneri turns her eyes to the old woman. However, she doesn't say anything to 
  the statement, either hopeful or warning.

Jasmine shudders at the thought. Oh! The thought of someone stealing someone 
  else away to Delphi scares her. It always has. Well, she has tried to help 
  him. Has told him where to find help. If he does not wish to seek it who is 
  she to insist? She turns to look at Faanshi, concern in her eyes. Oh, if 
  only she could hear Jasmine wishing for the girl to escape Delphi's clutches.

And Faanshi, hearing someone shout the word 'healer' not very far away, 
  freezes. Her green gaze rivets itself on the mongrel beggar, and then in 
  palpable alarm, she breaks out into a run, fleeing towards the eastern edge 
  of the marketplace.

Old Brindy, however, seems undaunted. "I ken what I felt," she crows, and when 
  Adonis tries to silence her, the only effect he accomplishes is to make the 
  wrinkled old harridan pin him with a hopeful squint out from beneath her 
  straggly gray hair. "But if ye're not wantin' healin', then, laddie, perhaps 
  you can give Old Brindy a coin or two, hey?"

Adonis fumbles into his pockets quickly, "Fine, f-fine..." He draws out a 
  small handful of coins, holding them out to her with a mild grimace on his 
  face at the prospect she might just.. touch him. Bleaugh.

Cackling once again, the ... er... pungently fragrant old mongrel seizes up 
  the proffered monies, bobbing her head up and down and crooning at the young 
  Empyrean, "Ye're kindly to Old Brindy, winged sir! Thankee, thankee...! But 
  if ye want your legs to be fixed, better catch that lass before she gets 
  away!" And off she hobbles across the square.

Uneri gives her attention back to the merchant as she scoops up the pearls 
  back into the little bag. She says, "Then we will speak again when I have 
  more. Thank you for your time." She calls to the old woman, "Ma'am?"

Jasmine furrows her brow, still listening, then turns back toward Uneri, 
  stopping when Uneri calls to the old woman.

Getting away, at any rate, seems to be exactly what Faanshi has in mind. 
  Running pell-mell through the crowd, colliding with passing shoppers and 
  merchants and receiving more than one angry oath as she goes, the shudra 
  girl is making for all she's worth for the street leading off to the east.

The beggar, however, shoots her attention round in the direction of Uneri, her 
  haggard face alighting with something that might be interest. "A coin for 
  Old Brindy, m'lady?" she creels out hopefully.

Adonis shivers a moment, then glances again to Faanshi, hesitant. No, no, he 
  has read of healers, the bad sort who can rip you apart in ways so that you 
  can never be repaired.

Uneri walks in the direction of the old woman and extends a hand to the woman, 
  "Not a coin, but perhaps it is worth something. Blessings be with you." She 
  drops a single white pearl into the woman's hand.

Jasmine smiles as she watches Uneri. She, however, left her pouch of trading 
  shells home today, which of course includes her coins. Thus, she has nothing 
  to give.

In moments, Faanshi has vanished off eastward, the blue flutter of her sari 
  quickly disappearing into the crowd....

[And after Faanshi has gone...]

Adonis frowns further, then sits on a bench with a sigh.

Old Brindy bursts out into a cackle of delighted glee as the pearl 
  is dropped into her aged hands. Cradling it close to her bosom, she squints 
  at Uneri, hoping for more, and she hobbles closer to this unexpected 
  benefactor. "Such a _kind_ lady!" she croons, squinting out from behind her 
  bangs. "Perhaps she wants something from Old Brindy? Perhaps Old Brindy can 
  give her something, hey?"

Uneri
     The dark brown woman is clad in an orange sarong edged in a softer 
  yellow. She wears her shoulder length dark kelp-green hair pulled tightly 
  back. Ureni's face cannot be called beautiful for all of its exotic 
  coloring. It errs on the side of slenderness, so that her large, intense, 
  slanted eyes, the color of the deep-green sea before a storm, overpower that 
  face. However, her nose is small and proportional to that face so that the 
  overall impression is not ugly, merely strange. A scattering of scales on 
  her elbows and knees appear black against the deep shadowed brown of her 
  skin as do the gill slits on either side of her slender neck and the fins 
  along her forearms and calves. She wears a simple knife belted to her waist. 
  As often as not she is barefoot. There is a curious fluidity to her gait, it 
  is reminiscent of a dancer but a weary one.

Adonis grimaces at the old beggar, shivering again.

Uneri says, "Maybe, how far do you travel? Have you seen the one 
  they call Kuronbo around? I hear he is holed up at the Vareti place..."

Jasmine frowns a bit as talk turns to Kuronbo. She listens 
  quietly, eyes darting from Old Brindy to Uneri.

Giles enters the hustle and bustle of the Rialto from the northeast.
Giles has arrived.
Giles makes his way south, toward Seaside.
Giles has left.

The beggar mongrel secrets that pearl away, swift as a heartbeat, 
  into some secret pocket in the midst of the rags that clothe her form. And, 
  slyly, she peers up at Uneri. "Left the Atesh-Gah, he did," she chortles. 
  "After the Varati healed him with their magics! And Old Brindy hears he came 
  risin' up out of the water the night of the kite fights, too!"

The look that crosses Uneri's face can scarely be called a smile, 
  though that is the easiest description. She says, "Yes, left the Atesh-Gah 
  and returned to the mother ocean. Such is his way. I thank you for your 
  information, peace and blessings be with you, mother."

Jasmine blinks, turning to look at Uneri.

"Kind la-ady," the beggar croons, skillfully hiding the 
  disappointment at receiving no further pearls, though she does give Uneri a 
  few sharp looks up and down just to be sure. No further pearls forthcoming, 
  Brindy turns and hobbles off, cackling merrily as she goes. "Healed him, 
  they did. Varati magics! The lass was Varati, maybe they're losing track of 
  their healers, hey? Hah...!" Her voice is the last sign of her, as she 
  continues her trek across the marketplace in search of further... er... 
  benefactors.

[End log.]