"The Capacity to Be Cruel"

Log Date:
	2/6/00

Log Cast:
	Samein, Mairi, Starsong, Faanshi, Thenomain, Saleem, Aztlan, Jillin,
Gaelius, Rajhid (NPC Hound emitted by Aztlan), Sylvan Hound (NPC emitted 
by Aztlan), Atesh-Gah guards (NPCs emitted by Faanshi), Itzak, Madhuri

Log Intro:
	Tensions have erupted as of late between Faanshi and one of her 
teachers, the aged Arch-magus Samein -- tensions centered around Faanshi's
mistress Kiera, as well as Faanshi's position among the Varati people in
general. What began as an invitation from the old healer-shaper into Delphi
for tea has grown into a rift between Samein and Faanshi, for although
Faanshi would not normally disobey the wishes of a Varati elder, she has
had to refuse his invitation because Kiera asked her not to enter the Delphic
Citadel. And thus has Faanshi been challenged on the very core of her beliefs
by one of the last people she would have expected to issue her such a
challenge, and it has caused her much grief, for she has grown to look upon
Samein almost as an adoptive father. Pained by the argument they have had,
but nevertheless determined not to disobey the wishes of her mistress,
Faanshi has done her best to avoid Delphi as of late -- and Samein. But the
old Arch-magus has his own powerful feelings about what has happened between
himself and his young pupil, and little does Faanshi realize how the man is
about to choose to act upon them...

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================*
             Time of day:  Night (Duskside)
          Date on Aether:  Monday, December 26, 3905.
           Year on Earth:  1505 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  First Quarter
                  Season:  Winter
                 Weather:  Snow
             Temperature:  Freezing
*==========================================================================*

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:
Samein 
Starsong                
Mairi   
Obvious Exits:
Streets <N,S,E,W,NE,NW,SE,SW>  Delphic Citadel <DC>          

Head down, a black hood draped over his thin neck and the back of his head, 
  Samein slogs forth into the square. He is scowling, ill-tempered, and seems 
  generally morose, a condition no doubt amplified by the weather, if not 
  caused initially by such. Only the glinting symbols of his rank break the 
  monochrome of coarse black robes on white snow.

Mairi half-turns to look at the vest. She lifts it off it's shelf, "Of course 
  I do," she says with another give-me-money smile. She walks back to the 
  window of her stall, showing the vest to Starsong, "Does this interest you? 
  Or perhaps something like it?" She's discovered one secret of her 
  trade...never give the customer time to think it over. She sets her chin a 
  bit stubbornly, resolving to speak more quickly--pawn something off on this 
  girl before her escort gets back!

The dreamy look is gone, and Starsong's eyes are bright and focused as she 
  reaches out eagerly for the vest. "Oh! This edging is wonderful...and you've 
  gotten the color so deep! I wonder...could you do something like this, only 
  all in leather? And maybe a little narrower at the waist..." Her fingers are 
  starting to get a bit clumsy with the cold, and she fumbles a little with 
  the heavy cloth as she folds the edges back.

Samein's slogging forth continues, a slow and shuffling arc which leads him 
  along the more established trail through the snow: the path leading by the 
  merchant's booths. Momentary glances upwards keep him for the most part from 
  running into passers-by, and one of these glances finds Starsong, a target 
  for which he half-heartedly aims.

Rather far less monochrome than Samein with her vivid Clan Khalida colors of 
  garb, Faanshi nevertheless shares something of his temperament at the 
  moment. The maiden stands out rather more vividly in the torchlit 
  marketplace than does her big befurred canine companion, what with the snow 
  that has dusted Kosha's fur; still, though, the pair of them are difficult 
  to miss as they come up from the southeast into the square. Kosha is 
  trotting at a strong and healthy pace, but Faanshi's shoulders are bowed and 
  her head slumped against the bite of the wind.

Seeing as how Mairi is behind her stall, and the weather isn't exactly clear, 
  she can't see any others who may be coming in her direction. Besides, all 
  her attention is on Starsong. "I could most certainly do that for you. Would 
  this be for yourself? She places the vest on the ledge, fingering the 
  lacings briefly. Her eyes narrow in thought. At least let's hope it's 
  thought.

Starsong nods quickly. "Oh yes," she says, smile brightening even more. 
  "Although," she hesitates, a new thought coming to her, "I might want 
  something else as a present...but I'd have to think about exactly what. And 
  figure out the size," she adds, a hint of sheepishness entering her giggle 
  as she ducks her head out of the way of a gust of wind.

Samein pauses behind this spectacle of haggling, perhaps five feet off. The 
  black robe, gaunt visage, and wind-whipped hood leave him looking like some 
  version of the Grim Reaper, especially with a mood as foul as the weather. 
  He kicks briefly at a snowdrift, and then stands for a moment, squinting at 
  the rest of his surroundings. It won't be long before he notices Faanshi.

Thenomain comes from the sturdy smithy of Shimone and Thenomain
Thenomain has arrived.

And, perhaps as if to aid Samein in that noticing, Kosha might be heard to 
  bark from off across the marketplace, alerting a passing shivering Mongrel 
  to get out of the way of him and his young mistress. A bark from a hundred 
  pounds worth of dog is a resonant, well-carrying thing... and it carries 
  quite easily to the old Varati mage.

Thenomain breathes clouds of cold as he comes out of the cheerful yellow 
  warmpth of the smithy, looking here then there.

This day...well, night...is certainly more productive than Mairi expected. She 
  /expected/ for it to be a typical winter night...frowning and glaring, but 
  no sales. Now she has a Sylvan who might even buy /two/ things! Yay her. "As 
  it is only a vest, I am thinking that I can get away without measuring you," 
  she says to Starsong. "Would you like me to add lacings or buttons so you 
  can close it? Would you be paying for it yourself? And would you be picking 
  it up at my stall, or would I have to make a delivery?"

Samein had been poised, perhaps, to give some logically sound piece of advice 
  to the budding capitalist near him, but the barking has its effect. His head 
  twitches to the side, his face seeming to pale slightly more, if this is 
  possible. His scowl shifts into a pensive frown, and Samein reaches to sweep 
  the hood away from his head, peering at the morose half-breed across the 
  square. One foot hesitates, and then takes a single step forward.

The sudden sound draws Starsong's attention sharply to the side, her eyes 
  popping wide open in surprise at both sound and sight of the enormous dog. 
  Still, she recovers quickly, and blinks back towards the merchant with a 
  hasty shake of her head to clear it. "Hm? Oh - laces, definitely. And I can 
  come pick it up, I'm sure...oh, and could you put some of that blue trim on 
  it?" she adds, running a finger along the edge of the vest. "The 
  color...what dye do you use to get it so strong?" she asks impulsively, eyes 
  lifting to look at Mairi once more.

"Excuse me, imphada," Faanshi murmurs tonelessly to the Mongrel woman, just as 
  she skids to a halt on the slush-strewn cobblestones in time to avoid 
  colliding with the substantial bulk of Kosha. The shudra maiden bows deeply 
  to the gray-haired dame, getting her a strange look for the show of 
  deference, but then the Mongrel woman simply grunts an acknowledgement and 
  goes on her way.

Careful, deliberate steps carry one man step by step through the Rialto, with 
  hands deliberately in the pockets of a well-tailored jacket. The kind of 
  fabric and stitching would make an empyrian artisan look twice, the filgiree 
  on the sleeves threaded in a bright yellow or possibly gold -- though it is 
  too dark to tell -- and even the lapels suggest the same: Station, money. To 
  cause the expression to glance twice would be that the man, the owner, is a 
  /Mongrel/. This clearly must be one of the permenant merchant-artisans of 
  the Rialto, a place where, if properly nurtured with the proper amount of 
  clawing and scratching and working yourself into a state of permenant 
  gritiness, such as this Mongrel has done, anything can happen.

Thenomain, in fact, steps out to the dirt-and-cobbled streets of the Rialto, 
  grungy even with the scattering of pure white flakes, to seek out ... kaf.

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

Thenomain does find kaf in the way of a small, suspicious little Varati man 
  who seems as though he partakes his own product far too much. Why else would 
  any sane man -- though how many sane men are in the Rialto? -- be up at this 
  time of night?

Holding her snow-chilled hands up to her mouth to blow on them, Starsong turns 
  contentedly away from the merchant's stall and back towards the Rialto. Eyes 
  still drawn by the enormous bulk of the dog, she begins to drift out into 
  the crowd again, hands to mouth, as she peers out over them curiously.

The decision has been made. Samein's shuffling gait is different, and his 
  stride carries all the brisk efficiency of the authority he once held. He is 
  moving towards Faanshi now, his face fully open to the cold, his mouth a 
  tight, pensive line, his eyes... his eyes are different, confused. Limpid, 
  and almost... expressive now, as if seeking to convey some emotion but not 
  quite able.

Sometimes voices can be heard around the northern edge of the Rialto. "Yes, I 
  like my kaf that way."

"Come, Kosha," Faanshi murmurs to her hound once the Mongrel woman has 
  shuffled on about her business -- but the big dog catches sight of Samein 
  coming their way, and a small whurf that might be greeting and might be 
  warning rumbles up out of him. Seeing Kosha's attention divert itself, the 
  shudra girl glances in that direction... and goes rigid as stone at the 
  sight of the old mage drawing near.

Sometimes voices can be heard around the northern edge of the Rialto. 
  "Nonetheless, I want it au Emperyan."

An appropriate response for the old Shaper, and one which lets Samein continue 
  his brisk course, stopping perhaps three feet away. Conversational distance. 
  He stops short, there, glancing briefly towards the tips of his boots, then 
  up, then... he seems uncertain of what to say, suddenly. The businesslike 
  manner evaporates into a steady gaze with his newly expressive eyes, trying 
  to communicate some regret which has failed to make it past the confines of 
  his throat.

Before the little Sylvan girl can get more than a few steps away from the 
  cloth merchant's stall, a tall indigo-robed Sylvan woman descends upon her, 
  green eyes flashing as she calls sharply, "Starsong! I thought I told you to 
  come right over! You've been there far too long!"
Suddenly snapping to attention, Starsong freezes in place, gulping as her 
  escort swoops down. With little more than a sheepish, "Sorry, Adept," the 
  girl falls meekly into step beside the tall woman, and they fade into the 
  thin crwod once more
Starsong has left.

Saleem pads in from the north, walking slowly, idly. He seems to have been 
  recognized by some of the merchants for they keep a watchful eye on the man, 
  lest he drift into their stalls or somesuch as he has been wont to do.

If there is any art at which Faanshi can be called a mistress -- that is, 
  aside from the polishing of floors or the healing of ailing or injured 
  Mongrels or Varati -- it is the art of conveying emotions with the eyes, 
  despite the veil that conceals half her face and is additionally bolstered 
  for the time being with an extra layer of silk against the cold. Those eyes 
  of hers, Sylvan green against the comparatively dusky hue of her skin, go 
  wide at the uncharacteristic expression upon Samein's visage. Surprise is 
  there in her gaze, and fear, and the look of an innocent child who has for 
  some reason grown alarmed by a formerly trusted elder. But all she says is a 
  low, toneless, "Namaste', Imphadi Samein." And as gracefully as she ever 
  does, she clasps her hands at her breast and bows low over them.

Sometimes voices can be heard around the northern edge of the Rialto. "It's 
  good coin. Look, would it help you to think of me as a Varati from the far 
  west?."

Nighttime, but not quite total night; on the horizon dark purple shades 
  fortell the sun's slow approach. Near-invisible snow drifts down from the 
  heavens, illuminated by the soft glow of the many torches spread throughout 
  the Rialto, who even in the dead of winter, amid the ice, still finds itself 
  populated with the hardiest vendors who are arriving, staking their claim on 
  the best sites to sell their wares. From the darkened maw of the Delphic 
  Citadel, three Hounds emerge, pacing steadily amid their thickened armor.

Samein's voice is faintly hoarse, whether from the bitter cold of the day or 
  some other cause. He stands in that ineffectual silence for only a brief 
  moment longer, before finally speaking without preamble, "I wish to 
  apologize for bringing you hurt, Faanshi." His voice is clipped, the words 
  rough, and probably too low-spoken for most anyone else to hear.

Sometimes voices can be heard around the northern edge of the Rialto. "And you 
  don't look like an Agni-Haidar. That was one kaf au Empyrian. Do you know 
  how to make it or not?"

Saleem drifts around the market, actually taking in the wares of the stalls. 
  Oh goody, he's having a lucid day. Of course, depending on a number of 
  things, that might or might not be a good thing.

Thenomain, the richly dressed (but practically dressed - he might put someone 
  in mind of a minor statesman today) Mongrel man, is still having words with 
  a scrawny Varati vendor of cheap Rialto kaf. Why Thenomain does not simply 
  pass on to some other vendor is not immediately clear.

Kosha pauses, torn between greeting Samein as as Friend and shying back from 
  him, for in the back of his doggie memory, the beast recollects that stone 
  has a tendency to do alarming things around this particular two-legger. 
  Faanshi, as skittish as her hound if the look in her eyes is any indication, 
  shoots a fleeting glance up to Samein; apparently, she is not quite willing 
  yet to meet his strangely emotive regard. Very softly, with a hint of 
  unsteadiness in the words, she replies, "Th... thank you, Imphadi Samein. I 
  apologize that I have caused you disappointment as a teacher."

Our brave trio of Hounds, trudging through the ice and snow of the 
  still-darkened morning, continue through the various byways of the Rialto. 
  Aztlan, the skinnier one behind the two larger, more warrior-like Hounds 
  practically huddles deep within his thick kaftan, enjoying the warmth within 
  while still gazing about idly, searching out those who might better 
  themselves within the walls of Delphi.

Thenomain leans over the counter and says in a loud and definate voice, "Kaf. 
  Au Empyrian. Now."

Samein's lips purse, his eyes casting downwards again, towards those 
  snow-scuffed boots. He opens his mouth briefly as if to speak some 
  platitude, closes it once more, and then says only, "I am sorry as well, 
  Faanshi. It is a pity that you will not break some of these molds. I feel 
  that it obstructs you, more than you shall ever know. And it hurts me."

*crunch* *crunch* *crunch* *crunch* go the bootsteps of the Hounds, which are 
  subtley guided by an occasional mutter from the robed one in the rear. 
  Guided towards what, the question may be raised, but it doesn't take too 
  much intuition that it might involve the conversation occuring between the 
  Archmagus Samein and his...acquaintance.

Saleem plucks up a piece of glassware, holds it up to the light, studying it 
  curiously. He sets it down, picks up the next. He works his way through the 
  display methodically.

Thenomain does, in fact, get his kaf au Empyrian. He does in fact pay and he 
  does take it with him back to the smithy front, sparing a steely-eyed glare 
  to anyone who might decide he's worth picking on.

Behind her veil, Faanshi bites her lip at Samein's words; her eyes close, 
  sharply, concealing a prick of tears. Her hand instinctively seeks out the 
  ears of her dog, who whurfles softly and edges closer to her. "Imphadi 
  Samein," she breathes, "I... am Imphada Kiera's shudra, by the mercy of the 
  Most High himself. I... must be a worthy shudra... and I do not... 
  understand why I need to explain to you why... disobeying my imphada is to 
  go against the Amir-al!" The maiden's voice cracks, then, on a grief barely 
  held in check.

Thenomain might even kick a few pups or mongrel brats on the way. It's hard to 
  tell.

"I know this one," comes the soft, slightly muffled statement from Aztlan 
  before the trio of Hounds finally meets up with Samein. "This unaffiliated 
  healer is not giving you any trouble, I would presume?" The Atlantean's eyes 
  glide across the woman and her dog slowly as he moves to Samein's side.

The Mongrel smith's anger quickly fades, though as he sits there staring into 
  the small mug he has grasped within his hands. He makes no move to drink it, 
  in fact, as he divines from its inky, dark depths.

Samein's voice shifts suddenly, perhaps goaded by the realization of the 
  Hounds behind him. He straightens himself slightly, and his words are stern, 
  meticulously delivered. "Imphada Kiera is an oxymoron. She is shudra 
  herself, and has no place holding property within Varati society under the 
  Old Laws. Do you now realize that even within that ridiculous system, your 
  current position is flawed?" The old Varati's lips twitch faintly in 
  distaste. "That one... would have been made into something more sane and 
  managed, save for Khalid Atar's desire to spite me." He glances back, his 
  words clipped, "Trouble? It depends on one's definition. Welcome, Aztlan."

Oh dear. Faanshi blinks over her veil at the arrival of Aztlan -- memory 
  shooting through her back to the last time she'd seen this man, while she 
  was healing an ailing Mongrel boy in the street. Gentle though her nature 
  is, still a tiny glimmer of irritation flickers through her at the 
  Atlantean's clear misunderstanding of her conversation with her teacher -- 
  but not quite enough irritation for her to do more than murmur demurely,
  "I wish to cause no trouble, Imphadi Samein. P-please excuse me, I must 
  go..." And, with soft, anxious movements, she tugs at the collar worn by her 
  dog.

The Atlantean Hound's eyes pan from Faanshi to Samein. Like some sort of 
  Spanish Inquisitor, he turns his gaze, glassy from its perceiving the world 
  through the aetherial plane, back to The Condemned. "As you say, Archmagus. 
  The first and last time I encountered her, she was able to save herself from 
  Delphic inquest by explaining her position to the...how do you say, 
  Ameer-Al."

Faanshi goes very still, warning crying a small alarm in the back of her mind, 
  and she experiences a sudden urge to break out running across the 
  marketplace, back to the relative if lonely safety of Atesh-Gah. "I am the 
  shudra of Kiera Khalida," she murmurs as levelly as she possibly can, "the 
  Favored of Khalid Atar. Namaste', Imphadi..." This, to Aztlan, to whom she 
  bows. And to Samein, another bow, though she does not meet the old mage's 
  eyes. "Namaste', Imphadi Samein. I must go home now." Yes, she said that 
  already. But something tells her it is worth repeating.

~Aetherially, the tendrils which emanate from Aztlan's core, usually seen by 
  those with the ability swaying languidly are now tense, poised as if 
  tentacles ready to lash out and consume their prey.~

"Wait." Samein's eyes have turned cold, back to their old stern 
  inexpressiveness. It is at this point that Kosha begins to experience 
  something which presumably the dog is not accustomed: inconsistency of 
  matter. The stone below the dogs feet has turned sludgy, liquid, and the dog 
  begins to sink, as if into mud. Samein's voice is almost feather-soft in 
  inquiry, "You told an agent of Delphi that you were directly in the employ 
  of Khalid Atar?"

Saleem pauses mid examination of some craft, swings his head about as if 
  looking for something. Like hearing the call of his name, but not knowing 
  the direction of it.

A startled whine escapes the dog, and Kosha starts trying to scramble sideways 
  to get away from the disturbing behavior of the earth beneath his feet. The 
  noise of distress from her four-footed guardian diverts some of Faanshi's 
  attention -- and does nothing to ease the feeling of alarm building within 
  her. But she answers earnestly, taking refuge in the simple truth of what 
  she'd uttered Aztlan, months ago, "I told him before, Imphadi Samein, that 
  my service belongs to the Khalid Atar and to Kiera Khalida, his Favored... 
  Kosha? Kosha, be at peace..." Worriedly, she turns to try to catch and 
  soothe the dog.

The dog is already caught. This particular grey mud allows only sinking in, 
  not scrambling out, for it remains hard stone. Soon paws are entombed, and 
  to Aztlan's eyes the Archmagus' aura would seem almost alarmingly erratic, 
  flickering and intuitively used. Samein gives a slow sigh, his tone 
  seemingly resigned to some awful decision. "Aztlan. What is your course of 
  action here, as my Hound?" The use of the posessive is a rather interesting 
  departure, and seems to suggest a particular answer.

A little squeak of dismay escapes Faanshi, now, as she realizes what has 
  happened to Kosha's paws. The dog begins to howl his agitation, and the 
  maiden shoots a wide-eyed and now distinctly frightened glance up to Samein, 
  even as she kneels by the beast in an attempt to comfort him, heedles of the 
  possibility that her knees might suffer the same fate as canine feet. 
  "Imphadi Samein," she cries, "w-what are you doing? Let Kosha go!"

Saleem puts the piece of wood down, and begins to walk towards the large dog 
  who seems to be entombed in the stone of the ground. He looks from it, to 
  the participants standing around the dumb animal.

Eyes the color of kelp but not devoid of emotion eye Faanshi and the dog which 
  struggles against the ground for several long moments. "The imphada, by my 
  perception is relatively powerful with her magical abilities." Another 
  moment passes, as the Atlantean's head tilts slightly, as if focusing for a 
  more detailed examination. "And yet the control she wields over her magic 
  is...stable. However, I am not one to make such a judgement; the law states 
  that only reeves may exert an immediate judgement. However I will report 
  this upon my return to the Bastion, and she will be summoned before a 
  tribunal and further examined before it." Aztlan's words are said 
  matter-of-factly.

"Very well. Given her intrinsic instability as a half-breed, and the gravitas 
  of the Healer's code, I shall mandate that she be confined within a vacant 
  Novice's room under an Adept's supervision and training. Until such an 
  asessment can be made, of course." Samein's eyes shift, and he merely 
  watches the dog now, who has reached the equivilent of his knees in solid 
  stone, and whose strugglings are becoming more and more muted in their 
  hopelessness. Something has happened, like the flicking of a switch. 
  Whatever sad regret was behind those eyes a moment ago is gone, far away.

"WHAT?!" Very seldom does anything move Faanshi to exclaim anything with 
  force. This, however, is an exception. The syllable bursts out of the maiden 
  in a high-pitched explosion of shock, and for an instant Faanshi is torn 
  between trying to hang onto her trapped dog and surging to her feet. "_No!_ 
  Imphadi Samein, w-w-what -- you cannot _do_ this! I am a shudra of Clan 
  Khalida -- my imphada told me not to go into Delphi! Let Kosha go! Let him 
  go!" Acute fear is visible in her eyes now, and more than a little horror at 
  this apparent betrayal from her elder teacher. Tears well up in those big 
  Sylvan-green eyes, streaking down to dampen her veil.

Thenomain gets up and yawns. Well, nothing much for watching the Rialto, 
  today. He decides on getting some sleep inside instead of out, where at 
  least it's warm.
Thenomain goes into Shimone and Thenomain's Smithy, a sturdy building at the 
  edge of the Rialto.
Thenomain has left.

Saleem stands, watching this, first to the shudra, then to the man who made 
  the judgement, then to the Hound. He's rather curious, of course, though, 
  about what is in question.

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

The dog, growing increasingly frantic even as his limbs sink deeper into the 
  stone and therefore more and more immobile, keeps howling.

Despite the cries of Faanshi, Aztlan turns calmly, horribly calmly, and 
  states: "that is not the process of the law, Archmagus. Only a Reeve, a 
  Commander, the Archon, or a member of the Estrella may make such a 
  judgement. The woman will be required by the law of Haven to appear before a 
  tribunal where she /will/ be judged, but incarceration within the Citadel is 
  not a stipulation of that law. Were she...consumed...then that may be a 
  possible course of action, though that is not this situation. If she is so 
  closely aligned with the Amir-Al or His Favored, then it will be simple 
  enough to track her."

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

Jillin wanders her way through the crowds, aiming for the food-tents. Without 
  her usual grin, except for a rather weak one that she offers over the 
  fishcakes, as she hands her money over.

There is a brief, terribly stern silence which comes over the elder ArchMagus, 
  his lips pursed into a grim line. He looks up at last, gazing at the 
  rightfully indignant Faanshi as he speaks. The dog does not waver in its 
  slow, painfully slow descent, up to its hairy chest now. "Interesting. A 
  pity I did not take the opportunity to re-join the Estrella when it was so 
  easily offered to me." He turns his head slightly to the side, gazing 
  forcefully at one of the Hounds accompanying Aztlan. "You. You will escort 
  this Lady to the assigned location, gently and respectfully. You will do so 
  on the count of three, or you shall be entombed in stone, like... like a 
  dog, as it were. One."

Never mind the chilling calm sobriety with which the two men are discussing 
  her magic and her position. Faanshi's gentle heart rips at the visible 
  terror of her hound, and she begins to sob frenetically, leaping to her feet 
  to try to hurl herself at the old Varati mage. "Let him _go_!" she wails, 
  and one slender golden hand surges up. Making a fist. Throwing a punch to 
  try to strike the man. A number of Mongrels familiar with this normally
  demure maiden would probably be proud.

Gaelius comes trotting into the Rialto, green eyes simply going wide at the 
  scene of a dog being entombed. And the sight of the shudra girl wailing, her 
  composure totally lost. "By the Lahrs!" comes his baritone shout, carrying 
  with all the bardic training that he has across the Rialto, trot turning 
  into a quick military run.

Gaelius
Long golden hair, reminding one of sunshine, is touched with streaks of silver 
  by the Sun's lover, the Moon, almost tenderly. Normally, it would be in a 
  loose braid, with a few unruly strands escaping, but today it is contained 
  in a tight, and precise braid that falls down to the small of his back, that 
  must have taken him time to do. Equally as intense are his laughing green 
  eyes, framed by slight tinges of crow'd feet that doesn't do anything to 
  detract from his demenaour, but rather adds to it. His smile is what defines 
  his lips, dimpling his cheeks, wide and generous. There's the faint tracery 
  of old scars, but there is one long cut, on his cheek, still with stitches. 
  If it weren't for the laughing eyes, and the smile, he would've been rather 
  patrician.
This Empyrean is rather resplendent in his warrior's armor, each segment of 
  his scaled corium burnished, and well oiled. Scarlet red is seen under his 
  armor, a rich cloth, worn on formal occassions. Greaves and gauntlets of 
  polished steel protects his legs and hands. Like all Empyreans, he is 
  slender, but has the build and power of the rigorous training as a 
  Praetorian, and a hard life. Draped over one hip is the scabbard that holds 
  his favored weapon, the gladius commonly used by the Praetorians. His wings 
  spread out behind him, rather large and white, but with the sure motions and 
  grace of someone used to having them encumber him. A sharp contrast and 
  exception to his definitely marital and Praetorian appearance is the lute 
  slung over his back.

Saleem reaches out and catches the shudra's arm, "Clan Khalida or not, 
  imphada. You do not hit men, nor elders." He eyes Samein expectantly. He had 
  been standing somewhat nearby, probably not noticed, but guess he will be 
  now, won't he?

"Doing such, Archmagus," Aztlan's voice lifts softly, "would be a direct 
  violation of Haven's laws against-" and then there's the issue of Faanshi's 
  fist...which is quickly intercepted, as is the rest of the Healer's body, by 
  a burly Varati Hound, (do you /honestly/ think Az would wander around alone 
  or with like-bodied Hounds?) who does an effective job at keeping the Healer 
  from striking the Archmagus. The situation once again under control, Aztlan 
  continues: "Haven's laws against magical assault. Stand down, 
  Archmagus....please." And that please is /not/ subservient to Samein, but a 
  stern, yet polite warning.

This was certainly not something which Samein expected, and thusly the punch, 
  however hasty and ill-aimed, lands, striking the frail old man and causing 
  him to stir from his position, staring wide-eyed at Faanshi. His staggering 
  recoil is at last pulled short, but the dog remains where he is, no longer 
  sinking, but now nearly to his neck in solid stone. Samein's reaction is 
  thus, even if he is not actually struck -- the motion of those intercepting 
  her is enough. He takes another step back, and remarks dryly, "I have not 
  heard your man's answer, Hound." He glances towards the soldier once more, 
  as the dog gives what might be its last pathetic whimper.

And there's an Empyrean warrior coming closer, and closer. He's quite pissed, 
  his hand going to his gladius, but not drawing it, as he keeps his anger in 
  check. "By the Lahrs!" comes Gaelius' baritone voice again, enough to 
  scatter anyone's brains momentarily, steps taking him next to Samein.

Boden steps from the gates of Delphi and into the Rialto.
Boden has arrived.
Boden walks westward toward Main and Border.
Boden has left.

Jillin stares at the crowd, eyes widening. At the sight of the dog she turns, 
  and works her way back out, as quickly as she can.
Jillin makes her way south, toward Seaside.
Jillin has left.

From his position holding one of Faanshi's arms, the large Varati Hound, 
  though finding himself at the end of a threat by a an old, skinny archmagus, 
  holds his temper. "Archmagus, the Esper speaks true. It is not your place to 
  serve judgement in this matter."

Just as effectively immobilized as Kosha by the pair of Varati men, Faanshi 
  struggles once in the dual grasp of Saleem and the Hound on her opposite 
  side. Then, she stares once at Samein, with a searing, tear-filled gaze... 
  and then she slumps between the two men, weeping with an unmistakably broken 
  heart.

Oh. Direct Physical Danger. Samein is late to notice, and the elder swivels to 
  one side, peering rather dubiously at the irate Empyrean. Out of place and 
  out of time, the former Avatarati seems rather weary, distant... removed 
  from this situation. The base soldier's answer resonates, and he glances 
  downwards briefly, remarking in a very quiet voice, "Never forget this, 
  Faanshi. Never forget our mortal capacity to be cruel."

The third Hound, a quick-footed Sylvan, is quick to lift a warning hand 
  palm-forward to the charging Ex-Guardsman. "Hold, friend-Empyrean, and 
  ensure that your voice is the only weapon which is unsheathed in this 
  matter," he says sternly.

Saleem releases his grip as soon as he determines that Varati Hound has quite 
  firm enough control and probably should be handling it in any case. "Your 
  pardon, imphadi." He steps away and stands aside to watch the outcome.

A low growl from the warrior-bard, as he points at the dog encased in stone 
  with his free hand. One gets the distinct impression that in one smooth 
  motion, the gladius can be drawn and stuck somewhere vital, before anyone 
  can blink. Gaelius' voice is soft, but strong, "I suggest that you free the 
  dog, imphadi. It is not within your place, or right, to take away the 
  shudra's beloved dog." eyes narrow at the third Hound, almost challenging.

...And, of course, bringing such a crowd of viewers as any sort of violence in 
  the Rialto encourages, with this comes the approach of other triages of 
  Hounds, alerted to the situation in the marketplace by various means...

Samein's gaze raises only slightly, peering down at the long-suffering dog's 
  head poking out of the stone. The stone shifts again, ratcheting its 
  position around the dog's neck down another inch. He remarks mildly, "I 
  would say, emotive Bard, that this dog's life is worth more than mine own, 
  in sheer emotional weight. It fascinates me. I have never before held quite 
  this keen a desire to destroy something." And that said, there is a sudden, 
  swift shift, the cobbletones disgorging the beast in one swift motion, 
  thrusting it forth.

The two captives, hound and maiden, appear now to have broken under the 
  implacable forms of restraint placed upon them -- though, granted, the burly 
  Varati's steely grip upon Faanshi accords her far more freedom of movement 
  than the stone that has nearly swallowed poor Kosha. The canine's 
  terror-stricken hounds have slacked off into piteous whines... but then, the 
  ground surges, and poor Kosha is suddenly freer than his young mistress. The 
  hound tumbles tail over ears till he figures out how to right himself, and 
  then he struggles to his feet. Canine instincts waver for a moment -- there 
  are many Threats here, and Kosha's hackles are visibly up, his ears laid 
  back against his head. But the ground nearly swallowing him has frightened 
  the creature badly, and so his next movement is to try to hurl himself at 
  Faanshi, desperate to seek the comfort of her soothing hands.

Aztlan turns his gaze upon Samein as well, his voice softening from the 
  sterness of 'Servant of the Law' to 'Brother of the Delphic Order' as he 
  says: "Archmagus, Rajhid will acompany you to the Citadel immediately." And 
  near-instantaneously, the Varati's grip loosens on the Healer, the large 
  warrior escorting the black-clad Samein towards the Citadel. Likewise, 
  Silentstep (the Sylvan Hound) seems unphased by the former Praetor's rough 
  speech. Amid all this, Aztlan adopts a near-glare as he peers at those 
  around. "The law of Haven has been enforced; all will bear witness. We of 
  the Delphic Order, though the creator's of the city's laws, are subject to 
  its constraints as any else are..." and after this, he turns his eyes to 
  Faanshi, "and the law, as many may perceive it, is not blind nor deaf. It 
  sees pain and hears the cries of those in need." A beat, and the 
  proclamation. "You will be summoned before a Tribunal within the week; any 
  attempt to evade it will result in a delcaration of Rogue status upon your 
  head, in which case you will be tracked, hunted down, and arrested, and most 
  likely Branded if not Stripped of your Magical Affinity via a Tapping 
  Enclave." Again, attention is called to the mage's eyes, which are not void 
  of compassion, but hold a stern warning within their Atlantean depths.

Aztlan
        An image of marine fragility, beauty, and grace, the Atlantean before 
  you stands approximately six feet tall, his age somewhere in his early 
  twenties. Shimmering in the light is his skin, what of it you can see. It's 
  much like a dolphin's, blue-grey toning along the back side of his body (the 
  dorsal, if you will), and it gently fades into a sandy white along his 
  stomach. Eyes the color of kelp look out at the world, reading depth and 
  intent in every action. His hair, if seen, falls to his shoulders, its color 
  a piercing red. Usually it can be seen pulled into a loose ponytail or 
  hanging free, when he's not wearing a helm.
        His movements are lithe and graceful, having spent enough time on the 
  land to lose his Atlantean awkwardness. His hands are lightly webbed, each 
  finger slender. He walks with confidence, but not arrogance. His gaze can at 
  once be cold and distant or warm and compassionate.
        His wardrobe is an interesting mixture of his status as a Hound, and 
  as an adept of the Delphic Order. A thick upsidedown triangular vest-type 
  piece of bleached armor adorns his chest and torso over a an indigo 
  undertunic. A pair of bracers molded to accomodate for his forearm fins are 
  clasped around his wrists. On the tops of each hand on the bracers is a blue 
  jewel. On the tops of his chest armor are carved representations of his 
  magical affinities: on one shoulder two pips of quartz, and on the other 
  three pips of opal, an Acolyte-level Mystic, and an Adept-level Sibyl. 
  Beneath his chestplate, he wears a cream-colored kaftan. It has been altered 
  so that it appears like a robe but still grants him the freedom required for 
  agile movement. On the chestplate, a relief of Cerberus has been etched.
         On his belt he carries a dagger and a sheathed shortsword, but he 
  does not in general seem to be a fighter, or if he is, it is not based in 
  the physical realms of swords and shields, but in the aetherial with 
  metaphor and raw power.

The maiden in sari and veils shoots a gaze almost as terror-stricken as that 
  of her dog up at Aztlan -- and she visibly flinches back from his words. The 
  moment she is released from the grasp of the Varati who holds her, her only 
  motion is to collapse to her knees by her frantic dog. She wraps her arms 
  immediately about his furry neck, buries her face against his fur, and sobs.

Saleem isn't sure what started this whole thing out, but decides, based on 
  what he's heard, for the sake of his own talent that it may be time to be 
  leaving. And he'll find the shudra and ask later the particulars. After all, 
  if they're picking up non-Delphi trained mages, he'll be a lot more damned 
  careful about the things he does. He pulls his absentminded-ness across his 
  awareness as if it were a cloak and become rapt in something -over there-.

And Gaelius' hand relaxes from the hilt of his gladius, not so ready to draw 
  it in an eyeblink anymore. Boots and greaves clang, even as he moves to 
  hover over the shudra lass, and her dog.

Eyes close slowly, the lids softly descending over eyes that have seen more 
  tonight than Aztlan hoped he wouldn't see in several months of service. The 
  Atlantean Hound gives a sharp, yet long exhalation that doesn't relax the 
  tense shoulder muscles as he had hoped it might. "Silentstep," he says, eyes 
  still closed. Indeed they need not be open for him to know where his 
  companion stands, "return to the Bastion and begin filing your recollection 
  of the incident. I'll hand deliver it all once it's put together to the 
  Commander myself." The Sylvan nods and pivots, heading off towards the 
  Bastion. The mage, now left alone, reopens his eyes and glances back to the 
  Citadel, wondering if he /really/ wants to be there for the next few hours.

"Yes, imphadi." The words come out of Faanshi dully in response to Aztlan's 
  stern pronouncements, toneless, broken, the voice of a servant girl who has 
  just been beaten by her masters -- or might as well have been. That tiny, 
  ragged voice might well have come from somewhere or someone else, for all 
  the strength in it. She keeps crying even as she mumbles out these words, 
  her mind retreated into the old familiar cadences of a shudra's deference, 
  unable to let her speak in any other fashion. "Do I have your leave to 
  depart, imphadi?"

Kosha, in the meantime, tries his level best to climb into Faanshi's arms and 
  never mind that he weighs a good hundred pounds. In reflexive desperation he 
  squirms around until his muzzle is securely nestled under her chin, one 
  front paw looped over her shoulder, the other planted in her lap.

Regardless of Aztlan's answer, or not, regardless of Faanshi's words, 
  regardless of anything, the Empyrean warrior-bard stoops down to sweep the 
  shudra girl into his arms, almost protectively cradling her against him, 
  just about ready to march away with her somewhere, away from this scene, and 
  the gaggle of people watching.

Aztlan lifts his hand dismissively to Faanshi. "Yes, imphada, you may depart. 
  Heed my words carefully; and I apologize for the actions of the Archmagus. 
  He clearly overstepped his bounds." After this, Aztlan glances about, 
  curious as to...something...he noticed while perceiving aetherially at an 
  earlier time. His gaze sweeps over to...Saleem.

Gaelius's intervenion wins him two immediate responses -- the panicked yelp of 
  the dog as Faanshi is lifted away from him, and the equally panicked gasp of 
  the maiden as she is separated from the touch of her beloved pet. 
  Uncomprehending green eyes register momentarily upon Gaelius, and in 
  unthinking reaction, the halfbreed girl tries to squirm out of his arms. 
  "D-dominus, let me go... my... my dog..." As Kosha whines, thrusting forward 
  and growing more agitated, as if to leap up and knock Gaelius over to better 
  reach his mistress, the maiden manages to break at least a little out of her 
  dull torpor.

A whistle at the dog, "Follow." from Gaelius, even as his mighty wings begin 
  to beat, a leap into the air carrying him, and the shudra girl in his arms 
  into the air, a dizzying, spiraling ascent.

Kosha howls all over again, as the halfbreed healer is abruptly carried off 
  and far beyond the easy range of his ability to leap. As Gaelius wings into 
  the sky the creature breaks into a frantic run, trying to follow his 
  disappearing mistress -- and soon enough, both the two in the air and the 
  dog on the ground are gone.

[And shortly...]

Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#430RJM$)
     If indeed the Hebrew folk of lost Earth are correct in their legends, 
  then this must be the legendary garden from which mankind was expelled. The 
  flat expanse of the great courtyard of Atesh-Gah is covered in the most 
  luxurious grass of bright emerald green, broken only by a cobblestone path 
  for riding and walking to prevent wear upon the lawn. Rich copses of 
  carefully tended wood grow by the walls, lovingly groomed flower gardens 
  acting as a barrier of colour before the rising trees. 
     Perhaps even more relaxing than the sight of the yard are the sensations 
  of it. The lovely scents of flower and tree; honey-suckle, apple blossom, 
  peach, and jasmine; combine with the soft cushion of green grass to provide 
  a sense of peace and harmony that defies the looming sand-hued walls of 
  unbreakable stone. Not even the shadowed maw of the main gate, nor the 
  blocky, unimpressive presence of the impenetrable main keep can overshadow 
  the beauty of this place. Indeed, the stark contrast serves only to enhance 
  it. 
Obvious exits:
Temple <T>  Fountain <F>  Out <O>  Entrance Foyer <EF>  Stables <S>

Gaelius passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to 
  Atesh-Gah, and joins you in the courtyard.
Gaelius has arrived.
The Empyrean bard's arms are strong and warm against you, even as he spirals 
  upwards in the air. And for a moment, you can see all of Haven below you, 
  before he plumments from the air, towards Atesh Gah, wings folded back.

Faanshi was terrified before -- and now, as she feels herself hauled into the 
  air with nothing between her and the ground but a pair of strong arms, a 
  strangled little croak bursts out of her. The shudra girl reflexively buries 
  her tear-wet face against the muscled shoulder near it, too emotionally 
  devastated to take any wonder or joy in the experience of flight. Perhaps 
  fortunately for the heartbroken girl, the flight is a short one. And in 
  moments, cries from the sentries at the front gates of the Varati citadel 
  suggest that the white-winged figure descending toward them has been spotted.

The folded back wings suddenly spread out buffetting his descent from the 
  skies. The Varati should know that the Empyrean warrior-bard intends to land 
  in the courtyard, rather than lead a host of Empyreal Praetorians down onto 
  them, as he has done before twenty years ago. And finally, he's on the 
  ground, cradling Faanshi against him.

Perhaps it's because she's been removed from harm's way... perhaps it's 
  because she's been separated, however briefly, from her dog... and perhaps 
  it's simply because at least for the time being, she has a shoulder to cry 
  on and a pair of arms holding her. Whatever the reason, Faanshi sobs upon 
  the Empyrean's shoulder, her slender form gone limp with exhaustion and 
  distress. She seems barely cognizant of once more regaining contact with the 
  earth.

Even as the bard wings down into the courtyard, a challenge from the nearest 
  of the sentries -- a young Varati in Clan Khalida colors -- calls out a 
  challenge, bidding Gaelius to remain where he is in the name of Khalid Atar, 
  Hawk of Heaven and Son of the Dawn. Footsteps and voices from the 
  surrounding torchlit shadows suggest that more than one sentry may be on his 
  way down to meet the Empyrean who's displayed the effrontery to land in the 
  territory of the Children of Fire.

Wings rustle behind Gaelius, folding behind him into a more compact package, 
  even as he continues to hold Faanshi against him, simply awaiting the 
  guards. They may recognize him, as one that's amused the Amir-al, pleased 
  the Queen-Maharani with a gift. That bold Empyrean.

The first of the guardsmen to arrive upon the scene is not the same one that 
  called challenge; instead, a stern-faced older man with silver streaking his 
  black hair and the seams of experience and age lining his dark visage comes 
  striding into the courtyard. He is clad in the colors of Clan Khalida, and 
  his black eyes sweep a stern gaze over the armed and armored Son of the Air, 
  as well as the crying girl he's cradling. If he recognizes the bold bard 
  who'd requested the favor of writing songs about the God-King, his stoic 
  expression gives no sign of it. "State your business, Empyrean," he 
  brusquely requests, just shy of an outright order.

"I am here to return the Favored One of the Favored One of the Amir-al." 
  Gaelius' voice turning lyrical, and almost eloquent. "I am here, to deliver 
  her away from the hands that would take her healing talents and skills away 
  from the Hawk of Heaven, robbing her for themselves. I am here, to deliver 
  word that the Delphic Order has the effrontery to impose their laws on the 
  Amir-al's people, to rob Him of greatly needed magic. I am here, to deliver 
  a stricken girl into the hands of those that love and care for her. I am 
  here to deliver news to the Amir-al, and his most FAvored One."

The rolling, resonant pronouncement of the warrior-bard catches the weathered 
  guardsman clearly by surprise. Black eyes narrow in shocked wrath at these 
  words of Delphi going against the God-King -- and then in speculation as he 
  strides up to face the Empyrean man and to inspect the burden of the 
  near-unconscious girl he is cradling in his arms. "This one; she is the 
  shudra Faanshi? The halfbreed, who serves Kiera Khalida?"

At the sound of the man's voice, Faanshi stirs fretfully, peering up from 
  Gaelius' shoulder in furtive desperation. Then, in a tiny whisper, she 
  pleads of him, "P-please put me down, dominus..."

"Aye, that she is. Faanshi, the halfbreed, healer and servant of Kiera 
  Khalida, by decree of the Amir-al." Gaelius replies equally as resonantly, 
  still holding the shudra girl, despite her weak protestations. He doesn't 
  think she's quite ready to be back on her feet.

The guard sweeps another speculative gaze over the halfbreed girl, and it may 
  be easily assumed that if there are any within Atesh-Gah who love and care 
  for the maiden, this man doesn't count as one of them. But while some might 
  show disgust at the sight of a halfbreed -- and while many Varati might show 
  disgust at the sight of an Empyrean holding one -- this man is apparently as 
  stone-faced and stoic as his people are generally reputed to be. He turns, 
  then, barking off an order to an underling lingering discreetly some 
  distance behind him, bidding him bring a shudra. All he says is a short, 
  "Yield the girl up to us, Empyrean, and she will be duly returned to her 
  mistress. This news of Delphi, however, is another matter. You say that the 
  Order attempted to take this girl?"

"Aye, the Delphic Order did." a nod from Gaelius, affirming this fact. "And 
  the Hounds have ordered thus:" and Gaelius pauses, to cast Aztlan's words 
  with uncanny cadence, and imitation, "'You will be summoned before a 
  Tribunal within the week; any attempt to evade it will result in a 
  delcaration of Rogue status upon your head, in which case you will be 
  tracked, hunted down, and arrested, and most likely Branded if not Stripped 
  of your Magical Affinity via a Tapping Enclave.'" looking a bit reluctant to 
  yield up the girl just yet.

The guard might be stone-faced -- but a hint of why his race is called the 
  Children of Fire blazes across his ebon eyes as Gaelius quotes the 
  pronouncement made upon the young shudra. "This must be reported to the 
  Amir-al at once," the man rumbles, his dusky features growing even harder in 
  palpable displeasure. As he speaks, his underling returns, bringing with him 
  a flustered-seeming figure in sari and veils of the colors of the Khalida 
  Clan; all that can be determined about the woman is apparent age, for the 
  eyes that flash a glance to Faanshi are wrinkled about the edges. "In the 
  meantime, if you please, dominus, the girl."

A stiff, yet graceful nod from Gaelius, as he gently hands over Faanshi to the 
  Khalida woman. "Very well." a slight faint smile on his face, even as he 
  bows. "And now, I must be going to attend to a few things." his wings 
  readying itself to launch the warrior-bard back into the air.

Itzak enters from the carefully tended bushes which conceal the sight of a 
  gurgling fountain.
Itzak has arrived.

Madhuri enters from the carefully tended bushes which conceal the sight of a 
  gurgling fountain.
Madhuri has arrived.

Her hand is trembling. So is the rest of her. For a few moments Faanshi 
  considers trying to press her fingers against Gaelius, to try to push 
  herself up and out of his grasp... but then another little mewling sob 
  sounds somewhere in the back of her throat, and her eyes press closed in a 
  surge of renewed hopelessness. _Why,_ a small corner of her mind wonders, 
  _should I try? Samein is right, I have no will, he is a man, he does not care 
  what I want, I am nothing, I..._ But even as her mind rolls back and forth 
  through this despondent litany, she feels herself passed carefully into the 
  arms of the old shudra woman. Confusion, exhaustion, and the ache of her 
  heart combine to send her into another fit of quiet weeping... and even as 
  the head guardsman barks out several more orders, for someone to take over 
  his post and someone else to bring him parchment and pen to write an 
  immediate report, the halfbreed girl is ushered away into the hall.

Itzak comes from beyond the fountain, climbing up the stairs from the lower 
  levels of Atesh-Gah, following the veiled Madhuri.
Itzak's head snaps up as the change in guard is called, and he watches as the 
  guards exchange appropriately. He then corners the now-off-duty captain, and 
  with a hand on his elbow, asks him what has happened.

And with a mighty beat of large white wings, the Empyrean warrior-bard in the 
  midst of all the commotion bids his farewell to Faanshi, "Ave, imphada!" 
  gleaming silver and burnished armor rising up into the air.

With a whispered murmur of sandals against stone, Madhuri emerges into the 
  light of the courtyard, momentarily raising one hand to shield her eyes from 
  the overwhelming light. As her eyes adjust, the guard is called and her hand 
  lowers, the sharpness of her eyes moving around the courtyard. With emotion 
  nearly impossible to judge through the veil, her body draws itself up, and 
  her eyes lift from Faanshi to the winged one ascending from the courtyard.

In crisp, short sentences, the captain turns to salute the guardsman who 
  serves the Imam, and relays the tale that the Empyrean bard known as 
  Gaelius, the man who has been recently spotted within Atesh-Gah seeking the 
  permission of the God-King to write songs of Him, has brought the halfbreed 
  shudra servant of Kiera Khalida back to Atesh-Gah, following an apparent 
  summoning of the girl by the Delphic Order to a tribunal. "I am informed, 
  imphadi," he concludes, "that the Order has threatened her with branding and 
  tapping, should she fail to appear."

The occupants of the courtyard spiraling ascent of a fully armored, and armed 
  Empyrean Praetorian, normally feared, when descending from the skies, 
  leading a host of winged warriors. But, he's flying away, unscathed.

Itzak nods, disinterested with the plight of the girl and more concerned with 
  why an Empyrean was in Atesh-Gah without an invitation. He dismisses the man 
  to write down the same, and continues to escort Madhuri across the grounds 
  to the temple.

Gaelius leaps into the air and takes flight, disappearing into the sky above 
  Haven.
Gaelius has left.

Dismissed, the captain strides swiftly off to file this report -- and in 
  moments, like the Empyrean, like the shudra girl, he is gone.

[End log.]