"A Warlord's Stern Regard"

Log Date:
	4/25/00

Log Cast:
	Faanshi, Sumai

Log Intro:
	Shudra and naraki are humble personages within the walls of Atesh-Gah
and without -- and when one is a halfbreed shudra, one is a particularly
humble personage in the eyes of the Children of Fire, even if (like Faanshi)
one also happens to be a mage. Faanshi has grown long accustomed to her betters
among the Varati considering her invisible unless they might find her 
specifically useful, and truth be told she is content with this. To be noticed
by her betters tends to mean that she is reminded again and again of the
taint within her blood, and the impossibility that the people of her beloved
heart-mother Ulima will ever look upon her with anything like respect. To be
noticed _especially_ by the proud Warlords, the leaders of the Clans of the
Children of Fire, is to risk especial censure and disdain -- and a heavy hand
of punishment if she should rouse a Warlord's ire.
	But despite Faanshi's own personal desires, the ways of the gods are
mysterious indeed. And so are the ways of Warlords, who may well bestir 
themselves to question a humble halfbreed shudra if they find her useful...

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================*
             Time of day:  Morning
          Date on Aether:  Tuesday, May 17, 3906.
           Year on Earth:  1506 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  First Quarter
                  Season:  Spring
                 Weather:  Clear Skies
             Temperature:  Warm
*==========================================================================*

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. 
Contents:
Kosha
Sumai
Obvious exits:
Temple <T>  Fountain <F>  Out <O>  Entrance Foyer <EF>  Stables <S>

It's spring -- and therefore, as far as Kosha is concerned, it's as good an 
  excuse as any to romp. Let his mistress spend her morning saying her 
  prayers; the big hound has contented himself with chasing birds and 
  butterflies not far from the shrine of Ushas which lies nestled in its 
  private glade, and even as Faanshi makes her quiet way out into the main 
  courtyard, her loyal hound companion is chasing after a startled sparrow 
  with all the vigor of any Varati warrior. The shudra maiden casts a swift 
  tentative look about the courtyard as she steps into view, just to make 
  certain that Kosha isn't about to collide with anyone -- and thusly assured, 
  she approaches a bench where she might sit and attend to the sewing she's 
  carrying with her in her basket.

A warm day is a day to most Varati's liking, coming from warm lands. This is 
  particularly true of the Messala Warlord whose appearance near the exit of 
  the main building is announced by a rasping of steel on steel; a sound that 
  accompanies heavily armored men who oft move in such covering. Followed by 
  no less than five men in full armor, though lighter and simpler than his 
  own, they are nearly as large in general. Sumai's olive-brown eyes begin a 
  slow trek across the yard from behind the guarded visor until it alights up 
  the sole figure upon the bench. She appears a fairly typical Varati woman 
  upon initial inspection from a distance, one of the vaisya. Soon heavy boots 
  and a scraping of steel against its brother is heard near you as the huge 
  Warlord makes his way towards you. His armor glint and glitters brilliantly 
  in the morning's sunlight, making his easily visible if not heard.

Sumai
        This man is large by most any person's estimation as he towers over a 
  room with broad shoulders and a stone-hard face. A deep complexion like that 
  of bloody mud is the hue of his face and skin, as though holding a manner of 
  fire inside his own body has deepened its coloring. Brown-olive eyes watch 
  the world around him with a hard, yet thoughtful, sense to them as they 
  shield the man's thoughts from being physically read. His face has chiseled, 
  sharp features which make him appear very planar and level while bearing 
  several small scars from battles. Dark hair hangs from his head, long and 
  somewhat coarse as it is braided into a sole, thick cord hanging near to the 
  middle of his back. Braided into the long, rope-like cord are silver bands 
  and tiny, metallic ribbons that seem to be a part of his black hair. At the 
  moment the rope-like hair wraps around his throat, beneath the coif of his 
  mail. His torso is expansive, like that of a great statue carved of some 
  long dead warrior in remembrance of his worth. Powerful arms are corded with 
  muscle and sinew from years of physically demanding training as well as 
  being lined with sometimes criss-crossing scar flesh.
        Currently the Warlord is clad in a light suit of intricately crafted, 
  and slightly intimidating, armor. The helm of this suit is a single, solid 
  plate that seems to fit firmly to the shape of his skull, etched with 
  swirling silver curls all around it rolls obscurely around his head. The 
  silver-blue plate slopes down into a hawk-like nose piece that hooks sharply 
  just about his lips. Hanging from plate of the helm is a silver coif of 
  loosely linked chain mail that shields his throat and leaves only his chin 
  and lips exposed. The left arm and leg are plated in similar silver-blue 
  enameling of metallic plates. Each seperate plate that sculpt to the 
  different portions of his arm and leg while appearing to writh and contort 
  like living steel. Wrapped around his tree-trunk waist is a plate of silver, 
  which is nearly a foot wide and straps around his lower back with leather 
  ties. At the belt's center is a navy blue enameling of the rune denoting 
  wrath and just vengeance, hanging from its center in a linen clothe colored 
  deep, navy blue with silver fringes. A thick, silver bracer runs the length 
  of his right wrist like a tiny shield, etched upon its surface in navy 
  enamel is a rune empowering it with accuracy. On his right shin is a 
  silver-plated guard which covers the fore of lower leg and his dark, leather 
  boots. The remainder of his body is covered in a silver, loose-knit chain 
  mail rings which provide him with some armoring.
        A large weapon sling rests upon his back is made of supple, though 
  heavily blacked, leather. Held in the sling, when not held by his side, is 
  his huge war-axe. Made of a single, expertly crafted, piece of steel the 
  black axe is etched with runes invoking the power of righteousness and 
  strength in silvered emblems. The haft is wrapped with a tough, 
  serpent-hide, leather so that its owner may grip it easily.

Faanshi is not at all unaccustomed to the sound of armored men, after two 
  years dwelling within Atesh-Gah and seventeen before that at the mercy of 
  the Warlord of Sarazen. Thus, her attention is easily seized by the approach 
  of the figure garbed in metal -- and her head comes up just enough to 
  determine that, indeed, you are on a course towards her. While her dog dives 
  snout-first into a bush in hot pursuit of that bird he'd been chasing, the 
  girl quickly rises. Her head dips again as she does; her gaze, leaf-green, 
  is only fleetingly visible before she fastens it humbly upon the 
  cobblestones and begins to kneel just before the bench, slightly to its 
  side. She knows a Warlord when she sees one, and she isn't about to obstruct 
  your path if you choose to sit.

Standing nearby to you, just a few feet away, his size is in evidence, nearly 
  a full foot taller than yourself and probably weighing easily twice what you 
  would even without the armor on. Just about the only flesh you can see are 
  his lips and the area surrounding his eyes, for the whole second or two you 
  look at him. "Namaste, girl." Sumai vast voice speaks to you, as though he 
  draws it from the earth at his feet and summons its force into his chest. 
  The baritone is full and rich, his volume no louder than what a normal 
  person make speak but the strength of his voice makes it appear so much the 
  more so. His armor glinting in the light like a small, metallic weapon had 
  just spiked out of the ground.

"Namaste, imphadi," is the girl's soft reply, uttered without her head raising 
  up. She's a small one, this maiden -- or at least, small by the reckoning of 
  the Children of Fire. And she kneels there upon the cobblestones, her basket 
  now held in slim sungolden hands within her lap; its contents might be noted 
  as rolls of bright cloth, a soft stuffed ball into which are stuck a number 
  of needles, spools of thread, and other fripperies of women's mending work. 
  "How may I serve?"

Several long moments pass as Sumai watches you, noting your tiny size which 
  barely passes for a Varati woman's. As to yet, he likely doesn't know that 
  you are anything other than a vaisya. "What is your name and position?" 
  comes the question from the large, stoic Warlord whose olive-brown eyes 
  latch upon you with a ferocity of a guard dog. Though not aggressive or even 
  sounding aggressive in his tone of voice, seeming more lacking in emotion or 
  care. His metal clad body remains, more or less, still and much like his 
  voice; lacking a hint as to what the huge man desires or needs from you or 
  anyone around him.

Certainly, from her kneeling position, she cannot be mistaken for kshatri -- 
  and it's probably a safe wager that she is not vaisya. This is confirmed as 
  she promptly and earnestly replies, "Faanshi, imphadi, a shudra of--" For a 
  fraction of an instant, she pauses. Her recent change in mistresses is still 
  fairly new and strange in her mind, and although Kiera Khalida was nothing 
  at which to sneeze by way of mistresses, it still catches this shudra girl 
  oddly to realize that she now serves the Maharani herself. But she does not 
  let herself wallow in surprise for very long; a Warlord has asked her a 
  question, and thus she will answer it. "--Clan Khalida, and of the Imphada 
  Maharani." Rustlings in the bushes and a strange surprised squeak hint that 
  Kosha has captured his prey, but the girl doesn't let herself be distracted 
  by the noises of her dog's hunting. She remains poised exactly as she is.

Curious. Quite like she is a half breed or a mongrel who has more Varati than 
  anything. A pity such refuse and cast off need exist at all, but for race 
  traitors and fools who mate outside their kind. "Very good, girl. You may 
  stand. I have questions which I would ask of you and I do not wish them 
  spoken to the ground, as well this may take some time so I do not wish you 
  to be overly uncomfortable as I speak. You attention will be mine alone." 
  Sumai commands to you, his olive-brown eyes looking to the bushes for a 
  moment while he considers the sound of an animal at hunt. A dog; an animal 
  prefered primarily by Sylvans, being the only race to live in temperate 
  environments and live on the ground regularly. "You have a great mistress, 
  you must be proud."

A dog, indeed -- and a big, handsome one. Kosha emerges from the bush with 
  that fat sparrow caught smartly in his teeth, looking inordinately pleased 
  with himself. He shakes himself thoroughly, and then promptly flops himself 
  down in a warm patch of sun where he can both eat and bask at the same time. 
  However, Faanshi does not look Kosha's way. Setting her basket down at her 
  feet, she murmurs "Yes, imphadi" and rises. Her hands, now empty, clasp 
  themselves before her; her head remains bowed, her gaze respectfully 
  lowered. Now that she is on her feet it becomes easier to note her 
  uncommonly pale complexion, though she is still darker than most of the 
  candala who dwell within Haven. For a moment she pauses again, then ventures 
  in that gentle voice of hers, "I am most grateful that I have been honored 
  with the opportunity to serve her."

Again, the large man is silent for several long moments before he speaks in a 
  voice that expplicitly enunciates each word almost as though to drill those 
  around him with it. A soldier's habit, you may guess. "Very well, shudra. I 
  would question you as to your knowledge of this city and some of its 
  inhabitants." the vast voice emanates from some fathomless cavern within the 
  glittering Messala Warlord as he speaks to you. FOlding arms as thick as the 
  trunk of a moderately sized tree across his chest as he looks down at the 
  top of your head, "I would know of a woman named Cynara. She is a healer of 
  sorts, I am told." he comments to you. Truly it is a question, phrased in 
  such that it is a statement that commands you to respond to his inquisition.

Startlement is the maiden's first reaction, and though she still holds her 
  attentive, humble posture, still it can be seen momentarily seizing control 
  of her slender frame. She does not know your name -- but it is obvious 
  enough to her, who has been near to three Warlords in the course of her 
  young life, what rank you must hold. The colors of your armor confirm your 
  Clan; shy she may be, but she has furtively studied the colors and symbols 
  of the Clans whose warriors may visit Atesh-Gah at any time. That someone of 
  your stature would wish to question _her_ about Haven is the first surprise 
  -- and the name you utter is the second. There sounds a soft intake of 
  breath behind her azure veil, and then she replies, "I... am only generally 
  aware of the Domina Cynara, imphadi; I have had but one meeting with her, 
  and those in Haven and in Bordertown that I see regularly do not speak much 
  to me of her." Hmm. The shudra, it seems, is at least capable of framing a 
  cogent reply, though her tones are still shy and soft. "Do you wish me to 
  describe that meeting?"

Sumai is fully aware of exactly how intelligent some of the shudra and naraki 
  are. Most can't read or write or understand proper tactics or fight, but 
  they learn how to survive right damn fast when its all said and done. Being 
  the little men on the food chain means they have developed a measure of 
  self-presering instinct so they aren't decapitated by irrate Warlords. "Ah, 
  very good then shudra. Please, describe the encounter and the woman 's 
  appearance." he says as though it were a conversational piece, though in 
  truith it is as much a command as if he told one of his soldiers 'Kill that 
  Empyrean'. Still, his voice is impassive and his olive-brown eyes observant.

Faanshi's lashes are thick and dark, and she bats not a one of them; nor does 
  she even nod or otherwise change her stance as she gives her earnest report. 
  "It was during a speech given by Thomas Murako of Avalon in the Rialto, 
  imphadi. There was a riot... and the Provost was hurt. I attempted to reach 
  him and heal him, but the Domina Cynara was also present. She permitted me 
  to assist her and afterwards offered to teach me and gave me her name." 
  Teachers. Faanshi doesn't let herself dwell overlong on the notion of 
  teachers of healing -- nor is there more than the barest of indrawn breaths 
  suggesting a bit of unease behind her concealing veil, between that last 
  sentence and her next. "She looked... as I am given to understand most 
  Empyreans do... her hair was golden, her wings white."

"Intriguing, shudra." he makes a strange statement, interested for the first 
  time since he began speaking to you. His eyes flicker a hotter color, if one 
  can indeed use that to describe eye color, as they look down on you and then 
  over to your munching dog. His own guardsmen make no open moves, but they 
  eye everything about them in a suspicious and cautious manner. Including 
  your pet, though its highly unlikely than any normal dog's teeth would 
  pierce the finely crafted steel of their Warlord's armor. "Were there any 
  notable marks or garments that she seemed to wear? Do the people talk of any 
  of her places of rest or places she frequents?" he asks you in a deep, 
  though relatively quiet voice.

Certainly, Kosha seems interested in penetrating nothing with his array of 
  fangs save fat sparrow flesh. Which he does quite contentedly, till there's 
  nothing left of his catch except bones which he happily crunches. It doesn't 
  take him very long, and once he's inhaled his morning snack he hops up again 
  to find a place where he might bury the remains. Faanshi flicks a tiny, 
  furtive glance in the dog's direction -- she's tried time and again to keep 
  Kosha from burying his prey in the courtyard, but she is not in a position 
  at the moment to intercept him. "I was unable to observe her raiment at the 
  time, imphadi," she murmurs in apologetic tones. She doesn't bother to 
  explain that this was because she'd drained herself healing the Provost at 
  the time -- and that Cynara hadn't bothered to stay in the area for very 
  long. "And I... do not in truth recollect seeing it myself... but it is said 
  within Bordertown that she has a brand upon her brow."

His large head nods slowly as he considers your words, the mail about his neck 
  and face clinking just a little bit as he moves his head about. "Intriguing. 
  A mark on her brow? She is a healer? She must have harmed someone unjustly 
  to receive such a mark." the blue and silver clad battleship comments to you 
  in a thoughtful and absent manner before he shrugs huge, girthful shoulders 
  upwards towards the treetops. "You may summon your animal, if you wish, but 
  make sure it remains calm. I'm not one for small mammals, I prefer a good 
  wyvern myself." he says with a half-grin upon his face, as though he were 
  amused by something. "I wouldn't want him destroying any of the Amir-al's 
  gardens."

A hundred-pound dog is not small -- but then again, size is all a matter of 
  perspective, especially when one is comparing a dog to a wyvern. If Faanshi 
  is amused in turn it is not nearly so obvious, with her features hidden 
  behind blue silk, but she allows herself to relax ever so slightly at this 
  Warlord's apparent good humor. "Thank you," she says gratefully, and then 
  turns her sari-wreathed head. From behind her veil sounds a three-note 
  whistle that immediately catches the hound's attention; with an inquisitive 
  whurf, Kosha re-emerges from the foliage, sans what's left of the bird. Tail 
  a-wag, remnants of his snack still visible upon his muzzle, the hound comes 
  trotting over to the shudra maiden. Alert brown eyes survey the armored man 
  as he approaches, but still, this creature is apparently well-trained enough 
  that he doesn't do more than whurf in general query as he sits down at his 
  haunches at Faanshi's feet. Faanshi, in the meantime, appends, "I... do not 
  know much more than that, imphadi. There are... people in Haven she leads, 
  but if any to whom I have ministered serve her, they have not told me."

He looks at the dog, considerably smaller than himself in size and weight and 
  probably power even though animals tend to have more densely packed muscles. 
  Olive eyes remain disinterested and unafraid, you seem to have it well 
  heeled and in the worst of cases he could kill it if it attacked. "Very 
  well. I will tell you now that if I discover you have told me any falsehoods 
  or with held any valuable information, I will notify your owner and have you 
  punished. I do not think you have, however, and for your aid know that I am 
  grateful. You are a credit to your Mistress and a statement of what shudra 
  everywhere ought be." his deep baritone voice comments to you in a manner of 
  appreciation.

Kosha now waits patiently for Faanshi's attention, taking a moment to lick his 
  muzzle as he does for the last few tastes of the sparrow's blood; though he 
  waits, too, his attention wavers back towards the bushes, a hungry gleam in 
  his eye. One sparrow is not enough to sate a dog his size, after all. And 
  his mistress, flushing pinkly behind her veil yet otherwise unmoved -- at 
  least if one judges by the stance of her slender, even dainty frame -- 
  murmurs, "It is my duty and honor to serve, imphadi."

[To be, perhaps, continued... but for now, end log.]