"The Storm and the Dove"

Log Date:
	10/15/00

Log Cast:
	Khalid, Faanshi

Log Intro:
	Once again, as it so often does, her life has turned upside down.
	With the news she has received from the young clairvoyant girl
Delilah that her beloved Lyre has apparently perished, the young healer 
Faanshi has fallen into the grip of despairing grief. Enough so that her
teacher FallingStar has bidden her stay for the time being in her shop
rather than within Atesh-Gah, invoking her authority as not only Faanshi's
teacher, not only as a more powerful healer, but also as the closest thing
to a mother the halfbreed maiden has got. Faanshi has spent several days now 
under her acarya's care, kept as active as FallingStar can make her labelling 
bottles of herbs, watching over the Sylvan's boisterous little nephew, and 
periodically attending to the needs of her dog Kosha. 
	Faanshi has not only lost her beloved bard, though. She's also
lost a mistress, with the abrupt departure of Thalia Tritonides Khalida
from Atesh-Gah. Rumors have roiled around the Varati citadel that the God-
King has divorced the Maharani... and although the healer has hardly been
in a position to have this confirmed, Thalia's absence has been all too
obvious. Moreover, it's left the shudra without someone to whom she can 
bring the Sylvan BroadShoulders, after having spent many weeks looking for
the hidden city Sylvans by Thalia's own command.
	Without Thalia, Faanshi has no one else but Khalid Atar himself to
ask about the as of yet unresolved issue of what the unidentified Sylvans
did to disrupt the ritual of Invoking the Flame. She has had to ask for an
audience with the Amir-al, and has been informed that the audience will be
granted. And dead Mongrel beloved or no, the audience does come. At a late
hour, in the form of an Agni-Haidar sent to roust the girl from her teacher's
shop, and never mind the fragile state of the shudra in mourning. Such
things are irrelevant, when the God-King orders one into His presence....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Night (Duskside) 
          Date on Aether:  Saturday, March 29, 3907. 
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waxing Gibbous 
                  Season:  Early Spring 
                 Weather:  Clouds 
             Temperature:  Bracing 
*==========================================================================*

Throne Room - Atesh-Gah - Haven
      This massive rectangular area seem to rise forever; white polished 
  marble catching the light that enters through the spacious windows on either 
  side of the room and reflecting it throughout to dispel all shadow or gloom. 
  The walls themselves are a work of art; the top half being the 
  aforementioned stone, broken at mid-point by a border lovingly carved into 
  an intricate design. Housed within the near foot-wide space is a pattern of 
  interwoven bands of gold. The bottom half of the wall is sky-blue marble 
  shot through with graceful swirls of cloudy white, once again giving way to 
  pale marble for the few inches nearest the floor. Sturdy seats of 
  golden-varnished wood, covered in cushions and upholstery of shimmering 
  royal blue, are placed in orderly fashion at the sides of the room. Those 
  who await the God-King's attention may rest as he attends matters of state. 
      Dwarfing all is the raised dais of solid marble, upon which looms two 
  thrones: one for the God-King and the other for his Queen. A testimony to 
  the art and craft of the Varati people, the thrones practically shimmer in 
  the resplendent light of the chamber; the God-King's is upholstered in royal 
  blue while the Queen's is a vibrant red, both solidly constructed of the 
  same marble that forms the room. A delicate filigree of gold offsets the 
  satiny-hued cloth. Almost like an afterthought, to the right of the dias is 
  a wooden throne, similar in design and upholstered in blue.
     There are two doorways in the room; the first, at the furthest end of the 
  hall from the throne, leads to the foyer. The second is to the left of the 
  dais. 
Contents:
Khalid
Obvious Exits:
Entrance Foyer <EF>  Royal Wing <RW> 

The darkness of the night beyond is reflected in the throne room of the Varati 
  God and King. Knots of candle flames flicker diligently in the corners, 
  casting their light into the ominous blackness, but failing to illume much 
  of anythinhg save a pair of thrones. In one of these sits Khalid Atar, dark 
  and brooding. Arms languish upon the throne's rests, his broad hands 
  spilling over their edges. In one such hand rests the infamous whip of 
  Khalid Atar. It snakes from the stone throne as if a viper, slithering now 
  and then when aggravated by the God's restless arm.

It takes a bit longer than one might have otherwise expected to bring the 
  shudra girl Faanshi to the throne room -- for the shudra girl Faanshi has 
  not been inside Atesh-Gah in days. In the grip of mourning, the maiden had 
  almost forgotten that she'd requested an audience with the Son of the 
  Dawn... almost. She certainly hadn't expected the summons to come at this 
  hour. And thus, the halfbreed arrives in a flustered state, as composed of 
  appearance as she could have hoped to make herself. If there was anything 
  that could have shocked her out of the malaise of grief into which she had 
  fallen, this summons was it. Still, though, Faanshi's movements are 
  strangely tentative, even for her, as she hastens into the God-King's 
  presence. As she submits to the inspection of the Agni-Haidar who permit her 
  into the throne room... and as she comes forward to prostrate herself, 
  sungolden forehead pressed to delicate hands upon the floor.

A soft scraping sound invades the peace of the room. It is the whip of the 
  Varati God, slithering along the stone of the throne room floor, restless. 
  The false serpent's Master watches Faanshi approach and humble herself 
  before him. He does nothing. Eyes of blood regard the shudra from a face 
  lost to shadow. Again the viperous whip slithers, eager for something to 
  strike at. Without warning, the voice of the God cleaves the air as if a 
  thunderbolt, "Why do you disturb my solace, shudra woman?"

Sweet Ushas. Faanshi does not consider herself the wisest of women, but even 
  she can draw the obvious conclusion when the voice of the Hawk of Heaven so 
  palpably screams with restlessness and ferocity. _He is angry,_ a tiny voice 
  in the back of her mind whimpers, immediately followed by _I can't do 
  this...!_ For a fraction of an instant, the beginnings of a protest glimmer 
  in the privacy of her thoughts -- but it barely touches her conscious mind, 
  and the point that she did not choose the hour of her summons assuredly does 
  not make it into her spoken words. "I..." That single syllable comes out of 
  her in a breathless croak, before Faanshi steels herself as much as her 
  gentle nature can allow and forces herself to speak up. Difficult it is, 
  indeed, to speak clearly when your face is pressed to the floor, but the 
  halfbreed maiden sees no other choice. She achieves volume, but at the price 
  that her inner strain and beginnings of terror in the face of an apparently 
  angry God-King take her voice up in pitch. "I-I beg your forgiveness, Most 
  High... I did not..." Did not have the slightest idea that you would call 
  her to your presence so late, but again, she's not about to say so. Instead, 
  she rasps out as clearly as she can, "I do not mean to disturb you... but 
  I-I hoped to seek your holy will since the Maha..." Er. Does she really want 
  to mention Thalia by name, under the circumstances? "Since I... no longer 
  have a mistress."

A disgruntled groan is rippled from the God's throat at the mention of his 
  wife. Features severe and cruel threaten to grow more so, twisted by 
  displeasure. The ruthless voice speaks again, assailing the fragile figure 
  of the shudra, "Rise shudra woman, and speak. Tell me of the matter that 
  requires my guidance..." The leather serpent lashes across the floor, 
  suddenly disturbed, "..and do not be frivolous with your words."

She cannot see his face, not when she is prostrated before him, but Faanshi's 
  ears remain -- or so it seems to her -- preternaturally sensitive to the 
  tones of the divine being before her. Given leave to do so, she quickly 
  pulls herself upright, though there is a certain unsteadiness in her 
  movements that isn't entirely based upon the personal strain she has 
  undergone as of late. Fragile indeed is her figure, smaller and slimmer than 
  a Varati woman's should be. But at least she keeps her gaze properly 
  lowered; indeed, with panic roiling through her system now, Faanshi can do 
  nothing else with her eyes. Unthinkingly, her arms wrap themselves about her 
  scarlet-saried form, her only bulwark against the wide expanse of shadow 
  that surrounds her. "Yes, M-Most High," she blurts out. Her volume is 
  improved by her altered position, but even so, her uttered words are as the 
  cry of a small, lost dove against the storm that is the voice of Khalid 
  Atar. She is terrified. That is obvious. But somehow the girl manages even 
  in her panic to pull forth a summary of her purpose, with a minimum of 
  stammering. "D-during the days of fighting, there was a ritual. Invoking the 
  Flame, f-for your Holy Father. There were Sylvans that disrupted it... in 
  masks... b-blowing dust upon those who came to the ritual a-and making them 
  have visions. A-and act strangely. I-I was bidden to f-find the Sylvans o-or 
  ones w-who could speak with..." Er. Let's not mention Thalia again, shall 
  we? "O-or ones who led them who c-could negotiate r-reparations for what was 
  done." She pauses to swallow hard, feeling the pace of her words picking up 
  and needing to take a moment to struggle to get her voice under control. 
  "I-I found elders of the c-city Sylvans but I..." Don't have a mistress to 
  bring them to, anymore. "And I-I need to know... if I-I-I am to bring them 
  to you, Most High, o-or tell them not to come...!"

The fingers of the God curl around the stone armrest, gripping it as if to 
  crush it beneath. Like the breaking of night, Khalid Atar rises from his 
  throne. Wings an inky black stretch wide, their shape melting into the 
  darkness beyond. He steps forward, stalking towards the shudra like some 
  monstrous and divine lion. His form looms large with every stride nearer 
  until he towers above Faanshi. Words menacingly rain down from above, 
  "Yes..." he begins, his wrath bubbling into the words newly spoken, "..bring 
  them to me. I will deal with them." He pauses, "what is your name, shudra 
  woman?"

"A-as you command, Most High..." Then Faanshi, too, pauses. Or, rather, 
  freezes, with the winged shadow advancing upon her. She sees it advancing 
  upon her and feels the weakness of sheer fright threatening to buckle her 
  knees; if only to keep herself standing upright, she hugs herself tighter. 
  Has he forgotten taking her out of Clan Sarazen? The question shoots across 
  the back of the halfbreed's mind, a plaintive little query that she 
  immediately strives to squelch. She _is_ only a shudra. A halfbreed. A 
  woman. There are far more important things that a God-King must remember, 
  she supposes. Even if the shudra in question cost the Amir-al a Warlord. And 
  served the winged halfbreed graisha he has honored with his favor. And 
  served she who... well, who _was_ his wife, if the rumors that have been 
  sizzling around Atesh-Gah are any indication. But no. She is as nothing in 
  the eyes of the Amir-al, and she knows it. There is no room for 
  disappointment, and so she buries it deep within her and makes herself 
  answer the question that's lashed across her. "My n-name is Faanshi..."

Khalid's eyes narrow cruelly as he inspects the woman before him, then finally 
  nods. Words an intelligible growl reach for your ears, "Yes..I remember 
  now..." He nods slowly, "Do as I command Faanshi. Bring these Sylvans before 
  me so that they may answer for their brothers and sisters."

This is not the first time Faanshi has been this close to the Hawk of 
  Heaven... but the last time, he had not been afire with a primal anger. No 
  telepath is Faanshi, but she does not need to be one to read body language, 
  tone, movement. The closer he gets, the more each and every nerve in her 
  slight form seems to blaze with nervousness. It seems to the young healer 
  now as if she so much as breathes too loudly, the ferocity rolling off the 
  dark-winged figure before her might incinerate her here and now, even 
  without aid of the power that raised a volcano under Lycenae. Shakily, she 
  clasps her hands at her breast and bows over them in obeisance -- and then 
  to her shock hears her own voice asking abruptly, "D-does the Amir-al still 
  wish me to serve his Clan...?"

Khalid stands before you like a monolith of obsidian hewn by indelicate hands. 
  The cruel features assail you from above and a voice of like manufacture 
  assails you once again, his displeasure at hidden references to the Maharani 
  more obvious, "You will not cease serving my Clan simply because the 
  Maharani desires to be alone."

Faanshi doesn't flinch, but only because she's now so paralyzed with the 
  effort of will she's putting forth to keep herself from fainting that at the 
  moment, movement past breathing and the hard-learned gestures of obedience 
  are nigh impossible. Her eyes have squeezed shut, but this doesn't stop 
  tears from leaking out between her lashes; she's been prone to crying under 
  much less provocation than this these past many days, and she cannot stop 
  herself now. Already shattered emotions splinter into dust under the assault 
  of the vindictive presence looming over her, until there is nothing left but 
  reflexive obedience... and the smallest kernel of what might almost be 
  strength, just enough to keep her on her feet or doing anything else 
  demeaning. It's even enough to drive the stammer from her voice, for she is 
  by now too terrified to do anything but speak clearly -- though her voice 
  does again squeak up into its highest register: "As you command, Most 
  High...!"

The ominous slither of the false serpent settles into a reluctant peace as the 
  hand that wields the weapon grows still. It's twin stretches upward to 
  clutch Faanshi's shoulder gently, the broad hand seemingly devouring it. In 
  a voice of modest compassion tainted by linger displeasure, Khalid speaks, 
  "Go now my faithful birr.."

As it prevents her from stammering, so too does Faanshi's absolute, complete 
  terror prevent her from trembling at the contact of the hand that touches 
  her. She is already rigid; she can't even involuntarily jolt in the surprise 
  that sweeps through her system. But although she does not raise her head, 
  her eyes flash open above her veil. Ringed in shadows of her own, exhausted, 
  made even greener by the sheen of tears that has flooded them, those eyes of 
  hers do what her body cannot and broadcast the thunderbolt of shock that 
  strikes her. A simple thing, the touch of a hand... simple, too, is a 
  command to depart. But at this slight easing of the storm that has 
  figuratively if not literally rolled over her, after the shock of it strikes 
  and passes, another profound reaction wells up in its wake. Relief. Faanshi 
  is not at all sure she can ever manage to feel joy again -- but if the Hawk 
  of Heaven can honor her with this benediction, perhaps, just perhaps, she 
  will sleep tonight. "Y-yes, Amir-al..." come her humbly whispered words, as 
  she dips her head deeply in acknowledgement. Given leave to go, then, as 
  soon as the contact is broken, the maiden drops a curtsey and backs away for 
  the door; for now, the storm appears to have ebbed, and as long as she is 
  able, the dove takes flight.

[End log.]