"Death in the Rialto" Log Date: 5/27/99 Log Cast: Canace, Romano, Caius, Jelara, Craft, Giles, Faanshi, Woodchuck, Fireheart, NPC Delphi Adept (emitted by Fireheart), NPC Praetors, Fern, Orion, Thenomain, Aine, NPC Agni-Haidar (emitted by Opal) Log Intro: For the last couple of days, Faanshi Khalida has striven to use what scant leisure hours she has available to her to locate her wayward mistress Kiera, and relay to her the letter penned by Thomas Murako in an effort to convince her to allow Faanshi to accompany him to Avalon. The young shudra halfbreed has carried that letter on her person at all times, almost reluctant to let it leave her possession; within Atesh-Gah, when no one can see her, she has laboriously scanned each and every word, trying to memorize their shapes for all that most of them make no sense to her. The simple fact that it is a thing of Thomas's cajoles her to keep the letter with her, and never mind that Thomas himself is a deeply troubling thing to consider, especially after the Sylvan Woodchuck mistook them for lovers in the Gem Inn. And so the halfbreed maiden ventures out again into Haven come nightfall, using the excuse of a trip to the marketplace to keep an eye out for Kiera, not realizing as she goes that she is about to stumble across bloodshed in the Rialto.... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Night (Dawnside) Date on Aether: Thursday, September 17, 3904. Year on Earth: 1504 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waning Crescent Season: Late Summer Weather: Clouds Temperature: Warm *==========================================================================* The aroma of baked goods lures you south toward the Rialto. 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: Larissa Canace Craft Jelara Giles Obvious Exits: Streets Delphic Citadel Allowing a soft smile to play at her lips, Canace closes her eyes and inhales deeply, allowing the smells and sounds of the Rialto to invade her with a myriad of sensation. It's nights like these that linger in the minds of those that pay attention, warm and busy, dark and brooding... a stillness to it that is both comforting and eerie. She opens her eyes once again letting the flashes of sapphire dance through the streets as she moves, pausing every so often to look at the varying foods and items being peddled even at this time of the day. Larissa looks around, hoping to see someone to buy her lunch. She starts to the booths. On the ground is blood. She looks to see where it came from. "Jelara!" She screams as loudly as she can and runs to her cousin, blood on her toga. "Lara! Lara!" Tears don't form, not enough time for her to think. Romano is lured in from the north by the aroma of baked goods. Romano has arrived. Caius lands near the food vendors tent, his broad wings kick up a thin cloud of dust... He hears Jelara's name screamed and looks around with alarm... Jelara's eyes are locked for the moment on Giles' as her lifeblood pours onto the stones of the Rialto. A shout, and the Optio is immediately up, eyes sweeping the area of the shriek, and now another joins it as the blood is noticed by more people in the nighttime air. The Praetor is aloft immediately, wings carrying him to the site of the crime. Hovering above, he searches through the crowd for details. Caius moves slowly towards her at first...until he sees the blood which stains her toga...then he moves quickly...pushing aside any poor fools who impede him...."Jelara?!" in another heartbeat he stands over her and Giles....too worried to be angry... Eyes of silver hold back the tears that find there way into his eyes, "Please..." he whispers to her... then her name finds it's way into his ears once more, at which point Giles looks up to see a girl before the two with her eyes widen by shock, "Please...." he says to her as a single tear finds it's way down his cheek, his tone pleading, "Please help her...." he looks at the girl for only a second before his eyes go back to Jelara's, "Don't leave me... Please hold on..." What a time to come into the Rialto. The slim figure of a Varati shudra, veiled and muffled in her enclosing sari, keeping as best she can to the torchlit main thoroughfares that lead through Haven, reaches the edge of the marketplace in time to hear screams... and, hearing them, Faanshi Khalida freezes, her own blood going cold with startlement and dread. Larissa nears Jelara and Giles, still screaming. "Lara! Help! Someone! Lara!" Her screams ring out, bringing aq small crowd around the wounded woman. Caius may not be angry, but Rissa is. She turns to Giles, still shouting. "What did you do to her?" She looks to Lara again. "Lara? I'll get you help. Someone, please! A healer?" She looks to Caius, hoping he can help, "Ceterion Antoninus, report!" barks the aloft Optio as people at once rush to and back up from the site of the murder, forming a thick circle around the grounded Praetor, the child, and the two loevers. Torchlight flickers, playing with the shadows of those in the center of the ring. Jelara murmurs softly.."Giles..Cai..Rissa.." her eyes going to her loved ones..well at least she's surrounded by those who love her. Her voice gets' softer and softer and she coughs violently..blood on her lips.."Amor" her eyes going once again tothe love of her life.."Ill try Amor... Caius's eyes remain on the bleeding form of lara his pillum clatters to the stones at his feet as he sinks to the ground beside her...over his shoulder he calls, "I know not, She bleeds...badly...a stab..." as he pulls loose the chamys at his shoulder to staunch the bleeding as best he can..."Jelara...hear me, look here Jel, look at me." Her head tilting with a bit of sharpness to it, Canace's eyes narrow toward the sound of the scream. Senses flare with the skill of a wolf, a calm prowl the beginnings of her movement toward the small crowd beginning to gather around the fallen victim and marring her view of what has happened. As she nears, however, she is able to glimpse a slight icon of Jelara, her eyes suddenly widenning as she sees Giles hovering over her and the blood which stains the ground. "Elements help me..." she mutters, lips suddenly dropping inbetween a frown and indifference. Larissa screams at the sight of the blood. "No!!!! Lara! Please!" She falls to her knees crying and sobbing loudly. "Lara..." She turns to Craft, "Please, get a healer, dom'nus! Please save my cousin!" Jelara eyes slide from Giles' to Caius'.."Cai?? Giles finds himself holding her close even as the Praetor works on the dagger in her back, placing her head upon the crook in his arms as he looks up to find Caius there, "Someone stabbed her..." he tries to explain in a single sentence, then looks back to her, "Amora no...." Woodchuck enters the Rialto from the western part of Main street. Woodchuck has arrived. Dove white wings are stained a bright crimson..flight feathers drippng with blood. Fireheart comes out of Delphi courtyard accompanied by an Adept as is usual. Her crisp white Kaftan makes a whispery noise that seems to irritate her as the noise of the rialto presses in on her. she looks toward the scream she hears and the cries. "What's wrong?" Craft drops into the circle, wings directly upward to slip into the tight space. Once positioned, the Praetor's wings spread again, this time outwards as he shouts at the crowd to move back and to make room. "Are there any healers here?!" Romano looks at Fireheart."A woman...stabbed. She is severely injured." Fireheart raises on tiptoe to look over the heads of some in front of her and spots the spread of the coppery scented viscous red liquid around the fallen person. She looks up at the man circling and simply raises one arm, the garb distinctive enough on she and her companion for their rank and membership in the Cadaeucian order to be clear. Caius's blue eyes lock on Jelara's...The champys, a white one trimmed in gold...worn to a recent wedding is wrapped tightly around Jel's wound...yet almost as quickly it is stained red...the wound is deep.... to himself he mutters, "Oh Gods..."" he looks again at the wounded Empyrean, "Jel....you are to me as my own sister." he has seen enough blood to know that the wound is mortal...Jelara needs help, /now/. Voices, screaming, calling for a healer. Entirely focused upon them, Faanshi does not see the basket that drops from her nerveless fingers, the basket which she'd been bringing to buy early fruits and breads from the marketplace. For a few moments, she is torn, heartsick... and then, numbly realizing she has little other choice, the maiden in red and blue and gold creeps closer to the gathering crowd. Relief flashes across what little is visible of her eyes as she hears calls coming from the Delphi courtyard, but even so, she feels herself beginning to shake. The closer she gets to the crowd the more a low grumble of power begins to stab at her hands and her hidden ears. Jelara lifts one hand weakly to her beloveds face..and the other she reaches out toward Caius.."brother..of my..heart" to the solider.."lover of my soul" to the golden haired man who holds her.. Two more Praetors glide in to assist those present with crowd control, alerted by the sounds of the teeming mass. The Optio continues to shout into the crowd, to twos and threes, "Are /you/ a healer?!" A negative answer, "Then BACK UP!" The question is passed over a Varati female and the mongrel at her side... Fireheart pushes through the group, Sylvan Apisachi caution foremost, searching those nearby for signs of weapons as she raises her skirt and kneals beside the woman bleeding. She quickly places her hands on her and the bleeding slows as she works but her color becomes very pale and she looks up. 'Adept, Can you help, she has already lost to much blood for me to do much. I..I can make her comfortable, but little more. Her pulse is so weak, so thready." Scampering into the Rialto is a familiar face, though not to most of the crowd here, it seems. And those who would acknowledge him with at least a wave or a nod seem to be involved in something else. He moves at first towards the food vendors, but the cries and the intrest of so many people hooks his curiosity. The slender form of Woodchuck moves towards the crowd of gawking people, hopping up and down in a futile effort to look over thier heads. "Make way! Clear a path!" he yells, his tenor coming forth with a lot more authority than he should have. Some people move, and others need to be wedged through. Lucky this sylve has the lives of a cat, and the stupidity of a rock, that he attempts such a thing between two big mongrel merchants. "What's going on?" he wonders aloud, looking towards the hurt woman. Craft Contrast is an immediate descriptive adjective for the Empyrean Praetor which your gaze falls upon. White wings and blondish hair are in opposition to the dark scheme of his armor. The crimson marking on his shoulder plates mark him as an Optio, commander of the close-knit fighting force of a Praetorian Cohor. His hair has been cropped short around his head and parted down the middle so it spills, at its longest, to his cheekbones. Steely green eyes blaze with passion and experience, flanking a sharp nose. Cold, calculating intelligence can easily be swapped with warm charm and compassion in those orbs. He wears the standard leather cuirass of the Guard over his torso, though stained black as char, with the white sleeves of his undertunic billowing out from under the equally as black shoulder plates. A chlamys of black is clasped under his left shoulder. The material seems to be layered, though, and the bottommost edge of the cloak is fiery red. The chlamys drapes between his wings, which crest above his head, the signs of their wear obvious. A gladius is sheathed on his hip, and a bow is slung over his back along with a quiver of arrows. Strapped to his left forearm is a buckler. Craft, the Fallen Tribune and Optio of the Rising Phoenix Cohor carries himself with the bearing of a noble, despite his reputation. A friendly exterior seems prominent most of the time, but it disappears when he must don his mental mask for war. "Hey!" one of the Praetors yells in surprise as Fireheart slips past. Turning to the Sylvan, he frowns a bit, knowing the futility of it all, and turns back to the crowd, determined to not let another get past. Caius spares only the slightest of glances at the Sylvan who rushes to Jelara's side...her blood has already soaked through a the chamys that had attempted to staunch the wound...Caius clasps the hand Jel raised to him, but he remains silent.More pain, more blood... Words, so many things happening at once, so fast that it doesn't registers on the fallen empyreans mind, for in truth only one thing exist to him, the dim light of life that rest still in his arms... well most of the words save for those of Fireheart at which point another tear falls from his eyes and he looks at her again, "I love you...." he says kissing her forehead, and not knowing what else to say. Fern is lured in from the north by the aroma of baked goods. Fern has arrived. The bellows of Craft send frissons of panic rippling down Faanshi's spine. He sounds like a Warlord, and for one who was born and bred beneath a Warlord's heavy hand, her immediate instinct is to kneel. Already, as she catches glimpses of the wounded woman, her legs are beginning to threaten to give way beneath her, but she does not notice. The aether roils around her, drowning out most else in her senses, including her hoarse blurt of "I... I am a healer, imphadi..." She doesn't know who she addresses, nor does she see who hears her words, for her attention is riveting upon Jelara. The fire maned woman's eyes turn back to those of her beloved..not registering those around her anymore. He is her entire world for the moment. The fire she so exemplified burning bright in her eyes though it fades quickly from her body. Still she hangs on..her voice the softest of whispers..perhaps only heard by the two closest her..though they are meant for one set of ears alone. "Amor..love you..soo sorry.. An opening is made for Faanshi to enter the loose circle, "Can you help her? She's been stabbed...it may be too late, but will you see if you can do anything?" Craft's question is urgent - maybe the fact hasn't dawned on him that he's speaking to a Varati, and maybe he hasn't yet realized that the woman stabbed is the lover of the Kinslayer - such things are trivialized at the moment. Caius draws a long, steady breath...she is dying. Though it was her folly in life, he will not interrupt the words she gives Giles as she dies...such compassion marked her days, and will not be forgotten now...he squeezes her hand. Soliders die...warriors die...it should not be her who bleeds on these stones. People are parting before her, and they, too, are now practically outside Faanshi's ken. Her world narrows to the desperately wounded woman, and she stumbles forward, barely registering the presence of the Delphi healers as well. Another breathless little whisper escapes her: "Let me... try to help..." Her hands, held forth, are paler than a Varati's generally are, and they are tautly quivering with the magic now raging urgently through her and demanding release. Down she goes to her knees as close as she can get to Jelara's crumpled form, and she does not wait for someone to give her leave to touch her. Her hands make contact, seemingly the only part of her moving with surety and speed. Orion soars in from the skies above. Orion has arrived. Woodchuck just watches the scene, trying to silently gather the information from the goings on. Okay, theres blood, so that is definatley a bad thing. A few healers around, thats probably for the unwilling blood donor who is in the arms of a man, exchanging last words. Yes, the super-sleuth has figured it out again! Jelara must be in trouble. Rather than risking a harsh chastising, the sylve does not interfere, just crosses his arms in front of his chest and watches with some concern. Never realizing how soul wrenching it would be to watch that fire die in her eyes, Giles bites his lip to hold back further tears as his eyes refuse to leave hers... though a hand reaches out to brush back a stray lock of hair that has fallen across her face with all the people trying to help her and moving her around... a soft touch on her milky flesh... another look at her and the tears fall free... "I will remember you always..." he chokes out the whisper to her, hoping that she is not to far gone to hear him, "I will always love you..." Fireheart's frown is clear. the Adept who accompanies her is left back in the crowd and she speaks in a low tone to the Praetor. "Let him through, I heal, but this is beyond my ability, let him through!" Once said, she again tries to help what little she can. She eases the pain of the wound and the bruises from the fall, but she looks up at the ones who mourn around her. 'Who did this? Why? With the poison on the blade, just a scrape down her arm would have soon killed." She works frowns as she studies. "Venom, dried and coated on the blade. Poor woman." She lets her hands sooth. "I am sorry I can do no more. I can heal much, but not replace so much blood lost." Meandering on a determinedly undirected path, Fern wanders into the Rialto. Like Woodchuck, she's pretty much clueless, and so stays on the outskirts of the gathered crowd, observing. Orion likely does not notice the rather large gathering of people surrounding an apparent death. Instead, he comes to land some distance off. His wings fold and he begins to make his way through the Rialto. As the Delphi Adept swiftly joins her, Faanshi's palms connect with Jelara's fallen form... and the aether abruptly surges. The maiden in Varati garments goes rigid of form, her head jerking back with such force that one might almost wonder if she's been struck by an invisible hand. But her contact on Jelara remains solid, and for those who can sense such things, power rises up to try to stop the bleeding, to try to counteract the poison in the Empyrean woman's system, to try to maintain and save her life. Faanshi's eyes slam closed, and what little is visible of her face sheens over in beads of sweat. Her hard, scarred hand strokes Giles' cheek so slowly..trying even now to give comfort. "my heart...always..yours Giles..forever.. Craft cannot help but glance back towards the crouching crowd of healers and friends every so often. The expression on his face slowly begins to relax from frustration to simple concern, and maybe a touch of relief that soon it will be over, one way or another. Jelara's eyes fly open as power surges through her body..and while the ember that is in her eyes sparks for a moment the magic can fix what's been lost.. Giles says nothing more as he watches his lover dies in his arms, even with the slight surge of life that is brought on by the healers touch. All through out the rest, his eyes never leave hers and only his hand moves to hold back those stray locks of firey hair. Canace watches Giles, her transparent eyes never leaving his form save for the few moments she takes to allow them to rest on Jelara's dying body. She shakes her head ruefully, perhaps knowing what kind of affect this will have on Giles or perhaps morning the loss of Jelara's flame. She's seen death and carnage before and it has never been the site that disturbs her but the act who would do such a thing? Her eyes go distant a moment and then re-focus, this time on Jelara. "We were born to die and we die to live. As seedlings of this world we barely blossom yet we fully flower in the after life." She says softly, a sorry smile lifting her lips though never finding its way to her eyes. Though she assumes that since she isn't at the front of the crowd Jelara can't hear her she continues speaking non-the-less, her voice hushed as if in prayer. "Laughter always sounds more perfect than weeping. Laughter flows in a violent riff and is effortlessly melodic. Weeping is often fought, choked, half strangled, or surrendered to with humiliation. So while I weep for you in my heart I laugh for you in my spirit I will drink to you Jelara for the tragedy of life is not that we lose, but that we almost win." Despite her efforts tears well up in her eyes though a smile remains on her lips. Though she barely knew Jelara she can't help but empathize with the loss. "What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset. And when the sunset finally fades we are left with only a casing with which our soul can finally run free." She allows the tears to fall from her eyes and taste her cheeks, turning her back to the entire event. She knows exactly where this will lead. The Delphi Adept kneels beside the Sylvan Acolyte being trained in more advanced techniques. He rests his hands on her shoulders and shakes his head. "No, Fireheart, Once to much bolld is lost, it is beyond the means of all but a Magus to heal. We can not restore so much. Just ease her way is all can be done. And you." He addresses the Varati female. "you need to speak with those within our walls." Whether it is his hatred of Varati, or simply a statement of sad fact, he says coldly to the varati healer, "Stand off...she is dying...let her join the Gods in peace." Caius looks away from Jel for a heartbeat to fix his gaze on the Varati, before falling again to Jelara. Jelara's breath starts to grow even more shallow..slight and almost gasping as she fights for every moment every second to stay with _him_. Her face though is losing it's color..all for the the eyes and the hair..that firebright hair that glows in any light with a life of it's own. Her eyes flicker with the pulse of her heart..each beat slower..a longer pause between each struggling breath.. Giles forces a smile to his lips for a reason that eludes him right now... no... it is to send her on her way with a thought of happiness... there will be time for mourning later. Another hair is pushed back, as his tearful smile sends her to the Gods. Faanshi seems to hear neither the counsel of the Adept nor the harsh tones of Caius, at least not immediately. Her face might be veiled, but her eyes can be seen over the top of the now sweat-soaked blue silk that hides her countenance; those eyes fly open at the moment Jelara's life slips past the combined reach of her own fractious power and the controlled magic of the Adept, and her green gaze is nearly black with grief and horror, filling with welling tears. Death is a palpable thing, and when it is such a presence, any within even this vast area could feel it. And such, Orion pauses as he comes up on the crowd, frowning. No need to ask what is happening, the expressions are sufficient. Craft frowns a bit as the verdict is read, moving to Faanshi's side. A soft chorus of words leaves his mouth to the Varati. The woman's death is tragic, yes, but it is done. Jelara's hand slip from her beloved's cheek..and Caius can feel the slightest of squeezes from her hand in her's as the last light of life flickers and dies in her eyes..her last breath a soft and whispered name filled with love and longing... Craft whispers "You are not Delphic?" You sense Craft's voice is tinged with surprise and not just a tiny bit of amusement. Woodchuck just watches, silently, his jade eyes taking in the scene for a moment before welling up with tears. Turning from the scene, an arm goes up to wipe those overflowing eyes before making his way to the Food Vendors, not needing to witness any more of the scene. And so she dies...her life spilled out on the stones of the Rialto. Never more will fanciful and beautiful creations come from her forge and the bright recesses of her mind. Never more will that soft voice raise in song or laughter..but she died as she lived her life what more could anyone ask.. Even now, Faanshi's not let go of Jelara's form. Her power, roiling like a summer thundershower, is still bent on repairing the damage to the dying Empyrean... and even as it remains locked on her, something in the maiden grows sick and frantic as it senses something more vital than working lungs and unpoisoned blood flying beyond her reach. Only when Jelara is gone does Faanshi look blindly more or less in Craft's direction, not seeing him, barely hearing him, aware of his presence only because his words had sounded immediately beside her. The smile fades as Giles' other arm slips under the legs that even now are limp with lifelessness, both he and the lifeless woman in his arms rise from the crouched position. With a sniffle, he looks at her once more and takes a step forward as if meaning to take her from this place. Orion shakes his head at the event as it unfolds before him. It takes him no more than a few brief moments before he turns and starts away from those gathered. His wings spread and he takes flight. Caius simply kneels there for a moment...no tears course down his cheeks, no heavy sobs escape his lips...death he has seen in plenty, yet this is somehow far worse...in the old language of the Empyreans he murmers, "May the Gods prepare you a forge, and grant you love and light among thier number...Go in peace Jelara Chryseis, and watch over us from your heavenly forge..." that said, the Ceterion gives her still hand a final squeeze. Fireheart looks toward the girl and shakes her head. "Such a terrible thing to happen to a young mother-to-be." When Jelara is lifted, and only then, Faanshi's hands drop limply off her body. The shudra girl herself is still kneeling there on the paving-stones, her slight form quivering violently, one hand momentarily lifting as though she can't quite bear to have the wounded... no, _dead_... woman taken out of her grasp. What skin is visible around her eyes has gone nearly gray with shock. Fireheart raises up with the Adept and shakes the folds of her kaftan in place, one hand going to dust off her knees, not from particulairly caring about the dust, but to keep the garment clean...expression and motions speak clearer than words. A sort of still stalemate has been birthed of the tragedy of death as the two Delphic healer faces the Rogue and the dark-armoured Praetor standing beside her. As the Delphic Adept rises, the Optio reaches down and places a hand on the woman's shoulder, fearing that anything more may cause an unexpected reaction. Holding her close, the wingless Empyrean looks up at the gathered crowd, his eyes acting as if they were a force that could part a sea if that is what was called for, the people part at his passing, and Giles doesn't look around, back, or down at her, no he only looks forward as he crosses the Rialto with Jelara's lifeless body in his arms. The people could be statues about him, and he would never know, for there is little thought in his eyes and a resolute look about his features. The only sound that does echo from him is the sound of snifling that has been brought on by his tears. Orion leaps into the air and takes flight, disappearing into the sky above Haven. Orion has left. Caius stands as Giles bears her off...it is improper, he should not /dare/...but she loved him. For his memory of her, Caius will not stop the one she loved...no the one she /loves/. Canace simply watches as Giles leaves, eyes closed as if she didn't want to witness the event. She stands there silently and calmly, allowing everyone else to move about around her. The weight of the hand upon her shoulder does, indeed, cause the maiden in red and gold and blue to jolt. For a dread, stark moment a memory of a Warlord towering over her flashes across her mind, and she can think of nothing now save a mounting certainty that she has _failed_. Perhaps this one with a Warlord's voice will beat her now, as Hashim would have done if she had failed to heal as he had commanded her. There is absolutely no strength to her voice as she whispers, "I... accept my... punishment, im-imphadi..." Her arms wrap tightly around herself, and she begins to hunch over there where she kneels, turning her shoulders up as if in expectation of a blow even as she struggles to rein in her roused and unfulfilled power. Fireheart leaves the Aedpt to deal with the other woman whose waves of healing came so close to disrubpig her own efforts and backs away, her lips forming a familiar Sylvan chanting prayer to Tupuran, the God of Death. Caius slowly reaches down to retrieve his magnus pilum, turning slowly to face the praetor...Ah, he knows the man now. Belatedly, Caius salutes, fist over heart, his voice tight with buried emotion, "Ave Optio...." when all other emotion fails, decorum takes over. For once it seems that the Rialto has quited at the death of this woman, and each watch as her lover carries the now empty body from the scene, heading west as if for the gate of the city, his march like that of a automaton, each step falling with little notice or care, Giles only has to hold her until the two come to thier destination. And the silence is broken as the two dissapear around the corner of the street, all wanting to know what happened. Craft frowns, obviously surprised at the Varati's sudden submissiveness to him. And, looking down at the woman, leans down with her and slips an arm around her waist, "Excuse me, Imphada, let's go...you're exhausted. You need rest. We'll escort you back to Atesh-Gah." He gives a glance to Caius before he begins to gently urge the woman up. Giles walks westward toward Main and Border. Giles has left. Jelara walks westward toward Main and Border. Jelara has left. Caius moves to help Craft raise the...Varati to her feet, from the other side...between the two of them she is raised easily... Caius Empyrean and proud, Antoninus' cold blue eyes stare out from beneath a crested Centurion-style bronze helm. His regal, clean shaven countenance rests in an expression of solemnity. The broad wings typical of his people are mostly of a golden hue, touched here and there with streaks of red or brown feathers. The well kept bronze scales of his Corium taper from unusually broad shoulders down to the broad leather belt at his waist, from which hangs his gladius. Beneath the slotted leather skirt of his armor can be seen a red kilt, ending just above the knees. The leather straps of his sandals reach to the tops of his calves. Bare arms, whose muscular build defy the concept of 'those frail Empyreans' are decorated at each bicep by a bronze band. In his left hand is carried a Magnus Pilum, looking unusually small in his large grasp. Over his right shoulder is slung a great tower shield, rare among Praetorians, whose height nears his own six and a half foot frame. It's polished bronze and brass face is decorated with the Two-Headed Eagle, emblem of the Antoninus family. His pride is visible to all save the blind. It is quite apparent that the maiden in Varati garments is in no shape to resist the strength of the two Empyreans raising her up from her huddled crouch. The world lurches around her as they do, and from somewhere within waves of dizziness and nausea and sick awareness of Death, Faanshi mumbles plaintively, "Not imphada..." She does not resist being lifted, though; she cannot. And she sags between Craft and Caius, a surprising lack of weight to her frame, as though she'd poured half her own body's substance into the woman she'd tried to save. Thenomain pokes his head out from the smithy. THere's a comotion but ... really ... there's always some sort of comotion in the Rialto. Craft gives a glance to the Delphic Adept and explains simply, "you can handle this later. Now, she rests." Giving Caius a nod, he starts to carry-walk Faanshi away from the Rialto towards Atesh-Gah. Caius nods in return and moves along in step with craft...the crowd parts before the two soliders and thier burden... Aine steps from the gates of Delphi and into the rialto. Aine has arrived. "Wait!" The adept speaks to the winged persons. "She is untrained and was attempting to use her powers on someone. That is a potentially dangerous situation that some of the Mages need to be aware of and consider. If you take her anywhere, take her to them in delphi." the Cadeucian Adept male speaks firmly as she studies each enough to clearly identify thme if need be. Aine slips through along Delphi's outer wall, headed southwards. Aine makes her way south, toward Seaside. Aine has left. Craft continues taking the Varati towards Atesh-Gah. Not being in the mood for negotiation, he rephrases himself, "She is going home to rest. I'm sure she is not in any shape at the moment to be dangerous with her abilities," a bit firmer, he adds, "you can pick this up...later. I am taking her home." Another nod to Caius, and the trio begin their walk again. Caius continues without a backward look...north...Ironic, that he would bear a Varati to the Atesh-Gah...in /peace/.... As the two soldiers begin to walk her across the marketplace, Faanshi's entire body rebels against the motion. Everything around her has blurred into a jumbled montage of color and smell and sound that assaults her senses... and as she's borne towards the northern fringe of the marketplace, the maiden quietly loses her fraying hold on her consciousness, going limp in the strong hands of her escorts. [And shortly...] You continue north toward the crossing of Palisade and North. Palisade and North - Haven Some have likened the Varati home to a geode--rough and plain on the outside, while opulence and splendor lie within. Certainly the first part of that analogy is true. The only hint that these buildings house the more prominent members of Varati society are their size. Massive structures loom on either side of the street, crafted from brick, marble, granite, and even metal. And here, also, is the grand embassy of the Varati. Only shaping magic could have created such a structure, for it gives the impression of having grown out of the earth itself. Like the others, its decoration is minimal, yet flowing curves and the use of obsidian and marble make such ornamentation unnecessary. Flanked by stone pillars, the entranceway is constantly guarded by sentinels who may as well be stone themselves, so humorless are they. Only guests of the kingdom and ambassadors from other realms may pass within. A gate leads out of the city to a road that eventually winds into the distant, northern mountains, though few ever dare venture that far. Contents: Caius Craft Eagla Obvious exits: Atesh-Gah Streets Gate Borne along by the Empyrean soldiers, Faanshi is carried ever nearer to the imposing gates of Atesh-Gah and the equally imposing sentries of the Agni-Haidar who guard them. No Empyrean Praetor with more than an hour's worth of experience would expect to be allowed past the gates, and Craft and Caius are no exception... Let's not prove them wrong, then. Two Agni-Haidar, one a dark-skinned 6'8 gentleman with a rather vivid, silver-coloured scar slashing straight across the left side of his face, the other 6'6, dusky skin and dark brown hair, step out a little further into the illumination of the torches that line the gate. Silent, their equally black eyes take in the scene given.. Only when Faanshi's awareness slip away does her power settle down into grumbling silence. Borne northward out of the Rialto by Craft and Caius, the fainted maiden hangs bonelessly in their grasp, her form as boneless as if there was naught to her but water, or even air. Two Empyreal Praetors approach from the south, bearing between them a limp Faanshi. Eyes flicking to the two guards, Craft speaks out to them, "a healer of your race overextended herself in the Rialto trying to save a woman who was stabbed. The victim died, and this brave soul passed out a short while ago. We turn her over to your care, if you'll accept her." Caius stands immobile, looking none too pleased...he does not trust his words enough to speak, so he stands tall...eye to eye with the shorter Varati, and waits. The taller one will approach, moving so as to pick Faanshi from the Empyrean's grasp. If not gentle, he isn't handling her roughly either. Just a curt nod, face set in that proverbial stone-mask that yields neither dissapproval nor concern. "We'll take her inside." No thanks are given, he will just cradle her up in much the same fashion he would a child. Or a sack of potatoes. The shorter of the two stays where he is, though if one is looking, those black eyes might prove to keep an alert look on the winged one's weapons. Stoic features. Craft nods to the Varati. "Our thanks. Have a nice day," he says simply to the guards, then turns to leave with Caius. Caius hands over the Varati to the Varati...eagerly?. At any rate, now that this duty has been fulfilled he looks from the Agni-Haidar to Craft, and follows his superior officer out of this gads forsaken quarter of town. Craft journeys eastward toward the intersection of Palisade and Vicina. Craft has left. Caius journeys eastward toward the intersection of Palisade and Vicina. Caius has left. As the Empyreans turn away, Faanshi groans faintly, but does not rouse now that she hangs unmoving and helpless in the grasp of the Lion of Fire who has taken her. Impassive, the man does not abandon his post until one of his compatriots has arrived on the scene to take over for him... then, and only then, is the unconscious shudra girl carried into the walls of the Varati Citadel, the gates closing behind her. ---------- Epilogue: From a report circulating up through the ranks in the Delphi Citadel: "There was a stabbing with a poison blade of a girl, Jelara, in the Rialto. Fireheart successrfully identified and removed the poison, a type of venom on the blade, but the girl had already bled too much to be saved by the time we came to the scene. As Fireheart worked, a Varati woman came over, pushing her hands on the wound and sending healing weaves to try to heal the stabbed, dying woman. This almost disrupted Fireheart's work and contributed to delays as well as shaking her confidence and making her have to split attention to prevent any potential damage. The girl was returned to Atesh-Gah by some winged persons. The Varati seemed to have little control over her ability, even risking interfering with another to try to heal. I refer her to Delphi Magi to evaluate..." [End log.]