"Deliverance, Part I"

Log Date:
	1/22/99

Log Cast:
	Assorted Agni-Haidar and Akhunds (NPCs), Kiera, sentries of Clan
Sarazen (NPCs), Hashim (NPC), Ulima (NPC), Faanshi, Cahil (NPC)

Log Intro:
	With abrupt and brutal suddenness, Faanshi's secret forays out
into the mass of soldiers with which Clan Sarazen rides have been brought
to an end, for Hashim, Warlord of Sarazen, has caught her.
	Incensed that the shudra has disobeyed his commands -- and become
dangerously unbalanced by the show of deific power that resulted in the
raising of a volcano where once the city of Lycenae had stood -- Hashim 
swiftly moves to take out his fury and fear upon the old woman he had
ordered to keep Faanshi hidden away. Defending her heart-mother, Faanshi
throws herself before Ulima, and causes Hashim to beat her to within an inch
of her life as his mind finally gives way.
	But neither Faanshi, nor Ulima, nor the maddened Hashim know that
Kiera Khalida has sought and won the leave of the Amir-al to bring the
shudra, the wise-woman, and the Warlord to him... and that Kiera is coming
with the might of the Agni-Haidar at her command...

----------
Clan Sarazen Tents - Varati Camp - Somewhere in the Empyre(#1651RJnh)

     On the outskirts of the massive mobile encampment of the Varati army, 
  this sector of tents is but one among many, and a small one at that, 
  commanding perhaps a couple thousand warriors and shudra brought for the 
  tending of the tents and the horses. But everything is arranged with 
  military precision; each and every tent is constructed to be taken down as 
  swiftly as it was erected. Each and every fire-pit is kept under watch, so 
  that it might be buried in ash at a moment's notice. The banner of Clan 
  Sarazen, an ebon hawk against a curl of golden flame on a field of emerald, 
  flutters over all.
Contents:
Kiera
Hashim's tent(#1551ne)
Obvious exits:
Out into the Camp <OC>

Night has fallen when nine figures approach the encampment 
  of Clan Sarazen. Six are recognized as the ultra-loyal Agni-Haidar of 
  Khalid-Atar. Two are of the preistly caste of Atarvani - Akhund. The last is 
  that winged half-breed who has been honored with a tatoo that marks her as 
  one of Khalid-Atar's Favored. Seems that the Favored has either been blinded 
  or is decidedly ill; she is guided and supported by one of the Agni-Haidar. 
  Kiera's eyes are open but unseeing, except when the torches light bright, an 
  area. This does not seem to distress her overmuch, and her companions likely 
  wouldn't allow an expression on their faces if they were held at swordpoint. 
  When Kiera is told that the party has arrived at Sarazen, she nods, and her 
  voice is too low to hear. None-the-less, the partner of the man who guides 
  the halfbreed clears his voice and asks to speak to the Warlord of the Clan. 

Tonight, in the midst of the freezing rain, what sentries Clan Sarazen 
  has out within its encampment are stoically enduring the weather. They're 
  good watchmen, lingering near their fires but keeping their gazes away from 
  the light so as not to harm their night vision, and they've garbed 
  themselves well against the cold. But the arrival of the party of nine -- 
  especially with the winged halfbreed who bears the Khalid's mark among them 
  -- causes a stir of alarm. The proper shows of respect are made, even as the 
  two sentries first approached exchange alarmed looks at the thought of 
  disturbing Hashim. Still, though, knowing far better than to go against a 
  request of the Lions of Fire, the pair of guards indicates the direction of 
  the tent of the Warlord, towards the heart of Sarazen's camp. The distance 
  is short, for Sarazen's gathering of tents is small, but there is enough 
  distance still that the older of the guards offers deferentially, "We shall 
  alert him to your coming if it is desired, imphadi."

"No." That is the halfbreed, and she's already decided that this will 
  not be pleasant for the warlord. The guards will likely hear that, but they 
  hear it again, as the Agni-Haidar repeats it. He continues, "He will know 
  soon enough." That, with a slight smile. This man was one who was with 
  Khalid-Atar, when Khalid spoke of Hashim's weak will. Of course few can see 
  that smile, and fewer still might hear it in his gruff voice. Kiera allows 
  herself to be guided to the tent, where the party comes to a halt. The 
  Agni-Haidar who is acting as speaker for the group, or at least the 
  halfbreed, takes out a daggar and raps it against his own shield, so the 
  resulting clang is sharp and loud. "The Amir-Al requests the presence of 
  Hashim and his clanmates Ulima and Fannshi." He glances sidelong at the 
  halfbreed with him, hoping that he was able to re-correct her bizarre 
  pronunciation. Kiera misses the look. She can't see a damn thing.

There's a sentry at the front of the Warlord's tent, too, and the poor 
  fellow, though he's doing his level best to look dignified in the face of 
  his post, clearly doesn't want to be there. He nearly leaps out of his boots 
  at the approach of the Agni-Haidar, the Akhunds, and their winged companion, 
  and tosses off a hasty salute as the shield is rapped. He doesn't bother to 
  announce the party's presence to his Warlord -- they've done that quite 
  neatly themselves, thank you. 

From within the tent, however, there is no immediate reply. Only after 
  a moment or two do the tent's front flaps part at the movement of a 
  gauntleted hand, curled around a whetstone. The hand becomes an armor-clad 
  limb. Then the bulky form of the Warlord Hashim emerges, his other hand 
  bearing a dagger. As he steps into view, he strikes the dagger against the 
  whetstone, over and over, in slow and inexorable motions. His gaze sweeps 
  from his sentry, now standing rigidly at attention, to the sizeable party 
  arrayed before him... and his weathered face is at least at first glance 
  impassive. Only the black eyes of Hashim hint that something might well be 
  wrong, for his regard is an odd one, hollow, expressionless, dead. 
  "Sarazen's Warlord is at the disposal of the Khalid-Atar," he rumbles. 
  *Sh-h-k* goes the dagger against the whetstone.

Hashim(#1654np)
Standing at 6'6", this man possesses a powerful build to go along with 
  his height, a bulky frame beneath dark bronze skin that proclaims to all who 
  might behold him that he is without a doubt of the blood of the Varati. 
  Morever, a Varati Warlord, for he is never far from weapons openly carried 
  upon his person -- a starkly designed sword and a pair of daggers to match 
  it. He is not a young man; the streaks of gray in his long black hair and 
  mustache attest to his advancing years. But he is also not an old one, and 
  he moves as a warrior whose fitness is undiminished by his age. His black 
  eyes, set in a weathered and forbidding countenance, look with a typically 
  dour regard out at the world around him. Haik, tunic, silwar, and boots of 
  the colors of Clan Sarazen, black, gold, and emerald, are his garb; along 
  with these, he wears brigandine armor and gauntlets.

"And," the implacable Agni-Haidar repeats, "The clanmates Ulima and 
  Faanshi." Now a breeze which before was barely noticable, seemingly as 
  dampened by the bitter rain as the spirits of anything else caught in it, 
  whips into a whirling slice of wet air, slapping at the tent and shaking it 
  lightly. Kiera tilts her head in the direction of the warlord, from where 
  his voice comes, and she shakes her wings in slight irritation. Her guard, 
  at least, has more patience and refinement: "We will await them, as well, to 
  escort." Of course.

Sarazen's Warlord turns his lifeless dark regard to Kiera, not even 
  batting an eye at the sudden whipping of frigid, soaking air, oblivious to 
  the sentry beside him who involuntarily ruins his own stoic demeanor by 
  flinching. If Hashim is surprised by the winged one's appearance, no sign of 
  it shows in the rugged mask of his features. His gauntled hands continue 
  striking and sliding the dagger along the whetstone, in soft, sharp, 
  methodical movements. And then, consideringly, he raises his voice and 
  thunders, "ULIMA!"

Ulima emerges from the tent of Sarazen Warlord Hashim.

Ulima(#1653n)
     White is the first color to meet the eye when beholding this 
  figure: a robe of white, set off against her dark eyes and skin and hair. 
  Dark this woman is, though her dusky skin has turned sallow and wrinkled 
  with her venerable years and hair that might once have been black is now a 
  solid iron gray. Tall she is as well, standing at 5'11", though her carriage 
  shows signs of beginning to stoop under the weight of her span of life. With 
  her height and her darkness the eyes of most could easily pick her out as 
  Varati. But her robe -- and the keen, discerning gaze of her bright black 
  eyes within their nest of age-lines -- can speak to the knowing as marking 
  her as a priestess of Ushas, revered Mother of the God-King of the Varati 
  people.
     Aside from her robe, Ulima wears a white leyang, enough to drape about 
  her frame and to cover her head, and sturdy silwar to provide her comfort 
  against cold weather. On her feet are short boots. She meets the world with 
  an unveiled face, each and every wrinkle visible to testify to her 
  accumulated years.

The entire party waits, now, in silence. Three were requested by the 
  God-King, and three the God-King will have. The rain freezes atop the 
  helmets of the Agni-Haidar, clatters off of the tent-sides and cakes itself 
  in Kiera's wings. None of her party even move.

A few moments more... and then a smaller figure makes an appearance 
  out of the tent, a woman in white, her wrinkled face unveiled. Her gaze is 
  as black as Hashim's, but hers holds sharp, keen concern even as she makes 
  her obeisances to the guards before her, and she opens her mouth to speak...

Hashim, however, cuts her off, saying in rumbling, oddly 
  conversational tones, "The Lions of Fire have been misinformed. There is no 
  Faanshi among Clan Sarazen." The dagger keeps up its motions along the 
  whetstone. "However, my wise-woman and I will go to the Khalid, as he has 
  commanded."

Not all as are night-blind as Kiera, so any who can see her, may also 
  see the wicked smile that cracks her usual mask as she again orients on the 
  man's voice, "You will either publically accuse a clanmate of the 
  Khalid-Atar as liar, or the woman who calls Ulima 'heart-mother' will come 
  with us. She named herself Faanshi. What her Warlord calls her may be 
  another name." There. You have a slight out, Haashim. Better take it. The 
  winged halfbreed would be only too delighted to make life /really/ hard for 
  you. Again the winds stir, restless, as if aching to ... Oh... Level tents 
  or something.

The dark eyes of the old woman flash to Kiera, and in that aged 
  countenance there is a flare of knowing, of certainty. She begins in 
  authoritative tones, "Imphada, the girl cannot be moved--"

Hashim interrupts without missing a beat, "The demon has been bound. 
  We cannot let it loose upon the camp."

For probably the first and likely the last time in his entire life, 
  Hashim is utterly ignored by a female. Kiera snaps her face toward the woman 
  as she speaks, and she moves toward her, helped by the guard at her side, 
  when her hand grips his arm. "Go on." --That is all, that and the steady 
  presence of that irratically blustery wind which whips over eight of 
  Khalid-Atar's devoted servants, his clanmate and this warlord of Sarazen.

The Warlord is to all appearances utterly unmoved by Kiera's diverted 
  attention. He merely stands there, sliding his blade over and over along the 
  whetstone. And with each blow of the small blade against the chunk of rock 
  in his gloved hand, something flickers in the otherwise blank depths of his 
  eyes. A glimmer of fervor, perhaps, a feverish, overbright kind of 
  satisfaction. Ulima, in the meantime, locks her own gaze upon the young 
  winged woman, saying swiftly, "She is sick and weak, and the bleeding may 
  begin again if she is forced to move--" The woman blinks rapidly in the 
  rising wind, and the sentry, growing more and more unnerved, wipes frigid 
  raindrops out of his own eyes.

Hashim proclaims in his rumbling cadences, "The demon will not rise. I 
  have seen to it. Her burning hands will sear the flesh of no man in the 
  armies." He then flicks a strange, glittering glance at Ulima and Kiera, as 
  if wondering why they are even discussing the matter.

The winged woman has the stoicism of the Varati, though this has come 
  to her long before she met the Khalid-Atar. At this news, the obvious 
  implications, Kiera nods. "She is within, Ulima?" Only Kiera's so-quiet 
  voice might reveal the annoyance, the concern, the depth of the 
  disappointment, and the rising rage at this turn of events. Kiera does not 
  even look at Hashim. That's OK. All the Agni-Haidar are. They, being trained 
  as they are, fully expect an attack from the warlord onto their charge. Do 
  not think for a moment that they are unprepared.

Attack? The Agni-Haidar? What, does he look like a madman? Hashim 
  stands there quite calmly in the rain-laced wind, his long graying hair 
  ruffled by the agitated gusts of air, sharpening his dagger over and over 
  and over, patiently awaiting the movement of the party. Ulima flashes the 
  man a deeply uneasy glance, and then inclines her head to the Favored of the 
  Khalid. "Yes, imphada," is her only reply, even as she moves to hold the 
  tent's flaps open for entry.

Briefly, Kiera considers the situation and just how irate Khalid might 
  get with her for taking charge as she is about to do. Well... He probably 
  won't kill her. He would not punish Ulima for doing as she has - answering 
  Kiera - and the guard and the Akhund are under Kiera's... Ah... Well... They 
  are there because she is there. In her interests. So... Kiera straightens 
  and turns to look up at the guard who has been her guide, "Please fetch 
  healers here, as well as four more Agni-Haidar." Then the halfbreed studies 
  Ulima, spares one glance for Hashim. "I have been instructed to bring you 
  back to the Khalid-Atar, in the company of these men. I shall escort you to 
  the periphery of my clan's encampment, and the Agni-Haidar and one Akhund 
  will see that you have audience with the Khalid-Atar." She indicates two 
  Agni-Haidar and one of the Akhund and nods, "Guard this tent until Sath 
  returns with the healers. I will return presently." Then Kiera steps back, 
  shielded by her guide, until he sets her arm on that of another guard. The 
  appointed three Agni-Haidar and the Akhund step back with her, one of them 
  gesturing that the Warlord and his wisewoman join them.

That Kiera is not going to enter the tent perhaps dismays Ulima, but 
  if it does, the woman quickly stifles it, merely bowing her head in 
  acceptance and stepping forward to take a place by the Agni-Haidar. The 
  Warlord, in the meantime, calmly does the same... but all the while, he 
  keeps up with that dagger, holding the little blade and the little whetstone 
  close to his chest as he continues that slow, steady sharpening of his 
  weapon.

With a small gesture, likely unseen by you two, Kiera directs a guard 
  to stride between you. The pace is quick, double-time, with no excuses made. 
  Kiera stumbles often, but it is she who urges the hurry. The guard sent to 
  fetch the healer traveled even quicker, and the priest left behind, has 
  ducked into the tent, to seek this shudra Faanshi.

The striding of Sarazen's Warlord is even, unwavering, his long legs 
  eating the steps without hindrance. Not quite so sure are the steps of the 
  wise-woman, as Ulima must almost run to keep up with her escort. And back at 
  the tent... the tent. Within, those who enter can find that the tent has 
  been partitioned by the hanging of an inner curtain. In the frontmost 
  section, nothing. But in the back, a frightened young soldier with a blade 
  drawn upon a still, silent figure curled upon a pallet. At first glance 
  there seems to be no harm to the piteous form lying there, but there is 
  palpable fear in the soldier's eyes, and it is with unmistakable gratitude 
  that he meets the coming of the priest.

The priest asks the obvious question, "Is this Faanshi?" And that, of 
  course, is asked of the soldier, not the woman in question. A man's society, 
  now reverting back as it should be, given that Kiera has left. Of course, he 
  reflects briefly, Kiera's idea of dangerous might be quite differnt than 
  anyone else's, and she didn't mention that any of these three would be 
  dangerous. So he'll ask, "Is she a threat?"

A threat? This slender, huddled form, clad in bloodstreaked sari, her 
  shoulders occasionally quivering in fevered chills, her breath uneven as it 
  escapes her? One wouldn't think so. Nevertheless, the soldier keeps out his 
  short sword even as he respectfully answers the priest, "The shudra gives 
  pain with her hands, imphadi...!"

In another part of the camp, the Agni-Haidar sent to fetch a healer 
  has reached that tent, speaks in curt precise tones to the sentry there, and 
  he begins a wait, while a search is initiated. Still elsewhere, Kiera and 
  her group has returned to the encampment of Khalida, and Kiera departs - 
  upward - without any other word. She had noted on the way, the various 
  torches and lights that illuminated banners and tents, and wings and magic 
  are enough to allow her to return airborn without major injury to herself. 
  The Agni-Haidar and Akhund escort the Sararzen Warlord and his wise-woman to 
  the tent of the Khalid-Atar, and turn them to the care of the other Lions, 
  there. To a man, every one of them then turns back to return to Sarazen. Not 
  a one wishes to risk Khalid-Atar's wrath, if something is to happen to his 
  honored halfbreed clanmate. And within the tent... The priest frowns, 
  studies Faanshi closer, "How is this?" The question is generally asked.

And in the meantime, Hashim calmly goes where he is bidden. Not the 
  slightest sign of dismay disturbs the unnatural stillness of his black gaze, 
  and not once does he put away his dagger and whetstone. Only Ulima casts 
  anxious glances back through the encampment as they go, back towards the 
  Sarazen sector and the girl who has been left at the Warlord's tent. She 
  does not dare to ask for information or permission to return, and thus, the 
  old wise-woman is forced to content herself with breathing silent prayers to 
  the Mother of the Khalid as she waits, and hopes.

It is obvious that the girl is gripped by a fever. She tosses and 
  turns on the pallet where she lies, her veils in disarray, giving a glimpse 
  of eyes clamped shut and golden skin turned pale and taut. The young soldier 
  backs slightly away from her even as a slender hand fumbles at the air for a 
  moment, as if trying to grasp something unseen. "The Warlord wished to beat 
  the Ushashti woman," the soldier says after he swallows hard. "The shudra 
  threw herself in his path, and when her hands struck his chest, I saw the 
  pain that wracked him."

That is not the entire story. "And then?" the priest asks, brow 
  furrowing in consideration. Kiera becomes lost, once, and has to circle 
  back, peering intently and tensely at the wrong clan's banner, as the wind 
  eases it in a direction to pick up the dancing firelight of nearby torches. 
  More than once, bows are raised and, unknown to Kiera, arrows track her 
  progress. Thankfully, every bowman who heard wings recognizes the halfbreed 
  who recently fought with the Khalid-Atar, and Kiera is not shot from the 
  sky.. A healer shambles from the tent to the waiting Agni-Haidar, and he 
  nods, following the other along a winding path to the Sarazen encampment. 
  And the Warlord of that clan? He gets to wait.

Palpably ill at ease, the young soldier relays the rest of what he 
  knows... that the Warlord Hashim had staggered under the touch of the 
  shudra, and never mind that he is a large and powerfully built warrior, and 
  that she is a slip of a girl, smaller than a Varati maiden should be. "He 
  beat the shudra, imphadi... and bade me watch her." The young soldier 
  swallows again, and finishes nervously, "Is she... truly a demon?"

The priest, put into the awkward position of having to give an answer 
  to a religious question, when he has no clue of the truth, does what all 
  good politicians do - he ignores it. The man also has the makings of a 
  superb manager - he asks another question, "Who are you?" This is spoken 
  loudly, even, perhaps to intimidate. And note, the priest does not so 
  closely approach the woman, but fear is foriegn to his coutanence. He is 
  protected.

This question, at least, has a quick and steady reply from the 
  soldier. "Cahil Sarazen, imphadi," he states promptly.

Well... Excellent. Cahil Sarazen is now ignored, utterly. The priest 
  indicates that he should go to tell the guard who waits outside, that the 
  healer should be sent in immediately upon arrival. About that time, there's 
  an unstately slapping sound, or more accurately, a muffled thud of sorts, 
  immediately followed by a twisted, light-toned keen, or hiss. The 
  Agni-Haidar's gruff voice speaks, asks if damage has been done, and is 
  answered, evidently, for he speaks again, that no, the healer has not 
  arrived. The tent flap opens and Kiera, feathers somewhat arwy, steps in, 
  shooting a glare at the topmost pole and the cloth there. Stay up. She 
  warily creeps through the tent, stopping to stare with a total lack of 
  recgonition, at the Cahil Sarazen.

The young soldier, Cahil, does indeed move to do the bidding of the priest. As 
  he passes the winged Kiera, he dips her a hasty incline of his head, even as 
  he steps out to seek his companion, the other guard at the tent's entrance. 
  Within the tent, however, there is a groan from the girl on the pallet. 
  Faanshi's fumbling hand drops, and her arm curls about her torso. A violent 
  shudder racks her; her breath rattles alarmingly. The tiniest of broken 
  pleas escapes her: "Don't go, Ul--"

"She is gone," comes Kiera's frank reply, in her soft voice, as she steps 
  around the partition and with a nod to the priest, kneels beside the pallet. 
  As Kiera reaches toward you, to take that hand, the Akhund hastens to 
  caution her, "She will burn you, Kiera Khalida. Beware." Kiera snaps her 
  gaze up at the priest, then looks down at you, uncertain. "Faanshi? The 
  Ulima has gone to see the Khalid-Atar. He will see you, too... Do not die." 
  Simple, that requst.

The girl on the pallet jolts, unveiled and febrile green gaze snapping in 
  Kiera's direction. Sweat beads her brow. Faanshi blinks rapidly at the face 
  that now leans into her field of vision, her mouth working with an effort, 
  and at last she whispers in tremulous tones, "I-imphada Kiera...?" Is she 
  dreaming? She heard voices, men's voices, deep dull tones against the loud 
  roaring in her head, but now, this face?

"I am still Kiera," Kiera agrees. "I hope I have not come too late. The Khalid 
  was busy tonight, so I did not speak to him until I went into the tent," she 
  explains, as if this has any bearing on anything. "The Ulima and the 
  Warlord, they will see the Khalid. He awaits you, as well. If you wish to 
  leave Clan Sarazen, and if the Ulima wishes to leave, then you will be 
  welcome into Clan Khalida. But the Khalid wishes to speak with all of you. I 
  have been sent to fetch you. You will not burn me, if I touch you?" Kiera 
  asks, before attempting anything.

A little whimper, half pain, half dismay, escapes Faanshi. Green eyes go wide 
  with those same emotions, as she hoarsely wails, "I... I-I do not know...!"

"How," Kiera asks, "Do you not know?" She is, fortunately, interrupted by the 
  tent flap's opening, the entrance of a healer who hurries forth with his bag 
  of tools, and escorted by one of the Agni-Haidar. Kiera's breeze, then, 
  reaches to caress Faanshi, before she stesps back to make room.

"I... I do not mean to make the pain, but it is so hard..." The girl on the 
  pallet seemingly has barely enough strength for these words. As Kiera's 
  breezelet wafts across her brow, the young shudra's voice falters and her 
  eyes threaten to drop shut; a blessed coolness, that little breeze, against 
  her fiery forehead.

The healer, who heard nothing of this conversation or who would have brushed 
  it off as fever-ravings, sweeps by Kiera and kneels by Faanshi, practiced 
  hands beginning to unwind the woman's wrappings. (I assume he can do 
  this...??). Brief magic will deal with the immediathing that it 
  life-threatening; they don't send slouches out, when the Agni-Haidar summon. 
  Kiera stands and watches. So does the remaining Agni-Haidar. Outside, 
  several more have appeared, so the common folk of the clan can wonder just 
  /what/ is goign on inside that tent, with the Warlord gone.

Hands...?! Hands? Whose? Faanshi starts violently as the healer leans over 
  her, fear sweeping across her features. Her bloodstained sari, taken off, 
  reveals a tattered and bloodstained choli beneath, and a massive bruise 
  mottling one side of her face, creeping partway down her neck. There are 
  more bruisings, perhaps not visible to the eye but found by the 
  priest-mage's magic... and the moment the man's power touches the girl, she 
  convulses again. One golden hand fumbles out, involuntarily clutching the 
  healer's forearm, and there is an answering surge of power. From her.

The healer's eyes flutter wide and he jolts back from the woman on the pallet, 
  gaining his feet at the same time. He shoots a quick look at the priest, 
  then Kiera, before looking back to Faanshi. "She is a healer?" No one, of 
  course, can answer that question. So, in the ensuing silence, the healer 
  kneels again and draws a breath. Remain calm. "Remain calm, woman. Breath 
  deep and focus. Calm yourself. Now." There. A touch of authority, if gentle. 
  Kiera only stares. The guard remains near her.

Faanshi slumps back on the sweat-soaked pallet, the hand that had clutched at 
  the healer hovering there in mid-air for a moment, like a leaf on a branch 
  buffeted in a storm. Her eyes stare unseeingly at the man who'd touched her; 
  she looks almost... shocked.

Now the priest crosses his arms and studies this woman, as evenly as does the 
  healer. Magic oozes and becomes thick in the room, pounding with the 
  heartbeats of the mages within, so that even the Agni-Haidar who might 
  normally not sense such things, likely feels a prickle at the back of his 
  neck, and Kiera, usually insensitive to other's magic, shuffles the feathers 
  on her wings, unhappily. Faanshi's magic is quietly doused - the work of the 
  priest - to a level where the healer can do his work. Their cooperation is 
  unspoken, mgiht appear practiced. The healer's deft fingers wind bandages 
  about this wounded woman, clean cuts and work to sew them together - those 
  that did not respond to his initial attempt to heal.

Soon enough, it is done. Some bandaging, some sewing is indeed needed, for 
  something within the shudra girl wrestled with the healer-mage's 
  ministrations... the raw power, perhaps. But more than enough is done to 
  bring a look of startlement to her glazed green eyes. The bruises that 
  darken her golden skin fade. A fractured bone within her right arm knits. A 
  gurgle that sounds in her throat on every fourth or fifth breath quiets. At 
  last, a look of beatific peace drops across her unveiled features, and her 
  eyelids drop closed beneath strands of sweat-dampened ebon hair that have 
  dropped across her brow. There is one thing that the healer's power did not 
  touch, however... or, rather, two: the girl's ears. Or, rather yet again, 
  what is left of them, for the tops of them seem to be misshapen and scarred, 
  a noticeable amount of flesh missing from each.

Silence now, as pervasive as the magic that seemed to make the air 
  unbreathable before. Silence from the healer who steps back from his work - 
  how much time has passed? Silence from the guard, from his habitually quiet 
  charge, and from the priest. Silence. The Sarazen Clan guard has long since 
  been dismissed, but even if he remains in the tent, he too is quiet. Then, 
  finally, the Agni-Haidar asks, to draw the unnatural scene back to current 
  reality, "Is she well enough to travel, across the camp?" His voice, though 
  soft, startles Kiera, and a breeze hastens through the tent, only to be 
  quashed immediately again. The healer tears his study away from you and 
  looks to the guard, then nods. "She can be moved now. Better that she sleep, 
  but she can..." There must be a reason that the Khalid has taken an apparent 
  interest in this woman, and the healer will not be the man to stop him.

The Clan guard has, indeed, departed the tent -- but he hasn't gone very far. 
  The young man named Cahil has joined the sentry on duty outside, keeping 
  watch over the Warlord's tent even as they occasionally exchange whispers 
  between themselves about the Agni-Haidar and the Favored of the Khalid who 
  have come into their part of the camp... and wonder about the shudra girl. 
  Or is she really a demon...?

Whichever she is, Faanshi now lies quietly, her brow still sweat-streaked... 
  but now, cool.

This task that next presents itself will not be difficult for the man who 
  undertakes it. The Agni-Haidar steps forward and rather gently - for one who 
  is likely more accustomed to handling armour, foes and heavy weaponry - 
  takes the shudra-woman into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Then 
  gagin, consider how harsh the training this man withstood, is. Likely he 
  held a fallen comrade, a dying friend, as carefully as he holds this woman, 
  now. He turns to head out, flanked by Kiera and the priest, and followed by 
  the healer.

Lifted up into the arms of the warrior, Faanshi is certainly she must be 
  dreaming. She has never been thusly carried, and with this blissful lack of 
  pain that has swept across her body, it seems to her that surely she must be 
  dreaming... or perhaps she is preparing to go into her next life? But 
  perhaps she would not be quite so tired, nor would there be that wind 
  blowing across her face, or the ebbing pain in her scarred ears, if it was 
  truly time for her to be reborn? The softest of sighs drifts out of her, as 
  she is borne away....

Dreams of the trip to the Khalid's encampment may well ever drift through your 
  nightly sleep. Cold. Dark. The face of a nameless Lion of Fire, glancing 
  down at you now and then. Sometimes you mght see a hand - talon-nailed - 
  upon his arm, as he serves the purpose of conveyance and guide. That breeze, 
  ever, touching you lightly with chill air, sweeping over you. The crunch of 
  the companion's feet across frozen ground, slick with ice. Soft voices 
  speaking words you cannot hear. And it ends in another tent, where someone - 
  Kiera - wipes the wet from your face, gently, and someone else covers you, 
  allows you to dry and warm.

Oh, yes, this is very nice. "I feel better now, heart-mother," Faanshi 
  whispers into the air, dreamingly.

Colors swirl, flames lick into darkness, faces appear and disappear, anf 
  voices, some with an odd clipped Sylvan accent, speak words to you, or 
  around you. Soon, your dreams indicates, you will be taken to see the 
  Khalid. For now, Faanshi... Rest. You are protected, for now.

[End log.]