"Entering Behzad"

Log Date:
	11/24, 11/26/99

Log Cast:
	Devi, Faanshi

Log Intro:
	The most frightening task she has ever been commanded to take on has
been laid before the shudra Faanshi: to infiltrate Clan Behzad, which has
been direly struck by the earthquake that shook Haven, and heal its hurt
and ailing people in secret... under the nose of a Warlord who has gone mad
and who seems bent on destroying his own Clan in the name of making it
'pure'. Begged for Atesh-Gah's aid by the Nayaka Numair and the Ushasti
priestess Devi, the Foreign Minister Ranjeet Khalida has ordered the
halfbreed healer to help the benighted Clan for as long as Numair and Devi
deem it safe for her to stay -- and has ordered her to at all costs stay
out of the notice of the Warlord, for there will be no salvation for a
mere halfbreed healer if she should step awry and bring Sakhr's wrath
down upon her.
	Faanshi is unnerved to the depths of her soul by the prospect of
having to risk the ire of _another_ mad Warlord, and all the more so for
being forbidden to tell anyone -- her teachers or the Mongrel bard who has 
grown very dear to her -- where she is going. But there are people in need.
And so even though she has been told that other healers will be smuggled into 
Behzad's Clanhall as well, even though she is more afraid than she knows how 
to express, she does not wait to go to Behzad's aid... and must trust to
borrowed clothing and the name of the mother she never knew to disguise her
from the eyes of Sakhr....

----------
A late summer's night, the full moon muffled in thick smudges of clouds. The 
  city is as quiet as it ever gets; even in the dead of night, a half-million 
  souls will generate a goodly amount of ambient noise. Enough so that it 
  could be noticed, perhaps, how very quiet the Behzad Clanhall is. The gates 
  are open only enough for a single person to slip through, and the number of 
  guards are halved. Now and again one will mutter or cough, but the uncanny 
  silence always returns.
It is through this silence that Devi slips, moving out from the Clanhall with 
  a stiff, somewhat painful stride. Her usual crimson-and-black silks are 
  replaced with pure black; mourning clothes. No jewelry, no flash. She takes 
  three steps out from the gates and just...stops, looking around as if the 
  entire city had crept up on her unnoticed.

Devi
                           Black, blacker, blackest.                          
        All feral fluidity and lithe-limbed languor, Devi stands perhaps five 
  and a half feet tall. Her body is a dusky-skinned study of sleek, 
  whippet-lean curves and femininely-sculpted planes shrouded in funereal 
  silks -- blousy black silwar ride her hips, crimson striping stark lines 
  along the swaying, weighted sash; fiery-hued scarves replaced with a 
  bell-sleved choli the colour of midnight. Tawny amber eyes, unflinching and 
  filled with an eerie-odd intensity, are limned with kohl, lids decorated 
  with burnt umber. Onyx hair, smooth as its namesake, is gathered into tiny 
  braids, the ivory finishing-beads clatterclicking like finger-bones. Short 
  enough to brush cheekbones and chin in the front, the braids drape heavy and 
  smooth to the shoulderblades in back. Nightblack nails tip slender, 
  henna-patterned hands, their swift-smooth gestures sculpting additional 
  nuance to words carried on a honeyed-harsh voice. The golden jewelry is 
  gone, turning her footsteps from a series of tiny chimes to a wraithlike 
  progression.
                                  < +Views. >                                 

Faanshi is not at all certain what bothers her more: wearing the colors of a 
  different Clan, or the distinct lack of the comforting bulk of her dog Kosha 
  at her side. She is alone in the dead of night, with nothing to her name but 
  the tiny knife and the few pouches of precious herbs she's hidden beneath 
  her leyang. Anyone could steal upon her in the gloom and make off with her, 
  and she is achingly conscious of her vulnerability without her hound. For 
  the last hour she has hidden near the Behzad gates, silently repeating 
  prayer after prayer to Ushas to keep her unseen until such time as one or 
  both of the two she has been ordered to seek make contact with her. And now, 
  as Devi slips out into the street, the halfbreed shudra straightens, 
  nervously straightening the black leyang that covers her hair and the red 
  veil that hides the lower half of her face. Green eyes risk a peek over the 
  veil, to try to get a better look. Is this the woman she seeks?

Black on black silks, the faint clatter of braid-beads; the braids might give 
  it away, for she is the only Haven-dwelling Behzad with her hair done in 
  that style. The clothing might, too, depending on how thorough the 
  description was. Devi looks up to the sky, rubbing wearily at her nape as 
  she does, then turns towards Atesh-Gah and starts walking in that direction. 
  Now and again a wink of white will show from beneath her silks -- an ivory 
  statuette, the pale surface smudged with ash and charcoal. Slow, 
  painful-seeming steps; she's in no hurry, and looks as if she couldn't hurry 
  if she wanted.

It _is_ her. Faanshi swallows behind her veil as the Ushasti woman draws close 
  to where she's lurking between a pair of buildings, and only when she is 
  within range does the girl dare to whisper aloud: "Namaste', imphada... this 
  humble one seeks guidance... and to deliver the mercy of the Lady of the 
  Dawn." Her voice is young and unsure... but she does not stammer.

Jumping out of your skin is for people with more energy than Devi -- she 
  starts, shoulders hunching a little with a belated wince, and looks in the 
  direction of the whisper. There's something odd about her skintone, 
  something 'off' in the colouring, though it's hard to tell precisely /what/ 
  in the dim lighting. One blink, another, and then a puzzled frown; she 
  glances towards the gates, then takes a step towards you and murmurs, "What 
  are you doing outside the Clanhall, young one? You know the Warlord's 
  edict." It's been a long, long day. Hopefully the denseness can be excused.

For a moment, Faanshi is stricken with indecision. Perhaps the imphada 
  priestess does not know who she is? Perhaps this is the wrong woman? The 
  halfbreed girl pauses, steels herself, and pulls in a long breath before 
  murmuring as steadily as she can, keeping her eyes down but hoping that 
  she's captured this woman's attention appropriately enough, "I beg the 
  imphada's pardon and will explain myself... if you will enlighten me... as 
  to whether you are the Imphada Maithuna Devi Amavasya?"

Or perhaps Devi is simply very tired and very, very woolen-brained at the 
  moment. She's definitely had better months. Move to Haven, see the sights, 
  she thought. She straightens a little when you speak her name, brows 
  furrowing gingerly. "I am Devi, yes," she replies, curiosity and wariness 
  edging in on her previously-even tone. Something about this shudra, the 
  voice...but it's dark, and the colours are wrong, and she can't seem to 
  place it. Another glance to the gates, another step forward, then: "I know 
  you. Who are you?"

Ushas be praised. It would be an inauspicious beginning, indeed, if she were 
  to make contact with the wrong woman! Faanshi still does not look up, but 
  she steps a little closer, bringing her tall, slim young frame into slightly 
  better view -- and a little horrified gasp escapes her, a hand coming up 
  involuntarily, her eyes almost doing so. "My name is Faanshi," she breathes, 
  "and I am sent to help, Imphada."

"What? What is it?" she asks, when you gasp. Devi lifts a hand, sniffing at 
  the silks over her forearm. "The smell of the pyres?" Yes, people are still 
  dying within the Behzad Clanhall, the telltale black smoke-curls wafting up 
  towards the sky three or four times a day. She rubs between her brows for a 
  moment, then lets her hand drop with a sigh. "You-" She stops, frowning at 
  you again. "Faanshi. You-" Another halt. The gears whir in Devi's head, 
  slowly at first, then picking up speed. "Oh." Again, even softer: "Oh." If 
  there was a wall nearby, she'd slump against it in blind relief. "By Ushas' 
  mercy, you've come." She blinks rapidly, trying to clear the fatigue-clouds 
  from her mind. "The Foreign Minister, last night...it was his doing."

"Yes, imphada," the younger woman urgently replies, stepping closer still, as 
  close as she dares -- for she dares not raise her eyes, nor her voice. "I am 
  to speak to you and to the Imphadi Hakan Adham-Numair al-Behzad and serve as 
  you command me." A pause, and then, emotion roughens her otherwise soft, 
  solemn words. "You are in pain, imphada. I can help you."

"The Nayaka. Yes. He whispered something to the Foreign Minister..." Her 
  shoulders shake once with dry, soundless laughter. "In front of Sakhr. 
  Foolhardy...and brave." She rubs her nape again, slowly, thinking. "There is 
  so much that needs to be done, and so few ways to accomplish it..." She 
  trails off with a sigh, canting her head just slightly to study you. "Aye, 
  the Warlord has ordered all of Behzad through a boiling shower. 
  Purification...it's Ushas' doing that there is not enough wood to spare to 
  heat the water as hot as he wishes it." Another dry chuckle. "Will it tire 
  you to help me, young one? There are others who need your gift more than I."

"I am young and strong," comes the shudra girl's earnest, soft reply. "And 
  there are other healers who will be coming, in secret. It will not harm me 
  to begin with you, imphada, but I will heal who and when I am bidden." 
  Faanshi steals another peek over the top of her red veil, green eyes liquid 
  and anxious... but resolved.

A glance back to the gates, before Devi steps out of the dim light and into 
  the darker shadows near you. "If you are certain," she murmurs, rubbing 
  briefly at her nape again. "I cannot tend properly to the others if I am 
  ill, myself. And there are several that I cannot help, that are beyond my 
  skills and require magic..." She trails off, shaking her head once. 
  Concentrate. "Can you work here, or would you prefer to return to Atesh-Gah?"

"I wish to go where I am needed, imphada." The halfbreed has yet to raise her 
  voice, but it remains steady even as she whispers. "I am not needed in 
  Atesh-Gah."

"If we enter the Clanhall, you will have to submit to the showers. All who 
  leave the..." Devi's veils shift as she purses her mouth. "...'purity' of 
  the Clanhall are required to do so when they return. The guards will be 
  watching for any signs out outside aid, as the Warlord ordered, but many are 
  weakened or injured themselves. It would be best to come and go as little as 
  possible, perhaps come in with two or three of the healers at once." Pause. 
  "Best to heal me then, after the showers." Another shower. Gods above. She 
  sends a silent but fervent prayer that the wood supplies have dwindled even 
  more.

Behind her veil, Faanshi swallows hard. If the pain radiating off this 
  priestess before her is any indication, these showers of which she speaks 
  are going to be her first trial. But she _must_ pass them, in order to do 
  what she has been entrusted to do. "I..." For a moment, her soft voice 
  cracks a little, speaking of the fear with which she is wrestling. But she 
  goes on, more or less steadily, "I must... go where I am needed, imphada, 
  and they who need me are inside the Clanhall." There. She's said it.

Devi's head cants a little to one side, tawny-amber eyes focussing hard on 
  you. "And you would enter now, then leave, then return again?" She sighs 
  quietly, gaze dropping to the ground, and gives a slight, careful shrug. "As 
  you prefer, young one. Best we return now, while most of the Clanhall 
  sleeps, then." She steps back out onto the street and squares her shoulders 
  somewhat.

"I am to stay as long as I am needed, imphada," murmurs Faanshi softly. She 
  does not look up to meet that piercing regard, but her whisper is sure. 
  Willing enough to follow where she is led, she steps after you when you 
  begin to move.

Slow, quiet steps lead the way back towards the gates, accompanied with a 
  quieter voice: "If the guards challenge you, I will tell them you are new 
  from the vara, arrived just before the earthquake. Things have been chaotic; 
  it is a likely story." Nearer the gates, dark figures can be seen in the low 
  towers to either side, leaning against the stone walls as they watch for 
  nonexistent enemies. Devi pauses at the threshold to glance back and murmur, 
  "Courage and Ushas' mercy for us both," before slipping inside.

"Say to them that my name is Yamineh, imphada," is all that Faanshi whispers, 
  as she moves to follow the older woman back to the Behzad gates.

Devi passes through the stone arch marking the entrance into the Behzad Clan 
  Hall.
Devi has left.

You step through the stone arch and enter the courtyard of the Behzad Clan 
  Hall.
Courtyard - Behzad Clan Hall - Haven(#388RAJLh)
     High walls of roughly hewn stone loom overhead, and the worn stonework of 
  the floor indicates that the dwelling ahead was built a long, long time ago. 
  Obviously built for a wealthy Varati, this courtyard has been constructed to 
  resemble a subterranean vara. Around the perimeter of the courtyard are 
  small buildings--stables on either side, one for horses, the other for 
  firedrakes; a kitchen; a small forge. 
     Over the massive oaken door leading into the house hangs a large crimson 
  flag, matching the livery of the Behzad guards that stand on either side of 
  the door on formal occasions.
Contents:
Devi
Greenhouse - Behzad Clan Hall - Haven
Obvious exits:
Massive Doors <MD>  Street <O>

Even for the dead of night, the Clanhall is overquiet -- the few guards 
  patrolling the gates are silent, several walking with the same stubborn, 
  pained stride as Devi. The smell of the pyres lingers, acrid and black, a 
  few tendrils of smoke still rising from the freshest one. A few scaffolds 
  have been set up to try and repair the damage to the great hall, but without 
  the stone to spare, they sit abandoned and useless. In one of the far 
  corners are pallets and lean-tos, a few small fires burning; in the other 
  are makeshift sheds and three large water-troughs up on supports, a dying 
  fire beneath the middle one. "This way," she murmurs, as she turns for the 
  showers.

The smell is what reaches Faanshi first. The first time she'd encountered the 
  stench of burning flesh, they'd burned the Warlord of Sarazen -- because of 
  her. Many more funeral pyres had been the result of the great plague that 
  swept through Haven some months ago... and thus, now, the halfbreed girl 
  does not need to ask what it is she smells now. The second thing that 
  strikes her as a guard passes her and her escort not far away is pain, held 
  in stoic, grim check, and the sense of it sends a new tendril of fear 
  through her heart. Are they _all_ in pain, here in the Clanhall? It takes 
  her a moment before she is able to whisper back to Devi her acknowledgement 
  of "yes, imphada", and then with renewed worry she hastens after the older 
  woman.

Pain. Yes, everyone you near is in pain. A few of the guards might not be as 
  bad -- most of those show signs of sedation, however, their eyes glassy in 
  ruddy-scalded cheeks. And the seriously injured await at the other end of 
  the yard. The guard set to watch the fires is leaned up against one of the 
  supports, dozing; he starts as the two of you approach, studying you both 
  blearily, then rumbles something about more firewood and limps off. "Three 
  showers," Devi says as the man moves off. "Cold, then hot, then cold again." 
  Her shoulders move with a deep breath as she finishes, "I will go first. You 
  will have to disrobe." She looks at you for a moment, then down to the 
  fastenings of her own silks. No screens for modesty's sake, just the showers 
  and the wide open yard and the steam rising from the middle trough.

She'd expected this, but still, it comes as something of a distinct shock for 
  a maiden who's spent her life barely able to bring herself to remove her 
  veil, much less any other article of her clothing, before another person. 
  Again comes the "Yes, imphada", but this time it's delivered in the barest 
  of whispers, along with a swift, shy riveting of the shudra's attention upon 
  her feet. Moreover, Faanshi automatically turns slightly away, ready to give 
  the smaller woman a modicum of privacy. "Should I... disrobe... while I wait 
  for you?"

Devi permits herself a dry and very humourless chuckle. "I will not dawdle, I 
  assure you. The quicker we are through, the quicker it will be done." Her 
  voice is tighter than it was, and she clears her throat at the end of the 
  sentence. The black shroud-silks are left in a heap on the flagstones in 
  short order, and she steps towards the first shower. A simple lever 
  mechanism releases each gout of water; she gingerly rubs her reddened 
  shoulders for a moment before pulling the first one. In a mixed blessing, 
  time has warmed the previously-icy water to lukewarmth. The middle 
  shower...well. What's to be said? Devi falters for a moment, fingers 
  white-knuckled on the lever, then whispers something under her breath and 
  releases the gout of steaming water. She shudders, hunching in on herself, a 
  cry strangled off in her throat as scalded skin is burned anew. She keeps 
  her feet for the final shower, somehow, and gestures you towards the first 
  shower with a tiny wave of one dripping hand.

The pain she's already sensed coming from you takes a sharp spike upward in 
  the halfbreed girl's consciousness, and she has to bite back a whimper of 
  her own as she senses what that scalding water does to already pained and 
  reddened and blistered skin. _Oh merciful Lady..._ Faanshi winces behind her 
  veil, sends off a desperate prayer for strength, and begins to strip herself 
  down as well. Black and crimson drop forth off her tall young frame, 
  revealing a shape rather more significantly slender than many Varati women 
  typically exhibit. Her curves are a maiden's curves, her skin a paler hue of 
  gold than many Varati women's as well. She keeps her head down, obscuring 
  her features from easy view, and the long rope of her braided thick black 
  hair is left to be the only thing that even remotely covers her back. And 
  thus, unclad, she steps into the first of the showers. She's already 
  blushing, but the heat of embarrassment quickly gives way to the shock of 
  even lukewarm water against her bare flesh. And then comes the second of the 
  showers. Indeed, Faanshi is young and strong -- but when that boiling 
  cascade sluices down upon her, even youth and strength have to falter.

Stumble, sputtercough, lean up against one of the supports to reach for her 
  clothes-oh, sweet Ushas, no, no leaning... Devi flounders for one of the 
  'towels' -- rough, unbleached cotton -- and tries to stay on her feet while 
  patting her hair and shoulders dry. She lifts somewhat dazed eyes from the 
  towel to you as the steaming water pours down, and shivers again. "Here," 
  she says in a thready voice. "Hurry. You're almost done." She tries to 
  direct you to the third shower and offer out a length of cloth when you're 
  through. Keep you moving, give you something to concentrate on other than 
  the pain.

Pain. For a moment or two Faanshi can think of nothing else, her teeth 
  gritted, her eyes squeezed shut as an animal whimper slips out of her. With 
  a mighty effort she pulls her eyes open and follows where she is bidden, not 
  having strength to spare for vocalizing an answer now. In, then, to the 
  third shower... and after that is accomplished, Faanshi stumbles wet and 
  reeling out towards you. The world tilts beneath her feet once she tries to 
  touch that towel to her flesh -- especially the most sensitive portions of 
  it that have hardly ever been exposed to air, save within the shelter of a 
  private room or tent. Tears leak out of her eyes; with trembling hands, the 
  girl begins to dry herself. Must not scream. Must not scream. Reach within, 
  Faanshi, find your center where you go when the world seems darkest, you can 
  heal yourself, you can drive away the pain. And for a moment, she staggers, 
  clutching the towel to her. The aether roils up around her, her power 
  snapping up to life like the sword of a warrior surging forth from its 
  sheath in defense of that warrior's master.

Devi's already thanked Ushas repeatedly that the good Warlord decided on a 
  shower, rather than a dunk in a tub, to be certain. No doubt his soldiers 
  have, too. "Good, good," she says, voice wavering, as she tries to help as 
  best she can; so little she can do when her own head is still spinning and 
  she knows quite intimately how your skin must feel. She tries to catch you 
  when you stagger, support you with a hand against the middle of your back. 
  The guardsman looks on for a moment, expression unreadable, then goes back 
  to chopping wood.

Faanshi will, she tells herself, bear it. There isn't an option here. She 
  tells herself also that it is not as bad, to be sure, as when her magic went 
  awry during the aether-storms that recently swept over every mage in the 
  city. Neither of these desperate, determined thoughts have much conviction 
  to them, or much in the way of conscious substance, however. Their effect is 
  only that the halfbreed girl's power flares up without her really 
  consciously willing it, roaring through her to drown away the pain. 
  Fortunately for Faanshi, the surge in the aether is not visible. But the 
  alteration of her stance _is_ visible, as her muscles unclench in the wake 
  of her own magic, leaving her feeling scalded within... but now, at least, 
  there is no scalding without. "Where do... we go now, imphada?" comes her 
  tiny, breathless groan.

Devi gives you an odd look for a moment, envy and respect and anger all 
  wrenched up in a tangle, then carefully draws her hand away from your back 
  and starts wobble-struggling into her clothes. She's only half-dry, but it 
  will have to do. "We. We tend to the wounded," she replies, water dripping 
  from the ends of her braids to silently patter on her shoulders. 
  "The...ones. From the earthquakes. The ones I cannot help." She tries to 
  squeeze some of the water out of her braids as she watches the guardsman 
  return, then clears her throat and calls to him in a scratchy voice: 
  "The...water was nearly cold this time, Imphadi. Truly." The man snorts 
  loudly, and the two shares a weary, mirthless smile.

[And with that, the exhausted priestess escorts the new-come healer, 
 under the cover of darkness, in to help the afflicted ones of her Clan
 -- and to speak with the Nayaka who has been forced to conspire
 against his own Warlord. To be continued....]