"The Final Purification"

Log Date:
	12/29/99

Log Cast:
	Sakhr, Kerani, Numair, Yamineh/Faanshi, Hepzibah, assorted NPC Behzad
warriors (emitted by Sakhr and Numair), assorted NPC Behzad women (emitted
by Kerani and Faanshi)

Log Intro:
	When Kiera Khalida delivered her out of the grip of Hashim of Clan
Sarazen, Faanshi had never imagined that she would be given a duty that would
require her to risk the proximity of _another_ mad Warlord.
	But recent crises in the city of Haven have struck its populace hard
-- and in particular, the Varati Clan Behzad has suffered mightily through
the ravages of the plague and through the magical upheavals that have overcome
many of the city's mages. In the midst of it all Sakhr, Warlord of Behzad,
has grown more and more fanatical in attempting to maintain his idea of the
holy honor and purity of his people. He has sealed his Clan in Haven into 
their Hall in the Varati quarter, and there he has attempted to uphold their
safety, their 'purity'. But Sakhr's notions of purity have run to showers of 
scalding hot and freezing cold water to 'cleanse' the flesh of Behzad... 
rejection of all outside food and supplies from the city, lest they taint 
Behzad with plague...
	And now, a gathering of every woman in his Clanhall into his presence,
along with a young Ushasti who has crept in from outside at the behest of her
elders to aid the priestess and herbalist Devi... and a young shudra healer
who has been smuggled into Behzad at the behest of Clan Khalida to provide 
what aid she can, and who has not been so terrified since her time with the
Clan of her birth....

----------
You pass through the huge oaken doors into the Clan Hall.
Great Hall - Behzad Clan Hall - Haven(#383RHJMh$)
     Rows of torches gutter in double rows along the craggy stone walls of the 
  cavernous room, filling the air with acrid smoke and sending shadows dancing 
  along the smooth stone floor. Across the expanse of the hall from the 
  entrance, a stone staircase rises up to a balcony overlooking the vault. Two 
  heavy oaken tables take up much of the room, each spanning the length of the 
  long sides of the room. Chairs line the wall-facing side of each table, such 
  that anyone seated faces the center of the room. The massive throne of the 
  Warlord rests at the center of the table along the western wall, in front of 
  a heavy crimson tapestry. 
+views and places are set.
Contents:
Sakhr
Obvious exits:
Hallway <H>  Massive Doors <MD>

Morning. The day started out like any other, with the wind playing games in 
  the Great Hall, having free access through the gaping hole in the roof, 
  still not repared. Much like the day Sakhr arrived here, not long after 
  Kaspar died by his own wish, to save the Clan from his crimes. Yet not long 
  into this day, something changed. The kitchens are empty now save for the 
  men. The laundry lays in heaps, unwashed, the waters still. No high women's 
  voices save for the Great Hall. Every single woman over fourteen years of 
  age, that was to be found in the Hall, is rounded up here, standing hip to 
  hip, for some reason guarded. In one corner of the Hall Sakhr stands, 
  surrounded by his personal guard, well, part of it. Straightening his 
  clothes, one last time raking a hand through his hair before he turns and 
  observes the scene.

Kerani stands silently among the Bezhad women, disoriented somewhat by the 
  quite unexpected summons. Even with what she's heard, she hadn't expected 
  anything like this. The young woman - only a couple years above the 
  Warlord's age cutoff - hides what fear she's feeling quite well, given the 
  circumstances, standing almost perfectly still. Only her eyes move, even 
  though her lowered gaze doesn't give her much field of vision.

Striding in with a measured pace, his boots clicking loudly upon the stones of 
  the floor and his crimson cape flowing behind him like a cloud of blood, 
  Numair enters the Great hall. His face displays absolutely no emotion about 
  the situation, his mouth drawn into a calm line and his eyes like twin 
  golden suns. Despite this lack of feeling from the man, the fact that he 
  strides into the room with ten armed Kshatri flanking him and his own ebon 
  blade loose in its sheath is probably an indication that his current mood 
  definitely does not run towards a positive one. His golden gaze falls upon 
  the gathered women, his lips curling ever so slightly as he begins moving 
  forward towards his honorable Warlord with strides so fluid and deadly that 
  they would put his patron animal to shame. Upon reaching a respectful 
  distance he bows deeply to the man whom he has given all loyalty to and says 
  in a loud voice that seems to echo through the chambers like growing 
  thunder. "I would have word with you if I may, my Sirdar." Upon his words 
  the men spread slightly, seeming to tense as they look to the gathering of 
  the Warlords personal guard.

Not even the sanctity of the quarters of Devi Amavasya are proof against a 
  thorough search conducted by the Warlord's men -- and despite the orders 
  she's been given to the contrary, she who currently answers to the name of 
  Yamineh cannot exactly afford to make a spectacle of herself by refusing to 
  go along with this disturbing new development. And thus, as any shudra in 
  this Hall would, she silently allows herself to be herded into the Great 
  Hall, to take a deferential place among the other shudra women... not daring 
  to raise her eyes for any reason, even to seek desperately for any sign of 
  Devi or Kerani in the vast chamber.

"You may not." The words coming from Sakhr's lip sound tight, tired, 
  reflecting the burden the man feels on his shoulders, the burden he is about 
  to share with the women of his great clan. His clan. The one he is so 
  anxiously trying to preserve. He doesn't look his Nayaka in the eye, his 
  attention focussed on the crowd before him. Did he even notice the score of 
  men Numair brought with him. Not really, that's his guard's duty and they 
  shift, uneasily, not used to this kind of display within Behzad's own walls. 
  With a sad frown, the Warlord steps forward, to the gathered women and 
  shakes his head before he speaks again, no less calm then before. "Women of 
  Behzad. Hear me."

Kerani's eyes stop their moving back and forth as the Nayaka and Warlord share 
  the briefest of exchanges. A silent prayer to Ushas flies through her head, 
  hoping beyond hope that this won't be as bad as her fears are suggesting. If 
  she was standing still before, she is as a statue now, barely breathing, her 
  eyes fixed at the Warlord's chest. Her common sense again screams at her, 
  telling her how crazy of an idea this was.

Numair holds up one hand, palm forward, his eyes unblinking as he looks to 
  what his 'honorable' Warlord has to say. Upon the upraised hand the men in 
  his small company move to attention, sheathing weapons and staring straight 
  forward like statues. The Nayaka simply halts his own movement as if the 
  motionless existence is natural for him, but his eyes betray the fact that 
  he is _not_ happy about this current situation. And yet still he waits, 
  loyalty and honor holding the man back even in the face of something that 
  could quite obviously turn into a _very_ bad situation.

Women of Behzad. Well, strictly speaking, this doesn't include the halfbreed 
  shudra girl hiding in their midst, her form swathed in a black sari, her 
  face hidden by a crimson veil. But under no circumstances can she permit 
  herself to give away any signal that one not of Clan Behzad is here. Silence 
  is her watchword, a shudra's habitual demonstrated deference now very 
  arguably the only thing that may continue to preserve her safety and her 
  life. Be silent, Faanshi, shudra to Kiera Khalida. Be silent... be still!

Eyes of ebony, sadly flicking from veiled face to veiled face, giving away 
  nothing but the feeling that he is about to deliver news that is anything 
  but good. No stool is needed for him, or table, standing on the floor. He 
  doesn't need to raise his voice, the silence of the people and the 
  accoustics of the hall doing the rest. "We all have known hardship for the 
  past few years," the man solemnly begins, "We were laughed at. Spit upon. 
  Until we proved ourselves worthy of the Amir-al and still that was not 
  enough. We cleansed ourselves. And it was not enough. We purified everything 
  about us. And it was not enough. Women of Behzad..." Sakhr pauses, before he 
  finally speaks louder, "You. You alone will finally shows Khalid Atar the 
  purity of Behzad. You will show we are worthy." In one corner a door opens. 
  A man with a white apron can be seen in the opening.

Numair's eyes narrow at such an odd decree, but his body remains impassive, 
  waiting for the outcome of such a statement and knowing in the back of his 
  mind and deepest part of his heart that it _will_ be bad beyond his worst 
  imagination.

Kerani shivers slightly at the start of the decree. Unlike the shudra who goes 
  by the name 'Yamineh', she hasn't even made any attempt to hide her true 
  identity, as a member of al'Samar. A selfish thought goes through her mind - 
  please, don't let this include me! - before she reminds herself that things 
  like this shouldn't even be going on in the first place. All she can do now 
  is to remain silent, and see what particularly lies in store for these poor 
  women - which just may include her.

Oh dear. _Ushas, Holy Mother of the Amir-al, protect us..._ Faanshi/Yamineh 
  sends that prayer winging out through her thoughts, the hands she clasps 
  before her growing white-knuckled with the force of her own grip. She does 
  not know what this Warlord, this frightening, disturbing man who reminds her 
  all too acutely of Hashim of Clan Sarazen, has in mind. But the words he 
  utters send a chilll splashing down her spine nevertheless.

"Send in the first to bring us back to our former glory." The words are back 
  at normal level, but loud enough to every pair of ears in the Hall. One of 
  the guards leads a shudra woman by the arm to the man with the apron, 
  wearing a sad, resigned expression to go with the pure white around his 
  waist. The woman doesn't struggle, but the fear is plain on her face. Sakhr 
  doesn't keep his eyes off of her, not until the door closes behind the woman 
  and the man, the guard remaining outside the door. Footsteps die and 
  everything is quiet. Until after a few minutes a piercing scream rips 
  through the wood and echo's in the Hall.

With wide eyes, body moving fluidly forward one step, Numair calls out in a 
  deep voice that rumbles forth like a growl "What is this Sakhr? What are you 
  having done now?" His anger flashes briefly in the voice but the fact that 
  he forgot himself enough to call the Warlord by name in front of a crowd 
  shows more about the state of things than any could truly know.

Kerani gasps softly and cringes openly - the reactions of the women nearby her 
  only slightly more reserved. Sweet Holy Mother! What insanity is this? 
  Surely, if torture or death were on the Warlord's mind, even twisted as it 
  is, the young vaisya still believes that he'd be more direct about it. She 
  glances up as the clan's Nayaka speaks up harshly. This promises to become 
  worse still before the situation improves. Some of the women around her 
  begin to weep softly, their own strength having been tested far too long.

The scream touches off reactions from the frightened women all over the hall. 
  None of them dare to cry out very loudly, but several whimpers of panic 
  creep out from behind veiled feminine faces to join with the weeping of the 
  ones near Kerani. One or two of the most outspoken women in the Clan surge 
  involuntarily up from the kneeling positions they'd assumed on the floor, 
  only to be firmly shoved back into place by the Warlord's guards. And in 
  their midst, a halfbreed shudra healer feels her own blood drain from her 
  face. She is not too far away from that ominous door that she cannot feel a 
  sudden violent surge in the aether, and the taste of it sets her power 
  churning. It is all she can do to keep from vomiting in reaction to the 
  nausea that suddenly swells through her at such a red, ragged burst of
  agony.

From solemn to furious in less then a second, Sakhr's vision no longer 
  encompasses the door but lock hard onto Numair. Eyes blacker then before, 
  but with that same disturbing glint in them he had with hie former decrees. 
  "Nayaka, remember your place and attone. Know me and know that I will not 
  harm the Clan. It is the only way. Kneel before your Warlord and take back 
  your foul words." The moment he finishes the door in the corner opens again. 
  Out comes the shudra woman. She is unable to walk, is carried out by two 
  men, wearing aprons. Despite the public appearance, she has her hands 
  pressed in a most private place, blood staining her skirt. Another woman is 
  hauled into the room.

Kerani can't keep herself from looking over to the door. She gasps anew, as 
  the horrid shock of what's happening seeps into her mind. She wavers 
  slightly as a surge of dizziness passes over her. All thoughts of the 
  confrontation between the Nayaka and Warlord are momentarily forgotten. 
  -Blessed Ushas ... perhaps now is not the time for mercy - but if you are to 
  send your wrath instead, please send it soon, before these women suffer 
  more!- Her prayer is more fervent this time, just as silent as the first, 
  but all thoughts of her own safety are gone.

Turning his head toward the woman slowly, seeing the blood and her agony, 
  Numair's frown disappears into a completely dead emotive expression that his 
  men know to contain his truest and most deadly rage. He turns back to his 
  'Warlord', eyes the only things expressing his current anger as the air 
  around him seems to crackle slightly, the tempeture seeming to rise around 
  him instantly even as slight sparks of fire burst around him like small 
  fireworks. He locks eyes with the Warlord even as the guards begin to take 
  another young Varati woman, the fiery golden amber meeting the pure darkness 
  of the Warlords ebon. And defience, pure and simple resides in that gaze. 
  The words come out as a hissing purr, seeming to fill the room even though 
  they contain no loudness at all. "No, Sakhr. I will _not_ kneel. This is the 
  purest and most vile madness and it _will_ stop. You are unbalanced with 
  grief whether you will admit the fact or not. You have brought desolation 
  unto our Clan in the name of your 'Purity' and it _will_ stop in this 
  instant. My loyalty and love for you knows no bounds my Sirdar but you have 
  pushed even _my_ limits. And to think of the atrocities that I have allowed 
  you to commit upon our Clansmen and women sickens me. So Sakhr. I demand 
  that you stop this, or face the concequences."

A terrified young woman at Faanshi's side reaches out in desperate horror for 
  her, needing to cling to something, anyone, for support. The halfbreed 
  shudra is startled enough that she is broken out of the roil of her power, 
  and she turns with tear-dampened vision to reach half-blindly for the 
  frantic girl, hugging her in awkward assurance. The maiden's dark gaze 
  flashes in dull panic to the two men squaring off before them all; Faanshi's 
  does not, but Numair's ringing tones nevertheless resonate through her 
  hearing with absolutely no assistance needed from her sight. "Peace," she 
  whispers desperately to the other maiden, "be at peace... Ushas will deliver 
  us... be at peace...!"

Upon these words, the men that came forth with the Nayaka move instantly and 
  with a practiced precision to draw forth their weapons in unison. They make 
  no move forward, simply displaying the weapons in such a way as to cover the 
  majority of the guards. The looks upon the face of every single man is one 
  of fear mixed with tension.

Numair's defiance is not alone. Far from alone. The man spoke true, Behzad's 
  limits have been reached perhaps weeks ago where only now the Nayaka drew 
  the line. The ringing of swords haven't even died or most of Sakhr's own 
  guards, his truest, most trusted men step away from behind him, joining the 
  rebellious general. About fifteen remain behind the Warlord, unsheathing 
  swords and pointing them at the agressors. Sakhr's falcare remains where it 
  was. "This is how you speak. This is your choice." The dark voice sounds 
  disappointed and wavers with anger. "You have chosen and those with you as 
  well. You will be next to enter that room Numair, to spend the rest of your 
  life a shudra." The Warlord himself seems little impressed by the show of 
  swords, still believing himself in control. Another scream rips through the 
  air.

Kerani slowly looks around the room as she starts hearing the drawing of 
  swords. Whereas the terror of those around her seems to grow, the vaisya 
  girl draws herself up to her full, if unimpressive, height. Perhaps her 
  prayer was just answered.

Weeping and whimpers erupt into screams, as the warriors draw their weapons. 
  Several of the females gathered here in the hall stumble back in mounting 
  fright from the Warlord and the Nayaka, leaving the guards forced to choose 
  between maintaining order among the women -- and turning to either defend or 
  attack the man who as of yet still leads the Clan. "In the name of the 
  Amir-al," Faanshi breathes to the maiden she's embracing, "flee!" She shoves 
  the girl as hard as she dares towards the nearest door, praying that enough 
  of a distraction is now arising that she might actually have a chance of 
  escaping these increasingly benighted hall.

Shaking his head slowly, a slight twitch of a wince coming with the scream of 
  the woman, he replies sadly to the man "No, Sakhr. If it could have come to 
  anything but this I would have chosen it. You were a great and honorable man 
  in your time, but this Clan cannot withstand your madness any longer. It 
  ends now, and if I have to spill your blood myself to do so then so be it." 
  His words ring even as the ebon blade of his falcare seems to appear in his 
  hand, the on edge screech of metal on metal sounding for a brief second. He 
  straightens slightly, pointing the blade towards the Warlord of Clan Behzad 
  and saying in a deep, formal tone tinged with sadness "Sakhr, Warlord of 
  Clan Behzad. I demand that you either stop this madness and step down as 
  Warlord, or be responcible for the blood that will spill, including your 
  own." His final words are drown out slightly by the screams of the women who 
  take up Faanshi's instinct to flee and take flight from the distracted 
  guards. But this does not distract the man, he begins walking towards the 
  Warlord, face dead of emotion but eyes blazing golden.

"Pig, how dare you! You are nothing, a nobody! How dare you speak of my honour 
  when you yourself show even less then that dog of a Messala!" Sakhr's voice 
  pitches, something that startles his loyal guards enough to let Numair come 
  closer. Another falcare is drawn but before the Warlord even has a chance to 
  raise it, two of his guard jump in front of him, between their king and then 
  threat. Their eyes radiate murder. None seem to note the chaos of the 
  running women, nobody minds the door in the corner being opened, a young 
  woman being thrown outside. Bleeding.

Kerani finds herself, for a brief moment, standing alone. This is before she 
  realizes that most of the women have decided to follow the lead of the woman 
  that Faanshi directed doorwards, and are themselves rushing to follow. She 
  looks to the door - Faanshi's headed that way, good. She scans the hall, 
  seeing a few women who've been knocked to the ground in the mad rush to 
  escape. She rushes to the nearest one, helping the older woman to her feet, 
  carefully. Station is ignored as she tells the Bezhad clanswoman, "Go!" The 
  young girl then moves to the next of the fallen women, trying to salvage 
  some order in the chaos that ensues.

Again the air seems to blister for a moment as the men jump in front of Numair 
  and what has become his prey. His blazing golden eyes fix upon the men, 
  chilling to the soul of each as he speaks in a voice of command that each 
  and every Kshatri of this clan has been conditioned to respond to, the pure 
  force of it scaring a few already running women into piles upon the floor, 
  weeping pathetically "Stand down kutas or fall before the one who trained 
  you." his pace doesn't slacken and inch, nor does his sword raise as he 
  moves towards the men, cape flaring behind him and giving him the appearence 
  of a winged demon almost.

Perhaps Devi Amavasya has been detained elsewhere? As she cannot find the 
  priestess anywhere in sight, Faanshi can only conclude that the Ushasti 
  woman has been forcibly restrained in another place, lest she stand up in 
  defiance now of what Sakhr has tried to do to his Clan's womenfolk. But this 
  means, too, that she can only now act as her heart sees fit -- and her heart 
  sees fit to get the increasingly panicked women around her away from the men 
  and their drawn blades. "Healer," somebody whimpers to her, an older woman 
  who has seen her from afar, sneaking about in the dead of night to ease the 
  pains and aches of the sick and wounded and starving denizens of this place. 
  "Healer, I beg you, help my daughter...!" Daughter? Faanshi's gaze flashes 
  where a trembling, wrinkled hand points -- to the bleeding girl who's been 
  thrown out the door. Five more frantic maidens place themselves between the 
  men and the shudra halfbreed, hearing the matron's plaintive plea... and 
  realizing Faanshi must be protected if she is to help their Clan sister.

Loyalty is as loyalty was. A funny thing. Trained by Numair, everything they 
  know and hold to their hearts, coming from the Nayaka. But the one thing 
  they live by even he cannot change. The two guards remain where they are, 
  but they don't move, waiting for the general to deliver the first blow. The 
  other guards form a circle around the Warlord, guiding him slowly to the 
  hallway. Sakhr stands in the middle as if he were all alone in his position, 
  easing through his knees, loosening the muscles in his shoulders, testing 
  the weight of his falcare, ready to strike should anyone near him.

Hepzibah passes through the huge oaken doors into the Clan Hall.
Hepzibah has arrived.

A look of sadness pass over the Nayaka's feature for a split second before he 
  releases a roar of primal essence and suddenly blurs into action, his ebon 
  blade dancing about him in a perfect form of combat that only one who has 
  trained and who it is bred into can perform. The blade whips around the 
  defenses of the less-skilled men, not for a killing blow, but instead to 
  strike at an arm or a leg, dropping both men to the ground almost instantly, 
  writhing in agony of their wounds but far more living than the man could 
  have left them. With a small snarl the Kshatri begins to stalk towards the 
  gathering of men around Sakhr, calling out loudly in a deep, growling voice 
  "Halt and accept what you have brought upon yourself Sakhr. Or are you too 
  much of a coward to face me?"

Kerani gets another clanswoman on her feet and toward the door. The next woman 
  she comes across isn't going to be getting up on her own, though, curled up 
  on the ground. The young vaisya looks about at all the chaos, and being 
  hardly surprised that all the menfolk are rather busy, crouches down and 
  hefts up the kshatri-born woman herself. Kerani isn't exactly built strong 
  for a Varati of even her age, but determination can work wonders - even if 
  her movement toward the door is very slow.

A great number of the women in the Hall need no encouragement from either 
  Faanshi or Kerani to make their escapes; the hardiest among them aid their 
  sisters and mothers and grand-dams out their doors as swiftly as they can, 
  having absolutely no desire to be anywhere near their menfolk if blood is 
  about to be shed. But many more have fallen upon the floor in puddles of 
  silk, wailing and weeping the only sounds of which they are now capable. 
  Just by the door, ringed by terrified young women and one aged dame wringing 
  her hands in horror, Faanshi kneels over the bleeding, mangled girl who has 
  been mutilated by the Warlord's men. She cannot _see_ the damage the girl 
  has sustained beneath her bloodied sari -- but she doesn't need to. It 
  screams to her across the aether even as she clasps the Behzad maiden to her 
  and unleashes her magic into her slender form.

Despite the noise that could be heard outside, despite the chaos, a female 
  figure rather serenely enters into the hall. Her violet eyes do not seem to 
  be focused upon anything in particular as she moves, almost as if she is 
  blind. People rush past her toward the exit, hurrying past. One woman bumps 
  into Hepzibah's shoulder and jostles her, but the former concubine of Khalid 
  Atar seems to pay it no mind. She simply keeps methodically placing one foot 
  before the other as she finally returns home after months in hiding.

They knew who they were up against, but the two guards standing between Numair 
  and Sakhr give no ground until it is hacked from beneath them. And even then 
  they need no encouragement to keep trying, to keep their Warlord save. 
  Swords they still can raise and in a feeble attempts to stop the general's 
  progress, they hack at the air his feet just left. Seeing two of their 
  comrades cut to the ground, the others are even more determined and the 
  group reaches the entrance to the hallway. They could have easily made it 
  there, if Sakhr didn't have other plans, pushing his way out of the circle, 
  waiting for Numair. "I have accepted my fate, little general," he manages 
  through clenched jaws. "It is you who cannot bear the burden Khalid has 
  thrown on all our shoulders. Attone now or meet the embrace of the earth as 
  the spineless shudra you are."

Numair continues forward, movements absolutely feline even as his eyes lock 
  again with his Warlords. "I beg you to reconsider this course of action 
  Sirdar. I have no wish to kill you for the grief and madness that you bear." 
  10 meters, 9 meters, 8...Closer and closer the Nayaka comes to the Warlord, 
  eyes ever locked, voice tinged with sadness even though his face could be 
  that of a dead man's in rest. It's impassive state showing the true rage 
  clearly to those knowledgable about the man.

Spineless shudra? Well... Faanshi would never openly dare to take issue with 
  such a slur of her caste, but one may well argue that this has far more to 
  do with a shudra's hard-learned caution against disagreeing with anything a 
  Warlord might have to say, whether or not it's justified, rather than any 
  inherent lack of courage. But Faanshi has not heard these cruel words -- and 
  at any rate, every fiber of her being is focused upon trying to stem the 
  flow of blood from the private place of the maiden she's holding. The aether 
  flares, more than bright enough for any clairovoyant in the Hall -- not to 
  mention at least one other healer -- to sense. And Faanshi's senses go white 
  with the surge of her power, blinding her to anything except the feel of 
  pain she's been barely able to soothe. "She... has lost flesh," she mumbles 
  to the women around her, not certain who she's addressing, even as tears 
  roll down to wet her red veil. "I-I-I cannot grow it back, I am sorry... get 
  her out of here, swiftly! Take her to Atesh-Gah, if you can...! Go!"

Kerani sidesteps around Hepzibah's entrance, blinking as she sees someone 
  heading into the hall. "For the love of the Amir-al, this place is 
  dangerous!" She doesn't wait to see if the woman listens to her or not, 
  struggling with her burden until she's outside of the clan hall. Once safely 
  outside, Kerani returns to the clanhall - not heeding her own advice.

Hepzibah either doesn't hear Kerani's warning or doesn't care as she continues 
  to slowly approach the two intense men who battle for dominance. Her veils 
  flutter gently in the wake of those who move past her in the other 
  direction, but she still doesn't cease her steps.

"Then die and never live again." There can be no doubt that Sakhr believes in 
  his statement. No grace he shows when his falcare is raised to shoulder 
  height, no pardon is visable in the mad shine of his eyes. His loyal guards 
  move in to stand beside him, behind him, protecting the man from any falcare 
  but the general's. And steel surges forward.

Hepzibah
        A quiet, oval face with both delicacy and strength in the dusky 
  features. Vibrancy sparks her dark eyes that are illuminated with amethyst 
  and surrounded by rich, thick lashes. Her mouth is lush and tempting, the 
  lower lip sensually fuller to give her a somewhat petulant expression. 
  Hepzibah's hair is a heavy, silken mass of sable that is parted in the 
  middle and falls past her waist. A thick circlet of gold winds around her 
  forehead to hold in place a long violet veil that appears to float over her 
  dark hair and falls behind her like a purple-tinted shadow. A similar 
  diaphanous veil shields the lower half of her face. 
        She wears a violet silk robe, violet like her eyes, that is shot with 
  gold threads and her high, gold-plated girdle is like a piece of armor 
  encasing her narrow waist. Her breasts seem to swell visibly beneath the 
  tight bodice of the embroidered cloth. The gold-encrusted hem of the robe 
  falls to her jewelled slippers. Tiny bands of gold flash from her delicate 
  fingers and a small sparkle of amethyst dots one nostril.

A brief frown of sadness flows over Numair's lips but is gone instantly as he 
  raises his ebon blade to match the rushing Warlord. Instinct takes over and 
  his movements absolutely ring with practiced fluidity. The larger Warlord 
  might have the advantage of apparent strength and reach on the Nayaka but 
  the Black Panther of Behzad is not known for lacking skill with the sword. 
  The first hit of steel rings through the hall over all other sounds, almost 
  as if calling attention to this momentous fight for the destiny of an entire 
  Varati Clan.

It is not exactly difficult to miss the figure of she who was once given to 
  the Amir-al as Hepzibah makes her way into the Clanhall. New consternation 
  seizes the women who remain, and several call out desperate cries of "No, 
  imphada! Go back!" Among them, Faanshi shoots a wide-eyed, stricken gaze in 
  the maiden's wake, blinking tears from her own sight as she tries to 
  register what she is seeing. 'No," she whispers in shock.

Steel clashes before Hepzibah, but she doesn't pause. Battle rages before her 
  apparently unseeing eyes, but she keeps putting one foot before the other in 
  a slow, stately approach of the fighting. Thus far, she is not in immediate 
  danger, but if she continues she will be in the thick of it.

Kerani regards Hepzibah again as she reenters. She doesn't recognize the 
  former concubine - then again, she's too recently arrived to know better. 
  All she can think is that she's given her warning, and that there are others 
  who need her help more. The retort of the crossing of blades between the 
  Warlord and Nayaka gets her attention briefly, but there are others who need 
  help - and it is to them she goes.

"Forward Behzad! For Behzad!" Cries that were so familiar on Empyrean ground 
  not a year back seem out of place now but never have they missed their 
  purpose. Both Sakhr's guards and Numair's men instantly react and the sound 
  of two swords clashing changes into a full scale battle. Men scream as hard 
  as the women now. Mor flesh is torn from bodies who should have remained 
  whole. In Sakhr's vision though there is only Numair and his falcare that 
  needs to be dodged, the general's head that needs to be dislocated. His 
  first attack countered, he is rushed into another swing at the man's stomach.

Blocking the sword slash of the Warlord with almost a languid ease, Numair 
  swings one fist to strike the man upon the face...hard. Saying loudly as he 
  steps towards the staggered man "Do _not_ continue on this course of action 
  Sakhr. I do _not_ wish your death. Think of your Clan. Think of the Glory 
  that you brought to it before this madness struck you. Think damnit."

The blocking of the sword he saw coming but the fist he saw too late. Only 
  just having time to turn his face, Numair hits Sakhr square on the jaw, 
  sending teeth flying through the Warlord's mouth. Dizzy he spits them out, 
  as it happens into the Nayaka's face before one of his guards pulls him 
  back, away from the general, out of reach of his sword now that he is 
  momentarily unable to give the man the answer he so badly needs. "You 
  flaming son of a bird," is all he manages, fingering his face.

Numair frowns deeply at that moving forward to growl at the man "Desist Sakhr. 
  Or die. Those are your choices." His tone is flat and absolutely chilling.

Hepzibah steps over a fallen swordsman, her slipper becoming soiled with 
  blood. Still, she advances, leaving red smudges upon the floor in her wake.

"Healer? Healer!" Someone at her side is pleading desperately in Faanshi's 
  ear, trying to seize her attention... for Faanshi's knees, as the halfbreed 
  girl discovers to her dismay, are beginning to weaken beneath her. The 
  backlash of her power, strained over weeks of hard use, abruptly courses 
  over her... and sends her reeling into the startled embrace of one of the 
  shudra women surrounding her. "No...!" "Healer!" "Get her out of here!" 
  Frantic whispers surround the black-clad halfbreed girl, and even as Numair 
  lays down his ultimatum to his Warlord, the frightened women of Clan Behzad 
  find enough determination to prop up Faanshi's slumping form between them... 
  and whisk _her_ to the safety she had urged them to seek for themselves. One 
  of Numair's men, a young warrior called Abzual, sees this little flurry of 
  activity -- and leaps to guard their retreat, his drawn blade out. A few 
  whimpers are his reply before he urges them, "Get the healer out, go, go! I 
  will watch over you! Go!" That is all the impetus they need to carry the 
  dizzied shudra girl out of the chaos-stricken chamber.

[And thus, as Faanshi is escorted quickly away from the scene, end log...]