"The Healer and the General" Log Date: 11/28/99 Log Cast: Faanshi, Numair Log Intro: So that she may provide desperately needed healig aid to the people of Clan Behzad, Faanshi has been sent in secret to meet the Ushasti prietess Devi and be smuggled into the Clanhall. Her entry has not come without price, however, for not even she is immune to the edict that the mad Warlord Sakhr has issued: that all who enter Behzad's hall must be sent through three showers, one freezing cold, another boiling hot, and another freezing cold. Fortunately, Faanshi is a healer -- and her power has arisen within her to mend what the showers damaged. But her first night in the Hall is to be a long one. Determined to keep her as unobtrusive as possible, Devi tells those they meet that her name is Yamineh -- a name Faanshi borrowed from her long-dead mother -- and that she is newly arrived from the Behzad vara, just before the earthquake. Moreover, she warns the young halfbreed that if she is discovered the Warlord will take _both_ their hands, a powerful additional inducement to one who had already been ordered to avoid Sakhr at all costs. But there are ones who have been badly injured since the earthquake, and to these, Devi takes the healer. For as long as the deep of night holds, Faanshi heals the people of Behzad as much as Devi dares to let her, for the two women hope that partial healings -- and blithe assurances to the hurt ones that their injuries were not as severe as previously thought -- may help conceal her actions all the better. But there is one other that Faanshi must meet before she can retire at last to the sleeping place Devi has set aside for her in her quarters: Numair, Sakhr's Nayaka, who has been forced to turn against the man to whom he has sworn oaths of loyalty. Numair, the Dark General, the Panther of Behzad.... ---------- Numair's Quarters - Behzad Hall - Haven(#2716RAD) The private quarters of the Nayaka are quite large compared to a normal suite, still smaller than the Warlord's, but that is as it should be. The suite being as somber as it's owner, the main lounging area is set openly and in dark colors. The sunlight streaming from a small window and the balcony cascades over black and purple velvets and silks and many, many pillows. On the far side of the room, residing on black velvet pillows that match their fur, lay two beautifully sleek black panthers. Upon each creature's neck resides a white-gold, jewell-encrusted collar hooked to a long silver chain to the wall, giving them free reign of the room but not outside of it. They lounge contentedly unless their master or their territory is in danger. Seperated by hanging velvet curtains, three rooms come off of this main one. The far one opened to reveal a smallish shrine for meditations and worship of the Amir-al. Another leads to a large bedroom. And the third covered with heavier curtains that are left open and leads out to a balcony facing eastward with a beautiful view of the lands around Haven and the glorius sight of the sun high in the sky. The heavy scents of patchouli and darchini (similar to cinnamon) waft about the suite, giving it a comfortable, close feel. <> Contents: Numair Obvious Exits: Hallway She is tired... but not yet exhausted. Fear has settled into Faanshi's gut and stayed there ever since she came into Clan Behzad's courtyard -- and ever since she was made to step through the showers, stripping off her clothing to bare her body to the world. As of yet the young halfbreed hasn't quite managed to get over the shock and shame of that, and she's been breathing thankful prayers to Ushas that the relative dark of the night had concealed her from too many eyes. Moreover, her power has held steady, letting her chase pain out of her abused skin and flesh... and chase it out of the injured and ailing ones pitifully gathered in the courtyard. Praise be to Ushas, she has remained strong. What kind of Warlord could be allowing this to happen? _He is even worse than Hashim,_ she tells herself as she goes to her final appointed task of this dark night, heading to the door of the Nayaka's quarters, lifting a slender hand to knock with the appointed signal. A deep voice calls through the door just barely audible enough to be heard. A hint of edgedness can be heard in that voice, but whether it comes from so obviously defying his Warlord or simply from the pain induced by the same, none could tell. "Come forth" One could be mistaken but the sound of a light growl might have punctuated the last of that statement. Too low to have come from human throat and at the same time as the Nayaka's statement so not from his mouth either. Odd. Perhaps some of the rumours you have had could be true. Could the man actually keep two panthers as pets? Summoned, she enters as bidden, a tall and slender figure in Behzad's crimson and black. She treads upon quiet sandaled feet, this shudra maiden, and as soon as she is in the room and the door is closed safely behind her, she raises her eyes only enough to determine the location of the man she has been sent to see. Once she knows this, the girl goes to her knees, her black-covered head demurely lowered, her hands clasped at her breast in a posture of subservient attention. "I am come as bidden, Imphadi Nayaka," she murmurs by way of greeting. Residing on a set of comfortable pillows across the main room, his right hand resting on the body of an immense black panther female that lays on the pillow with him, her golden eyes looking to the door as it opens. But she seems quite passive, even purring as the man scratchs one large triangle ear. Another panther, this one male paces back and forth nervously in front of the Nayaka, a small growl emitting from his throat at the half-breed. "Diya!!" a sharp command, deep and throaty as the purr of one of the cats, comes forth from Numair's mouth, his odd golden eyes blazing at the cat, who meekly subsides and moves to lay beside it's mate quickly. For a moment, the Nayaka's gaze follows the cat but then he looks up to the shudra, not moving an inch from his pillows as he replies in a softer tone "Namaste, little one. You are the healer whom I have defied duty for?" his tone holds no bitterness and such a formal greeting to one so undeserving of such. Perhaps this man is different somehow from the normalcy of Kshatri within our race. "Namaste', imphadi," comes the soft, solemn reply. Still the girl does not look up from where she kneels. And she affirms succintly, "I am a healer." Nothing more than that; no statement of power or lack thereof, nothing more than than those four modest words. "How may I serve?" Numair releases a small chuckle in the back of his throat, little more than a deep purr matching the female panther's for a moment. After a pause he replies in that same softer tone "You may, firstly, rise and look to me. I don't ask for absolute formality in my own chambers especially from a woman who will be doing me a great service in a moment. You see, little one, despite my ability to ignore the pain, it is begining to build upon me as I'm quite sure that you are realizing even now. Thus I would ask that you do what it is that you do, despite the fact that by allowing your healing _I_ am betraying everything that I honor above myself." his words turn slightly bitter towards the end, not directed at you which is quite obvious, but directed towards the one whom has changed. A man whom he honored more highly than his own sire and the man he has followed dilligently since the war. This man who has changed, simply, for the worse. A deep, contented purr begins to emit from the male panther as well as the female as Numair shifts a hand to scratch that one as well, his odd golden gaze resting upon the shudra. Only now does the maiden rise, given leave to do so. She does not have the matchless fluid agility of a houri or a fine kshatri woman... but still, she is not without grace as she gets to her feet. A tall one, this girl, tall but thin. And her green eyes above her red veil stand out sharply against the stark sobriety of the garb she wears, as she risks a peek about the room. Is that a flash of nervousness in those big liquid eyes, when she sees the panthers? If it is, she shows no other sign of it, the veil doing its work to mask whatever expression she might have just had in reaction. The green gaze settles then upon the man before her, uncertain, troubled. Her hand comes up, palm out, fingers slightly spread, as though she is testing the heat of a fire. "I... can sense pain, yes, imphadi," she murmurs. Numair allows himself a small smile at the sight of the small flash of surprise to which he replies deeply, even while pushing himself off the pillows in what is obviously a painful move to his uncovered torso, "They will do you no harm in my presence, little one." Stroking the male, which looks up to you with luminescent eyes "This is Diya." and then touching the female "And Dharma" a brief and true smile plays over his normally stoic lips and then he pulls himself fully up to a crosslegged position that he seems quite at home at and says in that again soft voice "What do I do?" submitting himself to her expertise but oddly seeming to not mind her race or her gender, as long as she has skill and a mind. Those are the things that truly matter. Numair This tall, powerful man is clearly Varati. His tall, lean form hardly is one to be considered commonplace though; rather than the bulging musculature and sharp angles of average Varati males, he is formed of smooth lines and graceful curves. Cut from the purest of dark marble, his muscles contain a certain fluidity, his movements always graceful and precise, perhaps calling to mind the image of a large, predatory cat. Most would consider him quite handsome, his dusky skinned face planed into broad cheekbones and a rugged jaw, giving the him a slightly stubborn countenence even when is shows a smile. It is an weathered and slightly scarred face, but not an unpleasant one in the least. The odd gold-and-black flecked amber eyes that reside there contain a cool intelligence, even occasionally seen fraught with humor and even appearing slightly feline at times, glinting like sunlight shadowed. Framing the handsome face is a mane of deep ebony hair; it falls down over his shoulders in loose, glossy waves. Surrounding his mouth and accenting his dark lips is a trimmed goatee and mustache. Sharp side burns jutt forth towards the lips in one of the many fashions currently popular among the Varati. Finally, the deeply exotic scent of mixed patchouli and darchini (similar to cinnamon) flow around the man, giving him even more of a sensual smoothness. This tall Varati man that stands before you is clad scantily at the moment. His feet are uncovered, exposing dusky flesh that lead to a comfortably loose pair of fine black silk silwar. The thin fabric ripples like dark liquid around his form when he moves. Holding them up is a pleated blood-red sash of the same fabric that is wrapped and left to hang to his left comfortably Beyond that is the open expanse of his well-toned torso. Smoothly cut ridges of his flat stomach lead to a hairless and broad chest with hard pecs and dark nipples set into the dusky flesh. There are various battle scars layed over the flesh, not detracting from it but showing this man's experience despite his age. One scar in particular is a small raised X over his heart, displaying an obvious close call. His back is also exposed, exposing an absolutely beautiful tattoo of a blue-black cougar that spreads over its entirety from his left hip to right shoulder. The only jewelry visible is a silver medallian that hangs on a chain around his neck and a silver armband on his left bicep. <> Even now, Faanshi seems a trifle hard-pressed to settle her attention upon the Nayaka -- perhaps because of the direness of her situation, perhaps because of his state of dishabille, perhaps both. Her green gaze flicks back and forth between the two big cats, in a brief but unmistakable glimmer of curiosity; it may be easily gleaned that she has never been close to the like of these creatures before. Cautiously she approaches, uneasy but nevertheless advancing. "If you wish me to heal you, imphadi," she answers, "you need do little but make sure that you are comfortable." There's barely restrained bafflement in her voice, too. Perhaps this willowy young shudra is unaccustomed to being addressed as though she is an authority... at anything. Numair nods once, a smile playing over his lips again as he rolls to his back and stretches upon the pillows with a small grunt of pain that causes both cats to rumble sounds that could be almost called inquiring. He looks to them for a moment and both set to licking their lustrous black coats. After looking to them for a moment he looks up to the woman and nods for her to continue her duties, saying softly "And, in advance, I thank you greatly Imphada." A title of respect for a shudra?!? This man is most DEFINITELY odd compared to a normal warrior. Perhaps he is under medicine from Devi or perhaps just the pain. Surely he couldn't _honestly_ respect this woman simply for showing a mind and having skill in something And it is obvious that the shudra girl is not accustomed to being thusly addressed; for a moment, she is thrown enough off guard that she halts, bemused. But her pause is only momentary. She sinks to her knees once more, looking for a way to settle her hands upon this half-clad man without looking at him too closely, a problem that brings a blush to her face behind its concealing red silk. A slight quivering breath escapes her as she gets a closer, deeper sensation of the pain he's been stoically managing... and with that, one slender golden hand settles upon a shoulder, the other in the middle of his belly, the contact as light and soft as silk. But once that contact is made, the aether ripples in response to Faanshi's will, her power welling up from deep within her to course outward through her hands, seeking out the sources of this man's hurts. "I am only doing my duty," she whispers, sheepish, shaken. Numair lets loose a small sigh of pleasure at the feeling of the mana, obviously something he is quite intimate with anyways. At her words he opens those golden eyes and looks up to the flustered woman, chuckling and giving a small, imperious wink at her. The aether flows... and the girl's power surges down into scalded flesh, easing the raw, sensitive skin that boiling water has blistered and burned. It persuades muscles held tight in defense against the pain to relax and ease themselves, and then soothes the pain of those muscles being clenched so tightly for so long. It is almost like drinking down a fine wine, the sort that sends warmth flowing through the veins and down into the belly, except that the warmth comes from outside and soaks down through the flesh, rather than the other way around. And the power does its task even as the maiden, flustered by that wink, hastily lowers her eyes and focuses herself upon her duty at hand. Numair lies as still as possible, only moving slightly as his muscles tighten to the healing, for a moment he opens his eyes to slits, looking to the woman and then looking to the cieling as he forces out of failing lips "Is this tiring at all to you Imphada?" again with the title and by his tone he sounds genuinely interested. It does not seem to take too long. Minutes slide past -- and then at last, the maiden abruptly lifts her hands, her fingers still spread, the flow of warmth cutting off the moment the contact is broken. "This... is not too tiring, Imphadi Nayaka," she murmurs after a moment, her voice sounding a little insubstantial, softer than it had been before. "I have... healed many this night, however." A pause, and then she concludes tinily, "I am to tell you to call me Yamineh." Numair chuckles to that "I spoke with Devi earlier. I know all about it. I'm sorry that you had to go through the showers. I intended to be there and to slip you through unnoticed and without them." he seems quite sad about the mention of the showers until he flexes one massive arm, a handsome grin spreading over his lips as he sits up with little to no pain exclaiming in his surprise "Very good!. Very, very good. I will have to pick up on that talent some day." his gaze once again turns on the small shudra "I thank you Yamineh." Not exactly certain whether someone who is not a healer can 'pick up that talent', the girl once more seems slightly taken aback. But she falls quickly back upon the familiar mannerisms of the servant, finding them the best default answer when one she has been ordered to serve is acting... bemusing. "It is my duty, imphadi," comes her reply. Her gaze stays down. "Is there any other service I can provide?" Numair rolls over again smoothly, almost feline in the languidity of the movement, and pulls up to a cross-legged position. He then reaches out one hand to gently touch the shudra's chin and lift her eyes to look into his as he says "No. But I order you to go get some rest. You are staying in Devi's chambers?" Her chin, touched, twitches ever so slightly in reaction; her eyes, made to lift up again, go a little wide in startlement. Deeply green, these eyes of hers. Not just brown with green overtones. Big eyes, slanted, not the eyes of a Varati maiden, and upon close inspection they can be seen to be touched with hints of strain and nervousness and fear. But she manages to keep that fear out of her voice as she answers in hoarse and dutiful tones, "Yes, imphadi." Numair releases her chin and nods smoothly "Be off with you then. I thank you, for myself...as well as my men." A single nod is the girl's only reply. She rises to her feet, clasping her hands at her breast and bowing over them... and with that, then, she slips out the way she'd come, a shadow in black and red. A shudra. A halfbreed. And a healer. [End log.]