"Little Lost Healer" Log Date: 5/4/99 Log Cast: Eric, FallingStar, Faanshi, Alarid, Zafir Log Intro: When you are a meek and submissive shudra brought up under the oppressive hand of a particularly dour Varati Warlord, making the simplest of decisions can often be a momentous event. Such has been the case by Faanshi's quiet resolution to venture out of Atesh-Gah and into Haven in search of her missing mistress Kiera and Kiera's naraki Murako. She has managed to discover that Kiera is no longer in Haven... and neither is Murako, now known as Thomas Murako, who has somehow managed to become a hero among the Mongrels of the city and who is now apparently working to found himself a nation. But Faanshi has also inadvertantly had herself identified as a healer by an old beggar in the Rialto, and a deep fear of drawing too much attention to herself provoked the girl into a headlong flight out of the marketplace. The problem, however, was that Faanshi had no idea where she was going. And so, she has wandered for hours through the huge confusing maze that is Haven, trying to find her way back to Atesh-Gah with no luck. Fortunately, however, there are at least two men in the city who feel moved to take pity upon a lost maiden... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Afternoon Date on Aether: Thursday, August 5, 3904. Year on Earth: 1504 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waxing Gibbous Season: Summer Weather: Clear Skies Temperature: Hot *==========================================================================* Eric is lounging against a building watching people go by, one leg is crooked, arms crossed over his chest. FallingStar enters the main docks from the east. FallingStar has arrived. An interesting assortment of people can generally be found to those inclined to people-watch, practically anywhere in Haven. However, in some places in the city some people look far more out of place than others... and so it is with the slender figure clad in Varati garments, moving with hesitance, exhaustion, or both along the street. Faanshi peers around her in this direction and that, looking all the world like one who is lost. FallingStar heads through the painted door of the Siren's Song. FallingStar has left. Eric steps forward into the path of the lost one, "Are you alright?" He looks with concern, though not try to scare her. Eric This tall well built mongrel has an almost refined look, something that obviously takes practice on his part. His dress and demeanor relay an almost military bearing, though its hard to tell at times. Sharp features, and purest green eyes hint at a bit of sylvan blood in him, but the rest is purely unidentifiable. Dark hair spills from the top of his head, cut in a medium length and well kept. Full lips reside under a strong, though not too large nose. A goatee of black hair, with a matching moustache, settles around his lips. A loose black cotton shirt spills forth from the confines of a royal blue, finely embroidered vest. Dark maroon pants, loosely spill from around the waist pouring down into high shined leather boots. Long gloves, jutting halfway up the forearm cover hands with leather. His movements are graceful and usually silent. He seems curtious, greeting people in a rich calm voice. A fine ornamental dagger hangs from his belt. A bit too late, unfortunately, to avoid scaring this female. She starts violently at the figure that approaches her, unthreatening though his movements appear, and for the briefest of instants a pair of leaf-green eyes might be glimpsed before her gaze plummets to the ground beneath her feet. "N-namaste', imphadi," she whispers in a voice ragged with weariness. "I am... all right, yes..." Eric steps up and puts a hand on your shoulder gently, "M'lady... you need rest. Please... " He whispers, "Let me help." His voice is reassuring and gentle. Though its obvious by his chiselled features that he can be anything but. Alarid enters the main docks from the east. Alarid has arrived. Wait... this man does not mind touching her? Something is definitely amiss, or at least a trifle odd, with this particular picture. The girl in the dark blue sari and lighter blue veil starts again as Eric makes contact with her shoulder, now stumbled to a halt, and swaying there on obviously unsteady legs. "I-if you could just... show me how to get back to Atesh-Gah, imphadi," she blurts, her gaze darting up in reflexive startlement before plummeting again. Here amid the wilderness of sails and barrels, wood, canvas and stone all encrusted with the brine, wanders a figure-- not unusual, for that reason. Nor unusual for his race-- Atlantean, to be sure, with more prominent gill-slits and webbed digits than usual (as if the blue hair was not enough to give it away). His clothes are, perhaps, a minor curiousity-- surface dweller's cotton and linen, unsuited for life under the sea. But still, he twines his way past one coil of rope, around a clot of sailors arguing with each other about the graveyard watch, and towards the two of you. Eric nods quickly, "Of course. Let me help." He steps to beside her, and without even asking grabs one arm and slips it around his shoulders. One of his arms goes to around her waist. "But... but imphadi, I am only a shudra, I..." comes the feeble protest out of the girl in scarlet and blue, the words given a bit of strength and volume by sheer virtue of surprise. Green eyes, glazed with exhaustion, blink over the top of that gossamer veil. Her head is spinning; she is so very tired. But bursts of recent memory, reactions of those with whom she has involuntarily made contact over the last several days, prompt her to blurt out, "You should not touch me!" Eric growls a quick, "Hush girl." Bends and hooks his other arm under her knees and lifts her off the ground. He'll carry her all the way to the Atesh-Gah if that is what it takes. Pale blue eyes linger upon the two of you, and Alarid moves forward, pausing about ten paces away from you, spreading his hands and raising sparse eyebrows in a querying manner. Gills flutter outward, inward, outward again, as if they find this air to be a poor substitute for their native element as Alarid mimes the query: do you need help? Alarid Once-dark hair is muted from a vibrant blue-green to a softer shade of green-blue by isolated strands of white within the shoulder-length shock, which is neatly combed and parted. His eyes are a pale blue, set within the dark brown skin of his face, holding no hint of fire; rather, they seem to shift color from blue to green in the light, reminiscent of the sea from which this man has come. The webbing between his fingers stretches to the second knuckle between all his digits, and the gills at his throat are more prominent than most, fluttering now and again as he moves or exhales. Strangely enough, his clothes are those of a surface-dweller; cotton breeches and tunic, which would soon rot in the salt spray, and well-oiled leather sandals. He wears no jewelry. Eric nods, "Just clear a path to the Atesh-Gah for me. Last thing I need is to have to work a crowd or something." He begins to carry her to the north. Faanshi's world is suddenly upended, as she is swept up into the mongrel man's arms. A little gasp of bemusement is all the noise she manages to make in reply. And although she has some height to her, she is not at all weighty, this girl in Varati garb. One might wonder whether there's much of a body at all under that voluminous sari. "But I am a halfbreed," her voice mumbles distantly from somewhere behind her veil. "I don't want to hurt you..." Eric leaves sea and salt behind as he steps into the tangled wilderness of the town garden. Eric has left. Sea and salt are left behind as you step into the tangled wilderness of the town garden. Old City Garden - Haven A strange thing, to some, to see such a thick, unbridled mass of forest within the city walls. Even during the brightest days, it is shady here; looming tree branches above filter out the sunlight, casting shadows that might be relieving during a warm summer day, or alternatively fearsome by night. The heart of the garden is most often alive with the chirps and chitters of the wildlife that makes its home here. Still, some civilization prevails, if only tentatively. A wide, roughly cobbled road stretches east to west, suitable for the usual traffic of a city street, if a bit precariously. Benches line the various man-made paths, reminding the visitor that this is indeed intended to be a respite from the bustle of the town, and is not merely some uncontrolled mass of trees within Haven. Contents: Eric Obvious exits: Streets Garden Archway Alarid steps into the tangled wilderness of the town garden from the docks to the southwest. Alarid has arrived. Eric growls, "Don't worry lass, you won't hurt me. Just hush and try to relax." Easily done, or so Alarid's expression seems to indicate-- hint of a smile, wave of webbed hand, as he moves down the docks, about two paces in front of the two of you, pacing in those bare, webbed feet through the grass of the town garden, now. Only now that she is being carried does Faanshi realize in dim dismay that her feet and her legs throb with the ache of hours of unaccustomed walking. It feels good, very good, to be off her feet... but oh, Ushas, this stranger should not be bearing her, surely? The thought that she must do something about the pain of her limbs trickles across her mind, and somewhere within her, something tries to shift the aether, to make the pain go away. "I could walk," she murmurs unhappily, her head slumping against her rescuer's shoulder, "If I... could just fix my feet..." Sound, from the silent Atlantean-- not a word, but a low, gutteral moan that somehow sounds distinctly negatory. The emotional overtone could be described as a parent chiding a child: don't you dare. Alarid continues to walk in front of the two of you, not really doing much in the way of 'clearing a path'... at least, not much from the way things look. Now and again, he'll catch the eye of another Atlantean, and the path is cleared in front of the two of you for a few more hundred yards by the other Atlantean. Eric frowns, "Nay lass, save your strength, lets just get you home." Eric disappears to the northeast. Eric has left. Alarid disappears to the northeast. Alarid has left. [And thus, the two men, Mongrel and Atlantean, escort the exhausted young shudra northward through the city. Eventually, they come within sight of Atesh-Gah...] Palisade and North - Haven Some have likened the Varati home to a geode--rough and plain on the outside, while opulence and splendor lie within. Certainly the first part of that analogy is true. The only hint that these buildings house the more prominent members of Varati society are their size. Massive structures loom on either side of the street, crafted from brick, marble, granite, and even metal. And here, also, is the grand embassy of the Varati. Only shaping magic could have created such a structure, for it gives the impression of having grown out of the earth itself. Like the others, its decoration is minimal, yet flowing curves and the use of obsidian and marble make such ornamentation unnecessary. Flanked by stone pillars, the entranceway is constantly guarded by sentinels who may as well be stone themselves, so humorless are they. Only guests of the kingdom and ambassadors from other realms may pass within. A gate leads out of the city to a road that eventually winds into the distant, northern mountains, though few ever dare venture that far. Contents: Alarid Eric Obvious exits: Atesh-Gah Streets Gate Northward, then, through the city; how unfamiliar must this maiden be with the ways and byways of Haven, if she could not recall that the citadel of the Varati lies in the northern reaches of the city? Other than the occasional dismayed murmur, the girl Eric carries shows very little sign of awareness of direction. Indeed, she appears almost asleep, as the mongrel man and the Atlantean approach the stone edifice that is Atesh-Gah. All that stone, and not a bit of algae or lichen to be seen, clinging to the tops. All that granite. The bones of the earth-- something not seen, Beneath. Despite his years on the land, Alarid cannot help but stare intently at the massive edifice that is Atesh-Gah. Every time he sees it, he marvels; and his posture transmits some of that awe and unease. His stance becomes slightly defensive. Eric reaches the massive stone gates finally, calling out the guards, "Hail, some aid here for one of your own!" He begins to lower Faanshi to the ground near the entrance. Not surprisingly, the entrance to the citadel is guarded, by immense hulking figures of men in the black and silver raiment of the Agni-Haidar, the elite soldiers known as the Lions of Fire, the guard of the God-King Khalid Atar. From a distance it is difficult to say whether the sentinels notice those who are approaching as soon as they come into view in the vicinity, but the moment Alarid, Eric, and the exhausted girl Eric bears come close to the gates, the two most obvious guardsmen exchange glances. One of them, a massive muscular giant nearly seven feet tall but moving with an impressive grace for someone of his size, strides forward with narrowed dark eyes. "What business do you have at the gates of Atesh-Gah?" he can be heard to rumble, his voice a bone-rattling bass. Alarid crosses his arms and lets Eric do the talking; so far, he's not spoken at all. In the slight breeze, his skin dries off somewhat, and small crustations of white salt can be seen upon the surface of his skin. Eric sets the woman fully on the ground. "Open the eyes the God-King gave you man, can't you see she is one of your own? I found her wandering the streets, exhausted and dilerious. She is your problem now." Oh, Mother of the Khalid, it feels _good_ to just... lie still for a while. Faanshi slumps bonelessly where Eric places her upon the ground, one slim golden hand outstretched, the other draped across the blue cloth of her sari near her waist. There are voices speaking over her, she realizes. She opens her eyes and tries to rally her senses, trying to find the strength to repeat her plea to be taken to Atesh-Gah, to rise. "I can walk," she manages, attempting to sit up. And the massive guard, in the meantime, flicks his impassive black gaze across the girl, taking in the details of her appearance... such as that golden skin of hers, significantly lighter than the cinnamon brown of his own counteance, and the green hue of her eyes. A look which very well may be distaste crinkles his stony features for a fraction of an instant, and he rumbles, "Then rise, Khalida shudra, and report to the khansamah if you are ill." Eric growls in a bit of contempt but otherwise decides that this is not his problem. He did what he needed to, and going into the Atesh-Gah would probably not be permitted. He turns and walks away. Eric goes home. Eric has left. Those gills flutter in, and out again, and Alarid steps to Faanshi's side quite obviously, kneeling and attempting to lift her to her feet. An obvious 'lean on me for support' gesture. He'll get you through the gates and to your quarters, if he's allowed. Rise... she can do that... she thinks. As the mongrel who had borne her departs the scene, the maiden dazedly blinks after him, wanting to call out thanks, but barely having the strength to whisper. The aether around her still seems... disturbed, and those green eyes of hers hint at queasiness as she fumbles at the Atlantean's proffered support. As she rises, it occurs to Faanshi to take a closer look at this other benefactor, and she gives a breathless little gasp at the sight of him. Zafir passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah and joins you on the street. Zafir has arrived. Currents on the aether, like currents in the water; Alarid has withstood worse. A crooked smile, copied no doubt from his master's sardonic regime of expressions, crosses his face-- and then is washed away in pale blue gaze, inconstant color like the sea. His fingers are webbed to nearly their tips-- an unusual 'mutation', not generally seen in Haven. Gills, much larger and more prominent than the norm, continue to stir restlessly with each unsatisfactory breath of... air. And that hoar of sea-salt upon the dark brown skin. He continues, silently, to offer Faanshi an arm up, a shoulder to lean on. Come on, girl. Let's get you inside these bones of earth. Zafir comes in from the foutain area, book of the Amir-al's teachings in his hand. He appers red faced, almost as if he just gave a rather rousing sermon, or else was taking the head off a few shudra verbally. The usual swarm of guards doesn't really bother him, other then to make him glance to where the Agni are pounding on this time. An atlantean. No shock there. And ... A mongrel. Oh joy and happiness. "I... I can walk," the shudra girl breathes, trying to rouse herself out of the lethargy weighting down her limbs. She blinks owlishly over the top of her veil, still a bit startled by the sight of the Child of Water who is supporting her for all that he is not the first of his race she's every seen. "Th-thank you... I can walk..." The Agni-Haidar, apparently, is inclined to believe that this settles the matter. "Release her," he instructs Alarid in uncompromising bass tones. Zafir coos softly. "Perhaps you should just hack them to pieces." Faint lines around the corners of his eyes crinkle, as Alarid raises both eyebrows at the Agni-Haidar. /He's/ not doing anything. Matter of fact, all he did was offer an arm up. He's not even touching this particular shudra-- but he's not going to stop offering an arm up just because some hauberk-clad, sword-carrying, muscle-bound idiot said to do so. Throw -him- in the water dressed like that and see how well *HE* swims. Zafir The man before you looks back with a critical eye. His dark tan skin appears to be leathery yet is soft to the touch, almost like the local trees. His hands are caloused as if he refuses to use Shudra. He has weird eyes to most. One appears to be deep brown and one appears to be deep green. Their shade varies based on his mood. His oval face sits at everyone else's normal shoulder height. No chiseled features. They are smooth, yet rough. His black hair has a distinctness to it. Grey streaks by the temples run back to above his ears. He tends to wear the hair in a pony tail that hangs to just below his shoulderblades.As your eyes drift down his form, you note he wears a simple wool tunic with a drawstring to midchest. Over this is a unfastened leather haik. He wears cotton breeches with an unadorned leather belt. On his feet he wears Leather shoes with wool calf sleeves. The entire outfit is designed with shades of red, but he wears no jewelry of note. Faanshi has, in fact, grasped Alarid's arm, but at the order from the guardsman she immediately lets it go, tottering a step or two away from Alarid and a step or two closer to the gates. At the observation of Zafir, she makes a frightened little noise, and for a moment seems a bit overwhelmed as she juggles making appropriate gestures of obeisance to both the Mufti and the guardsmen, her gaze plummeting to her feet. But she does murmur towards the Atlantean again, "Th-thank you... you were very kind to bring me back... tell the other man, too.. thank you..." Alarid doesn't make *much* noise, as a general rule. This time, he makes an exception, blowing air past his lips rather than his gills, in a 'don't mention it' sound. One hand half-raises, webbed fingers empty, as if to curl them around Faanshi's elbow again as she teeters and totters. It's definitely a query, from the way his eyebrows arch upward again. Are you going to be okay to walk inside there by yourself? Zafir sighs, "Perhaps one should know better then to leave her protected place." Faanshi, unfortunately, misses Alarid's gesture, for with the eyes of so many Varati males -- the Agni-Haidar immediately before her as well as his compatriots guarding the guards, not to mention the apparently palpably disapproving Zafir -- upon her, the maiden keeps her head submissively bowed. But she does peek up briefly at the sound the Atlantean makes, a bit of confusion momentarily flashing across her eyes as she tries to fathom what he might be trying to relay. All her exhausted mind can manage to prvide for her, however, is another urging to show proper gratitude, and so she murmurs, bobbing her head over the hands she draws together to clasp at her breast, "Thank you... thank you again..." And with that, she turns to stumble into the citadel. Zafir moves forward, pushing lightly against the guards. "At least give the poor girl some air. Even if the mongrel has nothing better to do then waste your time, the least you can do is show respect for the feminie form." Alarid waits until Faanshi has disappeared within the edifice, to spin about on one sandaled heel, long webbed toes tracing a delicate circle in the grit as he does so. And then he pauses, in the midst of silently padding away, to give Zafir a long, *long* look. Assessing, one might call that look. And faintly surprised. Faanshi has been mistaken for a naraki in the last day's cycle. That was an error she didn't dare to correct, since for all intents and purposes she might as well be a naraki. Now, though, she mumbles timidly in Zafir's direction, not looking up at him, "A th-thousand pardons, imphadi, but I am... a-a halfbreed, not a mongrel..." Zafir twists his mouth in a wry grin. "Whatever." He ducks as one guard takes a swing at him. "Don't make me call him." Uncertainly, Faanshi bobs her head... and stumbles off through the gates. In moments, she is gone. [End log.]