"The Measure of Greatness" Log Date: 6/9, 6/14/99 Log Cast: Faanshi, Thomas Log Intro: For only the third time in her relatively small store of experience, the young healer Faanshi is going on a journey. Permitted by her mistress Kiera to journey to Avalon to practice her fledgling healing skills, the young shudra has joined with a company led by Thomas Murako to ride for the new nation he is building, to stay for a month's time. Along the way, however, the young halfbreed has begun to grow deeply disconcerted by the changes she has seen in the man she once knew as a slave. When Thomas had served Kiera along with her, it had been easy for her to comfortably speak with him, to look him in the eye, to extend to him a hand of friendship. But the Thomas Faanshi sees now is a man who leads many men and women and children, a man who comfortably wields a sword as well as a pen, a man who speaks with eloquence and passion... a man who, in the shudra girl's small store of experience, has more or less turned himself into a Warlord for all that he is a Mongrel rather than one of the Children of Fire. This has been driven home to her after her inadvertant witnessing of a disagreement between the Mongrel leader and his Hand, Milane... and now, deeply uncertain of her own place amongst Thomas's company, Faanshi has shied back from interacting with the man, limiting herself to surreptitiously aiding in the making and breaking of camp each time the travellers halt their journey. She tells herself that if Thomas has become a Warlord, it is only right that she withdraw from him. But she does not know that Thomas does not agree with her... and that he's noticed her renewed shyness... ---------- Dogs, especially young dogs, are not creatures that understand prayer. As far as Kosha is concerned, sometimes his mistress does the most inexplicable things. Here they are travelling through a wide world full of interesting things to look at, fascinating things to smell, and a whole new crowd of people from which to beg tasty scraps of food... and what does Faanshi do except kneel quietly in the grass, with a strange object in the hands he knows are gentle and caring, making a tiny fire that is far too small to give real light or warmth and seems only good for making a pungent smell? It is quite enough to tax the attention of even the most loyal of hounds, and for all that Kosha is a loyal hound, he is still a very _young_ hound. For now he waits patiently enough at his friend Faanshi's side, but a puppy's restlessness makes his tail twitch and tempts him to go cavorting off across the camp once more being erected by the company that follows Thomas Murako. She knows that her little puppy needs her attention -- but before she can attend him, Faanshi must first say her prayers to Khalid Atar. Now that the company has made its second stop on the journey to Avalon, she has slipped quietly away and found herself a spot on a little hill where she can face the sunset. Within her small sacred bier, she has lit an incense fire; she cradles the bier close to her breast, both for warmth and to shield the flame from errant breezes. All should be ready, she knows. In heartfelt reverence, she bows her head over her flame. "Hawk of Heaven," she murmurs softly, "thank you for keeping this journey safe from danger as we have travelled..." But then her mind stops, seizes up, goes blank, and she peeks unsurely up at the swath of colors painting the western sky, seeking inspiration for further prayer in the hues of deepening dusk. The party has made a great deal of progress towards its destination. This group apparently has many experienced travellers amongst its number, as these are "free" Mongrels from Haven, much more hardy and free-willed than the ex-slaves which first travelled to Avalon. Within a week's time, the band stands upon the banks of the Flumen Polaris -- that river which splits the massive Empyre in twain. As the sun sets against the western horizon, its rays split the grey into myriad shades of orange, red, and purple, and Murako's followers set up camp in the growing shadows. There on the river's edge, a small cluster of tents and burning campfires mark the end of a long days passage. Thomas himself loiters outside his tent, tending to his mount "Tempest", ensuring that the massive beast has proper water and food after its exhausting day. Yet, all is not well with him, for the look upon the Mongrel leader's face implies that something churns within his mind. One of the guards from the camp's edge approaches and asks a question, to which a nod is given, then a few more words. The young man points in the direction where Faanshi has set up her fire. In a moment, the large man is crossing towards that direction, his steps taking him closer to that place where she offers prayers to Khalid. From behind, he comes to her circle, crossing his hands before himself and clearing his throat to get attention, "Faanshi?" A mild inquiry, meek, as if this 'powerful' man sought the shudra's permission to proceed, "Do you have a moment?" Kosha senses Thomas coming, and lets out a happy high-pitched bark as the man draws near, tail setting up a steady wagging; a beat after, the cadences of Thomas's voice fall upon Faanshi's ears, and the girl's kneeling form goes stiff with nervous surprise. For a moment, indecision seizes her; then, with a silent apology to the God-King and a promise to say an extra prayer before she sleeps that night, she carefully sets down her little bier. The halfbreed maiden turns while managing to keep her kneeling position, and with head still shyly bowed, she murmurs, "Yes, Thomas." She does not utter a title, but from the way she pronounces the name, it might as well be 'imphadi'. Blind obedience. The very word itself defines the system of government that Khalid Atar has set up for his followers, and when Thomas turns his gaze upon the shudra girl, there is something behind his eyes, something that one couldn't quite place his finger on. A defiance that is mirrored in the flames of fire that burn at Faanshi's feet? This is Thomas Murako. Passion and mutability. He is the catalyst to change, constantly in motion, always so dynamic the mortal shell can barely contain it. Taking a step forward, the Mongrel flexes his hands once and keeps his liquid gaze on the girl who kneels before him and you can sense mild hesitation before he speaks. He seems to study you with the sort of introspection which brings silence, and when his words come they almost seem out of place, "I can't help but notice that you have been acting differently over the last several days. Since the time that Milane and I had our disagreement? Naturally, I am concerned that you are not happy, or that I have done something to offend you." A brief pause to take a small breath before he continues, "Even now, I feel as if you look at me with different eyes? You see so many masters in me. A man that I was, yet am no longer. If you will let me explain, I can perhaps make some sense of this?" If this ex-naraki is Warlord-like at this moment, it is certainly an 'act', for no Varati master would so humble himself to explain his actions to a 'lesser'. Murako knows the arrogance of those men well, for it is a practiced trait. For a span of heartbeats, Faanshi is stricken silent, faltering for a reply, unable to grasp why these words are being offered her. The Warlord Hashim would have uttered such things to no one. Khalid Atar might perhaps utter them to one he highly favored -- but the shudra maiden does not claim that distinction. She still does not dare to lift her gaze to the Mongrel man, and she is almost grateful that she has the ground to look at and a veil to hide her face, for all at once it seems to her that Thomas's humbly uttered words call forth a tangle of reactions within her mind and heart. Before her is a man who has become a leader of men -- but she can remember a broken slave gripped by nightmare before a campfire. Different men entirely... yet the very same man. The contradiction both awes and frightens her. She can barely speak round the lump rising in her throat, but she makes herself do so, nevertheless: "I-I will listen gladly to anything you wish to say, Thomas..." Silence once again overtakes the Mongrel leader as he draws himself closer to the fire, and closer to this young shudra girl. So inexperienced she is in the ways of the world, so like a child looking at all she sees with new eyes. Eyes tinted with the stain of a thousand degradations and abuses. Though Thomas, the man who once lay before you broken by the flames of the Atarvani, was once little more than a beast of burden for your former masters, he seems to have transcended this mantle. Strangely, he doesn't act like a slave, or one who served in a position of servitude during the course of his life. He's too strong for a Mongrel. Men are said to have been driven insane by spending even short times with Khalid Atar's faithful and yet he has risen above that to stand toe to toe with Aether's greatest, speaking to them as if he had no fear whatsoever. Taking a knee before you, his weight rests primarily upon the forward leg. When he begins, it is soft, pensive, "You know so very little of me, Faanshi." A pause, as if he was reluctant to say these things. "When you met me, it was a very dark time in my life. A time when I submitted to my weaknesses and almost allowed myself to be consumed by the flames that even now torture me in dreams. I am telling you this because I want you to understand. Understand that I am not Thomas Murako, the naraki of Kiera Khalida. For once, I was a great man." His words are almost religious, bearing with them a reverence that one might use to speak about someone long dead. Nearly whispering, "It is that man which you sense inside of me. That is the man you fear." Whurf? Curious at the behavior of the two bipeds, Kosha peers first at Thomas and then at Faanshi, and finally scampers up to try to climb up into the halfbreed's lap. His wagging tail loses a little speed, and his entire puppy body seems to droop a little. Oh dear. Faanshi is upset! Hoping to help, he whines anxiously. Faanshi might not be looking up, but still, she sees enough to know when Thomas joins her there on the ground. His greater proximity, as well as his hushed voice, begin to soothe some small part of the dread within her; so, to some degree, do the unhesitant affections of her dog. Golden hands move timidly to stroke Kosha's fluffy fur as the maiden whispers, "I... do not want to be scared of you..." Then she pauses. The thought that bad dreams might still be haunting the man before her almost, for the briefest of instants, coaxes her troubled gaze up; her veiled countenance lifts ever so slightly. "But... but you... seem so different now, Thomas... so very like a Warlord..." On that last word, her voice grows tiny, strained. To ears that understand what they hear, beneath the words she speaks are words she does not: You are a Warlord. I must obey you. I must fear you. You will harm me if I displease you. "I know Faanshi.." Thomas' gaze falls away for the briefest moments, almost as if he was ashamed of something. More likely he realizes that the demons of Hashim and Khalid Atar, those demons that haunt you with images of hatred and threats, are ones which he cannot remove with the wave of his hand, "..that was why I wished you to come with us to Avalon. To experience a life where women are not abused or threatened. I know how the Amir-al has raised his people." His eyes drift upwards slowly to rest upon the piece of cloth which covers your face, "Why you must hide your face from men. Hide your face from the world. Even now, you live beneath a threat to obey your oaths or face certain death, and it is for that reason alone I would not take you from the world which you live in. But it is my hope that among us, you will see that there is a place which exists beyond the reach of those men who have hurt you so. A place where you don't have to feel ashamed of being a woman, or ashamed of being a mixed breed." He smiles a touch, the fire reflecting against his face and making the well-tanned skin appear almost golden -- like yours, "I do not wish to be your enemy, shudra. But know that in my breast beats the heart of a leader of men. It is my hope that you can see past this to understand that I am not your masters. I am your friend and I would never seek to harm you." Those last few gentle words are her undoing. The lump in Faanshi's throat expands till she feels she can scarcely breathe, much less speak, though she still tries even as tears begin to well up within her eyes. "Th-the Amir-al has never harmed me," she mumbles. "J-just Hashim... a-and the Most High caused him to be put to death because he broke the holy surahs... the Most High and Imphada Kiera delivered me..." No, it is not Khalid Atar who haunts this innocent girl -- but haunted she is, and it is obvious enough in the tremulous gaze she finally manages to raise to Thomas Murako. His countenance, lit by the tiny flickers of her sacred fire as well as the skyborne fires of sunset, becomes her anchor. And now that she is at last looking up, her eyes are full of a need for reassurance, a confirmation that this Mongrel who leads will not be like the only other mortal leader she has ever known. "Y-you will not change?" she breathes. "You will always be my friend?" Thomas is a fairly observant individual by nature, and he clearly notices the way you tense up, the waves of unsurety and the ingrained fear that seems to grip your body. He sees the tears which have begun to wet your wide, beautiful eyes, but he does not look away. No, Thomas Murako, the once slave and now leader of men, does not look away from you. That same compassion that his words implied is mirrored in an increasingly softening gaze. Yet, you do not sense the same confidence that he exudes when speaking to others. There is a child-like quality about his emotions, as if the very process of their display was something that had just begun to emerge from the hardened shell of his self. He speaks, voice just rising above the crackling of the fire, "I am sorry that those men have hurt you, Faanshi. But I give you my word that I will never harm you in that way. And if anyone does, I will be sure to see that they are punished for it. No one, man or woman, deserves to be treated in that fashion simply because they /are/." Next, he gives you that reassurance, being so bold as to even extend his hand towards you if it is that which would bring you comfort after a brief pause, "Should I lead a million people, I will always be your friend. There /are/ men who lead others without fear and hatred. I know well how those men do their work, yet I strive to be a man who is respected for compassion and wisdom. These are things which /you/ helped to inspire in me and for that I owe you a debt I am not certain I can repay." "Wisdom and Compassion... are the fifth and sixth of the holy surahs," Faanshi whispers. Veiled, her expression cannot be read; backlit by the sun descending, only her eyes are easily discernible in her face, tiny glints of light reflected and refracted by tears. "And... Respect is the seventh." Hard to read though her features may be, still, though, something begins to lighten in her voice. When the Mongrel man offers his hand, one of her own comes up to trustingly touch it, though with no more than two feather-light fingertips. Despite the Mongrel man's mild discomfort with these things, there is a strength which seems to eminate from deep within him. A confidence that is infectious, something from which the weak of will can draw strength. Thomas merely looks at you with those eyes, into those blank features with a softness that is almost awkward upon such a hardened visage, "I know of the holy surahs. They teach of good things that men and women should aspire to be. Once, when I was younger, someone asked me to define what greatness was." His lips curl into a little smile as he remembers the past, "I answered that greatness was defined by how history viewed one's actions and life. I was wrong. Greatness is not a measure of how many battles a man has won or how many nations he has ruled. It is a measure of what lies inside him. The kind of man he is and how he lived his life. Greatness is not something that is seized by force, but given ..." His large hand closes over yours with a soft motion, even though you only offer two fingertips. "..I know that now, Faanshi. And I know that I have a long way to go before I will ever be a great man." Most women of the Children of Fire could not be called dainty -- but perhaps because of her mixed blood, the shudra maiden, this tall, willowy woman-child with far more height than substance to her frame, can. The bones of her hand seem barely heavier than a tree's newest budding branches, and like a small wild bird come to alight within Thomas's grasp, her hand flutters until all five fingers curl round the larger hand that enfolds them. "I hear wisdom and compassion in your words already," she murmurs, "and I believe you...!" It is a strong hand she holds, and a strong gaze upon her -- but because of that slight awkwardness in his eyes, softening but by no means diminishing that unhesitant regard. Faanshi takes heart and dares to draw on that resevoir of strength and purpose conveyed in a single steady pair of eyes. She remembers, does Faanshi, that when her beloved heart-mother wished to accentuate offered words, she would clasp and squeeze Faanshi's hand. And so now, the halfbreed girl ventures to do the same -- not because it is the hand of a Warlord, or that of a grand leader of men, but because it is the hand of Thomas. Thomas's hand is that of a working man's -- strong and broad and covered with the thick skin of many-a-callous. Silence overtakes him as this normally reserved girl reaches out to take that which he has offered. Though his reserve is great and you sense he is a creature of will, there is a weight which rests upon him that you can sense is more than any man should have to bear. Still, you can feel his palm close over yours and that slim hand of yours is enclosed in his larger one. By the time he has looked upon you once again, that softness has nearly vanished from his gaze, the grey clouds rolling back to reveal resolution beneath, "Thank you, Faanshi. It is my hope that I can live up to the man that others see me to be. It is not an easy task to bear, but some are called to take a role in this world. That role forces them to make sacrifices and not to live like others. They are the guardians of tradition and the builders of nations." Giving your hand a small squeeze, his brow creases in vague consideration, "Avalon is no different. Some will be called to stand up and make those kinds of sacrifices. To become great men and women." And then, he releases your hand with a slow motion, rising to his feet and beginning to gather himself once again. Clearing his throat softly, he half mutters, "I should leave you to your prayers, Faanshi." Slim golden fingers slip away then, as the Mongrel man stands once more; Faanshi's hand hovers for a moment, like a young bird testing its wings, before she brings it down to clasp with its mate at her breast, her blue-saried head bobbing once in acknowledgement, if not necessarily understanding... not quite yet. But her gaze remains up, shy and hopeful, and the soft voice from behind the veil asks after a moment's consideration, "Will you... talk with me again? I do not know much..." And the maiden unfurls her hands, emerald gaze contemplating those delicate digits. "I have... barely as many months in the world as I do fingers. My heart-mother is gone to be reborn... and I am very lost." It is a humble admission -- but it does not occur to her to be ashamed of it. To her eyes, the world is much larger than she has ever conceived... and the man before her knows it. She does not. That he offers her guidance moves her, and prompts her to conclude, impulsively, "I very much welcome your counsel... and your company...!" As the halfbreed before him makes her confession, Thomas regards her carefully and with patience reserved behind those solid eyes. The words he speaks are soft and given in such a fashion as to imply that there is a great deal of meaning behind them, "I will see you many more times before you must return to Imphada Kiera. It is my hope that I will be able to give you some of the counsel and the company which you seek." A pause as his hands come to a rest near his sides, "Though you may not know it, I have watched you Faanshi. Ever since your kindness to me in the Varati camp, I have watched how you lived. Then, I was not capable of giving you what you seek, but now I feel as if we have a brief opportunity to give you the kind of purpose which I know you long for." A fleeting smile marks his lips as he exhales slowly, "Atesh-Gah can be a lonely place and the Varati Kingdoms are huge. There, it is easy to be lost and overlooked. Here, your talents, your gifts, and your kindness are most assuredly welcomed. All will soon know your name and the touch of your gentle hand." Then, he casts a glance over his shoulder, back towards the main encampment, "I should go tend to the firepit. There are several who wish to meet with upon the matters of our crossing the morrow. It will not be an easy thing to accomplish." Back towards you, he offers a bow of his head as if in respect, "Be well, my friend. We will see each other in a short period of time. I have no doubt of this." The blue silken veil she wears hides her blush, but it does not hide Faanshi's surge of flustered reaction to the notion that she might have warranted Murako's study... or the idea that the people of Avalon might decide to laud her. "It is enough to know that you are my friend," she murmurs, eyes darting modestly down, but her voice proffers forth those words with the beginnings of something like assurance, for she has taken to heart that they are received by sympathetic ears. "I will pray for strength to help heal your people... and I will come and help to serve the supper as soon as my prayers are done...!" "Excellent." Thomas answers, his lips coming into a more solid line that curls at the corners just a touch. "Then I shall be waiting for you with the others." The large Mongrel's eyes are cast skywards for just the briefest of moments, gaze reflecting the dying rays of light. Then, in silence, he looks one last time at you before turning on heel and making his way back towards the main area of the tents. You are left behind with Kosha and your prayers. Soon, the sounds of music and story-telling begin in earnest as those who travel to Avalon revel in their newfound destinies. This continues until late into the evening, when all retire to continue their journey to the new land. [End log.]