"A Second Acarya Found" Log Date: 10/28, 10/31/99 Log Cast: Samein, Faanshi Log Intro: The plague that assailed Haven has been conquered. Holi has come and gone. And although the Nabi Devaki taught her stern, unsubtle control over her magic, Faanshi now has a true teacher interested not only in educating her in the use of her healing gift, but _also_ in Faanshi simply because she is _Faanshi_. So too seems to be the opinion of a ruggedly handsome Mongrel bard who has taken a shine to her, and in general, it seems a wondrous thing indeed to the young halfbreed that she could attract such interest. But she has a great power within her, and whether she is halfbreed or no, it is not yet done drawing interest to her. This time, it is in the person of an irascible -- and powerful -- old Arch-Magus of Delphi. An Arch-Magus who also happens to be Varati.... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Afternoon Date on Aether: Monday, June 24, 3905. Year on Earth: 1505 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Last Quarter Season: Summer Weather: Clear Skies Temperature: Hot *==========================================================================* 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: Kosha Samein Obvious exits: Streets Garden Archway Samein is sitting quietly through the heat of the afternoon on one of the crumbling stone park benches, sheltered from the sun by a large, spreading tree. His fingers are tented into a sort of matrix in front of him, and he stares off into space, either merely considering something internally or having some sort of vision. As far as Kosha is concerned, it is about _time_ he was turned loose in the garden -- he's a big dog, after all, and he has to eat! He goes gallumphing by on his enormous paws, charging straight past Samein for the nearest tangle of foliage, every doggie sense attuned to the urgent need of finding some small tasty animal to slay for his afternoon snack. As this does not exactly mesh well with the appointed plans of his young mistress, Faanshi might be spotted pelting into view in his wake, calling in soft dismay, "_Kosha!_ Slow down, you ungrateful beast!" It's as loud as the shudra maiden ever gets, and even then, she's not exactly shouting. Which may have something to do with why the dog's gotten yards ahead of her, for all she's doing her level best to catch up with him. Samein's attention drifts slowly to the side, belatedly following the commotion. There it stops, his head tilted slightly to one side. As the noise continues, the old man finally raises a hand, touching gently at the side of his temple. The earth directly in front of the marauding dog explodes, as if it had been hiding a land mine. A barrier of soft earth springs in front of the beast, cushioning and half-burying him. Not to mention making him much easier to catch. Samein turns slowly on the bench, finally following the unfolding scene with his body. Now just a minute -- when Kosha is on the hunt, the ground is NOT supposed to flare up in front of him! Taken _quite_ by surprise, the hound yelps in dismay, but cannot halt his headlong plunge towards the underbrush quickly enough to prevent himself from being caught by a good deal of falling dirt. Faanshi, almost as surprised as her dog, lets out a cry of her own and pelts all the faster on her sandaled feet to close the gap between her and the startled creature. Only when she draws within easy range of the gentleman on the bench does she skid to an uncertain halt. A shudra's training prompts her to blurt breathlessly, anxiously, "N-Namaste', imphadi... you are all right? The ground -- my dog..." Samein glances up, his head swiveling like that of some sleepy owl in the daytime heat. He looks at you for perhaps a full thirty seconds before he brings a hand down, patting lightly at the bench beside him. "Your dog will be quite all right." Indeed, the bit of dirt should be no match for such a fiesty young speciment, and Samein's eyes turn from his unspoken invitation to watch the dog undoubtedly extract himself. His entire expression proclaims everything to be as it should be. Indeed, Kosha is a feisty young hound, and although a good showering of dirt does stop him for a few moments, it doesn't stop him for long. He promptly surges to his feet, shaking himself vigorously and scattering little clumps of earth and grass in all directions. Faanshi, watching this, emits a little squeak and involuntarily lifts a slim hand to try to shield her eyes, but this proves more or less unnecessary as little of it actually hits her. Given visible proof that her loyal hound is quite all right, the maiden then blinks at Samein and the patting of the place beside him. "You wish to speak with me, imphadi?" she inquires earnestly, composure returning as she catches her breath. Samein's hands have by now returned to their rightful place in his lap, tightly intertwined. He murmurs, "Indeed." While apparently waiting for you to sit, he watches the dog with a rather detached air, as if attempting to fashion in his mind an explanation for its appeal to others. The old man shifts again on his seat, apparently still a bit uncomfortable with the heat, here away from the solid coolness of his Tower. Why would this hound be appealing? Perhaps because of his size and boisterousness -- if one likes that kind of thing. And, discounting the dirt currently spotting his fur (which he attempts to shake off even now), he does appear to be a handsome animal, as well as intelligent; he snaps his gaze around as the young maiden murmurs sternly, pointing a finger at him, "Stay, Kosha, stay!" His immediate response to this is to roll over on his back, changing his mind from shaking himself to rolling in the dirt... but he's at least following the letter of the law, if not the spirit! Faanshi sighs, knowing she'll have to try to bathe the hound later... but for now, she will attend to the imphadi. Her gaze demurely lowered over her veil, she approaches and settles herself gingerly down where she's been directed, while saying gravely, "How may I serve, imphadi?" Samein seems to be a fairly blunt man, especially at the moment, when a vague sheen of crankiness seems to float around him, spurred by age and heat. Still, his tone remains cordial. "Who is attending to the training of your gift?" He still does not quite yet look at you, but watches the rollicking dog. His other senses will no doubt serve his needs. Samein A stodgy gargoyle, barely encased by flesh. Obviously entering old age, this Varati seems too delicate for one of his race -- his face is an assemblage of stern lines, bones standing out prominently behind parchment skin. Bushy black eyebrows shadow the pits of his eyes, the twin orbs reflecting a dark, rather murky green watchfully back at the world. His black hair is cropped short around his head, allowing rather mishapen ears and a jutting, craggy nose to become all the more prominent. The coal-black strands are streaked occasionally by pure white, doing nothing to soften his stony visage. Samein wears long, black robes which ripple about his thin, carefully erect figure. The singularity of color is broken by the collar of the robes, which encircles his neck with the blue-grey of the Cabeiri. Arranged against the side of his throat, five diamonds gleam, proclaiming Samein as an ArchMagus of the Delphic order. At each sleeve of the robes, the insignias of Samein's other talents are embroidered -- the caduceus of the Healers near his right hand, and the indigo-rimmed eye of the Sibylla near his left. Light-soled leather shoes whisper across the ground as he moves, hands generally folded with neat efficiency in front of him. If there was anything Faanshi had expected to be asked by this stern figure of male authority, who trains her in magic was not it. Startlement flashes anew through her system, but she suppresses it as best she can, along with the gasp that threatens to burst out of her in reaction to the question. Her posture remains ramrod-straight, suggesting she has only taken a seat because she's been bidden and not because she expects to derive any comfort from it. And her tone, once she gets over her surprise, remains soft and grave as she manages a reply: "I have been permitted to seek teaching from a Sylvan, imphadi..." Then, she pauses, not certain exactly how much information is required of her. Samein purses his lips thoughtfully for a moment, and finally turns his head, looking directly at you with a fairly intense gaze. After a brief moment of this, he gives a faint smile. "I have been remiss in laying down a bit of groundwork for our discussion. Firstly, the honorific is fairly unnecessary. I am a teacher of Delphi, but I hold no status within Varati society. In light of this fact, I am not asking what you have been permitted to do. Is your Sylvan teacher of Delphi? Does he or she have a name?" Samein speaks rather pleasantly, but with a certain undertone of authority. Green eyes flick their gaze momentarily sideways and upward, as Faanshi takes in this new information, along with a glimpse of the faint smile. But her gaze ducks swiftly downward again even as she bobs her sari-covered head in acknowledgement of the initial words. Then, she murmurs shyly, "Imphada FallingStar informed me that she had once been with Delphi, but is no longer, sir." Samein peers off into the space beyond one of your shoulders for a long moment, apparently processing this information. Finally he gives a quiet murmur, "Rainmaker." He considers, drumming his fingers lightly against one knee. Finally he seems to come to some conclusion, and states flatly, "This concerns me. She seems a tad too flighty and inexperienced to deal with the burgeoning abilities of a halfbreed." There is another moment of consideration, before he admits quietly, "Delphi is somewhat lacking in adequate teachers. But it is not impossible." While Kosha rolls over again and shakes himself briskly, Faanshi might be seen to go extremely still. Perhaps at the word 'halfbreed'. _How does he--_ The thought shoots across her mind before she drives it back into silence with a force she does not visibly exhibit. Audibly, however, something can be detected, as the voice with which she replies grows smaller and strangely toneless: "I have not been given leave to go to Delphi for aid, sir." Other thoughts, other replies crowd her mind behind that one, but with a servant girl's reticence, she seems uninclined to offer no more information than is requested or seems immediately relevant. Her gaze remains pointed downward, but now the hands she has folded with maidenly grace in her lap have grown tense. Samein considers this with a faint hint of surprise, peering at you while he mulls over whatever implications this new tidbit of information might bring. "Not given leave. Have you requested it? You may speak freely with me, as I said. My status within the Clans is similar to your own." Perhaps an overstatement, but suffice to say that it would be somewhat vague. This is why his comings and goings within Atesh-Gah meet with so much interest and discomfort. His examination of your tense form brings a faint frown to his face. He reaches forward, and in odd gesture places a hand on his shoulder. Magic of a familiar variety flows to you, a tendril of very low-intensity healing magic against your tension. She'd already suspected that this aging gentleman is a mage -- but to be given proof of it coaxes out the gasp Faanshi had withheld before. Her face lifts, gaze flashing around in shock that's unmistakable despite the blue silken veil that curtains the lower half of her face. That a man, even an aging one, would touch her begin with is startling enough. That he is doing so in an apparent attempt to lend forth a kind of comfort makes it doubly startling -- and sends her gaze plummeting downward again even as something within her stirs at that brush in the aether. Oh, yes, this girl recognizes that particular form of magic. There's a deep wellspring of its like inside her. Still, though, even as the brush of soothing power coaxes the tension out of her muscles, it doesn't dismiss it from her mind. "It did... not seem appropriate, sir, as... I am bidden by the Amir-al to serve my mistress, and... as I... hope to serve his Holy Mother," she murmurs bemusedly. Samein's hand flits away from you, returning to his lap, and he smiles once again, seeming to find some sort of irony in this as well. Finally he murmurs, "Indeed. It is rather peculiar to see the way in which the Amir-Al has so diluted the ancestry of his confidants, after centuries of... purity." Samein does not really seem to throw his opinion behind either contingency. "Nevertheless, Delphi remains non-partisan, and full of Varati teachers." Perhaps he includes himself in this estimation, perhaps not. "Many future rulers and other active participants in the races were trained with us." He pauses for a moment, and then nods slowly, as if to some hidden cue. "Whatever your eventual choice, my aid is extended to you now." Not exactly in a position to comment upon the actions of Khalid Atar, not to mention on the notion of herself as one of the God-King's 'confidants', the maiden decides it's probably best to ignore such commentary as beyond her ken. Almost beyond it is the idea that this man of Delphi, who apparently makes the ground explode, can pick out a healer and a halfbreed without apparent effort, and who can apparently put forth healing magic of his own is offering aid to _her_. "But... you are Delphi, sir," she blurts then, too stunned to remember to look down, giving the seasoned mage a good glimpse of the slanted eyes above her veil. "And I am not... and the Imphada FallingStar has already agreed to teach--" Samein waves a hand idly upwards, a vaguely dismissive gesure. He speaks in calm, flowing tones now, almost bordering on overy warmth. "Delphi's purpose is to help all of those with talent control that talent, and grow with it, rather than allowing it to destroy them. Although some of us have lost sight of that at various points during the years, this shall always be our main focus. Healing is easier than most to control, but the implications of failure are much more dire than almost any other. The strength of your natural talent will be stronger than one of a pure race, and I do not wish to see you or another harmed by a failure of internal control." This said, he does smile at you, a subtle shifting of his lined face, meeting your surprised eyes. Beyond his crusty exterior, the old Varati seems to be a uniquely gentle speciment of his breed. And to discover such a Varati man is clearly a shock to this dainty creature. Faanshi blinks repeatedly -- and then goes still and stoic again, gaze darting downward in a surge of memory and barely controlled nervous embarrassment. "I have already been instructed how to avoid shaming the Most High b... by failing to control my power," she murmurs, with just a tinge of uneasiness coloring her voice. Samein's face changes then, and he leans back slightly, entertaining a faint scowl. In truth this is a more common expression for Samein, but it seems a stark contrast to his earlier moment of openness. "It is not a question of etiquette. It is survival. Do you have any inkling of what happens, once you lose control?" It is not a rhetorical question, and the newly stern teacher stares at you, awaiting an answer. The harshness is still just a hint, a brief flare above his generally genial character, but he certainly has the compacity to be firm. Faanshi is looking down again, and thus, she does not see the scowl. But she replies in a low, toneless whisper, "I shamed the Amir-al by losing control of my magic in the Tent City, during the plague. There would have been a riot if the Hounds and the Clan Khalida guards had not been present. The..." Most of this recitation is delivered in the dull tones of a servant reciting her faults to a master, but here, now, there comes the barest hint of hesitation. "The Nabi made certain that I will not shame the Most High by allowing this to happen again." Samein's tone softens slightly, marked by a hint of genuine interest in what you recount. This information could actually bear relevence, and he tests it, "How did the Nabi do this? Was it by an actual manipulation of the Aether?" Even to your relatively dull sense of such things, it might be possible to discern a certain increase of that intangible substance in the spaces around and within you. Samein is testing, sensing. Clairvoyant also. "She did not choose to explain her actions to me, sir," the maiden whispers, her voice now very small. Tension has returned to her stance, and something in either her bearing or the cadences of her words attracts the attention of her dog. Kosha lopes over, his head canted thoughtfully, and starts attempting to nudge his head into Faanshi's lap. The halfbreed girl does not appear to notice the subtle, ethereal inspection of her and her power -- but nevertheless, it can discern a blockage of some kind, some sort of veil obscuring the power within her, keeping it dimmed down to only the barest hint of a presence in the aether. Samein frowns softly, and a few moments of silence tick by, his gaze remaining rather intense upon you. Finally he speaks, a soft certainty in his voice, "The Nabi worked very efficiently. They did absolutely nothing, in terms of concrete action. You are merely frightened." Samein actually seems to find this a tad bit amusing, but it is a fairly muffled and subtle response. He glances sidelong at the dog for a moment. Smart dog, this. Or at the very least, attuned to the moods of the maiden he adores. The nudgings of his muzzle win him timid strokes from Faanshi's dainty fingers, and she peeks down at his devoted doggy face, finding it a far safer place to rest her attention than the alarmingly observant old mage beside her. "I..." That single escapes her in a tiny croak, and she has to swallow hard before she continues, "... could not say, a-as to that, sir..." Samein watches you for another long moment of silence, his frown lingering in a sort of gentle displeasure. Finally he murmurs softly, "Someone told me once that fear is a sort of death, an oblivion of the mind. I see truth in this: you are walking dead." He gives a slow, rather reluctant shrug. "I suppose this is your choice, and one greatly encouraged by some of my race. But all the same... I offer my aid." Troubled, Faanshi looks slowly up, hardly daring to credit that this grizzled old gentleman is interested in helping her even after he has stated such twice outright. That she is frightened is not in doubt -- it fairly screams from the tense set of her slender frame and in the wary uneasiness of the leaf-colored eyes, all that is visible of her face. But she doesn't admit to that fear, not aloud. Fragile-seeming maiden she might be, halfbreed she might be, but she has enough stoicism to make any full-blooded Varati proud. All she says is a solemn, "I would be grateful for any aid you could provide me with my humble power, sir." Her hand remains upon the head of her dog, connected to him as though he is a kind of lifeline. Since you now actually look at the old man, you are able to see the scowl which blooms on his face at your words. Your carefully worded answer seems to have struck him as some sort of insult, and he stirs in his seat as if agitated, finally rising entirely to stand. "I am not within the strictures of Varati hierarchy. I will not be treated like some smug noble with a harem girl. Speak to me bluntly, or we waste the very air." The old man takes a few strong, brisk steps out into the undergrowth, then swivels back to face you. The maiden visibly flinches at this, her free hand lifting unconsciously as if to ward off a blow, color draining out of what little is visible of her face. Has she ever speaken bluntly to _anyone_ in her life? One might conclude not, given the confusion and dismay that flashes across those big eyes of hers. Certainly, she has no idea how to respond to being chastised like _this_. "I... I do not... know what you wish me to say," she babbles then, sounding more distraught now -- but it is more palpable emotion than she's allowed herself to express before. Samein takes the few energetic strides necessary to close the gap between himself and you, now standing directly in front of you. He crouches in a smooth motion, meeting your eyes as best he can. "I do not wish you to say any particular thing. If you speak in an attempt only to please me, than you will have displeased me. Do you understand?" To see the old mage produce such physical energy in the languid heat is almost frightening, especially directly in front of you as he is, peering at you over your dog, black robes splayed out around him. Kosha responds to the surge of energy in the old man's movements, his stance going alert, his head lifting off Faanshi's lap and his ears perking up. He doesn't growl, not yet, but there's the potential for it. What perhaps stays him is that Faanshi's hand is still on his neck, her fingers sinking into his fur in reflexive reaction. "Yes sir," the shudra answers meekly, her gaze shooting down. Now that you crouch before her she cannot entirely hide her eyes, not without closing them, but still she looks downward. It might even be noted that she is trembling. Samein makes a soft, frustrated sound in the back of his throat, rising once more to his feet. He turns and relieves you of the weight of his stare, coming to sit next to you on the bench once more. Reaching beside him, hand out of your view for a moment, he produces a rather oddly smooth hunk of stone, about as large as two of his fists. Stone it may certainly seem to be, the same stone as the bench you sit on, but Samein begins kneading and shaping it with his hands, his delicate fingers molding it as if it were fresh clay. He is shaping something, or nothing, or perhaps merely occupying his brief bout of frustration elsewhere. It is extremely odd, Faanshi thinks dazedly, to be scolded for simply behaving in the manner that she has been taught shudra must behave. "I-I am sorry," she mumbles then, eyes closing against the sting of threatening tears. She will not cry, she orders herself. She cannot cry. "Do you w-wish me to leave you now, sir?" Samein's voice is firm, almost to the point of being curt, "Nonsense. You will remain, until you realize that I am not some evil beast, rollicking through the china shop of tradition." Rather oddly verbose metaphor for such a generally terse man, but flowery words hint at what he is shaping. Petals are forming even now out of the stone, grown seemingly more vibrant within his hands. The stone flows as if it were liquid now, spreading and blooming. The shape is still rough, but it resembles a water lily. Well, what can she say to _that_? Faanshi swallows hard behind her veil, bemused and confused, and deeply shaken. Her hands flutter for a few moments along the top of her dog's head as Kosha returns his most of his attention to her; the rest of it is on the strange things the mage is doing with the stone, and a little half-whine, half-growl escapes him. Faanshi does her best to soothe the creature, but finds little soothing for herself in that habitual stroking of his fur. Her conscience prompts her to blurt out then, "I-I do not think you are an evil beast, sir... I just... I have... not met too many... people such as you before." The words come out of her no louder than anything else she's said, but now they have a hoarse little edge to them, the sound of them reflecting the effort it cost her to utter them. Samein's main response to your great sacrifice on his behalf is a terse little nod. He is working, see, and the flower is blooming out of stone. His fingers are working on the delicate finishing touches already, crimping, adding tiny lines and curves. It is obvious that he sculpts flowers often, although the water lily might be a little rarer. All the same, it is beautiful, especially given the rather low-grade stone it came out of. "Indeed. You have not. To Delphi I am a bit of an eccentric. To most Varati during the course of this conversation I would appear to have three noses, as it were." The flower is finished, petals curling delicately outwards, a few broad leave providing it with support in its imaginary water. The thing looks impossibly fragile for the material in which it is worked. All the same, Samein presents it to you blithely, as if it were some offhanded gift to be tossed about. "Here. Varati craftsmanship I can certainly admire. This is my own brand." She can't help it; Faanshi sneaks a peek at your seamed, stern visage before catching herself and chiding herself firmly that you do, of course, possess the standard number of noses. Her attention is quickly seized by the stone flower handed to her, however, and she breathes, "It is beautiful..." That's safe enough to say, at any rate. She cradles the impromptu creation in her hands as though half-fearing she may damage it if she breathes on it too heavily, and never mind the filter of her veil. Samein watches your reaction calmly for a moment, nodding a bit to himself, as if pondering his next course of action. He seems neither pleased nor displeased with you at this point, a sort of unfathomable calm that hints at the procession of an actual mood. Having fallen silent, however, he stays there. Eyes constant in their regard of you, he lets the quiet of the waning afternoon seep between the two conversants, perhaps enjoying it in itself. Instructed to stay, offered no commentary or questions to which she is expected to respond, Faanshi finds herself at a loss. Even without the stone lily resting in her palms. Now what? She peeks from the flower to its creator and back again, while Kosha sinks down to the ground in mournful acceptance of the fact that his mistress's hands are occupied for the moment and will therefore not be scritching him. And at last she ventures awkwardly, "Do you... wish to speak with Imphada FallingStar, sir...?" Samein's eyes re-focus, considering the possibility. Finally he shrugs rather offhandedly. "Perhaps I shall, in the near future. Where might she be found?" This does not seem like a matter in which he senses urgency, but perhaps the Sylvan could be of help. The old man re-settles himself once more, half-facing you on the bench, hands comfortably nested in his lap once more. "She has a shop in Bordertown... it is called... A Moment in Thyme." Faanshi's gaze settles and stays on the stone flower, as she traces a fingertip along its contours. As long as she has something to do with her hands, a little bit of tension and worry can be kept at bay. But not all of it. Obviously unused to dictating the flow of a conversation, Faanshi cannot keep a quaver out of her voice as she goes on, "It is near where Fairway crosses Border... just northwest of the Rialto..." Samein nods slowly, and then reaches up with both his arms, giving a languid and thorough stretch, complete with little satisfied sounds and everything. "Yes. There shall be time enough for that. I suppose I can do no more now than reiterate my offer: I shall be available whenever you need help or advice. You shall have no trouble finding me at the Delphic Tower." Rolling his shoulders slowly in some small attempt to relieve their stiffness, he remarks mildly, "And now I think it is time for dinner. And a nap. You look as if you need both of those things as well, but somehow it would seem a little presumptious of me to ask you to join me in either." A blush floods Faanshi's face at the thought of joining a man she's just met in a nap; however, most of that blush is hidden by her veil. Thinking she recognizes a hint to leave even if it is not couched in terms of obvious dismissal, she starts to rise... only to recollect that she's holding the flower. That, however, is of less immediate concern than those stretches, and in tones of profound unsureness she ventures, "My mistress, Imphada Kiera, bids me do what I-I must to become a better healer... I would, truly appreciate your help, sir... I... sir, are you... all right?" Samein meets your stuttering mixture of words with a few slow, sleepy, and rather uncomprehending blinks. His first real reaction is a very faint grin, and he murmurs, almost to himself, "Imphada Kiera..." The two words together seem to amuse him, for some reason. Finally he speaks to you directly, "I am significantly older than your years, and have accumulated a melange of little aches and pains. I am in only minor discomfort." He does not answer as to whether he wants your help, though. Perhaps deliberately. Not about to touch someone without permission, Faanshi does not try to do so now; the closest she comes is to shift the stone lily into her left hand while her right rises, ever so slightly. Still, though... the offer is given with the first steady look the halfbreed girl has managed this entire conversation, though her eyes are liquid and her voice full of her youth, her uncertainty, and yes, her fear. Now, though, the situation has subtly changed. She expects to be denied, but still she asks: "Would you... I mean... do you need me to... assist you? If you would permit..." She trails off, then. The veneer of the shudra has been pulled away, by the old mage's own insistence, and what remains is a young girl with achingly vulnerable but genuinely concerned eyes above her veil. She concludes tinily, "Sometimes my heart-mother would let me soothe her." For a moment there is a brief, flitting sense of a matching vulnerability on Samein's features, as if your expression finally touched him, brought out some slim vein of paternalism. The last words seal it -- the gruff mage has been ensnared, and although he perhaps could do better job healing himself, he simply turns, swinging a leg over the bench and facing away from you, presenting the offending shoulders. It is only when he is freed from the little-girl eyes that his calm voice returns to him. "Feel free." Double entendre perhaps intended. While Kosha lets out a curious little yurf, Faanshi can be heard to shift position now, soft and unobtrusive and shy. Gingerly, she sets down the shaped stone flower, and after a moment the maiden's hands make contact with your proffered shoulders. Her touch is little more than a feather's brush against your flesh, but as her fingertips make contact, the aether surreptitiously... ripples. And as it does, all unknowing to the girl in veil and sari, the wellspring of power lying veiled within her shows itself more clearly to senses that see more of such things than her own. Her magic's initial contact is tentative as the girl herself -- but once the connection is made, it wells up and out through her fingertips like a shaft of morning sunshine upon one's uplifted face, like a cool draught of water after a long day's work. Even as it seeks out the aches and pains of age, one of the first things she ever learned to soothe with her power, the magic hints at... more. Although he is facing away from you, Samein's quiet smile is almost a tangible thing, a sense of pleasure perhaps rooted more in your own blossoming than the relief of his petty aches and pains. All the same, his shoulders and back relax against you quite easily, receptive as he is to magic of any sort. It is perhaps a great rarity for the old man to feel the direct work of others. It can immediately be sensed that for whatever reasons -- the work of the Nabi she's mentioned, or the training of the Sylvan FallingStar, or other things she has not yet found the bravery to mention -- Faanshi has control upon the gift within her. A tight and focused control... almost _too_ focused. Her power does what she asks of it, loosening the muscles immediately beneath her fingertips, but nothing more. Then... her hands lift away when she senses she's done what's needed, but even with the physical contact broken it can be sensed in the aether that a cloud surges across the sunshine, a stopper is placed in the flow of water that is her power. For whatever reasons, this child pulls her power back into herself with an almost palpable force incongruous with the timid softness of her demeanor as she asks, "Did I help, sir?" Samein's thin shoulders roll once again, with a bit less stiffness apparent. He gives a quiet smile, and turns back towards you, raising his legs over the bench. That smile lingers as he looks at you, at last answering, "Yes, it did. It had been... quite some time, since another healed me. Thank you." He pauses, sobering a bit. "Perhaps I can indeed work with you somewhat. Our abilities in healing are almost equal... but we could discuss issues of control and manipulation of the aether, generally. Perhaps I could help." This, apparently, takes the maiden quite by surprise. Her hands draw back, one of them lifting in bemusement up to where her mouth must be behind her translucent veil as if to stifle the soft gasp that escapes her. "But... sir," Faanshi blurts, "you are aged, venerable... how could... my power match yours?" Samein blinks softly at you with your surprise, and then gives a quiet chuckle. "My ability in healing. I have abilities in shaping matter, as well as a bit of clairvoyance. Some very few reach a high level in a particular skill, and then move on to others." He settles himself on the bench in this new position, tenting his hands in his lap. Nodding towards the water lily of stone nearby, he murmurs, "Shaping was my first affinity, of course." Apparently, it had never occurred to Faanshi that a mage can be gifted in more than one area. She turns a wide-eyed gaze to the lily and then back to its shaper, breathing, "But... have you not been a mage for many, many years? How could I match you in healing? I am very young, sir, and I've only had a very little training, and my own h-humble practices, and some Mongrels that I have healed and a few others. And... clairovoyance, that is the seeing of things that will come, yes?" All at once the questions begin to burst out of her, as though some sort of wall has been knocked aside within her head. Samein nods slowly, his demeanor rather patient. "I began learning of the healing aspect only after many, many years of Shaping alone. One must first master one skill entirely before moving on, except in rare exceptions. Clairvoyance is partially the seeing of things to come, and also the sensing of the web of Aether itself. I tend to specialize more in the latter aspect. You are strong because of latent ability, just as my latent ability was very strong early on in Shaping. That latent ability helps make up for my years of study in Healing." Faanshi takes all of this in, her delicate brows knitted together in thought. Her gaze drops down to her hands, at which she stares for several seconds, curling and uncurling her fingers. And at last she murmurs in consternation, "Some people... have told me that I am powerful... I do not know what to think, sir... but I would be very grateful for your counsel." On this last, Faanshi looks up again, those liquid eyes of hers still quite earnest, and perhaps now even hopeful. Samein nods slowly, meeting your gaze as he next speaks. "It is my pleasure, then. We shall have informal meetings in the future, most definitely. Although it will be somewhat different from a formal teaching, perhaps I can at least help you control and realize the power you have. Another will have to help you raise that level of power, later. But I will teach you what you can do, since, after all, this is roughly my level of ability. Healing at this level is quite a useful thing, but it certainly has strong limitations." He smiles gently at you. "And perhaps we could even work on instilling a sense of humor. You'll live longer." Sheepishly, Faanshi murmurs, "We shudra are permitted senses of humor, sir... but they are in short supply and so we must borrow them from the khansamah each morning and return them after we've made a daily allotment of jests." It takes a brief moment for Samein to recognize the small jest, your expression remaining sheepish as it does. As he does, he gives a surprisingly broad grin, replying, "I had thought it was in there somewhere. I myself have been acused of hiding my sense of humor under the relative crustiness of my exterior, and thusly I sympathize. We shall do well together." Ever so slightly, the girl's eyes brighten above the veil. "Usually," she confides, "I have nobody to talk to but Kosha, sir" -- and to this, the dog lying down at the feet of the bench whurfs softly, in recognition of his name -- "and he is a very good listener, but he does not laugh when I make a joke... so I do not get much practice." Faanshi's voice has brightened a bit as well. It would seem that she, too, looks forward to this association. "But I will like to talk to you, sir!" Samein smiles at you once more, and reaches out to touch the back of your hand briefly, a slightly affectionate gesture. He then stirs once more, rising to his feet. "Then our plan is established. I shall see you again soon, certainly. And I can be found at the Tower of Delphi, most times. I go there now for dinner and my nap." To this, Faanshi immediately rises, clasping her hands at her breast and bowing over them. "Namaste', sir," she murmurs. "Farewell..." And as she comes up again she finishes, "And... thank you." Samein merely nods, his mood still apparently quite pleasant. He does look ready to find bed, however, and he turns quietly to walk towards the perephery of the garden, moving at a leisurely pace. [End log.]