"Sentinel of the Dawn" Log Date: 1/20/99, 1/21/99 Log Cast: Kiera, Faanshi Log Intro: After seventeen years of seclusion, a miracle has occurred. Faanshi, shudra of Clan Sarazen, kin to the wise-woman Ulima, has been summarily hauled off to war along with Ulima by their master, Sarazen's Warlord Hashim. It is not meant to be a boon to the shudra girl, for through most of her life Hashim has kept her hidden away from the eyes of men, and even when Clan Sarazen rides to war in the name of Khalid Atar, the Warlord keeps her confined in his tent. Only Ulima and Faanshi know why their master has chosen to bring the girl -- for Faanshi has the power to heal, and Hashim has jealously guarded her as his hidden prize... and his hidden shame, for she is the illegitimate offspring of his wife and her Sylvan lover. Now, Ulima has foreseen that the war will mean the death of the Warlord, and Hashim is desperate to avoid such a fate. But he can hardly refuse to answer the summons of the God-King to ride to war... and so, he has brought his captive healer out of hiding, guarding her as closely as he can in the midst of a mighty army. But her first glance at the world outside the Sarazen vara has piqued the curiosity of this young halfbreed healer. Captivated by what she has seen, the sheer numbers of people she has sensed around her, Faanshi has been able to submit tamely to her new confinement for only so long. And thus, on a wintry morning, somewhere in the lands of the Empyreans, a young woman named Faanshi has slipped out to view the dawn... unaware that another halfbreed also keeps watch over the sunrise... ---------- Wherever Kiera is, anymore, contains too many people. And she is not to go far, lest....Something happen. But it is morning and the sky is clear and the sun, weakened by the season, still shines more than it has in weeks. Kiera's shadow passes over the encampment, startling several horses, before it grows larger and meets with it's source, on the outskirts. Then she is *technically* within the bounds of the camp, but finally she is away from long shadows posted by too many tarps and tents too flimsy for her to stand upon. So now, Kiera stands, and her wings stretch out, dark feathers absorbing radiant warmth. So now Kiera stands still, gaze hooded, though eyes open. She looks out to the prarie, away from the tents, maybe to pretend it is solitude. One other is on the outskirts of the mighty encampment, this morning: a slender figure wrapped up in every single item of clothing she owns, insufficient protection against the cold, yet endured for the sake of escaping the tent that has been her enforced home for the past several weeks. The sun is coming up. Clan Sarazen is already at its morning drills -- and Ulima has chosen a different quiet spot to greet the dawn in her own fashion. So Faanshi is left to creep as stealthily as she can through the snow, marvelling at everything she passes. The tents. The horses. The people, so many of them, and interweaving smells so thickly joined together that her head reels with the effort of trying to sort them all. But most of all there is open sky above her, and the lone girl in her shabby garb pays little heed to the dampness soaking into her shoes for the wonder of the sight of it. One glance over her shoulder to see if anyone has marked her passage... and Faanshi drops to her knees not far away from the encampment's edge, peeking out from behind her veils, watching the sun's ascent in rapt fascination. Faanshi At first glance, some things about this individual are easy to discern. The garments worn are those oft seen on Varati females, yet, this figure stands at only 5'9", small for a woman of that race. But woman she clearly is, if the glimpses of slender hands and feet and of the shape beneath her flowing garb are to be believed. What portions of her skin are visible are a warm shade of gold; a hint of a braid of coal-black peeks out from beneath her sari. Shy or perhaps simply trained to submissive silence she must be, for she never raises her eyes to anyone, and she speaks so seldom and so softly that it is nigh impossible to determine the quality of her voice. Only the most astute of observers might notice that every so often -- perhaps when she thinks no one is watching -- this silent one peeks with furtive curiosity out from behind her veil at the world at large. She is simply clad, her garments of rough weave, threadbare in places but in adequate repair, perhaps the garb of a shudra in a household with either enough pride or enough prosperity to clothe its servants well. Her sari is a neutral dark brown, the color of kaffe; her choli is somewhere betwixt off-white and tan, her silwar a darker brown hue. Only her veils -- for she wears two, one wrapped up round the lower portion of her face, the other coming down from above to conceal her eyes -- are of fine make. One might wonder if her surroundings are as obscured to her as her features are to open view, for the dark gray opalescent stuff of her veils hides her countenance as effectively as the land is hidden from the eyes of sailors in thick fog. Hard to miss a winged figure - even a dark-winged one, known - when one has been sent to battle the winged race, so Kiera's presence startles no few of the clansmen and women as they emerge into the daylight, from a cold night's bad slumber. The hawk-winged woman bears them no mind, either through ignorance or a strict decision not to attend them or their reactions. And none, true to form, approach Kiera. She is an island of isolation, onto herself. Still, silent, like some somber sentinal. Kiera A Halfbreed. So speaks the hazel-brown eyes within fine-featured face, when taken together with the Sylvan's pointed ears and the parody of Empyrean's wings, patch-worked an unacceptable dark mahogany-brown interspersed with black. Perhaps this woman is Graisha as well, for those wings do not simply emanate from her shoulderblades, but rather draw skin and tissue from the length of her back - shoulder to the curve of her lower back. Like a hawk, she seems attentive of eye, silent, her head oft tilted slightly to focus upon a target. The slender 5'2 female body seems thin, aerodynamic in its bone-structure and meager weight, but with a mass of shoulder muscle well-developed for flight. Further suggestion of Graisha are the feathers - a few dark brown, a few golden-auburn, a few pearly white and now some black - which are interspersed through the short-cropped brown hair of this young woman, and the slender-boned fingers' housing nails that seem much more like talons - hard and shiney and a muted amber-brown. Kiera's skin is olive - lighter than the dusk of her wings and hair - and largely without scar or score. Kiera is barefoot but garbed in a sort of garmet that appears almost as much of a hybrid as its wearer. Made of cloth that an Empyrean may choose, Kiera's dark-colored robes are more fashioned after the style of the Varati. The sight of the dawn, at last, is too much to bear for the girl in the sari and the veils. Faanshi has never felt quite so small as she does this morning, in the wake of a winter's dawn, and it is with shaking legs that she hauls herself at last to her feet. Fear that she will be sought, and soon, demands that she hasten back to the shelter of the Warlord's tent -- but fear of the Warlord dogs at her steps. Perhaps hoping for a reason not to return, not quite able to manage another glance up into the brightening sky, Faanshi turns her gaze round to scan her surroundings. Only then does she spy the other figure... the one with the wings. If most clansmen and clanswomen housed in this dizzying labyrinth of tents have avoided contact with the hawk-winged figure, this is not within the ken of Faanshi. A gasp escapes her, and for the second time in a morning, she is struck through with wonder. Curiosity flares... and shyly, she dares to approach. _Is she sent by Ushas, to keep watch upon the dawn?_ she marvels. Once within range, she drops to her knees once more in the snow, breathing out, "Holy Mother of the Khalid..." Upon hearing a voice, so nearby, Kiera twitches, and she looks about her, seeing you only out of the corner of her eye. However, you are the only one there, other than her. "Is the Holy Mother of the Khalid-Atar supposed to be here today?" Kiera's voice is airy, light like a spring wind, and not meant to ever be louder than it is spoken. It is not a strong voice, and it is further clipped by the strange accent she bears - mostly Sylvan, and her somewhat odd diction. "I have not seen any who look like the Khalid, here." But... Kiera would like to see the Khalid's mother. _She speaks_! The kneeling figure starts, the head beneath the sari jerking slightly up as Faanshi's veiled gaze rises involuntarily towards the face of the one who has turned towards her. "I... forgive me," she blurts, her own diction unmistakably Varati, though delivered just about as softly, as though she fears to be overheard. "I... I would not presume to know, but I saw you, and I thought... please pardon this humble one's ignorance, but... what... are you?" Now /that/ question is not one that Kiera hears often anymore. First she was The Halfbreed, with capital letters, then she became The Khalid's Pet Halfbreed, all caps... Then she was admitted into his clan, and now she is Kiera Khalida, the Halfbreed and Khalid's Favored. Or, easier, folks pretend not to see her, don't bother to speak to her and avoid eye-contact with Kiera. That, rather than puzzle through how they /should/ address the halfbreed. "I am a halfbreed," Kiera returns. What else is she? "I am a wind-mage." She considers further. "I am a shapeshifter." Then: "What are you?" You asked 'what', not 'who'. So will she. From behind the dark opalescent veils there comes another soft, sharp gasp, and Faanshi's thin golden hands shoot up to press knuckles against her hidden mouth, an ineffectual block against the noise that's already escaped her. Her only answer to the return query is a startledly cried, "Halfbreed?!" The single word peals out with a volume loud enough to relay through the veils something of the real timbre of the voice that made it: low and clear. And, bizarrely, delighted. But as soon as she speaks, she shoots a swift glance back over her shoulders, as if certain that _someone_ must have heard her. The Halfbreed?! has to turn around and look, now. She shifts wings toward her, better balance that way, and turns, then re-extends the wings, to continue to soak up the meager sun. "Halfbreed." Kiera repeats, tonelessly, now studying you with dark hazel gaze pinpointed by black irises. And Kiera waits. Did you answer or react? Or both? One hand lifts up further, taking up the edge of the veil across Faanshi's upper face, and a pair of wide, leaf-hued eyes is revealed. Those eyes are full of awe, and the clear, low voice that goes with them blurts, "I did not hope to see ano--I mean, I did not know that--forgive me!" This last is delivered in a rush of embarrassment; the veil is swiftly dropped again, and so is her gaze. But only for a moment. The concealed face lifts, and in the barest of whispers, the kneeling girl ask, "Are you... shudra?" "You did not hope to see another Halfbreed?" Kiera asks? No, she's not as stupid as many accuse her of being, but she doesn't quite have the right take on it. "I have not seen another halfbreed. Where? Male or female?" Kiera scans the immedate encampment, as if this might summon said halfbreed. No. So Kiera looks back at you. "No. I am not shudra." Foolish girl! Of course this winged apparition, this sentinel of the dawn, would not be anything so prosaic as shudra -- how could you even think to ask the question, Faanshi? Still, a kind of disappointment stabs keenly through the veiled girl, and her kneeling figure lowers a little more towards the snow. Humbly, she pleads, "Forgive me, imphada... I did not mean to give offense...! I have seen no halfbreeds save you and..." With that, the girl who kneels trails off. With shame? And who? Kiera's interest piques now, and she shifts her wings in slightly, to enable her to walk toward you somewhat. The wings remain half-mantled, for to open them now would be an unneccessary domnance display. "And another? There is another halfbreed amoung the Varati?" Kiera notices the color of your eyes, but, for the present, does not remark upon it. Faanshi's covered head remains bowed in deference, even as fear courses through her. It does not occur to her to lie, for does not Khalid Atar frown upon untruths? Moreover, if the winged one is not shudra, then has she any choice but to answer the question given? Still, panic that she will be surely be beaten for this leeches volume from her voice. "Yes, imphada," she whispers. "I... am halfbreed." You? Are halfbreed? The color of the eyes clicks in Kiera's mind now and she furls her wings fully, pacing forward, then kneeling as much as she can without trailing her precious feathers in the dirt and mud, across the ground. Kiera's boots squelch unnoticed in the mud, and she reaches a hand to almost touch your face. "You are Sylvan and Varati?" Kiera asks, quietly. "May I see your face?" Those fingers of hers hesitate inches from the cloth, and Kiera's eyes have gone wider than their usual unnaturally large expression, to stare at you. The request clearly startles her, for Faanshi's form goes suddenly rigid. Surely, surely the Warlord will beat her, but... but if this wondrous creature before her is to see her, is that the same as revealing herself to the eyes of men? Perhaps, just perhaps, this can be kept secret? Shy hands therefore lift once again, lifting the upper veil to bring the leaf-green eyes into the light, and the delicate black brows and lashes, and the light golden skin that surround them. "Yes, Lady," comes her barely audible reply, though whether it is to the first question, the second, or both is up to this dawn's winged watcher to decide. Alien avian eyes study your features for a long moment or two, then Kiera nods. "Who are you? You do not know of me?" Kiera might well be pleased by this; her reputation hasn't shot /all/ through the Varati kingdom, as the Khalid's Pet Halfbreed, recently making news again by unprecedented accession to much higher honors. Kiera straightens, for it is a strain to kneel, when one has heavy wings to support at an awkward angle. One of the slim golden hands keeps the upper veil lifted; the other hand lingers near the lower veil, still in place, as if this girl kneeling in the snow is unsure whether it should be moved as well. She stays on her knees in the snow, now entirely oblivious to wet, cold knees. As the winged one rises, the green gaze flickers up for a moment to follow the motion before shyly dropping down again. "No, imphada," Faanshi murmurs, aware that she hasn't answered the first of these two new questions. If she says too much, surely the Warlord will know...? Seemingly clinical with the patter of ther thoughts, Kiera merely repeats the unanswered question, "Who are you, Imphada?" Finally, perhaps to comfort, she uses the title. Then she recalls the courtesy of returning the answer: "I am Kiera...Khalida." She's not quite used to the surname yet. It's new. The lower veil conceals enough of Faanshi's face that the flush to her cheeks at being thusly addressed remains unseen. But green eyes go wide, both at the usage of the title and of the winged one's identification; involuntarily, she drops her upper veil again before timidly trying to lift it up once more. "My name is Faanshi," she whispers. "Faanshi," Kiera repeats, in that odd clipped speech of hers. "I did not know there were other halfbreed. No more? Other than you?" And now Kiera is becomin g impatient with your being there on the cold ground. "Are your knees hurt? You cannot stand?" She eyes your clothes to see if there is ground-in mud-stains, from crawling. "I do not know of others... save me," murmurs Faanshi. Her hands and gaze drop in embarrassment to her knees as well, as she confesses, "I am to kneel to my betters, imphada... do you wish me to get up?" Is that a hint of relief in her soft voice, at the idea? Evidently Kiera isn't up to arguing your explanation, if indeed she so desires. "Stand up. I do not care to kneel. Wings." Long, long ago, Kiera tired of explaning the care and feeding of wings to non-winged creatures, and she has shortened the entire explanation to one word. "Timin is the type of halfbreed you are, too. But he lived in Haven, grew up in Haven, not with the Varati. And I have met one other, who said his father was Varati, and his mother, Sylvan. My father was Empyrean, my mother a shapeshifter, Sylvan. Were-hawk." For Kiera, that's a prolonged speech. "You have not met them?" With swiftness enough to indicate that her legs are indeed quite functional, the girl in the shabby sari and silwar rises. Her movements are checked ever so slightly as she begins to realize that once on her feet, she is taller than this winged imphada of the Khalida; the observation gives her pause. So does the explanation... and the description of _other_ halfbreeeds. _Others_, like her? "No," she breathes out in renewed wonder, "never... I did not know...!" Ah-hah! Quickly, Kiera smiles, and just as quickly, that expressioni s gone. "I did not know, either. My mother's mother told me to come to Haven, to find others like myself. There were two - Empyrean and Sylvan halfbreeds - but there are several halfbreeds. Geraldine the Sailor is a halfbreed, or so she says. Timin, this other that I have met. Minowee and Proudwing were halfbreeds. I have heard that there is a halfbreed, maybe two, in Delphi and osme of the Sylvan clans near to Haven have halfbreeds." Kiera /understands/ what you are living under. She, too, grew up scorned and feared for what she is. "You will return with us to Haven?" It's a question, but there's a determination there in Kiera's voice, that suggests that you /will/ return with us to Haven. She who has named herself Faanshi freezes where she stands, and then feels herself reeling under the implications of Kiera Khalida's last question. "Go... to... I-I, I cannot say, it is not my place..." Never, _never_ would the Warlord allow such a thing! Indeed, the renewed thought of Hashim's wrath, should someone (Holy Dawn Mother, Ulima would not tell him, would she?) discover her absent from the tent, sends Faanshi stumbling a few steps away. "I cannot...!" Just like the smile cracked Kiera's mask of careful neutrality, so again does your reaction - uncomprehension, distress and a wracking lonliness chase each other over Kiera's features before they are shut away. She waits until you are silent, still, then respsonds, "You do not wish to?" "I would... I would never be allowed!" It's a soft wail, but it is a wail nonetheless, and Faanshi's slim hands wring together in a reflection of the expression hidden behind her veils. "Has... my master, h-he would never allow...!" Another frightened glance is shot off towards the nearest tents, the reflexive jerk of a small defenseless creature about to be leapt upon by a predator, for all that this girl seems to have nothing of the wild about her... save for the hue of her eyes. Kiera is nothing, if not utterly crafty at times. "You are slave, or shudra?" the deceptively weak voice asks, though Kiera has not yet blinked during this conversation, and her regard is as steady as the granite columns that grace the buildings of Atesh-Gah. Taller than the winged one though she might be, Faanshi's bearing wilts, her arms wrapping about herself, her head bowing, and all of it together shaving inches from her height. "Shudra," she murmurs simply, but on the tail end of that, she takes a step or two away again, closer to the tents. But only a step or two, for she cannot bear to flee quite yet. The allure of her wondrous discovery still outweighs her fear of the Warlord. "Shudra is not slave, but is paid, yes? Then you can leave, can you not?" Kiera easily hides her disappointment at this answer; none could refuse the Khalid's request to purchase a slave, and Khalid would likely do this, or send one of his minions to do this, for Kiera, if she asked. A shudra... Is a more difficult matter. Now we're dealing with women and men's roles in Varati society which, try as she may, Kiera cannot understand. "I... I _cannot_!" Faanshi's eyes are hidden again, and thus, so are the sharp stinging tears that prick across her vision. Two things are patently clear to her: to see fabled Haven is a dream out of dreams, yet if she should so much as dare breathe the name of the city where Hashim might hear of it, she will be beaten. Fear begins to conquer her curiosity, rising fear that the Warlord of Sarazen will discover her absence at any moment. "P-please forgive me, Imphada Kiera, I would go with you and gladly... but I cannot...!" She starts to move away again, her entire frame now beginning to shake. Too much wonder to be contained in a single morning fills her mind, mingling with her mounting panic to press against her skull until her head will surely burst. Instictive response to the fear is the winged half-breed's spreading of her wings, then snapping them shut in distinct annoyance (if one is used to interpreting the gestures of birds, anyway). Kiera does not answer, merely allows her gaze to ride you, during your retreat. And it will, no doubt, become a rumour that /some/ Shudra spoke, at some length, with the winged halfbreed who accompanies the Khalid-Atar. With luck, your Hashim will not think that you had the courage to be that shudra. Unaware of the hawk-eyed scrutiny, Faanshi whirls, bolts off through the snow, and vanishes into the nearest row of tents. How much of her flight is tracked she does not know, for the girl looks but once over her shoulder, in pained longing for what she is forced to abandon as she hastens back to the Sarazen encampment. And, like most beings without wings, throughout her entire panicked dash to the tent of Hashim, Faanshi does not think once to look _up_. [End log.]