"Angel of Night, Dove of Morning" Log Date: 7/18, 8/17/00 Log Cast: Morgan, Faanshi Log Intro: It is not often that Faanshi has the opportunity to heal Empyreans -- and even less often that one of them, once she has done the healing, wishes to repay her generously. And yet, that is exactly what has happened, following the young halfbreed healer's attending of an infamous Empyrean masseur wounded in a knife fight in Haven's Empyrean quarter. Morgan has sent a generous sum of money to the shudra maiden, much to her shock and surprise. And although she has striven to locate him to consult him about it, she has had no luck... and has at last opted to give up most of the money he has bestowed upon her in sacrifice to the Hawk of Heaven and to Ushas His Mother, and to give the rest to the poor of Bordertown. In the meantime Faanshi's self-appointed healing duties continue, throughout the summer and into the fall. She does not cross paths with the rakish Morgan again -- not surprisingly, for it is seldom that she crosses paths with most Empyreans, much less those of colorful reputation such as he. And yet as fate would have it, the shudra and the masseur are about to encounter one another again in the old city garden... and for all that she does not know it, shy and gentle Faanshi is about to startle the Empyrean with something so simple as a selfless spirit.... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Night (Duskside) Date on Aether: Sunday, October 19, 3906. Year on Earth: 1506 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Last Quarter Season: Fall Weather: Clear Skies Temperature: Warm *==========================================================================* 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: Morgan A peculiar shadow Obvious exits: Streets Garden Archway A clear, warm autumn night -- and as far as Faanshi is concerned, this is a good thing. The young shudra makes her way through the gardens, following the most-used track on her way westward towards the heart of the city. It's bad enough to be nervous about returning to Atesh-Gah when she's never entirely certain about how her daily activities in Bordertown will be received by the Children of Fire... but at least, today, she's dry and reasonably warm and fed. And her dog is trotting as always at her side, tail up, ears up, his stride full of energy and life. Off to the left of where Faanshi walks, and a few yards ahead, the bushes seem to ruffle and wave with a life of their own. Pale green leaves rustle and shake as though an animal were in its dying thrashes, and the sound of faint curses emanates from the vegetation as well. There is no sound of animals, suggesting the rpesence of something else, and so the bush stops after a moment before beginning again. The sound provokes a start out of Kosha, who immediately swivels his head in that direction, a soft yurf rumbling in his furry throat. Faanshi too hears it, and the girl slows for a moment, her attention torn between a glance in the direction of the noise... and peering at her dog for a cue of how to react. The halfbreed girl has found that her dog is often wiser about danger than she... and if he is nervous, then so shall she be. Kosha, for his part, does slow and stop, but he barks but a single time, still primarily at ease and doggishly curious. The branches and leaves of the bush stir once more with an angry sort of vehemence, and the string of curses which follow its jerking seem to cement the fact that no good is going on. In a few short moments, a figured steps forth from the shadows between plants, large pale wings seemingly ruffled by the thick vegetation. Their usually beautiful lavender feathers hang in disarray, with nettles and other such leaves and twigs caught in their folds. "Blasted jungle..." mutters the Empyrean man as he raises a free hand to clean his wings. The other hand holds a medium sized stalk bearing slender leaves. Seemingly unnoticeable to most, those with certain knowledge of such things might recognize it as the poisonous black nightshade. It's not often Faanshi sees a winged person emerging from the underbrush, and seeing one now is enough to make her let out a tiny gasp of startlement. Kosha's response is more prosaic, another soft bark and a simple 'you're not planning to come over here and do anything dangerous, are you?' sort of stare. Faanshi for a moment considers going on her way, but two things stop her. She recognizes this man, she thinks... and although it is night, dark enough to partially mask his features _and_ the prize with which he has emerged from the greenery, the maiden nevertheless catches a scent of it and frowns softly beneath her veil. "Um... ave, dominus...?" she calls then, taking a step forward without lifting her gaze. Having just emerage from a spot which is damp and shady even under the midsummer sun during noon, Morgan is a bit dissheveled, to say the least. And his wrathful disdain for such work is evident upon his irritated features. Not seeing the woman and the dog at all, he freezes suddenly from dusting off his feathers, cringing at the bark. Turning his head, he spies the sari-clad girl, and not thinking about her identity till after, quickly shoves the plant behind his back. Inclinign his head to Faanshi, he replies. "Ave, Imphada." Indecision seizes Faanshi, as she unthinkingly nibbles her lip behind her veil. Neither the relative gloom nor her veil are any shield to her _emotions_, and the uncertainty and concern welling through her thoughts are quite distinct, just as palpable as her flare of embarrassment at being called by the respectful Varati title. While Kosha satisfiedly backs up, assured that Morgan is nothing dangerous, the healer maiden draws in a breath and then inquires anxiously, "Please pardon my impudence" -- as if this girl had an impudent bone in her body? -- "but, dominus... do you carry fresh nightshade...?" Morgan's eyes widen a bit at the implication. Perhaps in surprise, perhaps because it's true. Neither matters. What does this girl know of nightshade? Rare indeed it is, and it is very hard to find the right place to grow it. Morgan has been planting various seeds in certain places all about this wild garden, for it seems the only place where something can be left to grow on its own. As his fist tightens a bit upon the plant he holds behind his back, the faint scent of the plant edges at his nostrils. He looks at the woman once more, attempting to place her in his mind. Her unease standing before him can easily be used to his advantage, should he chose so. But for now, he ponders. The Pantheon! She was the one who came to his aid when that oaf of a useless husband attacked him with his kin. Relaxing almost instantly, he removes the plant from behind him and nods. "It is," come his words, still a bit confused. "Why do you ask?" Indecision still dominates her thoughts, but it ebbs back a bit, perhaps because of the easy confidence of the reply Faanshi receives. She still does not look up, but she does bob her head once in acknowledgement, saying softly, "It is a dangerous plant, dominus... but if you know of it... I beg your forgiveness, it is none of my business...!" If he's picked it on purpose, he must know what it is, yes? Of course he knows what he's doing, foolish shudra! Blushing, she backs up a step of her own, thinking to take her leave and let the young man go about his business. A faint smile creeps across Morgan's lips at the shudra's words, and he inclines his head. "Thank you for the warning Dom...Imphada. I am aware of its properties..." somewhat. Though the last is excluded. Far be it from Morgan to admit to his ignorance. This plant is a powerful narcotic, and that is all he needs it for. Slight curiousity piques within him then, and he asks, "What is a woman such as yourself doing out at such a late hour, if you do not mind my asking?" Kosha settles himself down on his haunches, waiting for Faanshi to either start moving again or reach for his head to give him a proper scritching, and as he does the girl answers shyly, "I am on my way back to Atesh-Gah...!" Nodding at the name of such a horrible place, Morgan moves the plant away from his nose as he wrinkles it in distaste. Yes, this will make someone feel more than relaxed to get information easily out of them. With an inward grin, he lifts the plant before him, in an offeratory gesture. "This plant is very rare around here. Would you like a few leaves?" A simple act. Perhaps his way of attempting to repay her for past kindness. Does _she_ know of the narcotic properties of this particular green growing thing? Perhaps. Perhaps not, if the swift shake of Faanshi's covered head and the faint tinge of alarm in her thoughts is any indication. Or is that simple bemusement at the thought that someone might offer her something? "N-no thank you, dominus..." Morgan shrugs as his offer is declined. Where would she ever be offered something like this again? Her loss. Morgan is not one to press things. And so he lowers the plant from before him and wrinkles his nose once more. Looking at her dog, or better yet, her small horse with teeth, he thinks. She was coming from Bordertown at this hour with only a dog to protect her? He wonders what sneaky business would bring someone from Atesh Gah to Bordertown so late. "Might I ask what was worth the trek through bordertown at such an hour Imphada, or would I be rude?" Intrigued indeed, Morgan is not one to put such things past even a varati servant. Kosha looks steadily back at Morgan, rather more amiably than many horses, or, for that matter, many dogs; his tongue lolls out, and he gives an experimental wag or two of his tail. Large he might be, but evidently this hound is rather puppy-natured, at least when he's in a good mood. Now Faanshi _does_ seek the contact of the creature's furry head, scritching him slowly -- a source of comfort to her, perhaps? Her thoughts settle down a little as she does this. "I needed to heal in Bordertown today," she earnestly replies, gaze still down in unsurety of how such a claim might be taken. Morgan believes it with no doubt. He's felt her healing touch himself, as much as that thought might bother him. He does not trust mages, and with good reason. They are the ones with power, and as such are either manipulative or manipulated. Delphi is the perfect example, as well as his current employer. With a nod, he says, "You are a kind soul Imphada. I am sure that the Kronian smiles down upon you." A swirl of bemusement, maybe in response to the naming of that particular god... then it fades, and Faanshi murmurs sheepishly, "I... I would not know." It'd be a switch, would it not, if _any_ god smiled upon her? To be sure, it's perplexing and strenuous enough to try to win the favor of the Amir-al and his Holy Mother, without bringing the gods of other races into it. "But I thank you..." Ah, so perhaps she has at least a hint of how to accept a compliment graciously -- even if there's distinct disbelief in its validity lurking somewhere behind her eyes? Still standing with one hand patting Kosha behind the ears, still staring demurely downward, Faanshi certainly _physically_ conveys the look of a lass who's not used to hearing such things often. "Do you spend much time in Bordertown? Treating those in need of your skills?" he asks, lifting a brow in slight disbelief. Why would anyoone willingly sacrifice their own time and safety to aid others? Altruism is an extremely alien thing to him, and truth be told, quite frightening as well. "Yes, dominus," is the maiden's earnest reply, with just a trace of confusion, as if she is not entirely certain... or perhaps not entirely comfortable... with being questioned about her activities. Faanshi peeks up for just a moment, allowing a fleeting glimpse of the leaf-colored eyes above the top of her veil. "There is great need there." Morgan is not the most observant of people, being a tad bit self-absorbed and all, and thus he misses the flash of leaf-colored eyes above the veil. If he knew she were a halfbreed, he'd simpy pity her more. Currently though, he seems unable to comprehend why Faanshi would give so freely of herself. "And what do you recieve in return?" he asks, wondering what one would offer a Varati servant in return for healing. Nothing is done for free in the Empyrean quarter. "The knowledge that someone is well again," explains Faanshi. Is she serious? She certainly _sounds_ it, though a trace of confusion still lingers in her soft voice; perhaps she believes that what she is being asked should be self-evident? At her side, Kosha wags his tail contentedly at the attention he's receiving, though he keeps a steady gaze all the while upon the young man with the faintly lavender wings. Wrinkling his nose now at Faanshi's words, Morgan's grip upon the poisonous plant loosens slightly. Surely she cannot be serious. But Morgan's ears do not decieve him easily, and his mind never does. He can feel the truth in her mind, the altruistic thread which makes her who she is. It unsettles him, and his pulse quickens ever so slightly with the release of fear induced adrenaline. Deeply clear amethyst eyes regard the woman in a more than seductive manner as dangerously enticing lips tighten. His brow furrows as she speaks, and he lifts his free hand to brush back some chestnut hair. "I see..." he says, almost unable to finish his statement. "And are you...paid for your services?" Truth, aye, a pure sincerity behind this young woman's voice and lowered gaze -- and since Faanshi's gaze is down and upon the dog, who gazes back at her with canine adoration, she doesn't seem to register the change in the attention being given her. "No, dominus," she answers. "It is improper for me to accept payment; I am only a shudra, and a woman..." The words are earnestly uttered, and if the flavor of her thoughts is any indication, the humility of her tone is entirely unfeigned. Only now does a tinge of embarrassment enter her bearing, coloring both her mind and the cheeks hidden away behind her veil. "My needs are very small. I-I did not have a chance to thank you for your generous gift... and I hope that you will not mind that I gave most of it in offering to the Amir-al and his Holy Mother, and gave the rest to the hungry in Bordertown...!" Morgan almost chokes at the woman's words, and he stands in stunned silence for a moment. Dark lashes clasp shut for a fraction of a second, and again, as he blinks in confusion and disbelief, and slowly another feeling dawns within him. Mirth. A deep seated chuckle emanates from his diaphragm, and he laughs aloud. Silly chit. She's wasted what she earned on a false God. And the mere thought of someone walking through BOrdertown dispensing Empyrean gold to those unfortunates who were in most need seems more like a stroy out of a fairy tale than the possibility of real life. "Good for you then," he says between chuckles, as though it were all a big joke. Then again, perhaps laughter is the only way he can think of to deal with something as frightening as this. If Faanshi had expected any particular reaction to her relaying of what she'd done with the fruits of Morgan's beneficience, laughter was not it. Confusion to match the young man's own wells through her, slightly offsetting a reverence that flared up within her at the mention of Khalid Atar and of She who is worshipped as his mother. There are the beginnings of dismay there now as well, and Faanshi takes an uncertain step backwards -- much to the dismay of the dog, who yurfs plaintively when her hand moves away. "I... I-I am grateful you are not angry, dominus," she blurts. "I would have asked your permission but I could not find you..." "The money was yours to do with what you please," comes the instantaneous reply as Morgan hastily pushes the subject from his mind. "I am not displeased at all actually." Eyeing the nightshade which he holds before him now, his mind estimates the amount of poison he can glean from its fleshy leaves and stalk, and things seem to be looking up. Violet eyes which call with a voice all their own sing their siren song of seduction in silence as he looks again upon the form of the shudra, and with slight hesitation, he extends his wings fully. Long, beautiful expanses of the palest lavender shine with the dull light of torches, and Morgan stands like an angel of the night, holding the very communion of the baneful Gods within his hands. "I must leave though," he adds as he flexes sore back muscles. He'll have to create a salve to see to that later. He retains an air of dignity and superiority in the presence of the Varati woman and her dog, and the calm look upon his face may very well be feigned. Indeed his mind screams to escape the presence of one so utterly selfless. People like that scare him, for he cannot understand what it is they are planning. No one helps pthers for free. It is simply not done. The flex of wings is enough, just enough, to coax another shy peek out of the girl; Faanshi steals a glance at those fine violet-tinged wings, as a little girl might do in awe... or a humble servant maiden, faced with one of such angelic form and frame. Perhaps she is not entirely impervious to the impact Morgan's beauty can have, for her gaze quickly drops again, her thoughts full of a profound bashfulness -- but even that tastes almost more of a near-childlike innocence, rather than any conscious reaction of female to male, young woman to young man. "A-as you wish, dominus," she says then, clasping sungolden hands at her breast and bowing over them. "Namas -- er, ave...!" The slightest grin creases Morgan's face at the feelings of the shudra, and he launches himself into the air with one great leap and an even greater beat of those massive wings. Air is whipped up into a slight frenzy as dirt is lifted from the ground, and the veils and sheets of any nearby saris are obviously disturbed. "Vale..." comes the brief goodbye as Morgan's wings beat their way up into the sky, where his form shrinks and slowly disappears over the treetops. [End log.]