"The Calling of the Voices" Log Date: 12/4, 12/5, 12/7/00 Log Cast: Thalia, Faanshi, Roxana, Salmalin, assorted NPC courtiers and guards (emitted by Thalia, Faanshi, Roxana), NPC shudra Adli and Jamila (emitted by Faanshi), NPC Akhund (emitted by Faanshi), NPC naraki Korrah (emitted by Faanshi), NPC steward Kareem (emitted by Faanshi) Log Intro: It has never been Faanshi's habit to question the motives of those she serves except in the safety and privacy of her innermost heart -- even when those she serves command her to do things that seem utterly baffling to her inexperienced eyes. Ever since entering the service of the Queen of the Varati, the young halfbreed has found no order of Thalia's more perplexing than the order that she find the Sylvans who violated a sacred Varati ritual, several months ago. She had never done so, and indeed, Thalia had been out of Haven -- rumored to be out of favor with the God-King, her husband -- when Faanshi _did_ discover that the old smith BroadShoulders could speak for the hidden tribe of city Sylvans that call themselves the Eyotajolon. But little does Faanshi realize that Thalia Tritonides Khalida had a plan when setting her to that seemingly impossible task -- and that the Maharani now intends to command her to take on a task all the more confounding, because of it.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Late Morning Date on Aether: Saturday, June 30, 3907. Year on Earth: 1507 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waning Gibbous Season: Summer Weather: Clear Skies Temperature: Hot *===========================================================================* Queen's Chamber - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#1694RJ) Four pillars stand about the expansive room, equidistant from each other, and hold up a domed ceiling between them. Upon this concave surface is painted a night sky, points of light set against a deep-be backdrop. The flickering illumination from oil lamps plays upon the gold-inlay of the stars, creating the illusion that they twinkle and shine just like their inspiration out there in the heavens. Tapestries and mosaics almost completely hide the walls and floors, each one telling a tale of the Varati people through woven thread and coloured tiles. Finely carved doors lead out to a wide balcony, peaked windows, covered with lattice-work, offer views upon the grounds below, and an archway supplies a glimpse of the bedroom beyond. Further archways lead to hallways that proclaim the Queen's domain to be expansive, having quarters not only for herself, but those who serve her as well. The furniture is crafted for those of the winged race, with low backs. Low tables, cushions and rugs lay scattered about the chairs and couches to form conversation nooks around the room. Paintings decorate the walls where the tapestries do not and fine sculptures wrought of stone and iron adorn pedestals, displaying the Queen-Maharani's taste in art. **Required reading: +view here/guards** Contents: Thalia Naraki Quarters - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#3120Je) Faanshi and Zarima's Room - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#1551Je) Obvious exits: King's Chambers Hallway Thalia Calm and gentle aptly describe the middle-aged Empyrean woman. Gold hair, like ripened wheat, have been lightened with runnels of white that will only grow thicker with time. Delicate features, brushed with the fine lines of a woman who has smiled often, tell the tale of the years gone; high, arched cheekbones, a sweeping nose, and a soft mouth bespeak of a classical beauty belonging to peaceful times. Anchoring her regal face are twin pools of blue-grey like a glacial tarn; deep, and bottomless, one could fall into those eyes and drown within their depths. Thick lashes crown the eyes, lending them a serene benevolence. Dove wings, white and pure as snow, drape down the back, enhancing the vision of protection and comfort. She moves with an easy grace, sure and certain in her place and position. Her figure, still rather shapely for one of their middling years, is covered by a sari of the deepest royal blue, the color a shimmering mirage of lushness. Lengths and lengths of the finest, subtly-patterned silks, trimmed with gold-edging, wrap about her form and exquisite jewelry sparkling with sapphires and rubies decorates her throat, wrists and ankles. 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 rarely raises her eyes to anyone unless specifically bidden, 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, with eyes set at a slight un-Varatish slant in her face, eyes the color of summer leaves. She is simply clad, her garments humble but of excellent repair, perhaps the clothing of a servant whose household garbs even its servants well. However, though she wears silks that can be only of Varati make, and although her gold-trimmed red choli and blue silwar are of strong and vivid hues, there is a certain sobriety about her garb over all -- born of the unadorned black sari which covers her head and winds about her slender frame, and the opaque black gauzy veil which hides most of her face from easy view. On her feet she wears simple sandals. Over the past weeks, rumor has run through Atesh-Gah like a barking dog. First, rumor stated that Thalia Jovia Tritonides Khalida not just been cast aside by Khalid Atar as she was an unfit wife but that she had been dethroned as well. Then, as the weeks passed, this rumor was considered to be truth by many, given the Empyrean woman's absence from Atesh-Gah and the side of the God-King. Yet, the turbulent tides of rumor were not to abate, for a fortnight ago, Thalia returned to the confines of the embassy on a wyvern queen and with a full entourage, but while Thalia has returned to Atesh-Gah, Khalid Atar is no longer in residence. As before the woman left, neither a crown nor coronet graces her fair brow, thus leaving all to wonder as to her status. Verily, she resides in the rooms next to Khalid's own chambers once again and she has a full complement of Agni-Haidar guarding her person. It is this enigma which has summoned the halfbreed Faanshi into her presence. As in the past, the Empyrean woman is seated on a chair by the window overlooking the grounds. The damage created by the mad Atarvani, Imam Mansur, so many months before has been repaired and an excellently shaped balcony once again graces the space outside the windows. Given the heat of the morning, the apertures have been opened to allow the tropical breeze to cool Thalia's chamber. Several naraki stand behind her chair with fans, slowly waving them to bring additional currents to stave off the heat. On an ornately carved endtable with elegant, curving legs, a pitcher and glass sit, beads of water on the glass sides showing that the liquid within has been chilled. Truth be told, Faanshi had almost begun to wonder if she really had a mistress anymore. No one has seen fit to enlighten her about Thalia's status, from Khalid's seneschal who had arranged for her the audience that resulted in BroadShoulders being brought to the Amir-al clear down to the khansamah responsible for allocating Faanshi her meager coins given her for her services... but then again, granted, the shudra healer hasn't really been brave enough to ask. Through all of the last many weeks, however, she has not forgotten the words of the Most High, who has instructed her quite clearly that even if Thalia chose nto to be in Atesh-Gah, this did not mean that she did not still serve his Clan. And thus, each morning, Faanshi has reported to the khansamah with her expected whereabouts. But _this_ morning, she has been forestalled from her usual forays out into the city. _This_ morning, she has been summoned before Thalia, and she has arrived with all due haste. Though the summer is a hot one, Faanshi is clad in black lain somberly over the colors of Clan Khalida. Her sari is stark and undecorated; her veil, equally simple, smoke-dark in hue. Her red choli and blue silwar are still visible at her shoulders and along the lower reaches of her long young legs, but still... primarily, she is clad in black. And as she is permitted into the presence of she who has ruled... still rules?... the Varati people at the side of the Hawk of Heaven, Faanshi swiftly lowers her black-veiled face to the floor, waiting for permission to rise, permission to speak, or new orders. Thalia allows a moment of silence to linger in the air, then she says in the gentle and soft voice which is her standard, "Rise, Faanshi." She moves her hand to the glass and lifts it to her lips for a sip before she continues. "Khalid tells me that you are to be congratulated for having managed to find the miscreants who chose to profane our ceremony. Tell me, have you informed Warlord Sumai of your success?" The halfbreed quickly attains her feet, acutely aware that the eyes of Thalia's attendants are upon her. Naraki. A scattering of ladies-in-waiting. Even a guard or two in evidence, even if she does not turn her head to alter her line of sight... which she does not. Before so many, Faanshi does nothing but stand and settle into a deferential posture, head bowed and leaf-green gaze upon the floor, hands clasped at her back. "I... no, Imphada," she murmurs, taken aback -- not only by the suggestion that she might actually voluntarily speak with a Warlord without having been summoned first, but also at the thought that Khalid himself might find her worthy of congratulation. _That_ thought makes her actively nervous; too honest to take credit where she believes no credit is due, she appends anxiously, "Th-the Amir-al honors His humble servant... but all I was able to do was to find one who could speak for the Sylvans in the city, with whom the Most High negotiated...!" Thalia takes another sip of the cool liquid, her lips taking on a wet sheen. "You should inform Sumai. He was quite concerned over the honor of the Varati in regards to the incident." She sets her glass back down on the endtable. "As for the negotiations, have you acquired the substance from the Sylvans? The terms may have been negotiated, but nothing is final until the substance and instructions for its growth have reached Khalid." "The Imphadi Warlord shall be informed at once, Imphada," Faanshi promises, dipping her head in acknowledgement. At once, in the shudra's terms, translating to 'as soon as she is dismissed from this audience'. "And I await word from Elder BroadShoulders as to when I may visit him to learn of the preparation of the substance." Somehow, Faanshi manages not to stammer, though a few dips in the volume of her voice suggests this requires concentration and effort. Thalia reminds, "Khalid also desires the seeds from which the substance is grown." This said, she departs on a tangent. "I am pleased at your accomplishments, Faanshi. It is because you have served well that I have decided to make you the Varati Voice to the Sylvans. Do you believe that you can handle such a position?" Once again the shudra bobs her black-covered head -- but as the grand Empyrean woman before her takes her tangent, only hard-learned stoicism manages to keep Faanshi from actively jolting in surprise and uncomprehension. When she manages to frame a reply, it is in a voice turned a trifle thin: the only way she can find to safely release her shock. "Forgive... my ignorance, Imphada," she breathes, "but I... do not know what such a duty... would mean...?" Behind her veil, she turns scarlet; she has never heard of such a thing as a Voice, but then again, she _is_ only a shudra. A shudra with a brain, a shudra who can make a few astonished guesses... but still. Best to be certain. Thalia rests her hands on the arms of her chair. "If you were not a halfbreed and a shudra as well as a woman, it might be possible to formally call you the Ambassador to the Sylvans. However, you are those things. Therefore, I desire that you serve as the Varati liason to the Sylvans. You will go to them when we have problems with them and settle issue which arise from their actions, such as in the case of the defamation of our ceremony. You may also bring the Sylvans complaints to us. However, as you are a woman, a halfbreed and a shudra, you will be formally assigned as the Assistant to the Sylvan Ambassador, but know this, you will report all your actions to me and receive your orders from myself and Khalid. You are still our shudra is this matter, not the shudra of the Ambassador. Is that clear?" Much better schooled at hiding their reactions than the shudra maiden who stands before them all -- though no less aware of the wisdom of holding one's tongue before one's queen -- the ladies in the room seem to permit themselves to a few shocked peeks at Thalia, and a few shocked glances exchanged between one another. The Agni-Haidar do not so much as blink, but then again, they _are_ Agni-Haidar. All that Thalia's announcement wins from them is the raising one one dark eyebrow from a man at the door who eyes Faanshi just a trifle more closely, for he is one of the men she healed not too terribly long ago. The naraki fanning Thalia are just as thoroughly trained as Faanshi if not more so; they don't blink, either. But for a fraction of an instant, one of them almost smiles. As for Faanshi, her eyes have gone wide above her veil. Innocent creature though she is, she can draw conclusions from what the Maharani is laying before her and one conclusion is already blindingly apparent even to her. "But... if the People of Fire already have a Voice to the Sylvans... are these not... _his_ duties, of which you speak, Imphada Maharani...?" Even as she utters Thalia's title from force of habit, she realizes a beat later that conflicting rumors have argued different things about the validity of that title. But a word uttered cannot be withdrawn, and Faanshi inwardly wings out a prayer to Ushas that she has not mis-spoken. Thalia smiles, almost devilishly. Her eyes glint in a manner which is at odds with the serenity of her face. "The person who will be assigned to the position of Ambassador is one who will be unable to perform up to my taxing standard. You may mouth the proper platitudes to him and he will most certainly steal the glory of your accomplishments, but we will be ensured that the Sylvans have a person from us with whom they will be willing to negotiate. Also, we will be assured that the job is properly and completely done." She reaches her hand over for her chilled drink. "It will be your duty to ensure that it appears to all that his duties are being completed, whether he bothers to attempt them or not. However, it will also be your duty to ensure that all diplomatic issues with the Sylvans are accomplished according to our desires, whether the Ambassador agrees or not." Roxana slips in from the hallway, having passed by the guards standing outside. Roxana has arrived. Despite a great number of rumors to the contrary over the past many weeks, it seems that Thalia is still quite thoroughly ensconsed in the position of Queen-Maharani of the Varati people; if she is not, then the gathering of her courtiers, ladies-in-waiting and guardsmen and even the naraki currently fanning her royal form, are doing a marvelous imitation of a Queen's court. And specially, a Queen's audience, though it is the humble personage of Faanshi currently standing respectfully before Thalia, hands clasped behind her and gaze upon the floor. Though it is not visible behind her smoke-hued veil, Faanshi's mouth makes a small soundless 'oh' as the import of what Thalia is telling her begins to sink in. Let us get this straight, the back of her mind attempts to clarify: a man who is incompetent will be appointed to the position of Ambassador, and she, Faanshi, is to not only do his work for him, but to override his will if necessary to carry out that of the Most High and His Queen? The mere thought begins to turn the halfbreed girl's knees to water, and it is with a mighty effort of will that she manages to continue standing upright. "I... see, Imphada," she murmurs, struggling to maintain her composure. "It is my honor and duty to serve... as you command, so it shall be done...!" Of any alleged glory of what she might accomplish, she does not speak. Glory is not for shudra. The great doors open as another woman is admitted to the Maharani's presence by the Agni-Haidar. Roxana Khalida, the Mahisi and the woman in nominal charge of Clan Khalida's Shudra, enters the room, dropping into a deep and graceful curtsey the moment she clears the doors. She moves with more confidence than she used to, but still displays absolute deference to the Maharani, the wife of her Mahsur, although there is a touch more confidence than the girl used to display now that she is a woman in truth. Her deep, musical voice says softly but audibly "Namaste, O Maharani." Roxana A graceful young woman of Kshatri breeding, Roxana is clad as many other unwed maidens of her station in satins and silks of red, blue and gold, reflecting her recent change of Clan. Her clothes are modest and unrevealing, but show the general lines of the body beneath. Black veils conceal her, one tethered at her forehead by a row of tiny gold coins and stretching back over her hair, another shrouding the lower portion of her face. These veils only serve to accentuate her most distinguishing characteristic - one of her eyes is the liquid brown most Varati have, but the other is a very pale lilac, a shade only seen rarely amongst the Varati people and never in a mixbreed. When eyes like these regard you, it is difficult not to feel that they stare into the soul, whether they do or not. Such an eerie, unsettling effect may account for the reason the maiden is still unwed at her age - most men could be put off by even the kindliest regard. And, of course, Roxana's reputation as a woman fanatical enough to denounce her entire Clan to Khalid Atar could also make many a man wary. Salmalin slips in from the hallway, having passed by the guards standing outside. Salmalin has arrived. Salmalin If you have seen one, you have seen them all. A Varati male, perhaps in his early twenties, with the rough edges of stone for a face. Eyes like midnight, untrusting and wary, peer out from sunken cheeks. His hair has been cut short, the edges jagged and uneven. Like a wolf he is lean, his movements loping and never in a straight line. Wearing the clothes of one who works, there is nothing fancy or stylish to the sturdy dark pants and the brown cotton shirt. With the sleeves rolled his well developed muscles, formed from hard work, can be seen along with the tattoo of a dagger on his arm. The blade has been inked to look as though it were piercing his flesh where the word 'khabar' has been done in red on the top of his wrist. There is a pouch at his belt, alongside a dagger similar to the tattoo. Thalia gives Roxana a brief nod, but her attention returns to the quivering halfbreed who stands before her. She looks Faanshi up and down then says to a shudra who has come to refill her glass with more chilled drink, "Bring the man." The shudra departs after a nod to Thalia. Though the shudra departs alone, she returns with a pair of warriors of dressed in Khalida colors. Between them, the warriors bear one who, in this setting of elegance and decorum, appears more comfortable with the gutter than the finer things that all kshatri take for granted. The man is dropped by the warriors, like so much trash, on the floor before the seated Empyrean woman. The breeze from the windows as well as the swishing fans of the naraki behind Thalia do little to abate the stench which spews from the man's mouth. Alcoholic fumes fill the air as Thalia gestures with one pale hand at the man. "Our kshatri male of less than admirable qualities, Faanshi. I am sure that you will be able to make him presentable in time. His Clan did not wish to admit his existence, but I thought him most suited for the position of Sylvan Ambassador." The ladies in waiting, who have been observing the exchange between Faanshi and Thalia since the beginning, wince as the pronouncement is made. More than one of them takes a step back, away from the odor which taints the room. Not a sound escapes Salmalin as he is thrown to the floor. It is perhaps his intoxicated state that sames him from the pain of the fall. Loose and limber he just rolls there like spilled wine, his body ill suited to do anything else. Yet he breathes and so with the little strength he has left.. the less-than-favored man starts to push himself up into a kneeling position. His head remains lowered so that little of his face can be seen and even now he remains silent before the Empyrean woman. It is arguable that out of everyone in the room, Faanshi is least likely to be shocked by the sight of a drunken man. She has, after all, spent many a day and many a night on missions of mercy in Bordertown, and she has witnessed more than one drunken form huddled pitifully in a corner or staggering unevenly down the narrow streets of the Mongrel section of the city. But this does not mean she is not shocked. He has the size of a Son of Fire, the color of skin, the color of hair; this much tells her that he is at least Varati. But... kshatri? The mere notion that a kshatri man could have been reduced to such a state strikes her healer's heart a strange and potent blow. It is a violation of the order of the world as Faanshi understands it, and as she peeks at the man to whom she is apparently now to loan her services, liquid compassion wells up in the maiden's summer-green eyes. A compassion intermingled with profound confusion and uncertainty, but compassion nonetheless. Furthermore, Thalia has ordered it; therefore, it must be so. What more can a halfbreed shudra do but incline her head and humbly murmur, "As you command, so it shall be done, Maharani." Roxana straightens at the Maharani's acknowledgement, and waits, wincing at the stench but retaining enough control of herself that she does no more than wince. It is rare to see a Kshatri in this state, but not unheard of, and she has seen the women of such men innumerable times, frequently either bruised and bloody or starving as the money goes on drink. Not all such men turn nasty in such a fashion, but she for one would advise Faanshi to watch herself if the Shudra is assigned to him. Drink confuses the mind and makes the Surahs mere guidelines, ignorable at whim. Thalia says to Roxana, in her sweet soprano, "You will have to help Faanshi find proper clothing and soap. The khansamah has in times past been mildly recalcitrant at allowing Faanshi free reign within the household. However, I am certain that he will listen to you, Imphada." Her eyes now go to Salmalin. "Imphadi, please introduce yourself to Faanshi, so that she can properly address you." The two Khalida warriors are not as impassive as the Agni-Haidar who ring the room. Thus, they grimace when Thalia uses the honorific upon the man they consider unworthy of their caste. The man on the floor jerks his head up. Had he been sleeping? Salmalin just groans and with a bowed head makes his way up to his feet. It is an amazing task as he nearly falls over several times. Perhaps the Khalida warriors have found the wrong man. But even as he sways back and forth he manages to lift his head enough to look about him. Through tiny slits he gazes at the Maharani, then over the other people within the room. At random he seems to choose a woman, Roxana. "I am," he begins. His voice is scratchy and he coughs to clear his throat. Right. Rubbing at his shoulder the intoxicated kshatri tries again. This time he even manages to bow... slightly. "I am Salmalin al'Sar.. at your service." Behind her veil, Faanshi bites her lip at the... ambassador's apparently uncertain balance, but she does not dare to move from the submissive posture she maintains before the Queen. The shudra limits herself instead to watching the fellow as best she can; if she experiences any dismay that he's decided to identify himself to Khalid's Mahisi rather than Khalid's Queen (and never mind herself), she gives no sign of it. But she does do one thing. She turns towards Salmalin al'Sar and clasps her sungolden hands at her black-saried breast, bowing to him exactly as she would any other man of his caste, just as formal, just as earnest. "Namaste', Imphadi," she can be heard to murmur, very shyly. Roxana frowns, the lines of her face moving her veil into a pattern that should be well-recognised by any male Varati. Her tone is strict, revealing the disapproval present both from Roxana and throughout the chamber. "Were I you, Imphadi Salmalin, I would refrain from entering the presence of the Maharani while drunk, introducing yourself to another woman and declaring your name to everyone present. To be drunk in the presence of the Maharani," Roxana here curtseys to the woman in question, extending an arm to indicate Her Majesty's presence, "Is foolish enough, but to state your name and bring dishonour to yourself and your Clan is beyond foolishness. Now do as you have been commanded, Imphadi, before you dishonour your name further." Thalia presses her lips together, as Roxana chastises Salmalin, but she does not correct the Mahisi. Instead, she seems rather pleased, as if Roxana only confirms that Salmalin fits a predetermined profile. She says softly to Faanshi, "Khalid and I are counting on you to fulfill the duties of the Voice of the Varati to the Sylvans. If you serve well, Faanshi, then you may achieve your heart's desire." Her voice trails off, but she does not leave the statement unfinished. She clarifies, "We may see fit to allow you to join the Ushasti if you serve well." Salmalin's eyes narrow some as he listens to the woman. Must she yell? Now where was he? Oh yes.. He was about to.. something about a Faanshi? Shaking his head Salmalin blinks a bit as his eyes adjust to the light. "I was not the one.. to drag myself here... Nor was I informed as to whom Faanshi might be," he says with a shrug. "It was my assumption my clan had finally decided to have me killed in some horrible manner. If not.. then may I go back? I left a rather pretty lady back at the tavern." Who is he addressing? By now his gaze has drifted elsewhere and he seems to be talking just to do so. "Though I would not mind looking around before I died..." There are times when wearing a veil _does_ come in handy -- and this is one of them. It had not been enough to make Faanshi's jaw drop that the Queen-Maharani has commanded her to serve, even if unofficially, in a position which should rightfully belong to an upstanding member of the kshatri caste. Nor had the sight of the inebriated fascimile of a nobleman who will 'officially' hold the position of Ambassador been enough. But Thalia's announcing of what Faanshi might be granted, should she carry out this new duty, _is_ enough. Her veil hides it, but drop her jaw does indeed, as the Queen's words pierce her straight through to the core. Tears threaten at the corners of her eyes, and it is all the maiden can do to blink them away, fast and furious, lest she shame herself by breaking into open sobbing before her mistress and those who serve her. But Salmalin al'Sar's words make her heart plummet right down to her sandals. Not that she expects her presence to have much of an impact upon any kshatri... but still, if the man is so given over to spirits that she is invisible to him... is this task Thalia has set before her even _possible_? She swallows hard, saying nothing, awaiting further orders while she struggles to ride out her shock. Roxana, fed up with the man, takes two steps forwards and seizes him by the shoulders, turning him forcibly around to look straight at Faanshi. Softly, she says "This is Faanshi, Imphadi. She is a woman of Clan Khalida, known to the Amir-Al himself, and will be treated with respect." Best to try and get it firmly into the drunkard's mind that Faanshi is neither for forcing nor for beating. Roxana has seen the women of too many drunkards, but she has only seen those women who have been mistreated, and therefore has a slightly skewed perspective. Thalia appears to deem it necessary to further enlighten Salmalin. "Imphadi Al'Sar," she begins, drawing a another wince from each of the Khalida warriors, "you have been chosen to become the Varati Ambassador to the Sylvans. In order to ensure that you will be able to accomplish this tremendous task, one of my personal shudra has been asked to be your aide in this endeavor." She gestures at the black-garbed halfbreed. "Faanshi will be your assistant. Your clan has decided to allow me to attempt to rehabilitate you, Imphadi Al'Sar. You should praise them for their generosity as well as the good favor of Khalid Atar who is allowing you to benefit from the services of a shudra who might actually save you from the excesses which you have chosen to indulge." This said, Thalia pushes out of her chair. "I shall leave you all to become better acquainted." She pauses by Roxana on her way out. "Please give Faanshi all the aid that she requires in this initial introduction, Imphada. The man will, minimally, need to be presentable to Sylvan society." With that, Thalia leaves Salmalin to the tender mercies of Faanshi and Roxana. Even as he is taken hold of by Roxana, the drunken man can only blink in surprise. Why does the room move so fast? Salmalin's eyes widen as he is shown Faanshi for the first time and it takes the voice of the Queen to draw his attention away. It is only momentary, though, as he is back to staring at Faanshi. His head nods once in a while to pretend that he is listening. Sylvans, Shudra, undulge. That sounds rather pleasant indeed. With a smile he he whispers, "Namaste," then winks at Faanshi. Well.. it would be a wink if it did not involve both of his eyes closing and then opening again. "Do you drink?" He blurts out. "I know this wonderful place.." Even if he does happen to be falling down drunk, still, the sight of Roxana laying such forceful hands upon the (_yes,_ the back of her mind sternly chimes in, _you must think of him by the title the Queen has given him_) ambassador makes the halfbreed girl take a step backwards in surprise. Around the room, a few subtle sounds of movement suggest that now that Thalia and her attendant naraki have taken their leave, a few of the ladies in waiting are seizing the opportunity to discreetly and hastily withdraw from the redolent fellow dragged into their midst. "I... no, Imphadi," she whispers. "I-I do not drink..." For one thing, she is in private mourning, though she isn't about to mention that in the Maharani's chambers. For another... well, Faanshi hasn't touched strong or even weak drink a single time in her entire life, and she isn't exactly eager to start now. Decidedly uneasy, she shoots a sidelong glance at Roxana, wishing she were telepathic and hoping that the Mahisi will somehow magically realize that she could use a bit of guidance as to what exactly she should try to do next. Roxana curtseys as the Maharani leaves, even though she could wish she had not been given this task. Is this the first of many indignities to be heaped upon Khalid's chosen consort by his wife? Only time will tell. But first, the Maharani's will must be done. "If you will take his other arm, Faanshi, we shall get him to a bath. Let us see if we can sweat some of the alcohol out of him." The Mahisi has no love for drunkards, and it shows. Salmalin shakes his head. "A pity. Really it is.. inspiration comes from the sweet wine of.. of.. well.. from wine." He grins and then turns to Roxana, "Now if anyone should drink it is you. All that tension cannot be good for you. A massage, a little wine, perhaps.. well.. no need to rush." He winks at her before commenting. "I can walk on my own, thank you. I am drunk, not a child." A tiny choking noise suggests that Faanshi's just swallowed down a startled outcry at the way Salmalin speaks to the chief concubine of the Amir-al, and for a moment or two she freezes in dismay, wondering if Roxana's about to order one of the nearest guardsmen to run this man through, orders or no orders from the Queen. The expressions of some of said guardsmen do, in fact, begin to turn thunderous. And Faanshi, her mind racing, suddenly concludes that now may well be a very good time to suggest, "Imphada, I could clear the drink from his blood..." This is uttered in the tiniest of voices, and Faanshi's gaze remains quite solidly locked in a downward position, but nevertheless the suggestion is there. Roxana nods. "If you would be so kind, Faanshi." She gestures to the guards, and asks them to replace herself and Faanshi in holding the man upright and moving him. "Do you know of anywhere we can take him? I would not care to inflict him on others." "Inflict? Inflict?" Salmalin says with a rather hurt expression. "Well.. I suppose it is true. But what an infection, hmm? It would not hurt anyone here to find some passion for life. Really. I am not so bad," is the comment just before he leans over to smell himself. He laughs. "Well.. not overly. No worse than the one time I had to crawl around in some fish while I was..." He trails off as the guards close in. His eyes narrow again as he gives them a defiant look. Salmalin's tone does not escape Faanshi, but she does not comment upon it. And she only dares look up just enough to gauge his current position, so that she might bring up her slender hands to touch his nearest shoulder and arm. "Please forgive my impertinence, Imphadi al'Sar," she murmurs in tones of apology, as if the contact of her hands is somehow an affront. They _are_ shudra's hands, after all. But they are also hands through which power abruptly begins to flow, bubbling up from the wellspring of magic that lives within this halfbreed girl, and coursing out into the form of the inebriated man. It is a gentle power, but it is potent, like summer sunlight, and the moment it begins its work the haze of wine dissolves away like morning dew. Abused senses begin to steady themselves. Light settles into its _true_ intensity, unmagnified by a soaking of liquor. The touch of Faanshi's fingers is light as the brush of a feather, and it brings with it... Clarity. The guards ignore Salmalin's defiance as they close in, one to either side, and take his arms to hold him up. Salmalin grabs... well.. he would if not for the... Clarity is something he has struggled to lose and all of a sudden it comes rushing back in glaring colors and smells. He winces, his mouth opening despite the lack of sound that escapes it. Slumping in the ahands of the guards he lets his head hang low so that his eyes avoid those of anyone else in the room. Groaning for a moment he finally says, "A man without drink is a man without vision." So there. It is not very often that Faanshi feels a twinge of discomfort after using her power -- but as she sees an expression of what can only be termed misery fall across Salmalin's rough-hewn visage, discomfort is exactly what Faanshi feels. Her intellect suggests that she has done the proper thing, but still, a little corner of her heart flinches at the thought that she might have invoked her magic only to make someone unhappy. Anxious green eyes peek over her smoky veil at the disconsolate kshatri slumped in the guards' grasp; then, she steps back to give the man his space. "The... Imphada Kiera is not within Atesh-Gah," she suggests shyly to Roxana. "Her chambers could be used, perhaps..." Salmalin throws his head back with some effort and only looks at the two women with hateful eyes. His arms tug gently as he tests the grips of the guards. "Why not just lock me up in a cell," he hisses. "Or better yet, a cage.. I am sure it will save you some time after all." Roxana nods. "Let us go to the Imphada Kiera's chambers, then." And with Salmalin in the grasp of the guards, Roxana heads towards those chambers, gesturing to the occasional Shudra in the halls to join the procession. [And, shortly...] Kiera's Room - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#1242RJ) The muted opulence of this room is positively simple in nature when compared to the rest of Atesh-Gah. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all made of smooth, pale, polished stone. While not huge by any standards, there is more than ample space for movement (even that of a winged form) around the furniture placed within. A large, four-posted bed with a canopy above sits directly across from the door with a night table to its left. There is another small table of golden-varnished wood to the left of the door, bearing an assortment of washing implements. A small window, too small for a human form to fit through, looks out to the courtyard. Obvious exits: Out Salmalin enters from the Hallway. Salmalin has arrived. The Mahisi might have loftily concluded that Salmalin does not get a say in this matter -- a reasonable conclusion for her to take, given that the Maharani appears to have concluded the exact same thing. Certainly the newly minted Voice to the Sylvans doesn't get much of an opportunity to say much as he is quite brusquely bustled off to Kiera's chamber. Clan Khalida's guards certainly know where it is, as does Faanshi. And the Mahisi evidently decides that she has gathered enough assistance, between the two male shudra that haul a sizeable tub on two poles into the room, two women who bring in water to fill it, and the guard who stations himself outside the door to make sure that the ambassador will behave himself. Faanshi, however, has been ordered to work with this man. And so she does not have the luxury of avoiding conversation with him, even though the hateful look he'd conjured up has sent a shiver of dread through her to go along with the panic she's already amassed from the seeming enormity of the task she has been given. Sent to fetch a woven screen to place about the tub to give Salmalin a modicum of privacy, she vanishes for a few minutes in the bustle. Her last words to Roxana are a murmured request to ask for an Akhund to heat the water... and if the look the Mahisi gives is any indication, she rather believes that Salmalin can have a _cold_ bath and be done with it. But she does grudgingly consent, departing to locate an Atarvani who might come and heat the water quickly. Faanshi is therefore left with one of the young male shudra, drafted for the task of helping Salmalin with his clothing, and one of the women left to oversee the situation. The latter is clearly grimacing behind her veil, looking Salmalin up and down and visually taking his measurements, and as she does so, Faanshi anxiously blurts out, "Imphadi al'Sar... if you please... I do not think any harm will come to you..." No choice. At least while drunk he could pretend that it was all his idea, yet sobriety only makes the man less tolerable to being jostled around. Salmalin continues to glare and snarl at whatever he can. Maybe he is sober, but that does not mean he has to conform to this... this charade. Even as he is forced into the room and made to wait while everything is prepared he lets his gaze fall directly upon Faanshi. Dark and menacing he watches her.. the only relief found when she leaves the room or some form passes between them for a mere instant. "You must have done something terribly, terribly wrong to be stuck with me. What was it?" He sneers with a mocking smirk following. "Perhaps you overstepped your boundaries? Fell in love with some dark, loving Agni-Haidar? Hmmm.. You seem timid enough to attract those stupid beasts. I bet it makes them feel all powerful to lord over a helpless woman such as yourself." Even as the water arrives and the three shudra are left, he just remains standing there. "If I please? If I pleased, then I would not be here.. I would be drinking wine and pleasing some lonely Imphada who likes the soft touch a man who knows what she wants. But I am not doing that am I? No. I am here," he says with a sweep of his hand. "I hate this place." The shudra boy given the task of helping Salmalin disrobe for the bath if he should happen to demand it barely, just barely, manages to conceal a smirk. He is one of the shudra of Clan Khalida perfectly aware of Faanshi's dubious status among their ranks, and there's a glint of what can only be satisfaction in his dark eyes that the halfbreed is getting this kind of treatment. It seems fitting enough to him that this obviously out of favor kshatri must have a halfbreed foisted into his service... though he hasn't yet managed to figure out what that service entails quite yet. Just barely, he manages to pretend to conceal the curiosity lurking in his expression. This'll make all sorts of entertaining gossip for his fellows, when his duties are done. And just barely, he manages to conceal a snicker. The halfbreed, and a Lion of Fire? Maybe the Imphadi's still drunk. The shudra woman, a rather plump matron in a patterned red and gold sari that sounds out in vivid contrast to Faanshi's black one, interjects in a tone that somehow manages to sound prim even as she maintains proper deference: "Imphadi, if you would advise me as to the colors of your Clan, I will fetch suitable garments." Having visually ascertained his measurements as best she can, she's not exactly eager to remain in Salmalin's presence, though she'll grudgingly make certain that Faanshi remains properly chaperoned... even if she _is_ a halfbreed. As for Faanshi, the healer falls into the same deferential stance she'd used before the Maharani, eyes lowered, the hands that had robbed Salmalin of his cherished blurring of his senses clasped out of sight behind her back. "I... know only that the Imphada Maharani has commanded me to work with you, Imphadi..." Of what she might have done or not done to incur such a dubious honor, she does not speak. But she does shift uncomfortably, just a bit, troubled by the utterance of a laughable suggestion such as one of Khalid's own chosen warriors deigning to notice _her_. Salmalin looks over at the bath and the screen surrounding it. He just shakes his head and gives the shudra boy a warning glance. Appearantly he is not so pleasant when sober. "Well.. best we get this over with. Maybe I will be found to be too candala for the task, yes?" Sighing softly he starts to disrobe, kicking off his boots first. It is not difficult as they are rather too large for his feet and the boots go flying across the room. Even as he starts to pull off his shirt he speaks. "Clan colors? A good question... Black," he states flatly. Throwing his shirt on the floor he starts to stretch some, feeling the tension of his sobriety. He grumbles something about ganika and drink as he starts to undo his pants. As he bends over bits of tattoo show on his back. It appears to be rather large, part of it spilling over onto the back of his arms. "No doubt you are to prepare me for my death. Let me guess... I am to remain sober.. some twisted torture devised by my clan no doubt. A surprise they would put up such a front.. they must wish to gain favor with Him." It's fairly obvious that his help is not desired here, so the shudra boy Adli considers sidling out the door -- though just as he does, the Akhund sent by Roxana opens it, announcing his presence with a gruff and just barely polite, "Excuse me..." A fraction of a pause, before he appends the 'Imphadi' for Salmalin's benefit, and a slight bow. "The Mahisi sent me to heat your bath." In the meantime, the woman in the red-and-gold sari -- Jamila -- bows her head and takes the opportunity to depart on her clothes-fetching errand. Faanshi just barely manages not to flinch as the Akhund peremptorily enters the room. Habit and hard-learned habit at that makes her long to hold her tongue as long as there's an Atarvani on hand, but the Imphadi Salmalin _did_ address her... as firmly and respectfully as she can manage, the maiden answers, "You are not to die, Imphadi... as I understand it... the Queen simply wishes you to serve as the Voice to the Sylvans... and I am to assist you..." Her shoulders stiffen just a fraction as she braces herself to admit, "I am unworthy of the honor, for I am but a halfbreed and a shudra, but I pledge that I shall serve well." Salmalin rolls his eyes and throws his pants down on the floor along with his shirt. Standing naked now he just watches Faanshi, ignoring everyone else. "A pity then. Now I am to talk with those Sylvans. A stubborn and trite group if ever there was one. How unfortunate for you, such a poor and unworthy Halfbreed. At least some things have never changed. The Varati are still very good at brainwashing their own people." Salmalin scratches himself lewdly and then adds, "Perhaps one day you will find enlightenment. For now we shall just see about staying alive.. 'Day to day, night to night.. Live for nothing, find the world open to you...'" It's probably fortunate Jamila's left the room; she'd probably be making flustered noises by now. Faanshi, on the other hand, is probably flustered enough for the both of them, eyes tightly shut now as long as her new -- master? She can't truly call him a master, can she, as she is still Thalia's shudra? Employer? Superior? -- decides to stand there bare as the day he was born. "Imphadi," the Akhund sternly puts in, even as he leans over to call forth his magic and send currents of warmth into the water the shudra have poured into the bath, "she might be a halfbreed, but she is also a maiden, and you are not a fit sight for a maiden's eyes." With a pointed gesture at the screen that eloquently relays his opinion that it's there for a purpose and the new ambassador should bloody well use it, the Akhund strides out. "There's soap, too, Imphadi," Adli puts in, entirely innocently, though there's far too vindictive a gleam in his eye for him to be deriving anything but amusement from the situation playing out before him. "I can fetch more if you wish it." Salmalin is not a complete fool. He only gives the Akhund a tip of his head before watching the man leave. As for Adli, "I would be careful, boy. I may know very little about manners and how one should act... but I do know all about pain. Did you know that there are at least thirty ways to kill a man with just a sliver of wood?" He eyes the screen now, the tub as though he sought to find such a sliver. "And none of them are very pleasant. I hear some last for as long as several days.. the pain increasing until finally the body just gives out." He flashes a smile before slipping behind the screen for Faanshi's sake. But of course he will not admit that. He slips into the water as evidenced by the splashing of water. Lifting his voice he says toward Faanshi, "If you are going to be assisting me you will have to learn to be more aware of your surroundings. That means you will need to have both eyes open." Faanshi is perfectly willing to open her eyes -- as long as naked kshatri are safely tucked out of their sight. Summer-green orbs peek up again, first the one and then the other, to find Adli making a flummoxed expression in Salmalin's wake. The slight sounds of water splashing are enough to relax the maiden -- just a bit -- though she keeps a bit of wary attention upon the other shudra. "Ah... yes, Imphadi," she speaks up uncertainly, "as you say." She doesn't specify whether this is in reply to his instruction to her or the words to the boy, but it may well be for both. Adli in the meantime clears his young throat, boyish treble cracking just a bit at this talk of pain and death. "Er," he squeaks, "yes, Imphadi..." Salmalin seems to be enjoying his bath as more water splashes. Over the screen he says to Adli, "Imphadi this and Imphadi that.. Well.. if you are going to make such a fuss over nothing, why not fetch me some wine hmm?" One can just imagine the grin upon his features as he thinks about what that request will do. "And perhaps some food.. I have not eaten in some while. Anything will do really. I am not picky." It is then that water is splashed on the sscreen. Silence reigns for only a moment after and soon Salmalin starts to hum a quiet tune to himself. Adli makes another subtle face -- _he_ is not this man's shudra, but perhaps it pleases him to leave Faanshi to him. "At once, Imphadi," he warbles, hiding his smirk from Salmalin but not from the halfbreed; then he bows, and scampers out. This leaves Faanshi to blurt in his wake, "But--" Is wine really a good idea, considering the circumstances under which the new Voice to the Sylvans has been brought into Atesh-Gah? There is a momentary pause, before the girl clears her throat and humbly inquires, "The Imphada Jamila should return with clothing for you. If you... wish, Imphadi, I will investigate the preparation of a room for your use... unless your... um... Clan maintains a suite within Atesh-Gah?" Salmalin laughs. Water rushes down and seeps onto the floor as he stands from the water. He shakes his head so that small droplets fly everywhere, most catching on the screen. "A suite... here? I doubt that. We do not travel for the most part. I believe it has something to do with our disdain for contamination?" Again he laughs and then reaches for a towel so he can dry himself. It takes him a moment, one which is filled with the humming again. Sometimes words come out, but they are muffled by his efforts. "Do I worry you, Faanshi?" he suddenly asks. "I--" Faanshi doesn't quite squeak, though her voice catches just as audibly as Adli's had done. Though she hardly needs to do so with the privacy screen between them, the maiden straightens without thought. With an effort she continues, the gentleness of her voice doing absolutely nothing to reduce its stoic tone. "My worries are irrelevant, Imphadi. The Maharani bids me assist you." And for her, evidently, this translates to her having no option but to do what the Maharani wishes. Coming out from behind the screen, Salmalin is wrapped in the towel. He holds it with one hand around his waist as he runs a hand through his hair with the other. "I am sure your worries are quite relevant," he says in a thoughtful manner. He rolls his neck to stretch the muscles some and then continues, thinking that a towel must be better than last time. "I have no grand fantasies about my place here. And honestly I do not care... but thanks to you and your Queen it seems I have no choice but to play it safe. It would be a pity to have a whole clan punished for the acts of a single fool, yes?" He grins and then glances about. Where is that boy with his wine and food? _Her_ Queen? Not _our_ Queen? The pronoun is not lost upon the halfbreed, whose sungolden brow crinkles in consternation she is not at all certain she is free to express. Nor is the implication that she is partly at fault lost upon her, and it stings somewhere within her, prompting a rapid blink of green eyes turned a trifle liquid. "I... apologize if I have incurred your... wrath, Imphadi," she whispers, that gentle voice of hers turning a trifle hoarse, a trifle strained. It's starting off on a bad foot to annoy one's new... sirdar, she decides, settling upon what seems to be the best possible word, but Faanshi has grown resigned to the likelihood of her simple existence annoying those of the kshatri caste. Salmalin starts toward Faanshi, but stops himself. He glances toward the door and then turns around, his tattoo flashing with the slight hunch of his back. Taking a deep breath he growls, "Where is that boy?" Salmalin continues, his almost good mood vanished. "I will dress up and I will play my role, but never think I am happy with this situation. I would much rather sleep in a barn then in some strange bed while sober. But promises are promises." He is talking to himself once more, a hand waving in the air as though he sought to convince his own mind of these things. "However.. if you wish to make things easier for yourself, I advise that you learn to speak your mind while in my presence. You make me feel like some wingless ganika fallen from the skies and into Khalid Atar's lap." It's Jamila who returns first, bearing with her a black haik and silwar; the shirt is unfortunately not black, but instead a dark slate gray. With a knock she comes back into the room, jolting slightly at the sight of the kshatri's towel-wrapped frame and quickly dropping her gaze. "Your clothing, Imphadi," she murmurs as she bows and lays the garments upon Kiera's crisply made bed. "The shirt is the closest I could find in what appears to be your size. Do you wish your boots cleaned?" _There's_ that boy, hot on Jamila's heels and bearing a tray in his young dark hands. Upon said tray rides a platter of meats and cheese and bread... and a wineskin. Faanshi's gaze flashes sideways to the door as the other two shudra return. Discomfited, not exactly eager to behave untraditionally before other eyes, she limits herself to drawing in a long, unsure breath and saying, "I... shall endeavor to do so, Sirdar." Salmalin rolls his eyes at the reaction and just sighs. This is definitely one reason why he prefers women of other races to the more traditional Varati. Have they never seen a man before? "Do they need cleaning? I never really noticed.. do what you must. I would not wish to embarrass myself further." Going over to the clothing he picks them up and then threatens to just drop his towel right there. Instead, though, he walks back to the screen with a wicked grin. With the entrance of Adli he calls him over, "Took you long enough.. did you have to steal a wyvern to get the wine?" As for Faanshi she is left to consider his suggestion in her ever protective wall of silence. "I shall attempt to find you replacements, Imphadi, and failing that, clean them." This from Jamila, who bows again to scoop up the rather over-fragrant footwear. Her plump features are just as veiled as Faanshi's, and therefore her expression is more or less unreadable, but the way she holds the boots at arm's length quite eloquently relays her opinion of how much cleaning is required here. Out she goes. "Do you require anything else, Imphadi?" pipes Adli, forking over the tray, surreptitiously studying the new ambassador for any suggestion of favor. Feeling rather awkward in the midst of the bustle, enforced habit suggesting she should be doing _something_ for all that she has not received any specific orders, Faanshi shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, gaze still shyly lowered, though she is quite aware of Salmalin's location. The shudra of Atesh-Gah are well-trained to keep tabs on their betters' whereabouts at all times -- and Faanshi is no exception. "If," she begins slowly, "the Imphadi wishes me to speak freely to him..." And that, it might be added, makes Adli peer at her in narrow-eyed surprise. "... may I inquire as to... on what I should speak first, and when?" Salmalin picks up a bit of the cheese and chews on it for a while, shaking his head at Adli. Swallowing it down he only says, "You can take the wine if you wish... I have suddenly lost my thirst for now." With that he throws his towel aside and starts to dress. He sniffs at the clothes a bit and makes a face. Putting them on as best he can, Salmalin runs a hand through his hair once more and picks up the platter. "You can go if you wish, boy.. I am sure there are better things you could be doing," he says as he goes to sit on the neatly made bed. He draws his legs up, glancing about for what must be the hundreth time. To Faanshi he looks and then sighs. "If I told you what you should speak and when.. it would not be free, would it? I do hope you are not as dense as you portray yourself to be." Dense. What Adli hears is the halfbreed being called dense, and the boy smirks to himself even as he bows and removes himself with a politely murmured "Yes, Imphadi." And out _he_ goes. The halfbreed. Her slender frame broadcasts profound uneasiness, she draws in a breath and then releases it. "It is... not my place to display wits, Sirdar," she murmurs. Then she frowns behind her veil, down at the floor; only the winging down of her delicate black brows is visible, though. A beat, two, and then she appends tinily, "It is not generally the place of shudra." Salmalin throws a disdainful look at Adli's back and then he glances over at Faanshi, shaking his head. "Nor is it the place of drunken cowards to be Voices... You may have to be the polite shudra around everyone else, but please do not make this difficult. And call me Salmalin, Sal, Candala... anything but Sirdar." He munches noisely upon the food that sits on the tray he holds before he extends it out toward Faanshi, "Care for some?" If any movement of this girl in the stark black sari can be called abrupt, that word can be applied to the lifting of Faanshi's head, bringing her eyes suddenly and sharply into view. They've gone wide above her dark veil -- in surprise at a kshatri male giving her the liberty of his name? At the offer of food? Or both? "I..." From the look of her, she might well be opening and closing her mouth behind that gauzy veil, for it takes her a few moments before she is able to continue. "Thank you... my... morning... has been... long." As though she were stepping out onto ice of unknown thickness, expecting it to give way at any moment beneath her, Faanshi murmurs her words with palpable care. With equal uncertainty she ventures forward to reach for the tray, humbly admitting, "I-I have not yet broken my fast." Salmalin laughs quietly and takes another bite of the cheese he holds. For once he does not seem to be as angry or at least he hides it well enough. "I am sure it has been. I remember once..." He trails off and just takes a breath. ".. but that was another life. If you want you can have the rest. I was never really one for eating sober.. food seems to be bland." Clearing his throat some he starts to fidget a little, his gaze still moving about as though he were seeking an escape. "And do not worry, this is but a temporary stay of my desires for wine. I just thought I should get to know my surroundings better before I learn the hard way which rooms not to venture into." Setting the tray upon the table, Faanshi takes up a slice of the bread and begins to daintily tear it into smaller pieces, the better to furtively slip beneath her veil. The Imphadi... her new Sirdar... Salmalin might have permitted her to address him by name, but this does not mean she's about to remove her veil to eat more comfortably. What in the world to say? Commenting about wine does not seem exactly safe, and nor does attempting to address what seem to be details of a life which every tradition hammered into her head advises is none of her business. But she can at least, and does, shyly venture, "This is the chamber of the Imphada Kiera... my last mistress. She is not using it right now... so I thought it would be suitable for attending to your, um, current needs... I can advise you as to the other suites within the embassy...?" "Kiera? That sounds familiar..." Once more his gaze spreads across teh room and he grins. "She for one seems to have simple tastes. I am sure she is a pleasant woman. As for the other residents I am sure I will meet them in due time... if they do not avoid me like the plague. Tell me, this Voice job... will this require me to be gone from this place a lot? Somehow I just do not see the Sylvans flocking to the embassy's doorsteps. And if I get drunk.. will you always use your magic on me?" They seem to be very key points that he wishes to clarify. Faanshi goes still; appetite or no appetite, long morning or no long morning, she cannot quite bring herself to try to eat when such questions are being lobbed in her direction. She turns back around from the table, eyes extremely unsure, stance to match. There is no censure in those liquid summery eyes, but there is... worry. "I... thought it was safer to cleanse you, Imph--Salmalin... the Agni-Haidar might have beaten you. You were speaking to the Amir-al's Mahisi." Salmalin blinks and then runs a hand through his hair as he tends to do. Still fidgeting he only nods. "I am surprised you would not have me beaten. It was not like I tried to avoid the situation. But.. thank you.. I guess that means I am in your debt, hm?" Standing up he yawns a bit, putting a hand over his mouth before turning back to Faanshi. "But that did not answer my question and please.. do not let my questions disturb your eating. I can always wait. I am still the same man I was before coming here, no better, no worse. Which is all the more reason..." Cutting himself short again he paces a distance away, looking toward the door with furtive glances. Very quietly, Faanshi murmurs, "I... have been beaten, before." She does not elaborate, but perhaps that is explanation enough. Peeking searchingly and sidelong at this man whose discomfort seems as palpable to her as her own, the maiden goes on instead, "If you... wish to drink.... I can only..." Ushas, did the Queen _truly_ mean to put her into this position? Offering counsel to one who far above her in caste, even if he _is_ a drunkard? Each and every one of her uttered words takes shape with fragile diplomacy, not yet steady in their strength. "I-I can only advise that you permit me to cleanse you at times when you must speak with the Sylvans... or when you must address the Queen or the Amir-al." Salmalin pauses as he hears those words and something in his eyes darkens. Turning away he takes a great interest in the door once again, though now he avoids looking at Faanshi at all. "Well.. that is what happens when you allow yourself to get hurt," he mumbles. An unsteady hand runs through his hair before it falls limp at his side. Will this never end? Stopping suddenly he looks up at the ceiling and just screams loudly, "All I ever wanted was to live my life! Is that so much to ask?!" He seems to be talking to someone, or at least that is the impression he gives as he shakes his head. Disappointment. Looking back at Faanshi he seems angry. "Am I restricted to this.. this place? Or am I allowed to leave at will?" The shudra girl flinches, not quite as sharply as if she'd been struck, but nevertheless with a palpable jolt; it's easy enough to tell that raised voices make this one skittish. But evidently they don't quite make her bolt, for she does stand her ground even if it takes her some effort to figure out what to say to the surly-tempered young kshatri before her. "I... have not been told that," she answers in low, awkward tones. "The Queen... told me of her wishes... only moments before the warriors of the Clan" -- er, uh, how should she diplomatically phrase 'dragged'? -- "... brought you before her. I know only what she ordered me, then..." Extremely cautiously, her gaze holding that same fragile uncertainty that fills her gentle voice, Faanshi peeks above the top edge of her veil. "You... _are_ kshatri. If you... have not broken the surahs, or the laws of Haven... I-I cannot imagine that you would be forced to remain within Atesh-Gah." "I have probably broken every surah... though I do not remember any of them," Salmalin replies. He shakes his head once more and then looks around for his boots. Where did they go? "Do you wish to go out then? Or would that go against everyone's sense of dignity and honor? We could call it some sort of diplomatic research. To tell the truth I know very little of the Sylvans and even less about being diplomatic. However I do know that I want a drink or at least a walk in the fresh, unsuppressed air." Sighing he gives up and finally asks, "Did you see where my boots went to?" "The Imphada Jamila left with them," Faanshi meekly points out. "To clean them. I can go to find her, if you wish..." She too peeks at the door, though not with the same trapped-animal tension that's been roiling in the kshatri's dark gaze. "And... I will walk with you, outside." This last is offered even more meekly -- but apparently in utter earnestness and without hesitation. Apparently, Faanshi's dignity and honor see no offense in keeping company with this disgraced drunken son of Clan al'Sar. Salmalin nods. Hmmm.. "Very well then," he says with some suspicion. He looks over his shoulder at the door and then shrugs. "No need to bother the Imphada. We will let her worry over the boots. I for one was growing tired of them anyway." Flashy a very toothy grin Salmalin heads for the door in his bare feet, adjusting his clothes as though he were about to attend some formal function. "Do I look good or what? Of course I do, thank you. You look quite lovely yourself, despite the veil and timid nature. Ah well.. we each are what we are." LOpening the door he leans against the frame as he waits for Faanshi. Er. Yes. Well. Faanshi, never entirely comfortable with what small number of compliments she has received from men not of Varati blood, is even less comfortable receiving one from a Varati. Especially a sort of sideways compliment such as this one. Her confusion registers in her eyes, and she offers no reply to it; instead, she merely bobs her black-swathed head, modestly lowering her head and turning to follow her new sirdar. Salmalin rolls his eyes a bit and makes out the door as though he had always been this way. Drunk? Him? No... well... He glances about like a thief trying not to get caught, his bare feet making little sound. Speaking over his should he says, "How about a tour? Before the festivities. Unless you are feeling too tired or have some other task to attend to. I am sure I could find my way around if I had to, though exploring is rather boring without someone to do it with." "You are my duty at this time," Faanshi points out softly as she accompanies the barefooted young man into the corridor, and discreetly avoids the eye of the guard who blinks at Salmalin's still slightly less than orthodox attire... though at least now, he is clean. "My other tasks can wait for the moment, and it would be fitting for me to tell you about Atesh-Gah..." Out in the hallway, Faanshi seems a trifle more skittish as she speaks, her voice by necessity kept at an audible voice, but her frame now reflecting a greater tension as though perhaps she fears being accused of speaking out of turn. "We are in the west wing, here, for living quarters..." With a dainty sungolden hand, she gestures about the hall. Salmalin looks down the hall, nodding slightly. Oh. He takes a breath and stares at Faanshi as though she suddenly had several more heads. "Is there something the matter? Are we being watched by the Amir-al or something?" He grins at that thought and then turns all the way around, letting his head tilt back slightly. Then he turns his gaze to the ground where he just sort of stares at his feet, wiggling his toes. Maybe not by the Hawk of Heaven, but there _are_ the occasional guards in sight as the shudra and the kshatri walk. Faanshi keeps her gaze down at all times, but not so much that the bemusement in her summer-leaf eyes can't be glimpsed... especially when Salmalin's attention drops down boyishly to his own feet. The halfbreed maiden slows, uncertain as to whether she should wait, as she answers, "No... I... do not usually talk much in these halls..." And that's truth enough. Faanshi isn't much for talking in most of Atesh-Gah; very few have any inclination or need to talk _with_ her. She points, almost childlike in her shyness, to one of the nearest doors and identifies it, "That is the suite of the Kaimakam, Amipal Chandrima... he leads the Queen's guard. Clan Messala has its suite further down... the one with the blue and silver on the door." "Why? It is so quiet, people should talk in the halls. Silence kills," Salmalin says rather thoughtfully before walking again. He looks around and around, sometimes spinning, or just jumping. Perhaps this is why he stays drunk most of the time. Bored. He is bored. "I know you are not my shudra... but if I am your duty at the moment... then you can do as you like. My orders or however that would work. I might as well be useful in some capacity, yes? It is not like I have not been in trouble before." Now, how to get a drink. Looking around again he asks, "Where is the kitchen?" That is the important place. You can do as you like. How many people have said that to Faanshi, within the walls of this place? For the life of her, she can't think of a single one -- and for a long moment, the girl just stops and stares at the man at her side, deeply bemused. She blinks, once, twice, then with a great internal effort seems to reach a conclusion that brings her some kind of peace, for she nods once to herself and then turns and gestures off in a new direction, down to the end of the hallway and towards a back flight of stairs. "I will show you," she pledges, stepping along a little less silently upon sandaled feet than Salmalin does upon bare ones, but moving almost noiselessly nevertheless. As she goes, reaching the top of stairs somewhat less grandly designed than the main flight that she followed to come up from the queen's chambers, she identifies the new route, "These are the stairs for the shudra and naraki, to go down to the kitchens... it is faster." And, stepping down the stairs, she uneasily opts to avoid pointing out that wine HAD been brought her companion, but he'd opted against it as well as the food that had come with it. She might have just been given carte blanche to do as she likes, but twenty years' worth of experience have taught her the consequences of speaking _too_ freely to a kshatri and a man. At times Salmalin seems like neither and perhaps that is why he just sort of chuckles to himself. He seems very pleased with Faanshi and smiles as he starts down the steps. "I think that I have perhaps found my appettite once more. Nothing like good company to improve the craving." Letting his hand brush against the wall he starts to whistle a quiet tune to himself. After a while it stops and he is silent once more. "I am... pleased you find me good company," Faanshi says, tentative and a little overswiftly, as if she finds the concept a little hard to believe. But soon enough the bottom of the stairs is achieved -- along with a stone corridor and a double doorway leading into a sizeable chamber indeed. The impression of the kitchen very first is very likely, well, _size_; the place does have to feed an entire embassy. Shudra and naraki dressed in assorted colors scurry back and forth on this task and that. Massive hearths provide places for cookfires and cooking pots large enough to serve as bathtubs if one isn't overly picky. The air is full of the smells of food being prepared, of hot bread, of cheese, of the goat-flesh a trio of naraki are currently butchering in a corner and washing prior to passing the meat into the nearest pot for stew. Against all this bustle and sound and smell Faanshi's apparent habitual timidity is all the more apparent, yet she somehow manages to make herself heard as she peeks at her companion and begins, "If you wish to order something else prepared..." Salmalin blinks as they enter the kitchen and he dances from foot to foot for a moment. He grins, waving at a few of the shudra that pass by. "Life would be much more difficult if I did not find you good company," he warns quietly. Lifting his nose to the air he takes a long breath, letting it out with a laugh. "I feel like a child again... sneaking into places I was told not to go. That is not your place, you should do this, do that..." Bah. With a wave of his hand he tries to find something that would help his situation much more than food. Where o where is it? "No. No food. But I would like a drink. Wine or whatever you have.. I am not picky. Then a walk outside. I have never seen the embassy in the daylight." In Faanshi's experience, the mere fact of her low station and mixed blood automatically disqualifies her as 'good company' in the opinion of the higher-ranking folk in the embassy. For that matter, half the shudra in Atesh-Gah are wary of her... but then again, that leaves half of them who aren't, as well as a good number of the naraki, and at least one naraki who seems not to turn up her nose at the sight of a halfbreed is on duty in the kitchen today. Of course, the naraki in question appears to be a Mongrel child and therefore significantly too short to look down at any portion of Faanshi except perhaps her legs, but still. The waif can't be more than nine years old, clad in the colors of Clan Khalida, like Faanshi herself, and she peeks shyly at Salmalin even as she comes scampering over to pipe to the shudra, "Namaste', Faanshi!" "Namaste', Korrah," is the healer's reply, and something subtle shifts in her demeanor. For the child, she is suddenly more at ease, her gaze gentling over her veil, and she clasps her hands at her breast and bows to the little Mongrel girl as if she were the Queen herself. "Please greet..." And she catches herself, once more glancing at her companion, aware that he has asked her to address him by name... but not quite ready to bring herself to do it in front of anyone else. Salmalin grins at the child and then kneels down. "You can call me Sal, Korrah." He holds out his hand toward the girl. "It is a pleasure to meet such a beautiful young lady. I am deeply honored," he says, bowing his head and clasping a fist to his chest. After a moment he lifts his head and peers at Korrah with a smile, then stands. "Maybe if there is time I will show you a trick I learned from a travelling group I spent some time with, yes?" Korrah's little face -- rather noticeably paler than the average denizen of Atesh-Gah's -- positively lights up as she is given gestures of homage, a rare treat indeed. "Okay!" she pipes happily, "but I hafta work right now but I sleep in th' 'raki quarters an' Faanshi knows how t' find me 'cause she come an' healed me arm once 'cause I burnt it. Are you gonna heal somebody now, Faanshi?" Blushing behind her veil, the shudra maiden murmurs, "No, child; I am showing... Sal... around Atesh-Gah. He is thirsty... we've come to get him something to drink." "Wine cellar's open," the child reports. "'Phadi Kareem went down there t' get bottles f'r th' dinner Clan Burzhi's havin' t'night!" Salmalin laughs and reaches out to rub the girl on the head but he hesitates and instead touches her shoulder briefly. Clearing his throat he nods, "I will have to come and see you sometime, then. That is of course if it is okay with Faanshi." He looks over at the Shudra who is showing him around and winks at her. His look is one of complete satisfaction. At mention of the wine his eyes start to sparkle. "That is a perfect idea Korrah. You are a bright young lady... Do you think Imphadi Kareem would mind if we went down to have a look, then?" Who is she to tell a kshatri man where he can and cannot go? "Of... course," Faanshi blurts, but she's a bit overridden by the enthusiastic waggling back and forth of Korrah's tousled tawny head. "Nuh-uh," is the little one's sage pronouncement. "But if ye're gon' t' ask f'r wine ye hafta not take too much an' it hasta be yer rest day!" Leaning in close to Salmalin, she confides, "That's the RULES! But 'Phadi Kareem dinnae hear good either." Salmalin listens to the girl with a serious face and then nods. "My rest day? Why young lady.. every day is my rest day. I would not drink otherwise," he states firmly. Looking around he wonders if this Imphadi Kareem might be an ally to his cause. "Perhaps only a bottle, then.. instead of two. That will at least last me a while until tomorrow. I would not want to worry Faanshi after all." Smiling prettily at the Shudra he wiggles his toes a bit and wanders about the kitchen slowly. "So what do you do here Korrah?" "Chop stuff an' clean stuff," the child promptly warbles -- and it seems that someone is expecting her to do one of those two very things, for a woman's voice peals out her name, from somewhere across the room. The Mongrel girl jumps, then looks up at Sal wide-eyedly and regretfully. "I gotta go!" But she beckons him to lean down again, just long enough for her to whisper conspiringly, "'Phadi Kareem dinnae see too good either, ye c'n sneak past 'im, like THIS!" And she demonstrates, tiptoeing a few steps before bolting into a run and scampering off to see what duty has summoned her. "The, um, wine cellar is this way," comes Faanshi's voice then, still gentle, but with a hint of definite worry lying beneath it. She gestures in a new direction across the great chamber, where a thick wooden door is set into the stone walls and the beginnings of yet another stairwell down might be noted. She doesn't yet move towards that door, however. Possibly because that might also be a hint of worry in those timid green eyes of hers. "Very good to know. Thank you so very much Korrah," Salmalin says as she scampers off. Scratching his nose, he turns toward Faanshi and follows her toward the wooden door. He looks at it carefully as though judging something just by its appearance. The door, Faanshi, the door, Faanshi. His eyes narrow. "If you do not wish to go down, I can do so myself. I can understand if it frightens you..." His voice is almost convincing in its understanding if not for the slight smirk that makes Salmalin's lips turn upward. A great deal arguably can be said to frighten Faanshi -- though she is not so much of a mouse that she'd shrink from a dark cellar or from the half-deaf, half-blind venerable old steward currently keeping watch over the place. Nor does the trace of a smirk on the kshatri's dark face bother her... much. She has been smirked at by kshatri before, and worse; she is no stranger to the disdain of nobles. No, what worries her are the possible consequences of allowing a man who'd narrowly escaped being beaten by the Agni-Haidar because of his inebriated tongue anywhere near wine again in the immediate future... and whether she can safely say so, despite the permission she's been given to speak her mind. There is no impatience in her eyes as she looks up over her veil -- just that worry that's lingered there even before the kshatri was sober enough to notice it, and behind it, a resigned sort of sadness. "I am not frightened of the cellar," she answers lowly, with perfect truth. That much, she knows she can say in safety. "Well then," Salmalin says with a step, "let us go down." He starts down slowly, his bare feet making small noises against the steps. The sounds are covered, however, as he starts to talk over his shoulder. Guess this means he is not going to try and sneak anything. "You really should learn to have more faith. Such worry is the product of doubt and doubt is surely a sign that you have very little faith in the hand that guides fate. As one who is seeking... well.. what you are seeking..." He shakes his head slightly. "It will marr your features and hurt your soul, that much I remember from my teachings. But I also learned that we are all free to do as we wish as each life is a lesson. Whether we learn it or not is another question." He hops off of the last step, "So is it true that you do not drink?" It makes Faanshi's head hurt, trying to follow much of that, even as she pads down the stone stairs in Salmalin's shoeless wake. Down in the cellar it's significantly cooler than in the main kitchen -- unsurprisingly, set down into the ground as it is, and out of the sphere of warmth cast off by the hearths. It's also a good deal quieter, save for the rattle of what can only be snoring from below. The source of this must be the aforementioned Imphadi Kareem, a wizened little hazelnut of a man who does not actually smell of alcohol; therefore it can be concluded he hasn't been sampling the wares, at least not any time lately. No, he must simply have fallen asleep on the job. "I have a great deal of faith in the Amir-al and His Holy Mother," Faanshi begins, but then the snoring reaches her, and she pauses on the last two steps, peering timorously towards the sleeping figure slumped into a chair by one of the many racks of shelves in view. Then she shakes her head, uncomfortably. "I do not... drink, I mean." Salmalin makes a face as his feet touch the cold surface of the floor and then he raises a hand as though to silence a party. Following the sound he glances at the Imphadi Kareem, grinning at the sight. Now that is a man he could befriend easily. So long as he provided plenty of wine. Speaking in a more quiet tone, "Ah.. if that were true, then why is it you worry so? Do you believe that they would set before you more than you could handle... that they are seeking to trip you in this life?" He starts to peer about for the wine, wondering which was which. The man in the chair gives off a particularly magnificent *SNORK* of a sound that makes Faanshi jump just a bit on the steps; only when he shifts position and subsides again does she seem to find enough courage to step off the bottom one, more concerned about losing the kshatri who has more or less become her charge than she is about being down here in general. Though the thought that if Kareem _has_ come down here to fetch wine for Clan Burzhi, he isn't exactly going about his job in the proper fashion does cross her mind, perhaps something of Salmalin's furtive mood is rubbing off on her. She steps hesitantly past Kareem, wincing just a bit behind her veil at a question that strikes her as disturbingly intuitive. After a moment, a small, unhappy "yes" sounds out from her. Then she lowers her eyes, blushing fiercely now. Salmalin grabs a bottle and then puts it close to his face. He looks at it with one eye and then another. He shakes it gently, then listens to the sound it makes. Noding approvingly he looks up at Faanshi as though for approval. Realizing she is preoccupied he just gives a grin at Kareem before heading back toward the stares. "That is a pity and though I am not one to chastise... a rather hurtful consideration on your part. Each obstacle, every ounce of pain is but a means of teaching a lesson that you did not learn in a previous life. We each have our problems to overcome. From the lowest naraki to even the Amir-al. I wonder if perhaps you will have to spend more time at the templs... your lessons appear to be lacking if you have so little faith in the way things are." He is careful with the wine bottle. "I on the other hand just prefer to wait until my next life..." Something in those casually tossed off philosophies stings the maiden deeply, though she cannot for the life of her necessarily identify _what_. The fact that she prays to the Amir-al each night and Ushas each dawn, perhaps; that she has spent many more hours than are her usual wont these past few months, especially; or the fact that she has told herself over and over again that her life is how it is because she must have sinned in some prior life and that there must surely be lessons she must learn in order to improve her lot for the next one. Perhaps it's all three of these things. And more. There's much Faanshi could say in reply... but she says none of it. She doesn't even let herself think it, for one of the hard lessons she has learned is that these are avenues she simply does not pursue. Not in Atesh-Gah. And not with kshatri men. The shudra says absolutely nothing, simply letting the garrulous young man ascend the stairs with his prize -- and before her, so that she can blink back tears before he can turn to see them. As they near the top of the stops, Salmalin stops, looks about and then finally steps fully into the kitchen. He smiles a bit and then heads toward the stairs leading upward and out. To Faanshi he says, "I know what you are thinking... how can a man such as myself tell you these things? Ahh, another time perhaps, but now we are off to these wonderful gardens I was appearantly dragged through. For the life of me I do not remember seeing any flowers." Of course his eyes were half closed and it is hard to enjoy the scenery with two large guards to either side. Salmalin does not really look at Faanshi as he speaks, nor does he seem to be concerned over whether or not she is following. "Then maybe we will introduce you to wine. A little of course. We cannot have you break some surah or another because you forget yourself for a small while." [Forgetting herself has never been an easy thing for Faanshi to accomplish -- and with a drunkard of a kshatri abruptly dropped into her life by her ever unpredictable mistress, it isn't likely to happen any time soon. Scene pauses her, as Salmalin and I never finished it; end log.]