"In the Darkest Hour of the Night"

Log Date:
	8/3/00

Log Cast:
	Sumai, Faanshi

Log Intro:
	It has been half a year since Faanshi received the letter from her
beloved Lyre, in which he relayed to her that he must leave Haven to seek
out his sister and her son. To try to free them from slavery. And to try,
if he can, to see them safely to Avalon. Half a year, in which Faanshi's
only hint that the man she has grown to love still lives is a mysterious
sword that has shown up at Atesh-Gah -- and which is now in the hands of
the Agni-Haidar, who have been following her ever since.
	She has heard nothing since then, and the young healer maiden is
growing increasingly frantic for her absent Mongrel beloved. The word of
war in the north among the Varati Clans, several of whom may well be
threatening the sovreignty of the fledgling Mongrel nation, adds a whole
new host of possible dangers that may block Lyre's path back to Haven...
and her.
	Faanshi misses him terribly, and as of late, she has had little
recourse but to take this worry of hers and treat it as everything else 
that troubles her heart: to lock it away where none inside Atesh-Gah can
see it, for she has learned the hard lesson that there are few among the
Varati who are concerned over her small troubles. And as of late she cannot
even trust herself to seek the consolation of Ushas during reasonable hours
-- for fear that the Ushasti women, kind though some of them have been to
her, may turn their faces from her if they learn that she is unworthy of
their compassion.
	But Faanshi nevertheless needs the comfort of the Lady of the Dawn,
when she wakens in the middle of the night. And as she stumbles out into
the rainy darkness, after she gasps out desperate prayers to the goddess,
she discovers that someone else prowls the night as well. Someone who may
be able to provide her a kind of comfort....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================*
             Time of day:  Night (Dawnside)
          Date on Aether:  Tuesday, November 19, 3906.
           Year on Earth:  1506 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Last Quarter
                  Season:  Fall
                 Weather:  Rain
             Temperature:  Cool
*==========================================================================*

Fountain - Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven
      Concealed within the ring of tall, carefully groomed bushes and the 
  oddly comforting sight of droop-branched willows, is the merry and gurgling 
  presence of a marble fountain. As meticulously cleaned as the rest of 
  Atesh-Gah seems to be, the intricate stonework deceptively simple in 
  appearance. Perhaps ten feet across, the fountain itself is filled with 
  clear, cool water that bubbles forth from a raised pedestal in the centre of 
  the great circle. 
      Carefully tended gardens of bright flowers provide a colourful trim to 
  the circle of trees, their combined scent filling the air with a subtle and 
  sweet fragrance. The temptation to linger here and bask in the soothing 
  feast of the senses is only increased by the presence of the four stone 
  benches that are placed around the fountain. 
     You notice, through the thick greenery of bushes and ferns, a small 
  clearing to the north.
Contents:
Sumai
Obvious exits:
Courtyard <C>

Great flame, its dark out right now. Not to mention the fact that it is cold 
  and raining in the overcast morning on this fall. All things that most 
  Varati hate, being flame obsessed and warm creatures by nature in any case. 
  For whatever strange reason, though, the Warlord of Messala prowls the night 
  with two guardsmen travelling nearby. Without armor, though he appears to 
  never be without weapons short of the End Days coming, the men also are 
  lacking their armor. This makes teh group quiet and fairly well blending in 
  this dark night and rainy weather thanks to the dark, navy hued colors 
  clinging to their bodies.

The men of Messala are not the only ones out and about, as it happens. One 
  lone -- and annoyed and damp -- sentry is currently on watch over the sacred 
  grove wherein rests the shrine of Ushas, in these pre-dawn hours where 
  hardly any of the Holy Mother's worshippers can be expected to seek the 
  divine blessing of the Lady of the Dawn. Hardly any, however, does not mean 
  none. A solitary figure in a red sari, damp but stoically bearing it, has 
  passed the guard's laconic gaze already once in the past hour... and now, 
  Faanshi comes creeping out of the hidden grove, more visible in the darkness 
  in her scarlet than the men in their navy blues. The only sign the shudra 
  gives of her awareness of the cold and the wet are her arms wrapped about 
  herself; someone else might think to make haste for the shelter of the 
  nearby great building, but the maiden's steps are not swift. They are slow 
  and disconsolate, and as always, her gaze is upon the ground.

With gaze upon the ground might be that Faanshi doesn't see Sumai until she is 
  on top of him with her strides. His vast, seven foot body stands clearly in 
  her path, his side born to her as his olive-brown eyes look down on the 
  approaching maiden in this early mornign hours. Surely, she is as drenched 
  as he is with clothes clinging to him and matted against parts of his body. 
  His hair is soaked, though the rope-like braid is knit so tightly that water 
  seems to have no effect upon it. The Warlord, however, doesn't say anything 
  as you move nearer to him in your solemn concentration.

Cobblestone... cobblestone... booted feet and legs! _Ushas_. Faanshi starts 
  violently, skittering backwards as if she's just been hit by lightning or 
  the flat side of a warrior's blade, and just barely avoiding bumping into 
  the massive figure that to her appears to have melted quite literally out of 
  the surrounding gloom. "F-forgive me, Imphadi, I did not see... I..." The 
  words escape her hoarsely, and although she's managed not to slip upon the 
  pavement stones, there's a notable lack of composure in the shaky way she 
  drops to her knees to kneel.

"I have frightened you." Sumai's powerful voice descends on you like thunder 
  from the clouds above, the rain dropping easily and freely onto all the 
  people in this yard. The roiling sound of his voice like the noises of an 
  angry sky continues as his voice breaks free from its container again, "I 
  hadn't intended to frighten you so dramatically." he says as his huge hand 
  reaches out, calloused from work and sinewy with the muscle and tendons that 
  flicker beneath the skin with power, to touch your head in a gentle manner. 
  As though stroking a favored pet that he had found laying in some manner of 
  rest nearby and had caught his eye for a moment.

"The fault is--" The words catch in Faanshi's throat, then, as a second wave 
  of startlement floods through her at something so simple as the casual touch 
  of a hand. If the Warlord's benign contact might be akin to how he might 
  touch a favored hound or horse, the halfbreed girl's reaction can only be 
  likened to how that hound or horse might react if it were a creature who had 
  once known a cruel master. No Warlord has touched her since Hashim of 
  Sarazen. That she healed Numair of Behzad, aye, that she's healed Sumai of 
  Messala, does not matter to the little voiceless instinct in the back of her 
  head. A tremor starts at her bowed head and shoulders and shoots palpably 
  through her for a moment, and only after this does she manage to croak out, 
  "Th-the fault is mine..." Not just her shock roughens those gentle tones, 
  though. There's a suspicious tiny noise that might be a sniffle lodged 
  within those syllables.

"If you wish to claim the fault, then I will allow you to, though I saw you 
  coming and deliberate stood in your path." Sumai explains to you in his deep 
  and thundering voice while he measures your reaction with his eyes and feels 
  the tremor of your body with the fingers of his hands. Gentle fingers that 
  go no where that may be hurtful or invasive upon you, but seem to strike 
  fear in you. naturally, the Messala Warlord finds this odd as he touches his 
  shudra and naraki frequently as a sign of compassion and favor. It is rare, 
  indeed, that he has been heard to beat or abuse any of his folk though it 
  has happened when they have disobeyed him directly. "Why do you tremble so 
  when I touch you?" he questions you in a simple manner.

She hadn't entirely realized she'd done so, not until she'd felt herself do it 
  -- and now, called on it, Faanshi swallows hard behind her veil. Holy 
  Mother, how to answer _that_? Another young woman, less guileless than this 
  halfbreed, might be better able to dissemble, to divert the question without 
  actually lying or speaking pure truth. But this is Faanshi. And this is a 
  night in which she's woken in the midst of uneasy dreams, driven out into 
  the rain by a pang of loneliness and desperate worry, to breathe prayers at 
  the feet of the image of the Lady of the Dawn. In the darkest hour of the 
  night, her heart is stark and clear, and so all she can think of is the 
  unvarnished, abashed truth. In that tiny, tear-roughened voice, she answers 
  hoarsely, "P... part of me fears you, Imphadi."

Considering this for a very long time, several minutes he leaves his 
  fingertips upon your temple as he considers your blunt honesty. Literally, 
  several minutes of silence where only rainfall can be heard and, perhaps, 
  some sounds of nature. Finally he speaks in that deep voice, "It is good 
  that you fear me, in a manner. It keeps you from being disrespectful and 
  obscene, which is one reason I like you." Sumai begins before he pauses 
  again and moves his fingertips down your cheek to the tip of your chin which 
  he presses upwards on so that you will be forced to look in his face, "I 
  would rather, however, have your respect. Fear is a motivator that breeds 
  mistrust and secret feelings of hate. Respect, however, never leads to any 
  such manner of vileness." he says as his own olive-brown eyes look down to 
  your own verdantly green eyes, brilliant as any Sylvan's.

Wait. The Warlord of Messala _likes_ her? Faanshi has no time to bend her 
  thoughts around this stunning pronouncement, though, for her face has been 
  uplifted, delicate chin in the commanding grip of the massive dark hand. She 
  does not resist it, even though it brings her face into view. Her veil is 
  damp, bringing more of the shape of that chin to the eye than might 
  otherwise be done. And her those Sylvan-green, Sylvan-shaped eyes of hers 
  are damp as well, not only because of the rain. It is dark out this night, 
  with only the wan light of protected lanterns here and there to illumine the 
  path from grove to fountain to courtyard and to catch the hint of tears in 
  the maiden's gaze and the way the black brows above her eyes crinkle together 
  in agitation. She makes no answer, but even in the near-darkness, what little 
  can be seen of her visage might well be answer enough.

"You think it is impossible for a Varati, letalone a Warlord who leads his men 
  so fiercely, to like a shudra halfbreed. Don't you?" Sumai says to you in a 
  simplistically regal voice, one of a man so well trained and skilled in the 
  paths of twisting thought and non-contiguous logic, Highly educated and 
  skilled in the use of this education beyond the means that you are likely to 
  have received, though you are quite far from stupid or dense in any manner. 
  "I've never looked at your face before, not really in any case. You didn't 
  seem to want me to, so I obliged." he explains before continuing, "Indeed, I 
  see many more things now than I saw before."

"I-I-I am unworthy of a Wa... Warlord's regard," Faanshi mumbles, 
  thunderstruck, frozen now where she kneels with her chin held up. Her arms 
  tighten a bit about her, as a corner of her brain reprimands her severely 
  for her trembling. As for her hiding of her face, reaction to _that_ as well 
  shoots through her features, veil or no veil. Damp black lashes flutter as 
  she blinks; her chin shudders ever so slightly, out of the self-admonishing 
  reach of her arms. "I-I am... not supposed to let anyone see my... face, 
  Imphadi," comes a confused addendum.

Considering this a moment the huge man chuckles a moment, a deep barking sound 
  that is rarely heard by his own folk and, perhaps, never before heard by 
  someone who wasn't one of his lovers or close relations. "Perhaps you are 
  unworthy, but it is that very stoic belief that you are unworthy that makes 
  you worthy." Sumai's voice explains to you as the tough pad on the end of 
  his thumb taps on the tip of your chin carefully, "You know your place, you 
  accept it. You do not like it, but you do not rail against as some futile 
  child might. That is why I like you, Faanshi." he says to you and bends over 
  a little to take your forearm gently in his power grasp and hauls you, with 
  the ease of a father lifting a wee babe, to your feet, "Stand." his voice 
  commands you, though he hold on to you in case you wobble or fall again, 
  "Not supposed to show your face. Do you hide it so furtively because our 
  culture asks you to be modest, or because you feel that a man looking on 
  your features would find you repulsive?"

The support of that strong hand is very likely a blessing, for the tide of 
  conflicting emotions that now swamps the girl could otherwise be enough to 
  tilt the world around her and tumble her right back down to the rain-slicked 
  cobblestones. A Varati man... a _Warlord_.... voluntarily touching her. 
  Speaking words of praise to her. That takes care of the half of her mind 
  that's filled with shock. But the rest... a choked little gasp sounds 
  somewhere behind the dampened veil. Her eyes squeeze shut, hard, on memory 
  of a pair of fire-lit brown eyes and a Mongrel man's rough, rich voice 
  telling her she is more beautiful than any words can say... and his are the 
  words of a bard. The stuff of fragile little dreams, hoarded against a 
  broad, bleak reality. "I... I-I... do not know how I should answer that," 
  she whispers in desperation, shame in her voice broadcasting a confirmation 
  of that latter guess for all that she cannot bear to put it into words.

"You should not fear so much, Faanshi." Sumai says as his paw-like hand holds 
  onto your arm easily and without any of the foce you are certain he could 
  bear against you. In contrast it is far mroe gentle than you might think it 
  would be, and very warm compared to the cool wet morning here near 
  Atesh-Gah. "In fact, I do not find you repulsive in the least. I merely 
  reserve a detachment away from any manner of attachment to your appearance 
  due to your... misfortunate heritage." he speaks to you in a firm, confident 
  manner as he holds you your straw-like frame easily, "I believe those who 
  care not what racial background one comes from would find you attractive, 
  certainly."

Lyre's arms, cradling her close against his shoulder as she wept for the death 
  of a friend. Lyre's easy laughter and his little tricks and whistles he 
  taught her beloved dog. Lyre's form held close to _her_ as she poured 
  healing magic through his ailing frame. His voice, uplifted in song. A dozen 
  different memories assail her at the Warlord's clinical surmise, and all at 
  once, her features twist up hard beneath their concealing silk. Her head, 
  already bowed again now that she's reached her feet, jerks sharply away. And 
  she cries, new tears scalding the edges of her eyes and leaking out to add 
  more wetness to an already dampened face. As if her voice belongs to someone 
  else she hears it utter in strange, strangled tones, "I... I have... very 
  little experience in such things, Imphadi..." The forefront of her mind is 
  far too overcome by self-directed disgust -- _the man has said he likes you, 
  shudra, and you disgrace yourslf with this weakness?!_ -- and a sudden 
  vehement need to bring her free hand up to scrub at her eyes. In vain, for 
  her hand is as wet as her face, now.

He watches you with his olive-brown eyes and face impassive as the stone walls 
  of Atesh-Gah itself as he does so. His voice speaks again to you in an easy 
  manner, unilaterally lacking emotion yet not seeming condemning or hateful 
  either, "Faanshi, the world is not fair to you, I am certain, but niether is 
  it fair to any of us." his deep voice says to you. Remembering his own woman 
  for a moment, taken from him by a stray arrow in a battle that didn't need 
  to be. Yet, the pain doesn't show in him at all. SUch things are 
  meaningless, because he will be what he has all been; unbreakable. "I will 
  leave you now, I can see that I have dishevelled you and left you with too 
  much to think on at one moment. Go back to your room. Dry yourself, sleep 
  late today if you can. Play with your dog. Do not dwell on the world's 
  hurts, because if you do you will kill yourself in ways more than physical." 
  he says to you and then slowly his powerful hand releases your arm while he 
  watches you. After ascertaining that you are, at least, concious and capable 
  of understanding him Sumai says simply, "Namaste." and begins to move along 
  the path easily. He turns a blind eyes to your sad moment of weakness, not 
  mocking you or abusing you for it before he takes his own leave.

Oh, aye, she is conscious and cognizant, achingly so. Sumai of Messala may be 
  unbreakable, with the mountainous strength of the Sons of Fire at his 
  command... but Faanshi of... well, no one and nowhere in particular is not 
  so adept and wise at dealing with her pain. Her gaze does not lift, but her 
  head does turn slightly back in the big warrior's direction, and even as he 
  turns and steps away, her voice trails after him, small and hollow as though 
  part of her soul has drained away through her tears. "Imphadi... would 
  you... p-permit this humble one a question?"

Looking back to you for a moment as his huge, booted feet come to a slow halt 
  and pause in the steps. Sumai holdst his position for a few long seconds 
  before his voice comes out from teh opposite side, not looking at you as he 
  speaks, "Yes, Faanshi. You may ask your question if you wish to." his huge 
  shoulders lift a little bit beneath the moist clothing that he wears, 
  cutting a powerful figure against the faint glimmerings of light around him.

"Why" -- _do you not strike me? Call me demon? Find me repulsive? Consider 
  your hand defiled by having touched my head?_ -- "do... you... care whether 
  I live or die o-or... am happy?" Her head understands the advice. But her 
  heart, assailed through nearly twenty years of the life she's had to lead, 
  cannot comprehend why it is being given, and for all that Faanshi's voice 
  has fallen again to the toneless inflections she often gives her betters, 
  perhaps the very utterance of the question might suggest a stunned and 
  wondering mind behind her veil and behind the grief that's driven her out 
  into the darkness and the rain.

His huge hand, tough as you can remember its touch to be from just moments 
  ago, lifts up to touch the firm and strong chin of its owner. Rubbing and 
  tugging at the hairless flesh that it fidns there for a few seconds, "That 
  is a hard question to answer, Faanshi." his deep voice says to you in a 
  simple manner before he goes on to add, "There are many answers. You are a 
  valuable asset. You have done me favors in the past." he pauses again as he 
  considers and then finally says, "I think the best answer I can give you is 
  that... a king without a kingdom isn't really a king, is he?" and with that 
  he makes his way along the path and into what left of the darkness of night 
  here. His steps, without armor, are veritably silent and soon move him and 
  his guards out of sight from you.

[End log.]