"A Dove Among the Lions"

Log Date:
	10/19/00

Log Cast:
	Assorted Agni-Haidar and Atarvani (emitted by Kedar and Faanshi), 
Kedar, Faanshi, Jihaad

Log Intro:
	It is universal wisdom among the Varati people that there are no
greater warriors, no men with greater dedication to the mighty Khalid Atar,
than his chosen Agni-Haidar -- the Lions of Fire. Each and every one of
them would give his life in service of the God-King if called upon to do
so, without flinching. And on a spring day in Atesh-Gah when the full holy
might of the Neverending Fire has been unleashed upon the Empyrean Cassius
Augustin, several of the greatest of the Varati warriors have done exactly 
that. None of the men who witnessed what took place in Atesh-Gah's throne
room when the Empyrean met his end have given anyone testimony to what must
have happened, but several of the Agni-Haidar are now dead, several more badly 
burned.
	In their own way as loyal and devoted as the warriors that defend
Khalid Atar, the God-King's priests have swiftly responded to the need to
preserve the lives of those men who have not yet died of their wounds. But
even the Atarvani must rest after great acts of healing, and there are only
so many healers within the Varati embassy. As the next day dawns within
Atesh-Gah some of Khalid's chosen are still direly hurt... and it occurs 
to the priests that tend them, even if grudgingly, that there is one healer
upon whom they have not yet called. A healer who, despite her lowly station,
is said among the slaves and servants of Atesh-Gah to hold great power in
her slender hands.
	Is Faanshi worthy of the honor of healing the Lions of Fire? The
matter could be debated -- but the Atarvani are practical men, and with the
still-urgent task before them of restoring the God-King's warriors to 
fighting strength, it does not take them long at all to decide that there is
but one way to find out....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Morning
          Date on Aether:  Monday, April 1, 3907.
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waning Gibbous 
                  Season:  Spring 
                 Weather:  Clear Skies 
             Temperature:  Warm 
*==========================================================================*

Barracks - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#954RA$)
     In stark contrast to the elegance of the rest of Atesh-Gah, the barracks 
  themselves stand testament to the ubiquitous practicality of the military 
  mindset. While the courtyard without is underscored in an artistic elegance, 
  here such nuances are more subtle - curves instead of sharp corners, thick 
  walls of plain stone instead of etched designs or murals. The front room is 
  large and lengthy, low-ceiling with fair acoustics and little echoing. It 
  has been partitioned off into smaller rooms, assigned according to rank of 
  the inhabitants. 
Contents:
Kedar
Obvious exits:
Hallway <H>  Holding Area <HA>

It's early morning, the sun having just risen over Haven. Only few glimpses of 
  sunlight shine through the undecorated window of the barracks. Yet despite 
  the early hour, many of the Agni-Haidar are already up, standing vigil at 
  the beds of their comrades, or sitting upright in their bed. A few men in 
  red robes sit besides the beds, examining the unclothed masses of singed 
  flesh, letting slowly some of the burns recede by a firm grasp of their 
  hand. 

Kedar is awake, sitting on his cot, but nobody is tending to him. His time has 
  not come. Yet the marks of the God-King are clearly visible about his short, 
  athletic body, clothed only in brief loincloth: Where as the right side 
  remains totally unmarred, the entire left part of his body is swollen in an 
  angry red, from ankle to parting of black hair. At places, crimson skin has 
  wholly dissolved, revealing deeply blackened flesh underneath. Despite the 
  obvious pains the youth is going through, he sits upright, waiting, bidding 
  his time.

A summons has been sent out -- and it does not take long for it to achieve its 
  desired result. Perhaps fortunately for Faanshi, the young Janizar sent to 
  find her did not have to go outside Atesh-Gah to do it, for Faanshi has 
  crept into the embassy this morning to breathe out tearful prayers at the 
  very back of the Amir-al's temple. And thus it takes only minutes rather 
  than a good portion of an hour for the halfbreed to arrive at the entrance 
  of the barracks. She is far less imposing of appearance than the Atarvani 
  who have been tending the wounded Lions, her head bowed to keep her eyes out 
  of sight, her step as unobtrusive as a properly trained shudra's can be. 
  Meekly she enters in the Janizar's wake, while the warrior seeks out the 
  priest who had grudgingly acknowledged that the halfbreed's help could be 
  handy here: "Imphadi, I have brought the girl."

So Kedar was half-crisped in the height of the battle, but that doesn't stop 
  him to act on his own behalf. "Shudra. Come over here!" he calls out in his 
  deep basso voice. Not loud, not even very firm, but still clear enough. A 
  tone that's just expected to be obeyed, without sounding like a command.

Kedar
Kedar is not tall, for a Varati, just short of six feet. However, the lack of 
  height is more than made up by the well-proportioned muscles, which make his 
  frame not so much bulky, but give it both strength and agility. The speed, 
  precision and vigilance of the man's movements banish any thought of 
  weakness and harmlessness. 
Unlike the rest of his bronzed, scarred and hardened skin, the man's face is 
  smooth and flat, with slim features. His black hair is cropped short in a 
  very pragmatic way, leaving little way for fashion or beauty. Contrasting to 
  the dangerous appearance of the warrior are the big brown, slanted eyes. 
  They reflect his young age and still show innocence and lack of experience 
  with the ways of this world, yet also reveal self-confidence and firmness. 
  The control Kedar shows over his motions cannot hide the youth that remains 
  in his expression. Surely, this lad has not seen his twentieth summer. 

The priest who had turned to give orders to the shudra -- the one red-robed 
  individual who had been reluctantly willing to give orders to the halfbreed 
  -- pauses as the young warrior overrides him. Dark eyes narrowing for a 
  moment in thought, the Akhund then nods shortly, gesturing the startled 
  Faanshi off to Kedar's cot with a wave of his dusky hand. "Attend him, 
  shudra." And if his tone is any indication, the priest's words can easily be 
  translated to 'and do it well, if you do not wish to be food for wyverns.'

They have called her here -- to heal the Khalid's own Lions of Fire? Even when 
  she is not emotionally battered, Faanshi can't generally conceive of such a 
  duty being granted her. She visibly starts, not only as realization of what 
  she has been brought here to do sinks in, but also as the aches of those men 
  who as of yet are still wounded begin to disturb her senses. "Y-yes, 
  Imphadi," she murmurs, bobbing her head once to the Atarvani, then turning 
  to hasten to the warrior who has called her. She does not raise her gaze, 
  not once, this dove in a room full of lions. Nor does she raise a hand to 
  Kedar, not yet, though she reaches his side quickly enough. To him, as well, 
  she whispers, "Yes, Imphadi..."

Jihaad steps into the Barracks from the hallway of Atesh-Gah.
Jihaad has arrived.

Kedar ignores the words of the Akhund. The man in red has something better to 
  do than to heal him, so there's no need for him to repeat the warrior's 
  words. Kedar respects the Priests, in a way -- for they fulfill their 
  function in their place and stand at the other side of his God -- but he 
  surely doesn't like them. And he knows that, when push comes to shove and 
  the kafir will dare to raise their fists against the Neverending Fire, it 
  will be the Lions who will stompt them down. As they have before and will 
  again. 
Mind still drifting off to the Atarvani, the lad hardly notices the shudra 
  approaching him, until she stands right before him and speaks to him. Young 
  brown eyes settle silently upon the slightly odd seeming, veiled face, the 
  green eyes for a mement, until he speaks. "You know how to heal? You know 
  how to heal well?" Unlike the harsh words from some of his brethren, this 
  one sounds almost calm and controlled. There's certainly no respect laced in 
  his tone, but it seems cool and patient, lacking the often heard derisive 
  sneer for those of the lower class. However, the expectation to receive an 
  answer is certainly present.

Close as she is to Kedar, it is impossible for the warrior to miss Faanshi's 
  strange eyes, even when she has her gaze properly lowered. Small he may be 
  for an Agni-Haidar -- but small, too, for the Childrne of fire is this girl 
  in the silks of Clan Khalida, smaller even than the warrior, though she is 
  not exactly short. There is a certain unsteady tension in Faanshi's frame, a 
  physical reflection of the nervousness in her voice; only her hands seem 
  sure, clasped at her breast with fingers interlaced until she is given leave 
  to reach them forth. "Yes, Imphadi," she answers humbly, modestly. It's the 
  same thing she said before -- but at least for the time being, it serves.

Kedar is short, even more so in the presence of other Lions. But there is a 
  certain self-consciousness about the man, a precise, controlled, yet 
  graceful way of moving around those much taller and stronger than him that 
  makes him seem their equal. With a light, almost dancer-like motion, he 
  pivots, turning his burned side to Faanshi, his head tilting to the side to 
  still look down on her. Either not catching or ignoring the tension about 
  the healer, he says only, "Then heal me. Do what you have to take the wounds 
  of my body. You may leave the marks. As long as they don't hinder me 
  fighting. They are signs of the Atar-Al."

Jihaad steps into the barracks with a slow stride. Walking down the aisle 
  between the numerous bunks - his cold jade eyes glance over the wounded as 
  he passes. He mind is reeling trying to understand what put the Amir-al into 
  such a rage to harm his very own Lions of Fire. It is a question that only 
  Khalid Atar can answer - but would so foolish to voice such.

_Ushas..._ Even in the grip of her recent grief, Faanshi's healer's soul 
  cannot help but react to the angrily scorched flesh turned towards her. Her 
  magic surges up from within her, an electric crackling through her entire 
  system -- arguably the only thing that can be described as fierce about this 
  maiden. The effort of reining in the surge along with the simple sight of 
  the awful wounds prompts involuntary tears in her summer-green eyes as well, 
  blurring her sight. But Faanshi does not need her sight to heal, not as long 
  as she has hands that may touch. She cannot quite manage a reply now, but 
  she bobs her sari-swathed head, kneeling at the side of the warrior's cot 
  and stretching forth delicate sungolden hands to touch him. Her contact is 
  not much, the barest touch of fingers to muscled flesh and dark skin, but as 
  soon as it is established her power begins to flow. Aether swells around her 
  in a sphere that, even unseen, draws the eyes of more than one of the 
  Atarvani in the room.

Kedar can not feel the pain around him, and if he feels the wounds of his own 
  body, he does not show it. The sniveling display of the woman at her side is 
  weak, and while it can be forgiven to a lamb, it would not suit a Lion. 
  Accepting the pain, learning to deal with it and taking it as a part of life 
  has been one of the first lessons the adolescant has learned in the caverns 
  deep below Masada. And while he ponders if the halfbreed's pathetic reaction 
  /defines/ the difference between her status and his own, he suddenly feels 
  the first surge of magic brushing over his skin under the healer's faint 
  touch. His expression goes from strict passiveness to one of surprise. Like 
  most of the ways he has gone through, he expected the touch of the woman to 
  hurt in order to mend his flesh, yet it only soothes his own, controlled 
  pain. Nerves returning to life twitch to move again, test out the limit of 
  the slowly regenerating flesh, yet the warrior keeps his body still and 
  unmoving.

Faanshi might weep -- but at least to her credit she does so without noise. 
  There are only the tears that spill down her veiled countenance, unchecked, 
  in two silent streams that seem to gather extra strength from the fierce 
  stoicism of the wounded men in this room. They will not yield to their pain, 
  and therefore the healer seems to take it into herself and express it for 
  them. Even as she cries, her hands remain steady, channeling a river of 
  power from somewhere deep within her and sending it flowing out across the 
  prone young man upon the bed. For a moment or two the most serious burns 
  along his skin crackle unnervingly... and then the dead tissue sloughs away 
  as the flesh beneath it is filled with power that turns it whole and hale. 
  It does not hurt, any more than turning one's face to the full summer 
  strength of Ashur Masad himself would hurt. It soothes, like a deep draught 
  of the purest, clearest water.

Kedar waits in silence, watching how his own burned flesh is renewed once 
  more, but the sensation remains not only a visual one. As he sees that a 
  fresh layer of tanned skin emerges underneath the blisters, he cannot help 
  but to reach out and brush with his unburnt hand over the regenerating flesh 
  of his thigh, then along his side. In a display that looks almost trained, 
  bare muscles that are just in the process of being restored ripple 
  underneath the dark skin, from his chest down along his side, to his leg as 
  he flexes his foot. Resting his weight upon the unmarred side, he motions to 
  get up, half-turning upon the bed to offer the halfbreed a closer 
  examination of his singes. "Do you need to touch the wounds in order to heal 
  them?" is all he asks, a voice that still shows calmth and distance, hiding 
  the refreshing effect that he receives right now.

The halfbreed's display of evident power keeps the dark gaze of the Akhund in 
  charge of overseeing the wounded Lions upon her -- and as the priest watches 
  her, one of his Atman slips up to his side, frowning thoughtfully. "The girl 
  appears to have learned control, Imphadi," he murmurs into his superior's 
  ear, no more loudly than necessary for the higher-ranking priest to hear him.

"Yes," rumbles the Akhund in reply, equally softly, "she has." Intently, 
  piercingly, he stares hard at the kneeling shudra while one minute slides 
  by, two, four, and the warrior Kedar's flesh mends itself beneath Faanshi's 
  fingers.

As the young Agni-Haidar shifts his position so too must the shudra's hands 
  shift -- but as they do, it can be seen that not only has she healed the 
  flesh she's touched, she has left but the barest signs of scars. The Imphadi 
  wished to bear signs of the Amir-al's fire... and it seems that the girl has 
  obliged him. Faint paler traceries of color are all that remain of the 
  damage to that part of his body, just enough to remind, far too little to 
  impair. "Yes, Imphadi," she breathes yet again. This time her voice has gone 
  hoarse, as if she's sparing as little strength as possible for the utterance 
  of words.

Maybe Faanshi misunderstood the question, maybe Kedar misunderstood the 
  answer. In any case, he assumes that her touch upon his wound is required. 
  In order to make it easier for himself and the healer, he stands up in one 
  sudden, fluid, severing for a moment the physical link between himself and 
  the healer. Positioning himself sideways to Faanshi, he tears off the 
  loincloth, letting it fall to the ground. Beneath, there are still burns of 
  the fire upon his bared, tight hips, already partially mended by Faanshi 
  without the Lion's realisation. And while he is standing stark naked in the 
  room filled with other men and one veiled woman, he shows not the least sign 
  of modesty or lack of self-confidence about his own nudity. With a light 
  touch upon his cheek, he says, "There's another wound I need healed."

Indeed, with the overflow of power from the maiden's slender hands, some of 
  the damage along the warrior's lower limbs has already mended. Not daring to 
  criticize the young man for his abrupt rising -- even though she is 
  accustomed someone holding _still_ while she heals them -- Faanshi pulls 
  back in momentary startlement that only peaks up sharply as he stands before 
  her in his current state. Her gaze is already locked downward. Now her 
  tear-soaked eyes squeeze shut as well. The warriors might be entirely 
  unheeding of nudity, the Atarvani too impassive to express any disapproval 
  they might have of such a display from the Amir-al's own chosen defenders -- 
  but Faanshi is a woman. Halfbreed she may be, but she has been raised 
  Varati, and she is as modest as her touch is gentle. A single tiny sound of 
  consternation is the only reaction she permits herself. Magic still roiling 
  through her blood, she can sense the remaining smaller pains in Kedar's lean 
  frame, and without raising her gaze from the floor she reaches to do the 
  rest of the task before her.

None of the other men present even take notice of Kedar's nude form, all 
  having faced bared males during training often enough. The Lions have gone 
  through too many battles, too many wounds upon their body to be shameful of 
  hiding it when the situation requires it. Kedar himself feels of course how 
  the alleviating magic is drawn from his body as he stands up, but he has 
  expected this, thinking this whole procedure as just a neccessary process. 
  And while he just stands there, statue-like, awaiting the healer's touch, 
  his gaze sweeps once more slowly to the cots of his kin, his mind on 
  anything but the girl almost choking at his side. Just the sound she utters 
  draws his attention back to her, letting brown eyes gaze at her sharply. "Is 
  anything wrong? Are you not capable of healing the rest?" No anger or threat 
  is in the young man's voice.

"I--" Hadn't expected a naked warrior to stand up before her. But Faanshi is 
  not about to say so. Instead, the shudra blurts out instead, "I-I can 
  proceed, Imphadi." So she _is_ capable of further words. And evidently she 
  is speaking the truth, for as she touched dark-skinned muscle once more, the 
  only difference this time is that her touch is arguably even more shy than 
  it had been the first time. Her power, however, is unchanged. It rolls out 
  and up and through the young Lion, as Faanshi directs it to attend to what 
  remaining hurts he bears... and to mend his skin with only the smallest of 
  scars to remain as the mementoes he seems to wish to bear of the Most High's 
  holy fire.

Kedar nods once, briefly, considering any problem as 'solved'. Standing still 
  with amazing patience, he lets the woman do the rest of her job. Once the 
  healing is complete, he allows his fingers to test the flesh and hardening 
  muscles, poking along the tanned, newly grown skin. With a satisfied nod, he 
  twists his stance on the spot, turning himself to face Faanshi directly, 
  rather than from the side. "You did it well, shudra. You may go." The same 
  calm distance dominates the tone, yet there's an undertone of satisfaction 
  in it. "You may go to care for the others." Only then, the mended, once 
  again reborn body flexes in his knees to crouch, picking up the dropped 
  cloth in a swift, precise motion and arranging it back to the exposed place 
  where it belongs.

Perhaps fortunately for Faanshi, her eyes are still closed as Kedar chooses to 
  turn -- and so she succeeds in sparing herself further reason to show her 
  shock before the young warrior. She does not have much room to bow, but she 
  does incline her head deeply in respectful acknowledgement before pulling 
  herself as gracefully to her feet as she can manage and stepping back from 
  his proximity.

"Shudra," intones the Akhund who has been carefully studying her now, "are you 
  capable of attending to the rest of the Amir-al's warriors?" The priest 
  shows no reaction to either Kedar's apparent satisfaction with the healing 
  or with what his own magical senses might have told him about Faanshi's 
  expenditure of power. His eyes, along with those of many of the other other 
  men in the room, keep staring unreadably at the halfbreed, as unreadable as 
  stone.

She is, truth be told, shaken. But there is nevertheless for Faanshi a kind of 
  relief in that hard use of her power seems to be one of the few things that 
  can pull her out of her mourning; if she exhausts herself today, she may 
  sleep without dreams tonight, even without her teacher's herbal drinks. And 
  besides -- fragile as she is, there is nevertheless the tiniest kernel of 
  strength in her. The Lions of Fire have called upon her. To deny them is not 
  an option. Even so she is too honest not to clarify her affirmation, and so 
  Faanshi breathes out, "If... I work carefully... yes, Imphadi, I can...!"

Kedar stretches himself once more, making a few half-dancing, half-fighting 
  moves in the naked air to test his newly found strength. Satisfied with the 
  result, the half-naked Janizar strides over to his closet, taking out his 
  clothing and armor to prepare himself for another day of service to the 
  Neverending Fire. The pain, the healing, the breastplate worth a fortune, 
  the undenying service of an adept healer some people could only dream of, 
  all that is taken for granted and never questioned. Part of the job.

"Do it."

The Akhund's order is enough, and even as she'd done for Kedar, Faanshi does 
  also for the remaining injured men in the room. To each of their cots she 
  goes, kneeling at their sides and waiting, at least from those men currently 
  conscious, for their leave to touch them. With each touch, her power flows 
  -- prickling at the senses of the priests who have been watching over the 
  warriors. With each touch, burns mend themselves. And more than once, as 
  Kedar had done, his brethren rumble out their requests to be left with the 
  scars that proclaim that they were marked by the God-King's divine flame. It 
  takes _more_ control for Faanshi to pull back her power just enough to grant 
  this -- for her power wishes to mend the burns entirely -- but she pushes 
  herself through the task nevertheless. By the time she is finished her brow 
  is bathed in sweat and her frame is trembling...

But every man in the room is hale once more.

The Akhund, impassive as ever, gives no indication to the shudra maiden as to 
  whether he is impressed. Or whether he cares anything for the strain the 
  healings have apparently put upon her. There is, nevertheless, a fractional 
  lessening of the stern remoteness of his tone as he dismisses her, saying, 
  "You may go."

And that is that. She is not thanked... but then again, Faanshi doesn't expect 
  to be. She withdraws from the barracks greatly drained, blinking back tears 
  of exhaustion and secondhand pain that the mighty warriors of the 
  Neverending Fire doubtless see as weakness. But at least, again to her 
  credit, the dove takes her leave of the lions on her own two feet.

[End log.]