"A Meeting of Like Minds"

Log Date:
	5/16/00, 5/17/00

Log Cast:
	Faanshi, Prying-Eagle

Log Intro:
	In the midst of the summer of 3906 the life of a certain young healer
girl has settled into more or less a routine. Faanshi says her prayers, studies 
herbs and healing with her teacher FallingStar, ventures through Bordertown 
practically daily to seek out any who might need the touch of her magic, and 
as of late also spends time in laborious attempts to compose letters for the 
Maharani of the Varati -- Thalia Tritonides Khalida, her new mistress. 
	But as of late the quiet routine of her life has also changed. Lyre
Talespinner, the Mongrel bard she has grown to care for very deeply indeed
-- and from whom Faanshi has begun to daydream of proposals of marriage, though
she doesn't dare to hope for any such thing in reality -- has abruptly departed
Haven on an urgent personal mission to free his sister and her son from slavery
in the Empyre. And thus Faanshi must not only bear a renewed pang of loneliness,
but also spend extra prayers each morning to implore Ushas to allow him to
return safely to Haven.
	And change has begun to touch her wanderings through the city as well,
for she's had a rather violent encounter in the Rialto with a young Sylvan 
being pursued by merchants ardently desiring a mysterious object in his 
possession -- and she's had to heal that Sylvan as well. Faanshi does not know,
however, that Prying-Eagle's insatiable curiosity has been turned now upon
_her_, to the point that he's had a confederate helping him watch Atesh-Gah for
signs of her emergence and has himself begun to follow her on her treks through
Bordertown...

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================*
             Time of day:  Night (Dawnside)
          Date on Aether:  Sunday, June 27, 3906.
           Year on Earth:  1506 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Last Quarter
                  Season:  Summer
                 Weather:  Partly Cloudy
             Temperature:  Warm
*==========================================================================*

Bordertown, at night -- or at least, in the pre-dawn hours -- is not exactly 
  the safest of places for a young woman alone to be wandering. But 
  nevertheless that's exactly where Faanshi is at this gods-forsaken hour, the 
  colors of her silks standing out against the gray wash of light that is 
  beginning to brighten the sky as the herald of the sun's eventual ascending. 
  Her dog is with her, a big furry shadow almost as distinctive in the waning 
  darkness as she is herself. Easy targets, one would think. But then again, 
  she's remained unmolested as she's trekked into the poorest quarter of Haven 
  today. Perhaps it's her dog. Perhaps it's luck, or the prayers she's 
  breathing to Ushas of the Dawn beneath her veil... or the way she's moving 
  along through the streets as though little more than a bright splash of 
  color on the edge of a dream, her steps shy, her trust given unto the 
  goddess she worships and the big hound that guards her that her path will be 
  safe.
Whatever the reason, Faanshi is coming into Bordertown... and apparently
  safely, thus far.


One shape among many, used to move unseen in the city streets.. Is it 
  coincidence, or is there a reason for it? A young Sylvan man seems to always 
  be performing business somewhere just so he can keep his eye on the woman in 
  bright colored silks.. Perhaps she gets that classic feeling of being 
  watched, or Prying-Eagle melts in perfectly and unseen with the throngs of 
  people attending to their morning business and chores..

The ways of scanning one's surroundings for any signs of danger are not 
  exactly part of what is usually taught to the women of the Children of Fire 
  -- but then again, it would seem that at least in some respects, this 
  particular Varati maiden knows a bit more than her sisters. Every so often 
  she does cast furtive glances here and there, just enough to let her find 
  her way, and just enough to get at least a sense of what and who is around 
  her. This much, at least, she's learned from two years in Haven, and from 
  the assistance of certain friends she's managed to make. But still she does 
  not seem to notice the silent-footed, pointed-eared shadow she's developed 
  as she goes about her business, and as of yet, neither does her dog. For the 
  time being Faanshi focuses herself upon tracking down a particular corner 
  where an old Mongrel woman has set herself up to do her begging for the day 
  -- and the maiden's Sylvan shadow, perhaps, may well be able to see the 
  healer girl stop and exchange gentle words with the beggar woman, pressing a 
  small packet into her gnarled hands and brushing sungolden fingertips across 
  her brow. The touch brings a smile of relief to the crone's seamed and 
  wrinkled face.

Great, Prying-Eagle.. Now you've seen her. You know where she is. Now what? 
  Are you going to follow her all day? Talk to her? And say what? He takes a 
  deep breath, and rakes his fingers through his hair. His curiousity has 
  taken him into following a woman, and suddenly he has no clue of what his 
  intentions are. Oh well.. Let's just keep following, shall we?

The beggar woman, it seems, is only the first stop on what seems to be a 
  purposeful trek through the ramshackle streets of this part of the city, 
  past the booths set up here and there in pallid imitation of the marketplace 
  that dominates the heart of Haven, and to the occasional battered house full 
  of equally disreputable Mongrel inhabitants. By the time dawn is putting its 
  first few tendrils of actual color into the sky she's made three more such 
  stops. But once the dawn begins to announce itself in earnest, Faanshi might 
  be noted by her pursuer to pause for no apparent reason, turning her slender 
  form towards the east and lifting up her gaze with what seems an 
  unaccustomed bravery towards the blossoming sunrise. Bravery... or perhaps 
  reverence? She stands poised there, a slender hand coming up to sketch some 
  sort of sigil across herself. And but for the hound that follows her 
  wherever she goes, she is alone for the moment -- but for how long before 
  she moves again?

"Hey, are you going to pay for that?" The voice of a pottery merchant fills 
  the air for a moment, slightly louder than the others. Prying-Eagle doesn't 
  realize until now that he was staring with a clay bowl in his hands, right 
  at Faanshi, pale green eyes bright and sparkling with curiousity. Why is she 
  doing that? "Uh, what? No. " He puts the bowl back among the others. The 
  merchant snorts and rolls his eyes. "You seemed quite fascinated to me. Or 
  are you fawning over that woman?" A snicker rises from another customer.

"Hah, now I seen ever'thin', a point-ear oglin' a stonewalker gel!" This comes 
  as a cackle from a one-legged, half-toothless woodcarver one booth over from 
  the potter, who fixes a keenly amused if milky gaze upon the Sylvan. "Ain't 
  anybody ever told ye, lad, them's the doin's that make f'r th' likes of 
  _us_?" And the old Mongrel man gestures seemingly grandly at himself and the 
  potter, cackling again at his own wit.

The peals of rough laughter, in the meantime, seems to catch the attention of 
  the dog. Kosha swivels his head over towards the distant booths -- and keeps 
  looking in that direction, a low whurf escaping his throat and his ears 
  perking up. Faanshi remains poised where she is, gazing with eyes turned 
  full and liquid above her veil upon the colors gaining hold upon the sky, 
  resplendent even over the squalor that is Bordertown.

Uh oh. The dog has heard and perhaps smelled his scent... Prying-Eagle starts 
  to move away slowly from the Vendor and the cackling, one-legged man. "Uh.. 
  Yeah, of course..", he mutters.. Better avoid being spotted. The merchant on 
  the other side of the street may be better.. Or perhaps just between those 
  two outhouses... He walks as slowly as he can, as if to not attract 
  attention. What is she doing? His head turns sideways again. He just has to 
  look.

This time Kosha can't help but notice the Sylvan so assiduously peering in the 
  direction of his mistress, and although Prying-Eagle is currently upwind of 
  the hound, still something seems to tug at the canine's mind. Another whurf 
  escapes him, louder this time, enough to pull Faanshi's attention off the 
  glory that is Ushas' daily assertion of Her presence. The shudra turns to 
  see what might have captured her loyal dog's attention -- and the green gaze 
  that had been uplifted to the sunrise now falls upon the Sylvan.

Perhaps the corner of the outhouse will hide him in time. Perhaps it will 
  not.. Most likely not, unfortunately for the young, curious Sylvan. He 
  winces as he hears Kosha bark at him, and then stops and lifts his shoulders 
  in a light shrug, a somewhat sheepish, yet lop-sided grin curling his lips 
  upwards. All he has to do now is to await the wrath of the Children of 
  Fire.. If not from Faanshi personally, he's certain that some big man with a 
  sword, or a smith's hammer will come after him in any moment. He's 
  experienced both situations in the past..

No wrath -- no Agni-Haidar with a scimitar, no warrior in Clan colors who 
  appears out of nowhere to bar the maiden's path. No, there is only Faanshi, 
  who seems to start at the figure she espies across the way... and who then, 
  even as she timidly ducks her gaze downward, paradoxically approaches. 
  Taking this as a signal that this vaguely familiar stranger he's spotted is 
  deemed Suitable by his beloved mistress, Kosha lopes over beside her and 
  right up to the Sylvan, all the better to give him a good sniff. For her own 
  part, the maiden merely shyly says, clasping her hands at her breast and 
  bowing slightly over them, "Namaste', Imphadi Prying-Eagle..." There's a 
  basket hanging from the crook of her arm, and that homey touch might well be 
  considered at odds with the trace of something exotic in the way she pairs 
  the Sylvan name with the Varati title. "I hope that your shoulder is 
  well...?"

So how does he get out of this situation? Well, why did he follow her in the 
  first place? "Namaste, Imphada Faanshi", Prying-Eagle, responds with another 
  faintly sheepish grin. His voice carries the same well-spoken, yet 
  unpolished quality as before. It seems he is accustomed to the proper 
  phrases.. Perhaps there is more to him than just any city dwelling Sylvan? 
  He bows his head in response.. Now what? "It is. Thank you.. It was numb for 
  a while, but I am feeling as if it never even happened now. " He should have 
  a healer constantly in his tracks these days, people like trying to get 
  their hands on him for many reasons.

Evidently satisfied with the results of his olfactory inspection, Kosha parks 
  himself upon his haunches next to the two young people, staring steadily up 
  at them as if he might be about to jump into the conversation at any time, 
  his tail twitching every so often behind him. "I am pleased," the maiden 
  says as he does, and from the relief apparent in that soft voice, it seems 
  she means it. "I am not sure I could have healed you so easily if the 
  Imphadi smith had not been present..." And then she peeks up just enough to 
  give a glimpse of furrowed brow beneath the gold-trimmed edge of her blue 
  sari. "Your business, with the merchant men... it is settled?"

"Broadshoulders... " Prying-Eagle smiles faintly, a bit thoughtfully. "Yes, he 
  is good with showing up at the right times." He looks down at the dog for a 
  moment. His bane and his saviour, all in the course of a few minutes. He 
  reaches up to brush some loose strands of hair away from his forehead. He 
  grins again, and this time it is more roguish, somehow lacking that typical 
  sheepish quality. "No. He wants something that I have. But I cannot give it 
  or sell it to him, because it is not rightfully his. I need to return it to 
  where it belongs. " Once he has found the location.. What if it /is/ only a 
  tale, a legend.. ?

The dog quite frankly and quite guilelessly stares back up at the young man, 
  the sort of doggish stare that could mean anything from Who Are You and What 
  Are Your Intentions Towards My Person clear up through When Are You Going to 
  Scritch My Head? Just about as guileless as the regard of the canine is the 
  gaze of the maiden, though her attention seems a trifle more difficult to 
  hold; unlike Kosha, she seems to have a habit of casting her attention down 
  to her feet. Even as she mentally notes the name of BroadShoulders -- 
  innocent though she might be, she has learned that it is always useful to 
  know the names of potential friends within the wide labyrinth that is Haven 
  -- Faanshi tilts her head in apparent bemusement at what words are offered 
  her. "He... seemed most insistent," she says after a moment, in anxious 
  tones. Deliberate understatement? Or is she simply kind-hearted enough that 
  she wouldn't say a harsh word against the vilest creature in the city? "I 
  hope that he will not try to take it from you again...!"

"Oh.. He will try", Prying-Eagle responds right away, with exasperation 
  evident both on his features and in his voice. "And that other.. Varati 
  fellow who wants it too. " It? What is 'it'? "And neither of them can have 
  it. Once I've gotten it where it should be.. " He sighs, and looks over his 
  shoulder, as if expecting the Sylvan merchant come running from one street, 
  and that hooded Varati from the other.

Faanshi is a sheltered girl -- but there's a mind behind those timid eyes, and 
  for all that curiosity might not exert so potent a pull upon her as it does 
  upon the young man, it affects the maiden nevertheless. What, indeed, is 
  'it'? Has this half-shy, half-suave stranger managed to get hold of 
  something... misplaced (even to herself, Faanshi does not like to think of 
  things as 'stolen') that he wishes to return to its rightful owner? Nor does 
  she miss the slight pause before the word 'Varati', and she cannot help but 
  shrink back a little, wondering if this might be yet another person who 
  seems to hate her mother's people... even if he is being nice to _her_. 
  Moreover, he is a man; would he at all welcome her suggestions? Swallowing a 
  little behind her veil, she murmurs tinily, half-expecting to be rebuked, 
  "Perhaps... the Hounds could help you, Imphadi?"

Nothing scornful has been said about the Varati from Prying-Eagle's lips. Only 
  about a specific Varati. He apparently doesn't like what he is doing, just 
  as the specific Sylvan.. He has travelled too much to be affected any more 
  by the dislike between the races.. They all have their good and bad people. 
  "The Hounds?" He involuntarily takes a step back, holding up his hands 
  defensively, eyes widening slightly. "No.. I can't do that.. " No. Everyone 
  want something with it when they find out.

The sight of a man backing away from _her_ is enough to make Faanshi visibly 
  blink, her head lifting up a bit in bemusement as she tries to fathom this 
  strange, if admittedly friendly, individual. Delicate black brows knit 
  together over her eyes, and even though half her face is hidden, she 
  nevertheless succeeds in conveying her surprise. Then her gaze dips down 
  again, shyness returning, as she takes a moment to distract herself by 
  arranging the weight of the basket upon her arm. "All... right," she murmurs 
  then, biting her lip behind her veil, though this is less than visible. She 
  does not ask _why_ the Hounds could not be relied upon for aid; she's 
  learned too, this maiden has, that many in Haven do not trust those who have 
  been appointed to uphold the laws. But this Prying-Eagle seems so anxious, 
  so determined to do _something_, that she cannot help but try to think of 
  options he might pursue to safely accomplish his goal. "Have you no one, 
  Imphadi?" she plaintively inquires. Then her brow clears, inspiration 
  brightening at least the upper, viewable portion of her countenance. "Your 
  tribe? You are... Eyotajolon?" And even as she casts forth that Sylvan word 
  in her alien accents, the maiden straightens ever so slightly, like a small 
  girl innocently proud of remembering a lesson.

Prying-Eagle is not a Varati, made out of stone, and with a pride that has to 
  come with it as part of society. He is... himself, and what his life has 
  shaped him into. So this means he can step back from anything he likes. "I 
  just cannot trust anyone else with it", he murmurs. "Not yet. " He squints 
  his eyes slightly, curious.. What is hidden behind that veil? He is sure to 
  remember to not try to pull that veil off. He did that once. Phew! Glad he's 
  still alive! To the last question, he nods slowly, reaching down with his 
  hands to brush away some dust from his pants. There is always dust on them. 
  It's that kind of pants. "Yes.. But I am not sure of where I really belong 
  any more", he says.

The maiden feels an upswelling of sympathy -- not only because of the dust, 
  for she is certainly familiar with the difficulty of trying to keep her 
  bright silks relatively unstained on her treks through Haven, but also 
  because of that last offered admission. Abruptly, Faanshi dips a hand into 
  her basket, pulling forth a square of rough but clean linen, holding it out 
  earnestly in offering. "Would you like this, Imphadi...? For the dust?" 
  Though her gaze is mostly still down, she also blurts, "That... does seem to 
  be the way of things, often. In Haven, I mean...!"

Prying-Eagle rakes his fingers slowly and firmly through his hair, and adjusts 
  the satchel over his shoulder.. He always has that one with him.. Pale green 
  eyes blink slightly as the square of linen is offered him. He feels it 
  between his fingers, then grins at you somewhat sheepishly. "What am I 
  supposed to use it for?" Is he daft, or is his wits tied up in knots because 
  of a woman, as they tend to be quite often? "I am born in the city, but I am 
  still one of the Children of Earth, you see?", he says, his voice lifting 
  slightly. It doesn't seem to depress him. More make him thoughtful. "But I 
  still do not belong completely in either the city, nor the forests, where I 
  am not accepted.. " Perhaps he would be bound forever to the city, if it 
  werent for the magic of Earth that runs so strong in him..

A highborn lady -- and indeed, maybe perhaps many of the pureblooded shudra 
  women of the Varati -- might look at Prying-Eagle now as though he were an 
  idiot; not so Faanshi. In utter guileless patience she says simply, "Use it 
  to wipe off the dust, if you like -- I have a few more, so it is no 
  hardship, Imphadi..." And with that, she trails off, gaze coming up a little 
  more as she listens to the rest of his words. She doesn't speak, but there 
  flares within her liquid gaze a sudden incandescent understanding. To hear 
  such a thing so casually uttered... it pierces straight through her, and she 
  can do little more than draw her now free hand sharply back to her breast in 
  an attempt to try to steady herself.

Prying-Eagle is perhaps as far from highborn as one could come.. Spending a 
  life in travels and exploring, he surely hasn't had much time to learn 
  fineries.. He has met many peoples and cultures of course though, so a faint 
  hint of recognition comes on his features. He has seen things like that 
  being done. He grins slowly at you, and accepts the piece of linen as if it 
  were a fine gift.. Before he tucks it unceremoniously into his satchel. 
  "That could become useful", he says in that well spoken yet roguish voice. 
  "However, most things won't make much difference with these clothes.. " They 
  are firm, stout and comfortable. What else is needed when constantly being 
  on the move? He blinks slightly, and reaches out with a hand to your arm, in 
  an offer to make sure you don't collapse. He is a casual man, thus he says 
  things in a casual manner.

No, she isn't about to collapse -- but the maiden lifts those eyes of hers 
  fully now, and they are thus revealed to be full of that lingering profound 
  comprehension along with a swiftly rising embarrassment. Kosha yurfs 
  throatily at her side as the Sylvan reaches for her, and as if the dog's 
  brusque interjection steadies her as much as the offered hand, the maiden 
  murmurs in chagrin, "Forgive me, Imphadi... I... have never heard it... put 
  quite that way before..."

Ahh.. The Varati.. Where every little word carries a meaning of its own, where 
  every little facial expression carries a subtle meaning.. Prying-Eagle can 
  see many things, he has a sharpness.. But at the same time he is a simple 
  man, and his manners are often simple.. Roguish and somewhat unpolished as 
  one part, but also straightforward and honest as the other part. Now, hasn't 
  being /straightforward/ gotten him in trouble many times? Oh yes. "You 
  haven't?", Prying-Eagle asks. This seems to make him both puzzled and 
  curious at the same time. 

Curse it.. The sun is well up! He suddenly mutters to himself. "I fear there 
  are some people who are of the impatient sort.. I can't keep them waiting. " 
  He flashes you a somewhat sheepish grin. "Goodbye Imphada!", he calls over 
  his shoulders as he suddenly runs off, to disappear in the crowd.

The maiden draws in a breath behind her veil, wishing to try to explain, yet 
  not really knowing if she's brave enough. But oh yes, she understands, this 
  child of intermingled Earth and Fire, servant of the highborn whose true 
  ministrations are for the lowly ones who really need it most. "I mean that 
  I--"
Then he's stepping back, alertness and chagrin sweeping across his young 
  countenance, farewell bursting out of him like an eagle taking wing... and 
  then, he's gone. Kosha whurfs again, his ears flicking at the strange 
  Sylvan. Or at the strange Sylvan's retreating back, rather.
"--Know how you feel, Imphadi..." Faanshi finishes lamely, no ears present now 
  save those of her loyal dog to hear her whisper. For several seconds she 
  stands frozen there in the motley square, oblivious to the looks she gets 
  from Mongrels passing her as they go about their morning business, till she 
  can't catch any further glimpses of the young man's hastily fleeing form. 
  Three full minutes pass before she's able to finally shake herself back to 
  awareness and to the need to continue her _own_ business; there are, after 
  all, more people who need the touch of her hands and the comfort of the 
  herbs she's assembled to bring to them. But even as she moves off in a 
  distracted daze, her thoughts linger behind on the encounter with that 
  stranger.
Who _is_ he?

[End log.]