"Reporting In Again"

Log Date:
	9/20/00

Log Cast:
	Amipal, Faanshi

Log Intro:
	Even a healer as powerful as Faanshi can get sick, if she abuses her
own body well enough. This is a truth that the shudra halfbreed has learned
and then some, after exhausting herself so greatly that her normally robust
magic was unable to protect her from contracting a winter fever. Thanks to
the kindness of the Sylvan Sunset Tide, she has been able to recover in
peace, but the interlude with this new friend of hers has had to be short
as all such interludes in her life are. She has, inevitably, had to return
to Atesh-Gah where duty awaits her -- and a Kaimakam of the Agni-Haidar who
will expect a report from her as to where she has been, and why she has not
been able to bring him the information he desires on the identities of the
Sylvans that violated the Varati ritual several weeks back...

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Morning 
          Date on Aether:  Thursday, February 15, 3907. 
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waning Crescent 
                  Season:  Waning Winter 
                 Weather:  Clouds 
             Temperature:  Chilly 
*==========================================================================*

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 of humble make but excellent repair, 
  perhaps the clothing of a servant whose household garbs even its servants 
  well. Her sari is of a subtle but pleasing pattern of shades of red, trimmed 
  in gold thread around its edges; beneath this, when her movements allow, a 
  bright red choli and bright blue silwar might be glimpsed. Her veil is blue 
  silk, light but not translucent, opaque enough to effectively hide the shape 
  of her lower features from view. On her feet are a pair of simple sandals, 
  whose long straps are looped up her calves and tied behind them.
 
Dawn paints the Kaimakam's bare chamber in broad bands of red and gold, 
  softening hard corners and stark edges; in this light the spartan space is 
  as close to beautiful as it is ever likely to come, although it is an alien 
  beauty. Amipal himself stands awash in this glow, chocolate skin reddened, 
  the crisp black of his sable duty uniform muting the bright colors as they 
  pass. He looks quietly down on the courtyard beyond the window, where rubble 
  and the naked branches of winter still vie for supremacy.

As she has done twice before already, so this morning does Faanshi meekly 
  enter this room when she is permitted to do so by one of the Kaimakam's 
  underlings. Announced by same, she does not speak for herself, but merely 
  moves to kneel upon the floor with downcast eyes, awaiting whatever address 
  that Amipal might choose to give her. She appears much the same as always, 
  though perhaps her clothing is a bit more ragged than the last time the 
  warrior saw her, what little of her face is visible a bit more haggard.

Amipal turns at the sound of the soldier's knock, of the door groaning softly 
  inward. An understated, "The shudra, sirdar," is answered with an 
  acknowledging nod, and the other man withdraws, shutting out the early 
  stirrings in the hallway as he goes. For a time Amipal simply stands where 
  he is, impassive, his dark eyes fixed upon the kneeling halfbreed; then, 
  mildly, he begins, "How do you feel?"

A tremor of something that might be surprise shivers through the girl, causing 
  a subtle little start, the tiniest possible intake of breath. She had 
  anticipated, even dreaded, any number of things that the Kaimakam might have 
  said to her -- but an inquiry about her health was not one of those things. 
  Her voice catches ever so slightly as well, before she manages to murmur, 
  "I... h-have regained enough strength for my magic to burn the fever from my 
  body, Imphadi Kaimakam."

Amipal tilts his head a little to one side. "Ah. The fever," he echoes, 
  clearly and deliberately at something of a loss. His gaze lingers for a 
  moment longer, then passes on as he steps away from the window, towards the 
  shudra's place. "You'll have to excuse me," he continues, in his customary 
  undertone. "One Delilah Alam Zulyat assured me a few days ago that you were 
  in some vague danger, but naturally she neglected to say what sort. Or, 
  rather, she assured me that a dream dove she had seen in a vision was in 
  some vague danger, and that this surely related to you." The faint stress on 
  'dream dove' makes quite clear the man's opinion of young Delilah's effort. 
  "Perhaps you can explain to me the nature of the distress that has kept you 
  away from Atesh-Gah."

Delilah... the girl with the sight. Faanshi remembers her in a rush, the child 
  she'd last seen handed off into the care of the Foreign Minster Ranjeet 
  Khalida. Disconcerted that the youngster might have seen a vision pertaining 
  to _her_, further disconcerted that the Kaimakam seemed to know enough to 
  ask after her health but didn't know why she was ill, the halfbreed girl 
  draws in another soft startled breath behind her veil. She does not look up, 
  nor does she shift from her kneeling position upon the floor, but the 
  surprise is evident in the set of her slender shoulders. "I... I-I was ill, 
  Imphadi," she blurts. "As near as I can determine... I came down with a 
  winter fever." And she stops there, unsure exactly how much she should say, 
  remembering too that Amipal Chandrima appears to rank among those who wants 
  no more and no less information than he asks for, when he questions her.

Amipal comes to a stand perhaps three paces away, his long shadow encompassing 
  the young woman's body. "Too ill to return to Atesh-Gah?" Starless eyes 
  drift back to settle upon her, taking careful note of her posture. "Where 
  did you regain your health?" The soft-spoken questions carry no obvious note 
  of disapproval or blame.

Still, though, Faanshi is nervous. What will the Imphadi Kaimakam say, if she 
  tells him she was being tended by a Sylvan sailor who had her alone in his 
  room? It's enough to send another little tremor of dread through her -- but 
  then again, she dreads more the prospect of what would happen if she did not 
  tell the truth. And so she murmurs in that soft, near-toneless voice of 
  hers, "I was found by a Sylvan sailor near the docks, Imphadi, a-and he 
  permitted me to rest in his living place, and permitted Kosha to keep watch 
  over me... I-I was..." She pauses, disturbed at having to admit weakness. 
  Gentle though she is, halfbreed though she is, Faanshi seems to have that 
  much of the stoicism of the Children of Fire within her. "I was... too ill 
  to return alone, yes, Imphadi." Embarrassment colors her soft voice, 
  detectable though she speaks no more loudly.

Amipal coils his legs under him, depositing himself crosslegged on the stone 
  floor across from Faanshi; he still sits rather taller than she, but he no 
  longer looms. "And the Sylvan behaved...appropriately?" To judge by the tone 
  of his voice, he expects nothing less, although the faintest touch of unease 
  suggests that this may be more hope than assurance.

"Yes, Imphadi." That, at least, gives Faanshi a measure of comfort, and she is 
  able to utter it with what for her is almost confident assurance: without a 
  stammer, or a trace of what seems to be her habitual hesitation. She does 
  not elaborate, having not been asked to do so... though her lowered eyes 
  flicker in yet another little bit of surprise that the Kaimakam has joined 
  her on the floor.

Amipal nods, his dusky features displaying a persuasive lack of surprise, and 
  releases a soft breath all the same. "Then we are in his debt," he murmurs. 
  "This Sylvan's name?"

He isn't angry? Faanshi cannot help but squeeze her eyes shut in a rush of 
  relief, at least for a fraction of an instant. In that same instant, a 
  measure of tension in the fingers she'd intertwined in her lap leaves them, 
  making them rest easier there. With an effort, she wrestles it down the 
  surge of emotion, telling herself the Kaimakam is not interested in such 
  things. He is interested in information, and she must focus upon providing 
  it. "Sunset Tide, Imphadi," she murmurs shyly.

"Sunset Tide," Amipal repeats, lowering his gaze to the floor between them. A 
  touch of unbidden amusement ripples across the soldier's face, visible in a 
  half-smile that he clearly struggles to master; it takes a few silent 
  moments for him to regain his repose. Then, calmly enough, "What progress 
  have you made in the matter of the Sylvan interlopers?"

He would have to ask that, wouldn't he? Faanshi feels a sting of shame within 
  her now, her head managing to droop a little lower from its already servile 
  again. Bad enough that she got herself ill trudging through the ice and the 
  snow that have blanketed the city... worse that she has been unable to find 
  the miscreants she has been ordered to seek out. "I-I have learned nothing 
  new since my acarya and I visited the Ettowealona," she murmurs then, 
  struggling to remain impassive even as a little corner of her mind cringes 
  reflexively, expecting discipline. Oh, aye, she has learned in the last few 
  years that not all Varati men are Hashim, the last Warlord of Clan Sarazen 
  -- but old habits die hard. "I have questioned many Sylvans... around the 
  docks a-and in Bordertown... but they do not tell me if they know the o-ones 
  who violated the ritual, Imphadi." And she swallows hard behind her veil.

If the soldier is disappointed, he shows no sign of it. No clear change 
  registers in the even cast of his features, in the focus of his downcast 
  eyes. "Perhaps, then," he intones, "we should review where we stand." Amipal 
  returns his attention to her lowered visage. "We do not know precisely which 
  substance the Sylvans distributed."

Be at peace. Be calm. Be impassive. Faanshi orders these things of herself, 
  wishing not for the first time in her twenty years that she were 
  pureblooded. If her blood were not tainted, perhaps she would be better at 
  maintaining a stoic calm... but then again, if her blood were not tainted, 
  she would have been a Warlord's daughter. Such might-have-beens do not bear 
  easy consideration, not for long. "Yes, Imphadi," she murmurs lowly, by way 
  of acceptance of his decision to review what has been discovered, as well as 
  confirmation of what he says after.

Amipal offers a shallow nod. In the same flat, factual tone, he continues, "We 
  do not know which Sylvans distributed the unknown substance." His starless 
  eyes remain upon her, at once patient and cool, blameless and uncompromising.

"Yes, Imphadi." It's a nice safe response. Faanshi takes a measure of comfort 
  from it as well, the mantra of the dutiful shudra. She blushes under her 
  veil, conscious that she is under scrutiny even without looking up; shudra 
  and naraki oft develop a sixth sense for that, and Faanshi has certainly 
  done so.

Another nod. "In short, we know nothing that we hoped to discover." His 
  equanimity of tone remains, but down underneath, the careful listener might 
  just make out a note of muted frustration at this conclusion. Amipal looks 
  on, awaiting the shudra's inevitable reply, forcing her to utter it despite 
  its inevitability.

And yes, that inevitable reply comes. "Yes, Imphadi." This time, there's that 
  tinge of shame in her voice again. Faanshi cannot help but feel another 
  twinge of that emotion, and a little bit of fear as well. She has not 
  forgotten Thalia's outright threat of blood if she fails at this mission, 
  and her hands shake just a trifle at the memory of it now. The fingers she's 
  intertwined with one another tighten their grip once again.

Yes, indeed. Amipal blows out a soft breath, his midnight gaze drifting back 
  to the dawn-lit window. "I thank you for your aid, Faanshi," he intones, 
  with a subtle but distinct degree of distance. "Perhaps you should return to 
  duties better fitting your abilities and station. I will consult the 
  Maharani regarding her wishes." And his tone and posture add silently: this 
  is only to be expected.

"I..." Oh, but this is enough to rouse the girl, now. Her head _almost_ comes 
  up, a glimmer of barely restrained fear in her eyes, before she catches 
  herself and slams her gaze back down upon the floor. But even as she does 
  that, she is compelled to speak -- if nothing else, in defense of innocent 
  Sylvans who might be harmed by her failure. "I-I beg the Imphadi Kaimakam 
  for a-a further chance... if you wish to beat me for m-m-my failure I humbly 
  submit myself for the punishment, but please, I must... the Maharani h-has 
  ordered... if someone dies, I could not..." Tension rapidly stiffens the 
  maiden's frame as she blurts out this uncharacteristic speech, and on the 
  last few syllables, her voice cracks with barely restrained alarm.

Amipal does not look Faanshi's way, but his eyes do narrow slightly as she 
  continues; the frustration tucked away in the lower registers of his voice 
  reaches his brow, furrowing it. "Do you have any genuine prospect of success 
  presently in view?" he returns, tightly. "Any avenue you have yet to 
  explore? Or do you simply speak from desperation?"

Oh, she's speaking from desperation alright, but Faanshi is not quite brave 
  enough -- or foolishly earnest enough, perhaps -- to say so. "I-I have not 
  found the Eyotajolon yet," she whispers. "Th-the city Sylvan tribe. I-I do 
  not know who leads them. But there are a-a couple of people I could ask. 
  There is a Sylvan I-I-I know in..." For an instant, her voice cracks again, 
  as a surge of a much older fear suddenly grips her, but she works her way 
  through it enough to croak out, "A-a Sylvan I know in Delphi I could ask. If 
  I-I am permitted to go there."

Amipal closes his eyes, brows drawn together. For a long while he says 
  nothing; the morning sunlight seems to creep across the floor in the 
  interval, casting long, strange, slowly-shifting shadows. At last, his 
  shoulders sag, and he releases another weary breath. "I will inform the 
  Maharani that you are still at your task," he murmurs, grudgingly. "You may 
  go, Faanshi."

Relief again, though it is sharp and painful and brings tears she cannot 
  entirely disguise to Faanshi's eyes. She cannot manage the "Yes, Imphadi" 
  this time -- but she does bow deeply in obeisance nevertheless, even as she 
  pulls herself to her feet. She does not ask if this means she is permitted 
  to go to Delphi. The halfbreed maiden does have a brain -- and as she 
  herself has proposed this option, it is clear to her that she must now 
  pursue it. Even if the prospect of setting foot in the place chills her in a 
  way that has nothing to do with the winter.

[End log.]