"In Service of Messala"

Log Date:
	5/1/00

Log Cast:
	Sumai, Faanshi

Log Intro:
	The Children of Fire are prosperous and strong -- and so are their
mages. Thus it never surprises young Faanshi, halfbreed shudra healer, that 
the Varati seldom see fit to call upon her to mend what ails them. But even
as she applies herself to seeking out those who _will_ permit her to help
them with her power, half of her continues to hope that someday the Varati
people might see fit to smile upon her, and if not exactly _praise_ her, then
at least grant her the honor of being able to serve them with her magic. In
the mind and heart of Faanshi, it is enough to know that she upholds the
surahs by using her gifts in service of what few Varati permit her to heal
them. Even if it is in secret. The people of Atesh-Gah _have_ called upon
her just often enough to lead her to expect that such things generally _will_
be away from the eyes of men. But it does _not_ happen often enough that 
Faanshi is not deeply surprised when no less than the Warlord of Clan Messala 
seeks out her services, now that he's discovered that she is in fact a healer...

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================*
             Time of day:  Night (Duskside)
          Date on Aether:  Sunday, May 29, 3906.
           Year on Earth:  1506 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Last Quarter
                  Season:  Spring
                 Weather:  Wind
             Temperature:  Cool
*==========================================================================*

You pass through the heavy, navy drapes which guard the passing into the 
  Warlord's chambers.
Sumai's Lair - Messala Suite - Atesh-Gah
        This is a small hall where the Messala lord retreats from the public 
  view of his people to spend some hours alone in private pursuits. The most 
  notable facet of the chambers features is the fact that the room is always 
  very warm, regardless of time or season, due to four large bronze braziers 
  that burn openly. It is a very dry, lingering heat that pervades this 
  private lair and pounds back from the drappery. Another noteworthy fact 
  about this chamber specifically is that the stones that cobble the floor are 
  entirely hollow and make a dull ringing with all but the lightest steps. At 
  the end of the hall is a slightly raised bier where his lordship may recline 
  and relax when the time is suiting to the event. At the foot of this bier is 
  a small writing desk with a sheaf of papers, a pot of ink and a stylus to 
  receive private dictation from the Messala lord. There is little in the way 
  of true ornamentation, though an expertly carved wardrobe rests nearby to 
  contain his few personal effects. In the corner nearest the bier, but off to 
  the side, is a dummy standing with the lord's armored suit resting upon it.
        Each of the hangings that connects to an outside juncture is shielded 
  by linked chains which, in turn, are riveted to the floor at various points 
  along. This makes the single entrance through the chain laden cutains 
  towards front, which is clearly visible from all point of this overlit room. 
  The room generally seems quite peaceful and undisturbed since so few people 
  come or go from it on a regular basis.
Contents:
Sumai
Obvious exits:
Out <O>

The room is bright and highly lit, so much so that there is not a shadow in 
  the room but the half-shadows cast by blocking light so that they land upon 
  light. Also, the Messala Warlord's lair is very hot, much hotter than any 
  other common room in Atesh-Gah would reasonably be kept for any reason. 
  Sitting on a slightly uprised bier is the huge, navy and silver clad Sumai 
  himself with his elbows on his kness and arms dangling loosely before him. 
  When you enter the man slowly stands to his full, nearly seven feet in 
  height to look at you. His face looks vaguely irritated, but whatever it is 
  he has schooled when he speaks. "Namaste, girl." the baritone voice says 
  absently.

This is not the first private chamber of a Warlord which Faanshi has been 
  privileged to enter -- but then, she is not exactly accustomed to such 
  honors, for all that she frequently saw the chambers of the Warlord of 
  Sarazen and ventured a time or two into the chambers of the man who became 
  Warlord of Behzad. And thus as she appears at the doors of the Messala suite 
  of rooms within the Varati citadel, presenting herself for the inspection of 
  the Clan guards and being admittedly accordingly into their Warlord's 
  presence, she is duly respectful. And more than a little nervous, though she 
  does not permit herself to show this in her voice. As soon as she is within 
  the room she kneels, her sari-wreathed head bowed, her gaze downcast. 
  "Namaste', Imphadi Warlord," she murmurs in reply. "How may I serve?"

Looking you over the huge man, brilliantly attired and glittering with hues of 
  orange and yellow from the braziers lining the sides of his flame. Relfected 
  from his silver wrist bands andother ornaments Sumai sparkles in a 
  multi-faceted manner. "I understand that you are a healer, girl." his 
  incredibly deep voice booms to you in a commanding manner. His thick, 
  trunk-like legs begin to carry him forth towards your position as a slow 
  pace. The hollow cobbling resounds with a dull *thud* with each movement of 
  his his large frame. "I have use for your services, perhaps."

There's something to be said for the Messala Warlord -- he's easily bigger 
  than Hashim of Sarazen had been, and even Numair of Behzad. With his 
  towering height, his rumbling basso voice, and the sheer *presence* of the 
  man, he is the epitome of all that is Varati manhood, so far as the young 
  shudra can tell... and thus, the epitome of all that represents why she dare 
  not look up as she makes her answer, and why she holds her kneeling position 
  with a patience hammered into her by years of experience with the heavy 
  hands of Warlords. For a fraction of an instant she is surprised, 
  neverthless. And for a fraction of an instant her head jerks, as though she 
  might think to look up... but she does not. There is no surprise registering 
  in the cadences of her voice, however, as she says, "I have that gift, 
  Imphadi Warlord."

Nodding his huge head slowly, more as though he dips his chin in a miniscule 
  manner than truly nodding, in affirmation of this idea."Recently I came 
  across a healer. When they touched me, they froze me in place so that I 
  couldn't move. It felt as though all of my muscles were flexed at once, I 
  would call it painful." Sumai begins to explain to you as though he really 
  doesn't care about anything he is telling you, "That is the past, this is 
  now. You, as you have told me, are of the same magus school. I would have 
  you use your skill to ascertain whether or not the enemy has left any manner 
  of damage inside me." more so that he can know how much time he has to kill 
  that little irritant before he dies himself.

It has not been so long since her last meeting with this man that Faanshi has 
  forgotten the nature of the questions he gave her -- and now, her eyes 
  momentarily widen over her veil, downcast though those eyes are. You'd 
  spoken before of the Domina Cynara... a healer whose reputation is less than 
  sterling. Sheltered a life though she may lead, even gentle Faanshi is aware 
  of this. And it does not take much mental effort to wonder if that 
  particular winged lady is the healer of which you speak. Faanshi feels a 
  shiver of dismay course through her at the thought -- but what further 
  thoughts she may have, she keeps within her. Just once, she bobs her head, 
  peeking upwards just a fraction, though not high enough to meet the stern 
  gaze upon her. "I shall do so swiftly, Imphadi," she murmurs shyly, "if I 
  may... have your leave to touch you?" There; it's subtle, but it's there, a 
  slight tremor in her voice as though she cannot entirely disguise her own 
  shock at the notion of what she is being asked to do.

For a moment there is a pause of thought. where he ponders the merits and 
  drawbacks of that particular happening. To be touched by a half breed, 
  though what she be is hardly her fault, or never know whetehr the wretched 
  pidgeon has left some time bomb inside him, "You may, and you may look at me 
  as well if you need to do so in the course of examining me." Sumai replies 
  to you in his big, rich voice as he looks down on you. Indeed, he knows 
  you're afraid of him, most normal Varati are afraid of him let alone those 
  are so far below him. "Do you require me to do anything so that you may 
  complete a full examination?" his voice asks in a neutral manner.

"No, Imphadi, if I may touch you, it will suffice." With that, gingerly, 
  Faanshi lifts herself up from where she kneels. There is grace in her 
  movements, though whether it is the grace of a well-trained servant, the 
  product of whatever Varati blood she may have within her, or something else 
  entirely is anyone's guess. But even as she stands, she continues to hold 
  herself with a maidenly bashfulness. Her gaze does lift so that she may take 
  in more of your massive frame, though she still does not meet your eyes. At 
  best, she takes in enough to determine where best she may place a hand to 
  minimize the contact she must make... while still doing what she must. Only 
  one hand does she stretch forth, and it is dainty and well-made, the fingers 
  she splays out feather-light of touch as they finally come to rest against 
  one broad shoulder. "I will be swift," she promises... and with that, she 
  closes her eyes to touch her magic and call it forth.

"Be thorough, not swift." Sumai commands in a firm but not rough voice, 
  brooking no insolence but also making sure that he doesn't send you 
  scampering like a scared mouse out of his room. His olive-brown eyes watch 
  you as you reach your hand out to find some purchase upon him, so Sumai 
  chooses to aid you with your search for a body part of his to grasp and 
  offer you his hand. The hand is huge, probably big enough to 'palm' your 
  head, and tough as leather from years of wielding weapons. Indeed there are 
  numerous small scars that fleck his skin in tough, pale flesh in places. His 
  eyes watch your movements very carefully to make certain you act safely and 
  in a proper manner as well.

"Yes, Impadi." The hand, then, not the shoulder. As her fingers are 
  intercepted, Faanshi permits no show of surprise, and merely accepts this as 
  right. Those two words along with a nod are her only answer, and as her much 
  smaller hand is engulfed in the grip of your own, the leaf-green eyes that 
  are all that is visible of her countenance between her sari and her veil 
  close in deep concentration. Her returning grip... it's gentle as a woman's 
  grip should be, without presumption or insolence in the amount of pressure 
  from her delicate fingers. But then... she doesn't need much, just skin to 
  skin, to call up what lies within her.

And it comes swiftly, a magic once fractious, made tamer after many months 
  of diligent practice and a few urgent times when she's had to save a life. 
  To one who could read the Aether it would register as an upswelling of 
  warmth, like a sunbeam breaking through clouds to fall upon the face. For 
  Faanshi, it is simply an extension of her own awareness, a flicker of fire 
  within her that races out through her palm and fingertips to seek out the 
  shape and substance of the Varati man whose hand she holds. _Seek,_ she 
  tells herself. Seek illness or injury or _wrongness_, any sign that he who 
  is Messala itself is anything less than he should be...

The warmth creeps into his hand and through the powerful wrist with the corded 
  muscle, up the massiv bicep that is nearly as large as your head. Then it 
  spreads into his chest and torso, cavernous and seemingly endless as it 
  seeks its way through his gut and lungs and heart. Slowly the lava-like flow 
  of magic etches its way into the other massive arm and up through the huge 
  head. Finally the cords of his legs and into his knees the warmth spreads 
  across and into his vast frame fully so that you can sense everything. His 
  right shoulder olds an incredibly deep scar, likely at the point when it 
  happened several years ago the Warlord nearly lost his arm. Other than that 
  there are numerous tiny scars across almost every single inch of his body 
  from hundreds of different weapons at hundreds of different times. There is 
  nothing, he seems to be as healthy as a young bull and nearly as strong.

A healer of lesser power -- or perhaps less sensitive temperament -- might not 
  be able to feel it, but Faanshi does. The scars are long since healed, but 
  still the flesh remembers the abuse it has taken; the maiden, as her magic 
  speaks to her of those old wounds, can be felt to flinch as if reacting to 
  those blows striking her own small form. The power lingers on that old 
  shoulder wound the longest, before Faanshi can redirect her seeking 
  elsewhere -- and it seems to the shudra that perhaps, such an old, deep 
  wound must surely sometimes twinge when the weather changes, or give other 
  periodic remembrances of its presence. She has touched wounds like it. And 
  her magic soaks through that old hurt, the sun-golden warmth leaving in its 
  wake a sense of suppleness that even one who cannot read the Aether must 
  feel in his own flesh. But the shudra cannot heal that hurt, not entirely; 
  at last, with an effort, she pulls herself up out of her self-imposed trance 
  and pulls her power back within herself. Her fingers release what fragile 
  grip they've made, and Faanshi shivers for a moment, lifting her other hand 
  to her own temple.

Turning his head slightly so that he looks down on his old shoulder wound, the 
  one taht nearly deprived him of his arm, when you relieve some of the old 
  pain from it to leave it smoother and more manueverable than it once was. 
  His brow furrows into a knit for a moment and then he slowly rolls the joint 
  before he looks back down to you, "You found nothing, I presume?" Sumai says 
  in a manner that is interested in your findings. Drawing his hand back when 
  you have released it from your own smaller and softer ones and not a moment 
  before, lest he interfere with your ability to complete the task. Not 
  presuming, nor fearing in any manner what you may have found inside of him. 
  Death is of no consequence, he has no fear of it whatsoever.

"You are very healthy, Imphadi," the shudra maiden murmurs. Her tone remains 
  deferential, though now there is a slight rasp, a bit of a hoarseness, to 
  those gentle cadences. "As... near as I can tell... if the other... healer 
  harmed you, the effects have passed." The moment her hand has been freed, 
  Faanshi steps back again and drops down into the kneeling position she had 
  previously held, though she is a fraction slower resuming that place than 
  she had been before.

Moving to the entrance to the room he moves the chains aside with a *clinking* 
  of steel tapping against steel. "Bring some water." he orders a shudra 
  waiting outside the flap of his chamber. Then his massive frame walks its 
  way across the room slowly towards his bier before he turns and looks back 
  at you, "Have some water and rest to regain your strength." he says in a 
  manner that might be an invitation, but it sounds teh tone of a command as 
  much as it does anything. "What is it that you did to the wound of my 
  shoulder?" he asks you in a curious manner, something nearly resembling a 
  different tone in his voice.

The brief diversion of your attention is enough of an interlude that Faanshi 
  can pull a deep breath into her lungs from behind her veil. Attuned to the 
  sound of those heavy footfalls, she gives herself only as long as it takes 
  for you to turn back to her to rally her wits, lower her hand to rest it 
  with her mate in her lap, and hide as best she can any further signs that 
  she might have taxed her strength. No warrior is Faanshi, but still, there 
  is something stoic in the carriage of her frame. "As I... looked for 
  wrongness within you," she whispers, with just enough of a hint of 
  awkwardness to suggest that she knows no better way of phrasing it, "I... 
  felt the old hurt. I have felt... wounds like it, before... my magic wanted 
  to make it feel better." For the barest breath of an instant, she pauses. 
  And then she concludes humbly, almost without tone now, "I apologize for my 
  presumption, Imphadi Warlord... you did not command that of me, I know." 
  Ever so slightly, her shoulders stiffen, as though she is unconsciously 
  bracing herself for a blow.

Just a few seconds after you finish speaking the shudra comes in with a small 
  treasure trove of water, a good gallon of cool water would do a body good. 
  Especially in this hot chamber that the Warlord keeps. The small female 
  leaves the room at a dismissal wave of the hand from her lord. Sumai, 
  himself, is silent while teh small girl is inside and then even until after 
  you have had a few drinks of the water. Easing down onto his bier so that he 
  lay upon his pillows easily, starting to recline onto his side. "No, it is 
  not a bad thing that you have done this. Though it appears to have winded 
  you." the grand man says in his deep voice as he watches you kneel and 
  drink. "Will the relief be permanent or will it fade away and bring back the 
  old pain?" he asks you in at houghtful manner.

Faanshi dares not utter anything to the shudra who bestows upon her that gift 
  of water, but the look she shoots the other girl is full of undisguised 
  gratitude. Undisguised relief joins it -- and then unmistakable 
  consternation. Between the heat of the room and the effort she has evidently 
  put forth, a faint sheen of sweat now glimmers upon the healer's brow... but 
  between her and water's easing is her blue silken veil. Her hands lift and 
  pause, unsure. And then she seems to settle for dipping forth a cupful of 
  water first, then pulling down her veil with one hand, cradling the cup in 
  her other, and inclining her face further forward such that she must almost 
  lap the water out of the cup rather than simply drink it. But this also 
  keeps her face more or less out of view, and her veil from being dampened. 
  Once she has moistened her throat -- _oh praise Ushas that tastes wondrous_ 
  -- Faanshi breathes out earnestly, "I... am not certain, Imphadi Warlord. I 
  have... eased old pain before, but sometimes it has returned... sometimes it 
  hasn't." Upon her own discomfort she makes no comment.

His lips press against one another for a moment as he considers those words 
  carefully, as he thinks he gives you persmission, "Please, drink all that 
  you need. I had it summoned so that you could." Sumai says in that deep and 
  resonant voice. Indeed, it would appear that his shudra and naraki are well 
  maintained and treated with some manner of respect, though not his equal 
  they are allowed some dignity. The one who brought you water wore better 
  clothing than you did when he first saw you and most of the others do as 
  well. When he finally does speak again, after you have had whatever amount 
  more of the water you desire, "It was healed by a novice a few minutes after 
  the damage was done. His mentor was killed earlier that day, fortunately he 
  was on the verged of his... graduation? He did a competent job. Will it make 
  a difference since it was healed before?"

The shudra of Messala, wearing better garb than this shudra of Clan Khalida? 
  Indeed, such seems to be the case. Not that Faanshi's garb is not 
  respectable -- the silk she wears is certainly finely made, stitched by an 
  able hand. But there are obvious signs of use upon her simple outfit, places 
  here and there where an observant eye (such as, perhaps, the eye of a 
  Warlord, a leader of men) might mark less sure stitching than in others. One 
  may well guess that this particular shudra does not call upon the generosity 
  of the Clan whose colors she wears very often, and that what clothes she is 
  allotted are put to as much use as she can eke out of them. Nor does she 
  seem inclined to drink overmuch of the water that has been set before her, 
  "Thank you, Imphadi," she breathes, and even as she paces herself through a 
  second cup of the water, Faanshi knows a moment of panic. To be questioned 
  by a Warlord about her power, to be asked to give forth opinions as if what 
  she might utter could have even a tiny importance -- it is only slightly 
  less daunting than being questioned by the Maharani herself. She lowers her 
  now-empty cup, lifts her veil back into place, and answers after a moment's 
  thought, "I can... only speak of the _feel_ of the wound to me, Imphadi..." 
  This, uttered as if in obvious conclusion that the 'feel' of something to a 
  shudra halfbreed girl must surely be of less consequence than the verdict of 
  the male healer who presumably healed the wound when it was first suffered. 
  "But... if I understand what I have sensed correctly, a greater healer than 
  I could take the wound away entirely... I do not think I could. There is no 
  damage that I can mend... just... soreness, that I can ease."

Nodding his head a little bit at these words that you have offered him the 
  Warlord releases a deep breath and then looks directly at you. "You have my 
  thanks, girl. You have done me a service and I shall not forget that you 
  have done well by me. If you wish, I can have you brought some small amount 
  of coinage for you to do with as you please." his heavy, rolling voice says 
  to you as his face, impassive as a mountain side, watches you, "You are 
  dismissed now, my apologies for summoning you on such short notice." he 
  finishes speaking and gives you leave to request some small payment and/or 
  be gone.

Knowing a dismissal when she hears one, Faanshi begins to rise -- but what 
  catches her by surprise, even as she gets to her feet, is the _apology_. For 
  the briefest of moments she is stunned enough that she actually peeks fully 
  upward, large, luminous eyes above her veil gone wide with shock. So stunned 
  is she that she almost does not not even register the fact that she has been 
  offered payment as well. Then she catches herself and hastily jerks her gaze 
  downward again, shaking her head and murmuring, "I-I require no payment, 
  Imphadi...!" That is all she manages to utter, by way of demonstrating that 
  she is choosing to take the second of those two options. She cannot recover 
  enough composure to explain that it simply feels wrong to her to take coins 
  for what she does; indeed, she has barely enough composure now to sketch an 
  appropriately deep curtsey, murmur a final "Namaste"... and flee.

[End log.]