"The Vision of Loss"

Log Date:
	9/30, 10/8/00

Log Cast:
	Faanshi, Delilah

Log Intro:
	For months and months now, Faanshi has fretted in Haven over her
long-absent beloved, the Mongrel bard Lyre Talespinner. He has been gone to
Avalon, in search of a way to liberate his sister and his sister's son from
slavery -- a cause for which Faanshi cannot help but hope for success. Many
in the city would say that she herself is a slave of the Varati, and while
she does not agree with such a sentiment, still there is a deep concern
within her for those who do suffer in the bonds of slavery. For those close
to the man she loves, even if she has never met them, she suffers a concern
that's particularly deep.
	And Lyre himself has never left her thoughts, not throughout the
whole cruel winter that has besieged Haven. Not throughout the search for
the Sylvans responsible for the violation of the ritual of Invoking the
Flame on which she has been sent, and the war which the Clans of the Varati
have made upon one another... and not through the beginnings of a strange 
friendship with a young Varati seeress she's found on the streets of Haven and 
restored back to the care of her rightful people.
	Faanshi does not dare to call a kshatri girl her friend -- but 
Delilah, adopted into Clan Messala, has other ideas. And because she _does_
call the young shudra healer her friend, Delilah has a profound concern of
her own when she seeks Faanshi out with word of a dire vision that has come
over her....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Afternoon 
          Date on Aether:  Monday, March 3, 3907. 
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Full 
                  Season:  Early Spring 
                 Weather:  Rain 
             Temperature:  Bracing 
*==========================================================================*

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:
Delilah
Kosha
Obvious exits:
Courtyard <C>


DOG HAIR! Dog hair for EVERYONE! Well, all right, perhaps just dog hair for 
  Faanshi, but as far as Kosha is concerned, that's all for the best. He lives 
  for his beloved healer, after all. She pulls splinters out of his paws and 
  brings him delicious things to eat and knows exactly the right places to 
  scritch behind his ears. Naturally, it is his canine duty to share with her 
  as much of his loose hair as possible!
Which is exactly what Kosha is doing, on this spring afternoon near 
  Atesh-Gah's fountain, fortunately unpopulated at this particular hour. Kosha 
  is not a small dog. And therefore the cloud of dog hair lifting up from his 
  sizeable form as Faanshi kneels beside him, brushing him with a vigor she 
  doesn't normally show to anyone else in any other task, isn't small either.

Not even when she Heals? As the shudra 'tortures' the dog with the brush, A 
  small, slight girl peeks into the area containing the fountain. Even if her 
  head is all that anyone at the fountain would see, those familiar with her 
  usual clashing-colored silks would notice the new silver and navy colors 
  with relief. As she spies her intended target, she ducks her head back and 
  enters fully into the fountain area, smoky eyes filled with purpous.

Well, if Kosha considers it torture, he's not giving any sign of it. In fact, 
  the big canine is wriggling happily under the ministrations from the brush. 
  The fact that Faanshi is murmuring gently to him every so often and 
  alternating the strokes of the brush with the ear-scritches that are Kosha's 
  favorite thing in the world (ranking alongside a new bone from the kitchens) 
  probably has something to do with this -- but then, Kosha's a happy-natured 
  hound. His tail thumps against the cobblestones beneath him, and as he 
  espies the small figure coming closer, he lets out a deep resonant whurf. 
  Faanshi then starts in reaction, her head swiveling around. Who--?

Delilah grins at the dog and offers it a peice of jerky she'd had in her 
  pouch. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything." she says, still smiling. "I 
  just want to ask you some questions." she says, still holign out the 
  inviting meat. She'd gotten it just in case Faanshi WAS doing something with 
  Kosha. It would help relax the 'breed considerably if she did, or so she 
  tells herself.

Ooo! Food? Food for Kosha? Food for KOSHA! The dog perks up quite visibly at 
  the proffered jerky, craning his head forward to scarf it neatly out of the 
  girl's fingers. Faanshi, in the meantime, goes still for a few moments and 
  then at last collects enough composure to turn around a bit where she's 
  already kneeling, inclining her head gravely. "As you wish, Imphada," she 
  murmurs.

Delilah grimaces at the gravity. She's not THAT important. "Try being a little 
  more friendly towards your friends, eh?" she mutters before raising her 
  voice. "I had a vision that may or may not have something to do with you." 
  she says as she jerks her hand back from the dog's teeth. She then sits down 

Does Faanshi catch those murmured words? Difficult to tell. The maiden doesn't 
  seem inclined to give much away, and between the thick veil that conceals 
  her lower face and her habit of keeping her eyes averted, she manages to 
  keep her expression from being readable. Her body language is another matter 
  entirely, but perhaps she hasn't figured this out yet. As Kosha inhales the 
  jerky, wagging his tail at top speed at Delilah in gratitude for her 
  largess, the shudra does seem to start ever so slightly. "A... vision?"

Delilah nods. "It was startlingly clear, but still vague." she says, petting 
  the hound dog she she sits, "Someone died and I knew that it would break 
  your heart." She finally says, peering up at the maiden. "Or at least, the 
  one who will be hurt is close to me." she adds uncertainly.

Faanshi is no seeress. But when one who _is_ a seeress, even a young one, 
  comes to her with word of a vision of death, the healer maiden cannot help 
  but feel a shiver of cold dread spill down her spine. Nor can she help but 
  freeze for an instant or two. The brush drops from her suddenly nerveless 
  fingers, and only when she finds the ability to move again does she turn 
  instinctively to Kosha, coaxing him towards her with an outstretched hand, 
  needing the physical contact with the big hound. "There... h-has been... 
  much death among the Varati people as of late, Imphada," she croaks.

Delilah shakes her head. "Can you truthfully tell me that you're heart would 
  be broken if any Varati died?" she asks, "And the more time I spend looking 
  at you, the more sure I am it is you." she adds firmly, just a little bit 
  sorry for what she is about to do, but feeling it is all for the better.

Because she is shudra and because she is halfbreed, it might be expected that 
  Faanshi would meet any deaths among the Varati without grief. But because 
  she is a healer, because she is _Faanshi_, a part of her gentle heart feels 
  a pang of sorrow each time she hears of someone having died, regardless of 
  their race. The memory of dead and dying people in the plague-stricken Tent 
  City still periodically haunts her. So does the recollection of deaths meted 
  out as punishments within Atesh-Gah itself. Even the death of the Warlord 
  Hashim occasionally crosses her remembrance in a searing flame -- though, 
  mercifully, it has become muted with the passage of time.
But there's a difference between a healer's sorrow over death in general and 
  deaths which mean something to _her_, and Faanshi knows it. Eyes turned dark 
  and haunted, the maiden rubs her fingertips across Kosha's skull for a few 
  moments as she breathes, "I never rejoice in deah, little Imphada... 
  anyone's death..." And then her gaze comes up, hollow and more than a little 
  frightened, though she does not dare to release the dread she feels into her 
  voice. "Death surrounds me. I cannot rejoice in it...!"

And being the witness to thousands of deaths and being helpless to save the 
  people is any different? It is any easier to deal with? Delilah may not cry 
  at night, but it still hurts however much she ignores it. Yet she has been 
  spared the knowledge of the death of a loved one. In a truely caring and 
  mature way, the young seeress puts a hand on the halfbreed's shoulder 
  sympathetically. "Death surrounds you, but so does life" she says, trying to 
  find words to reassure and comfort. But she is only in her thirteenth 
  spring, and still young.

Indeed, there isn't much difference in frustrated, thwarted effort between a 
  healer who's had a life in her slender sungolden hands and lost it -- and a 
  young seeress with death in her dreams. At least not when it comes to a 
  familiarity with death. It is perhaps a cognizance of that common bond that 
  allows Faanshi to keep her gaze up for the time being, for all that the 
  younger maid's attempt at consolation does not seem to ease the shadow in 
  the healer's leaf-green eyes. "Other people's lives," she points out. 
  Another person might say it bitterly, or angrily, or enviously. Not so 
  Faanshi. Her soft voice is merely resigned, with only a bare hint of 
  profound sadness beneath the murmured words. "I do say prayers of thanks, 
  when good fortune enters them..." And as if by way of demonstration, the 
  healer's gaze slips tentatively across the clothing that Delilah now wears, 
  while she concludes softly, "You wear the colors of Clan Messala now..."

Delilah nods, a small creeping into lips that cannot be seen. But like any 
  other emotion, the small happyness and delight are visible in her expressive 
  smoky eyes. "Yes. And Imphadi Sumai is teaching me to read and write.." she 
  says, clearly not getting at what the healer is getting at.

What Faanshi is getting at is a desperate attempt to change the subject, for 
  there is still dread within her at the prospect of Delilah asking her of 
  things about which she fears to think, much less speak. But she is not 
  without honest joy that the young kshatri before her has found a new 
  guardian. Has not the death of the Imphadi Foreign Minister impacted her 
  life, after all? And has not Holy Ushas demonstrated Her mercy in guiding 
  the child to a new, powerful guardian who will protect her and guard her as 
  her birthright demands? Now her head bows again, though this time it is in 
  humble acknowledgement. "H-he is a good man... and just," she whispers. "I 
  rejoice in your new fortune..!"

Delilah looks at Faanshi with peircing smoky eyes. "You're changing the 
  subject, Faanshi." she says. "Sumai is a kind, handsome, and very 
  intellegent man, but that has nothing to do with why I came here and told 
  you." she says firmly and calmly.

The handsomeness or lack thereof of any full-blooded Varati man, much less a 
  Warlord, is not a subject upon which the likes of Faanshi can comment. Or so 
  at least Faanshi believes, and thus does she refrain from the slightest word 
  on that particular attribute of Messala's Warlord. Now, though, the 
  unexpected clear pronouncement from Delilah, eerily reminiscent of her lost 
  beloved old great-aunt -- and for that matter, of the old Sylvan matriarch 
  who has told Faanshi she once knew her _father_ -- prods again at that dread 
  lurking within her belly. Her gaze drops to her lap, and she can barely 
  manage a whisper as she replies, "What... more... would you tell me, 
  Imphada...?"

Delilah stares at the ground for a moment. This is getting way out of control 
  on her part.. Best be direct, something the young kshatri seeress has little 
  experiance at. "That you need to stop wallowing in self pity." she says 
  bluntly. "Now, Who is male, and his death would break your heart?" she asks, 
  switchign subjects rapidly.

It's not often that someone of pure Varati blood tells Faanshi she's pitying 
  herself. Indeed, it's arguable that this is the very first time that these 
  words have been uttered to the shudra maiden, and Faanshi visibly flinches. 
  She can't win for losing; either she is repeatedly told that she must never 
  forget her place, and what sorrow it might cause her to be forced to occupy 
  it be damned... or else when she struggles to hold to her place and keep her 
  sorrows inside where no one can see them, she is chastised. The confusion of 
  all of this slashes across her eyes, for at least in her inner heart Faanshi 
  has never actually pitied herself. Believed herself to be worthless, yes. 
  Repeatedly reminded herself that she is as nothing in the eyes of those with 
  pure blood, oh yes indeed. But called herself 'poor Faanshi' or dwelt upon 
  how horrible it is that she has the life she does? No. Her gaze upon Delilah 
  is entirely uncomprehending, therefore -- at least until that next question. 
  Then the shudra maiden goes entirely rigid, the bafflement in her eyes 
  draining away in favor of what can only be outright terror. Though her veil 
  hides it, her lips begin to quiver. And it seems to cost her great effort to 
  gasp out, "There is... a-a-a man, Imphada..."

Delilah's eyes show sympathy. The poor girl! "Who, Faanshi? As your friend, 
  you can trust me not to hit you or treat you as anything less than a equal 
  whenever possable." she adds in a reassuring tone. Faanshi is harder to 
  predict than Sumai, but Delilah hasn't really watches every movement of the 
  shudra like she has her warlord either.

"A-A Mongrel man... a bard... my... beloved...." These words escape Faanshi in 
  the barest of whispers. Perhaps later, she might actually register Delilah's 
  promise to treat her as if she herself were kshatri. Right now, all that 
  occupies her consciousness is an upswelling of panic. How many nights has 
  she tossed and turned with worry for Lyre Talespinner, gone into the Empyre 
  to rescue his sister and her son, bent on taking them to freedom in Avalon 
  -- named by Khalid Atar himself as fair game for any Warlord strong enough 
  to claim it? How many times has she been unable to banish the thought of the 
  man she loves pierced by an arrow from the bows of those who are _supposed_ 
  to be her people? With the panic, then, comes a desperate denial. He must 
  come home to Haven. He must. Though that possibility has grown slenderer 
  with each passing day, clinging to it has often been all that's pulled 
  Faanshi through the merciless winter. Her eyes fill with pleading, and her 
  hands reach imploringly for the young girl, though she dares not touch her. 
  "Tell me... tell me you did not see a Mongrel bard...!"

Delilah notices the hand with just a touch of regret. She's got so many years 
  of continioning to break with the Shudra, but she's also got years to spare. 
  "I dunno." She says truthfully. "It was a man, yes, but He could have been 
  Sylvan for all I know. Describe your Beloved." She says in a tone that 
  carrys not even a hint of command. She closes her eyes briefly to remember 
  the features of the man. they weren't clear, as they were rather bloody, 
  don't ya know?

"Brown hair," Faanshi croaks, aware now that she is trembling but unable to 
  stop herself. "Touched by the sun... b-brown eyes... a few inches taller 
  than I... h-his voice is deep..." She can hear it now, Lyre's gravelly 
  baritone calling her 'dove'. Calling her beautiful. He hasn't been the only 
  man to do so, but thus far, he's been the only man from whom Faanshi could 
  almost believe such words. One corner of her mind seizes upon a tiny crumb 
  of hope, though. A Sylvan? If Delilah saw a Sylvan it might be a vision of 
  the past. StormBearer, perhaps. She cannot by any stretch of the imagination 
  be happy about her first Sylvan friend also being dead... but if Delilah saw 
  _him_, then Lyre may still come home. And she cannot help but ask, "Th-the 
  vision, Imphada... was it of the... the past?"

Delilah shakes her head. "I can not see the past." She says, "And I'm afriad, 
  from your discription that it is your Beloved." she says sadly. "But what I 
  see is NOT what will happen" She adds, "Things can change." She says as 
  calmly as she can.

A tiny strangled noise is all that Faanshi is able to make by way of reply. 
  Her hands drop heavily, as though they'd turned to stone, and from the way 
  her eyes have gone wide above her veil one might almost think a dagger has 
  just been plunged into her heart. Kosha, watching all of this, lets out a 
  little whine and nudges her with his furry nose... but Faanshi does not seem 
  to see the big dog now. Her trembling increases.

Delilah's face is a mask of saddness and anguish just as much as Faanshi's. Is 
  it a gift, this vision, or a curse? Is Knowing worth the pain she gives as 
  well as takes? She stands and makes her way over to the Shudra, taking the 
  older girl into a comforting embrace that she doubts the shudra ever had 
  from someone like her.

No, indeed, Faanshi is unaccustomed to receiving comforting embraces from 
  kshatri girls. Other arms have held her, to be sure -- and images of those 
  who have comforted this shudra maiden might perchance flash across the 
  awareness of the young seeress. Sylvans -- two women, both smaller than 
  Faanshi, one who has a mother's look about her and the other an ancient 
  matriarch with clouded eyes. But no Varati, for all that Faanshi dresses in 
  Varati clothing and seems as loyal a follower of the Most High as anyone in 
  Atesh-Gah. And Faanshi shivers in Delilah's impulsively offered embrace, her 
  arms coming up almost woodenly to return it. Her veiled face turns 
  fractionally towards the young girl's head, and now the erratic gasp of her 
  breath might be heard as she struggles to get control of herself.

Has she ever been allowed to cry? The though is filled with much sadness, and 
  Delilah pats the older woman's back, in a comforting fashion. "My visions 
  are only 50-50 percent correct.." The girl says, akwardly holding the taller 
  woman as best she can. "Lyre may still be alive." She says, shivvering. That 
  vision had come repeatedly, and with force, so it is more than likely that 
  it will happen and soon. But Delilah continues her comforting, hoping that 
  it will help.

Somehow....

[End log.]