"Laying the Groundwork" Log Date: 1/10/01 Log Cast: Faanshi, Mehul, Salmalin Log Intro: Faanshi has been given the daunting task of serving her mistress as an ambassador to the Sylvans in and around the city of Haven -- a task which to Faanshi seems far more appropriate for a fine kshatri than a humble shudra such as herself. Thalia Tritonides Khalida, however, thinks otherwise, and has even slyly circumvented the demands of custom and caste by acquiring a disgraced drunkard of a kshatri to claim the title of Voice to the Sylvans openly for the benefit of her Court, while Faanshi does the actual work. But Thalia has not told her how she should begin, and so Faanshi must try to figure out on her own not only how to carry out this latest decree of the Queen's, but also how to get two very different men to get along with one another as she does.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Late Morning Date on Aether: Tuesday, September 6, 3907. Year on Earth: 1507 A.D. Phase of the Moon: New Season: Late Summer Weather: Partly Cloudy Temperature: Warm *==========================================================================* Faanshi is not normally a woman of nervous energy... but even a gentle soul like her can get restless under the proper circumstances. The need to convince Salmalin al'Sar to head out to visit the Sylvan tribes certainly qualifies as such circumstances -- especially when she cannot help but wonder which tribe would be proper to visit first. Ettowealona? Apisachi? Faanshi has seen the very edges of both of those tribes' territories, and she's even spoken to one or two from both of them... or so she suspects, if the wolf-graisha woman she still vividly remembers was indeed an Apisachi. But which of them would be _safer_ to visit? Which of them would be less likely to turn away a trio of evident Varati, and a little bit more willing to give any credence to the diluted blood of a Son of Earth that runs within her veins? Neither are the city Sylvans, who knew her very own father. And so Faanshi paces before the interested gaze of Kosha, though the dog's concerns are far more prosaic and primarily involve when he'll next get to be a) scritched, and b) fed. "You are troubled." The voice comes from behind the pacing shudra woman, a kind and soothing voice, one that echoes with a touch of concern. By now it should be easily identifiable. Mehul emerges from the non-existant shadows which had somehow held him from the view of Faanshi, and approaches her at a slow pace to rest a hand upon her shoulder, squeezing it and giving a soft smile, as soft as his smiles get, down to the dog Kosha, one that most likely promises skitches later. "What is it?" His clothes are less than formal today, rather casual, garments untucked and unattended and a touch more elegant than what is normally seen upon the graisha Hunter, and his hair, which is usualy left free, today is done up behind him in a ponytail, perhaps to keep it from those charcoal eyes. Kosha sits up a bit as Mehul comes up, tail giving a few lazy wags and his tongue lolling amiably, while Faanshi turns and lifts an anxious gaze to the big Varati man -- though now, said gaze softens a trifle, easing at the sight of him. "I have been thinking of what to do next," she explains, and her voice takes on a bit of a brighter tone as well. "Namaste', Mehul." That gaze always dummies up Mehul, so as a result it takes him a moment or two to discern her meaning but he nods, his face taking on a distant and thoughtfull expression. "Which tribe to visit." It's as much a question as it is a statement, and the Varati's hand slides from Faanshi's shoulder. He then colors briefly, and adds, "Namaste Faanshi." Fortunately for Mehul, dark complexions hide blushes very well, almost as effectively as Faanshi's smoky veil. But if she senses his blush, the maiden certainly does not appear to mind it. Her fingers close shyly around Mehul's own as she bobs her head earnestly, saying, "Yes... we should go, and soon... but I cannot decide...!" The admission is a humble one, but before Mehul as she has been before no other Son of Fire, Faanshi is comfortable enough to make it. "Between the Ettowealona or the Apisachi...!" As those small sungolden fingers wrap about his, Mehul accepts them in kind, twining and lacing with her to squeeze her hand gently and smile downward in to those beautiful green eyes. "If I may...?" he asks, a bit tentatively, offering to give his opinion on the matter before continuing. "I might recomend visiting the Ettowealona first. They are a kinder and more open tribe, more likely to accept us, in particular you, as I'm certain they are more familar wtih Haven than the Apisachi. They probably have heard, at the very least, of your healing and affection for their kind." He was going to say graisha... Again the maiden bobs her head, listening quite seriously, delicate dark brows drawn together in consideration. "The city Sylvans know me best," she acknowledges when Mehuls is done, "but... I actually have tried to visit the Ettowealona before, though they did not permit me and my acarya FallingStar into their territory. I do not know if they will remember me though...!" "Still..." Mehul insists, and though his tone may be indeed quite serious and lacking in any particular tone, that warm affectionate smile of his never once wavers. "They are more likely to perimt you than the warlike Apisachi, are they not? They never let outsiders in. Your best bet would be to go through the Ettowealona first and use their influence and what you have achieved there to get your foot in the door with the Apisachi later." With a soft sigh, Faanshi answers fretfully, "Assuming that the Ettowealona will let us past the edge of their territory this time.. their guards were very insistent." Her brow furrows, and in a small voice she adds, "I should speak of this to the Imphadi al'Sar as well..." "Once they know who you are..." Mehul assures, lifting her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss and a squeeze, "and why you have come, I am sure they will let you pass." And if that doesn't work, well, Mehul himself will just have to see if something can be done about that. Whether she smiles cannot be determined -- at least if one only tries to look for Faanshi's mouth. Her eyes make up for that lack, though, growing brighter still at that gentle kiss to her hand. "I hope so," she murmurs. "At the very least, I hope that we can find someone who will take the news of the Voice in to the tribes, even if they will not let us enter ourselves..." Then she trails off, casting an anxious glance towards Atesh-Gah. "Or even just myself..." Another nod comes from Mehul as he slowly lowers Faanshi's hand, keeping it clasped though as they both come to hang at his side. He sighs a little bit, following her gaze back to the Atesh-Gah, "Do not fear, Faanshi. I am certain things will work out. One way, or another." [Mehul's faith is a wondrous thing to Faanshi -- she who is not exactly used to having faith in herelf, much less other people having it. But it is enough to make her look for an opportunity to discuss the matter with the _other_ individual who must needs influence a trip to see Sylvans: Salmalin al'Sar, he who has been made to take the title of Voice while she must do his work. And Faanshi is less than sure she will be able to make Salmalin abandon his wine long enough to make the trip with her -- or get along well with Mehul, for that matter....] *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Night (Dawnside) Date on Aether: Wednesday, September 7, 3907. Year on Earth: 1507 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waxing Crescent Season: Late Summer Weather: Partly Cloudy Temperature: Warm *==========================================================================* 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: Salmalin Kosha Obvious exits: Courtyard Waters splashes from the fountain this evening. It is not the normal gurgle as is expected by those familiar with the surroundings, but instead is the sound of intrusion. There is a body within the fountain... well... there is a man standing in the fountain with his pants pulled up to the knees. His shirt hangs on a branch to the side dripping water down to the ground. The faint illumination of torches allows one to see well enough without straining, but when did the Varati have problems with the dark? A small tune is hummed as the man moves around, captivated by something in the churning waters. She's been looking all over Atesh-Gah during the course of the last day or two for her ostensible sirdar -- but today, as has often been the case over the last several days, Salmalin al'Sar has managed to elude Faanshi's tentative efforts to locate him. Now, tired from another long day and a trek out into Bordertown to help an old Mongrel woman whose son serves as a shudra within the Varati embassy, the shudra maiden comes trudging to the fountain's vicinity, cradling her lyre in her arms and in search of a quiet place under the trees somewhere where she might practice. But she is stopped short by the sight of the very man she's been seeking, here in the last place she expected to find him -- and the soft tread of her footsteps becomes punctuated by a startled gasp. The gasp is heard and Salmalin turns around, the color on his back becoming a blur. He grins at seeing Faanshi and with a leap he jumps from the water. Wet feet land solidly on the ground, his knees bending to absorb the impact. "Faanshi. You have to see this.. " He motions toward the fountain. His grin is large, though it does not seem alchohol induced. He runs a hand through wet hair and takes a step toward the edge, looking over as he says, "It is beautiful. I forget the name, but I am sure that was beautiful too." "N-namaste', Imph--Salmalin, I--" See what? The fountain? She's seen it countless times before, and in fact considers this area around it one of the mos restful places within Atesh-Gah's walls. But since Faanshi has in fact managed to find the Voice, the maiden ventures closer, arms cradling the lyre protectively close while she peeks with uncertain curiosity above her veil. "Is there something odd within the fountain?" Salmalin's head tilts a bit and he looks curiously at Faanshi and then the lyre. Wihthout saying a word he points into the fountain. "I have named her Sarahista... from a story I read once. Although if it is male I suppose it would have to change." He grins a bit and then looks over at Faanshi once more. "I did not know you played. That is wonderful.. you will have to play something for me some time." "You... have named the fountain?" The maiden blinks guileless green eyes, not entirely certain whether Salmalin al'Sar is in fact sober, and with some bemusement she peeks back and forth between him and the bubbling water. And then her gaze drops sharply, as she is reminded of the instrument she carries. Shyly she murmurs, "I am only beginning to learn it..." Salmalin shakes his head and looks at Faanshi. "Are you feeling okay? You seem a little.. lost?" Not that she looks anymore aware at other times, but usually she is able to give the impression of stability. Clearing his throat he just shrugs it off and sits on the edge of the fountain. "No.. the fish. I never noticed her before. It really is amazing. And," he motions to the lyre, ".. if you ever need help." And then.. it comes.. wafting lightly on the air. The scent of wine is there upon the man, though not as strong as other times. Perhaps he ran out and is just waiting to fall asleep now. Enlightenment dawns. Oh. A _fish_. Faanshi blinks a few more times, then leans over slightly and peers into the water, trying to get a glimpse of the creature in question. As she does, though, she registers the kshatri's latter words and goes still for a moment with her startlement. "Do you... um... play?" Salmalin looks over the edge as well with a smile, the smell of wine growing stronger. "There," he says as he points toward something flashing in the water. White and orange peaks up from beneath the water as the fish swims swiftly about. "I just saw her today. I wonder how I managed to miss it." He shakes his head as he considers and then waves a hand in the air. "I did," is the reluctant answer given. Faanshi draws in a soft breath of acknowledgement as she does manage to espy the gleam of scales and fins beneath the surface of the water -- though now her attention is more upon the man than upon the creature he's been admiring. Not entirely certain how to answer those last few words, she considers and then finally timidly ventures, "I... had come out to practice in the gardens... though I have been looking for you, all day..." Salmalin blinks a little and then turns so that he can view Faanshi clearly. Looking down at her from his perch upon the fountain he smiles. "Looking for me? About what?" So far he has had to do very little and it makes him wonder about how long he will be staying. Not that he would mind if he were kicked out, of course. "Do not let me stop you if you wish to practice. I can always leave and find something else to do." So much wine, so little time. "No, please... we do need to speak... I mean, if I may..." It's painfully obvious that for all that she's been encouraged to speak freely with this man, the effort of doing so is still a difficult one for Faanshi. Hesitantly she sits down upon the fountain's rim, settling the battered old lyre gently into her lap, though she doesn't yet try to unwrap it from its covering cloth and play it. But the feel of it in her hands... there's something steadying about it, and although its effect's a subtle one, it is nevertheless there. Her voice gains a bit of quiet strength as she goes on, "I have spread the word out into Haven that the Children of Fire have made a new Voice to the Sylvans... but the word must be taken to the forest tribes as well. I wished... I hoped... to discuss with you which tribe we should go to first...?" Salmalin nods slowly. He reaches out to touch Faanshi's shoulder gently as though he worried for her. "Of course," he whispers before looking away. "The Sylvans.. yes. I have been talking to some of them. Those I find, I mean. They seem quite the fun lot of people. I think it best though to speak with the... the .. Apishi? Apisicha? Whichever.. the ones who are the most likely to give us problems. If we can gain their trust, the others should be easy. Nothing like a show of force to brighten one's day." He looks over at her to make sure he is still making some sense. Is she getting this? "I was also told they might appreciate a fresh kill.. Made honestly of course. Is that a custom? " That Salmalin actually touches her seems to startle the girl all over again -- though she does not flinch, per se. There's simply an upward jerk of her head and a widening of her eyes above her veil. Though, however, the halfbreed pulls in a breath and gives an earnest nod. "Apisachi," she murmurs patiently. And then a little more loudly she goes on, not comfortable that she must do so but nevertheless admitting, "I... am least familiar with the Apisachi, I am afraid. The city Sylvans know me the best. I have only seen one Sylvan I think must have been Apisachi... and then only a single time and not for very long." Salmalin's hand draws away quickly at her reaction and he sighs softly. Right. Bad Sal.. "Apisachi," he whispers to himself. "I take it then that we do not have any records of them? Surely we have encountered them before?" He pushes off the fountain and takes a few steps away, his back to the woman as he feels the dampness of his shirt. Still wet. "No matter.. How difficult can it be?" He asks over his shoulder. It's only been a few short months that she's had the instrument, but Faanshi has nevertheless gotten to the point that she can seldom sit with her lyre and fail to do _something_ with it. Her hands move almost of their own accord to unwrap it from its covering, baring the strings to the air, and soft mellow tones begin to sound out into the night as she begins the diligent work of tuning it as best she can. Steadied a little further by having something to do with her hands, she answers earnestly, "I have not found much in the records in Atesh-Gah... at least... well, the ones that the Master of Records permitted me to read." She doesn't bother to elaborate that the records-keeper is one of those with a history of being less than pleased at a halfbreed in evidently prominent service to the Queen -- and, for that matter, that he looks with a dim eye upon the notion of women who can read and write in general. "But I-I-I can remember that at least since I have come to Atesh-Gah... there have not been very many Sylvans that have come here, and at least... as far as I know... not too many Varati who have gone out to see them. My acarya has told me most of what I know of them." "I can have a talk with him... if you want me to. You do not seem the scroll ruining type. The least he can do is let you read considering this is for the Maharani," Salmalin comments dryly. He stares now up at the dark sky, his hands clasped at the small of his back. No longer does he watch Faanshi. Perhaps it is best that he just speak to her as though it were through a wall.. it is safer that way. "Since we do not have a lot of information.. we can only precede with caution. I hope Mehul can control himself. We do not need a war on our hands... yet. From what I have overheard they do not take kindly to strangers of any kind. Maybe you could soothe them with a song?" _That_ makes Faanshi's fingers jangle momentarily upon the strings. "I-I..." Gracious, she does stammer a lot, doesn't she? With much awkward effort, she forces the stammer out of her voice but must sacrifice volume in exchange, resulting in a tiny mumble of a reply. "I am not that good yet...!" Salmalin turns around with look of confusion. Can he do nothing right? He tries to be friendly, he tries to be.. himself.. Does she like being treated badly? Shaking his head Salmalin shrugs, "There is time. There are still provisions to prepare, arrangements to be made and I think that if you relaxed some it would be easier. Besides it will be something to do during the night as we camp." He smiles weakly and then turns around again. Almost apologetically, Faanshi coaxes a tiny, pure single note out of one of the lyre's strings, as if to try to assure it that she hadn't meant to make it make that unpleasant little noise just now. For a long moment, aware of Salmalin's consternation on some level even through her own, the healer isn't sure what to say. Then finally, humbly, she admits in the lyre's general direction, "I am... not good at relaxing. For--" Now she catches herself, not at all sure either whether this is something for which this kshatri man would actually expect or desire an apology. Still, old habits die hard... and she is genuinely contrite. She concludes meekly, "Forgive me..." "There is nothing to forgive," Salmalin says. "I should not be so surprised by your actions. I suppose that I am just so used to being..." He trails off slowly and then turns around, taking his shirt as well. Though it is still damp he puts it on and gives a a little shiver at its touch. "I am unused to having people do things for me or to consider me any regard that places myself higher than I am." He shrugs and looks toward the fountain exit. "When did you wish to visit these Apisachi?" Up comes the maiden's gaze, still meek, but at least there is a glimmer within it of solemn consideration... and a bit of surprise that her modest admission has been met in kind. A soft chord sounds beneath her sungolden fingers -- the chord of a beginner, not entirely liquid, not yet. The bottom tone sounds a little ahead of its third and fifth, but then again, each of the tones are true. She may be still new to the instrument... but she evidently knows how to tune it. And over it, she answers with something that might almost be hope, "That... sounds familiar to me." Just in time, she catches herself before the habitual 'imphadi' leaves her lips. Between that and needing a moment to register that her opinion has been asked, she must pause long enough to sound another chord. But then Faanshi answers steadily enough, "It should not take more than a day, perhaps two if our travels are slow or the weather bad, to reach the edge of Apisachi territory... there is no reason I can think of to keep from going when supplies can be gathered..." There. Only just a bit of hesitation there as she trails off. Perhaps she is in fact relaxing? A pity she cannot see Salmalin smiling at the sound of her lyre. Though not perfect it is pleasant. There is potential and he wished he could help. But for now he tries to focus on the present. "Familiar?" He asks before pulling the shirt away from his skin for a moment. It falls back down limply and it makes him frown. "There should be no hurry. Best to learn of one's surroundings before rushing into battle. If you like we can leave as soon as everything is in order. I am not quite sure what that would be. Do we tell anyone? Normally I would just take a blanket and a bow, but you might wish for something more." "I should tell the Maharani's khansamah if I will be out of Atesh-Gah... just in case... I might be needed." This is murmured wistfully by the maiden, and resignedly; she does not expect she would be needed to heal within Atesh-Gah. It doesn't happen very often, after all. But she can hope. In the meantime, though: "My... needs are small," Faanshi slowly continues, plucking out a cautious five-tone scale in soft undercurrent to her only slightly less soft words. "Kosha hunts for himself if we go into the green places... Mehul hunts. I... suppose we would not have to carry much food. But I should bring my herb-basket... and a-a copy of the proclamation that I wrote." Her sungolden brow crinkles at this, as she tinily and sheepishly clarifies, "I am not sure the Apisachi would read it but I suppose we should bring one...?" Salmalin nods. "Of course, of course. It seems then that this will be an easy trip.. at least until we meat the Apisachi. You would think we should fit in as none of us are truly..." And he pauses a moment. ".. well at least Mehul hints. That might be useful in trying to convince them that we have some worth other than as 'tree killers' or whatever their term for us is." He seems to be growing irritable as the time passes. Or perhaps he is just tired. He begins to pace a little back and forth. "No need to assume anything. That is a good idea." Never resting in one place for very long, whether it be upon the gurgling fountain or her instrument or the kshatri man who paces back and forth, Faanshi's gaze lifts and lowers and lifts again. "All right," she murmurs. For a few more moments she goes quiet, before she shyly appends, "And... I will bring the lyre." Salmalin stops suddenly and nods sharply at the woman. "Good then. It is settled. Since I have nothing to pack you need only give me a days notice in advance." He smiles weakly, swallows as his mouth goes dry. "And thank you.. I can hardly wait to hear you play." With that he starts toward the exit rather quickly. [End log.]