"Parade of Lights"

Log Date:
	3/20/01

Log Cast:
	Grace, Thalia, Sarra, Raijin, Lailah, Kajari, Roki (NPC emitted by
Faanshi), Elette (NPC emitted by Faanshi), Momus (NPC emitted by Faanshi), 
Julian (PC alt emitted by Faanshi), Moirae (NPC emitted by Faanshi), Kerani,
Sukhvir, Geridan, Thurayya, Khalid, Faanshi, Mehul (emitted by Faanshi),
Salmalin (emitted by Faanshi), Roxana, Ramana, Nebat, Zahrah, Jenara 
(emitted by Faanshi), Fenimos, Amarista, Racoon, Leila, Niamh, Amipal

Log Intro:
	In all the time thus far that she has served the Maharani Thalia
Tritonides Khalida, one characteristic of her mistress has always shone
forth: the Queen's ability to surprise Faanshi to the very core of her
being with the commands she gives her. And Thalia's command to Faanshi for
the opening of the Dipavali Festival in Haven is no exception. The young
halfbreed is to oversee the creation of a lantern for Clan Khalida, for
the lantern parade that will open the Festival -- and what's more, she is
even to _carry_ it in the parade!
	Fortunately for the modest shudra maiden, she has more than enough
assistance at hand to pull off this feat, in the persons of the Sylvans
and Mongrels from Bordertown who have helped her assemble the great wyvern
lantern; in the person of Salmalin al'Sar, the newly appointed Voice to the
Sylvans; and in the person of Mehul, whose unflagging devotion to her has
restored hope to Faanshi's heart and even drawn her towards loving a
second time, something she thought would never happen after the death of
her beloved Lyre. Mehul, who is helping her discover that the magic of her
first Holi may well be surpassed and then some by her first Dipavali....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Evening 
          Date on Aether:  Sunday, January 10, 3908. 
           Year on Earth:  1508 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Full 
                  Season:  Winter 
                 Weather:  Partly Cloudy 
             Temperature:  Chilly 
*==========================================================================*

Palisade and North - Haven
     Some have likened the Varati home to a geode--rough and plain on the 
  outside, while opulence and splendor lie within. Certainly the first part of 
  that analogy is true. The only hint that these buildings house the more 
  prominent members of Varati society are their size. Massive structures loom 
  on either side of the street, crafted from brick, marble, granite, and even 
  metal.
     And here, also, is the grand embassy of the Varati. Only shaping magic 
  could have created such a structure, for it gives the impression of having 
  grown out of the earth itself. Like the others, its decoration is minimal, 
  yet flowing curves and the use of obsidian and marble make such 
  ornamentation unnecessary. Flanked by stone pillars, the entranceway is 
  constantly guarded by sentinels who may as well be stone themselves, so 
  humorless are they. Only guests of the kingdom and ambassadors from other 
  realms may pass within.
     A gate leads out of the city to a road that eventually winds into the 
  distant, northern mountains, though few ever dare venture that far.
Contents:
Thurayya(#1384PJXcem)
Ramana
Grace
Kerani
Raijin
Kajari
Sarra
Lailah
Thalia
Obvious exits:
Atesh-Gah <AG>  Streets <S,E,W>  Gate <N>

Suri has arrived.

At the gates of Atesh-Gah, a large congregation of Varati begin to file out. 
  The sun has set long ago, due to the short days of winter. Each Varati is 
  burdened with one lantern, though some lanterns require multiple people to 
  hold aloft. Fantastical creations, the thin paper glows in a thousand 
  different shades. The lanterns shed a crescendo of light on the plain stone 
  and wood of the buildings. Tanging through all the colors of the rainbow, 
  the lanterns might be mystical creatures of legend and lore rather than 
  constructions of art, craft, and shaping skill.

The Varati begin to march down the street, but rather than the solemnity that 
  is often part of the culture, the procession is accompanied by music and 
  laughter...at least so far.

Sukhvir passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah 
  and joins you on the street.
Sukhvir has arrived.

No Varati, this, that drifts in from above. Grace alights on the cobbles as 
  the parade strikes out and the music builds, wings fluttering before they 
  settle tightly to her back. She tosses her hair and grins unabashedly at 
  those nearby, challenging any to naysay her right to join the crowd and the 
  festivities. Already one booted toe taps lightly on the stones of the 
  street, picking up the building rhythm of celebration.

The word has spread through Haven, too, that the Children of Fire are up to 
  something odd -- celebration. Some early curious onlookers have begun to 
  throng the streets, not quite believing that the dour Varati are in fact 
  _able_ to put on public displays of merriment. But others remember the last 
  Holi in Haven, and have gossiped about it to their neighbors. And so they 
  come, scatterings of Mongrels and Sylvans, an occasional curious Atlantean 
  -- and even a darkling Empyrean in garb that suggests nobility, though he 
  walks on foot like everyone else and is surrounded by three small wingless 
  children. Conversation begins to ebb down, though, and calls of "Look! Look 
  there!" begin to arise from the gathering as the commotion at the gates of 
  the citadel begins.

Thalia walks out from between the gates of Atesh-Gah. For a moment, it seems 
  as if she is part of the parade, but then the truth emerges as she separates 
  herself from the dark-skinned Varati. A cluster of shudra and naraki follow 
  the Queen-Maharani. In their hands are large bulging bags. Thalia carries an 
  identical bag. She stops by some of the bystanders and reaches into her bag. 
  The pale white hand emerge with a cluster of strange items. Small tubes on a 
  string dangle from her fingertips. She holds out the tubes. "Have some 
  firecrackers," she offers.

Geridan arrives from the south.
Geridan has arrived.

Roxana steps through the gates to the north and enters Haven.
Roxana has arrived.

Also firmly in the realm of Not a Varati, Sarra is hanging out (and we do mean 
  hanging--she's draped across the back of a bench), pretending to draw. Of 
  course, her attention is on the celebration...Maybe it's a good thing she's 
  not directly involved, considering that her ragged oversized jacket and 
  sticking-up hair aren't exactly festive...

From the south come an assorted collection of bright robes, flanked by a small 
  escort of Hounds. Amongst his group of students and grey-clad Adepts, the 
  Seneschal of Delphi comes to a halt along the streets to watch the 
  initiation of the parade. A faint smile curls his lips, quiet words are 
  exchanged with his group, and as is typical of most young ones, the students 
  scatter with their Adept escorts to mingle into the growing crowds. Thus 
  left alone, with only a Hound at his back, Raijin lifts his chin to watch 
  the merriment taking place.

Lailah sure isn't holding her own lantern. No, to drag that, uh, pretty thing 
  around all of town would be a wee bit much; she made it, and hung it up. And 
  hang in the courtyard it will, unless some compassionate paradeer decides to 
  take it on to carry as well. The dark girl does slip out in the midst of 
  things, pressing herself between two wildly giggling shudra as she jogs 
  along the steady flow of people, moving onto the outskirts of the train to 
  still be able to see, without being smack in the middle of things.

Firecrackers? Things that go boom? Delighted by the very prospect, several of 
  the boldest children in the crowd scurry forth at the winged Maharani's 
  beckoning. One or two stop to gawk at _her_, trying to absorb the mere 
  concept of an Empyrean leading the Varati people, but as soon as their 
  fellow gleefully accept the handholds Thalia Tritonides Khalida might soon 
  find herself surrounded by giggling youngsters of several different races.

And oh aye, there is music -- djembes and doumbeks and tambourines in the 
  hands of young dusky-skinned sloe-eyed musicians. Bells that jingle on the 
  wrists and ankles of dancers who swirl out in blazes of silk into the crowd. 
  Flutes of shining silver and flutes of gleaming wood, their voices pealing 
  out clearly to carry melodies to increasingly approving ears.

And voices, lifting up in multi-layered harmony, deep and rich and resonant. 
  Full of life. Full of passion. And full of a proud fire that many in Haven 
  do not often get to witness. As is right and fitting, the first song to pour 
  forth from the throats of the lead musicians is a hymn of praise to the Hawk 
  of Heaven, a paean in honor of the Fire that for Khalid's own Children is 
  the very stuff of existence.

Splayed illumination from passing lanterns splashes gold across the part of 
  Kajari's features that are discernable beyond the veils she wears. Eyes of 
  obsidian, pupil mingling with the iris, peer at the gathering crowds as her 
  fingers dance across an exotic stringed instrument called an oud. The music 
  is remniscent of distant lands and a people of fire and stone: she, like the 
  others, plays for the glory of Khalid Atar and the Mother whom she worships 
  most especially.

Thalia smiles at the children gathering around her. She continues to hand out 
  firecrackers. Two Varati boys grab some from a shudra near the Queen. Eager 
  to demonstrate, they toss the firecrackers, creating loud explosions which 
  combat the music for dominance. Thalia laughs merrily as the boys begin to 
  run in and out of the parade, tossing firecrackers and making the 
  lantern-holders dodge to avoid them.

"Cor, Uncle Julian," pipes forth the voice of a goggle-eyed Mongrel boy whose 
  accent stands rather distinctly at odds with his festive bright red shirt. 
  Roki, one of the several lads who's taken up the Maharani on her offer of 
  firecrackers, comes scampering back to his darkling guardian with two whole 
  handfuls -- which he promptly distributes to his little sister Elette and 
  his cousin-by-adoption, young Momus. Half his attention on the children, the 
  other half on the colorful spectacle flowing out from Atesh-Gah before them 
  all, Julian Nemeides cracks a one-sided smile at the sight before him. At 
  his side, black-haired and white-winged, his daughter Moirae gazes with a 
  free and heartfelt wonder one might find surprising upon the face of an 
  Empyrean lass.

Firecrackers? While dark looks of hulking Varati men might not daunt one young 
  woman that drifts through the crowd, the though of small explosions and more 
  importantly, fire, is enough to turn Grace away from the vicinity. Not that 
  she doesn't give the small tubes significant looks laden with curiosity, its 
  just that one doesn't exactly find wings bursting into flame the most 
  engaging of entertainment--at least when the wings are one's own. The misfit 
  woman whistles atonally, her reedy thread of sound completely counter the 
  tapestry of music already being woven in the growing tumult.

Kerani and Geridan, two of the Varati, stand nearer to the front of the crowds 
  as the celebration begins in earnest. Nestled in the white-clad woman's arms 
  is an infant, not yet a year old, watching all the many *people* about in 
  awe. Perhaps a bit young to start reaching for any firecrackers himself, 
  nonetheless the loud bangs and flashes caused by the incendiary tubes 
  quickly rivets the babe's attention. After a moment's consideration, the 
  infant smiles brightly, wriggling in his mother's grasp. Kerani laughs 
  lightly, turning a smile toward Geridan.

In this, as in everything else he ever does, the Second Son of Temjin is 
  determined to give his utmost. He laughs and dances a dance others may 
  recognise as a warrior's pattern-dance, a flaming staff twirling in 
  practiced hands as he feints and parries and thrusts. Just one of a 
  multitude of warriors who use their martial skill to show their love for 
  their God, he is a part of the parade.

More and more Varati flow from Atesh-Gah with their lighted burdens. The 
  lanterns chase at the shadows as they bob down the street with the music and 
  the random explosions. One of the lanterns, a long silver snake dances in 
  time with the music; its papery surface is lit at a hundred different points 
  with bobbing flames. The snake angle and winds, sometimes even retreating 
  rather than progressing down the street.

Thalia waves over at Grace, as she spies the seller of unguents and balms. She 
  holds up a string of firecrackers toward the winged woman. "Come and try. 
  They are perfectly safe," she calls with laughter in her voice.

Oh yeah. It's time to par-tee down. Sarra jumps out of her seat, standing by 
  her bench, and she stuffs her papers into a pocket, shaking hair out of her 
  eyes as she watches, not quite able to repress a demented-looking grin. She 
  is *so* staying away from that fire, but it's nice to watch from a 
  distance...and not worry about singing her eyebrows off.

From beneath the veil that disguises her features from the eyes of others, as 
  tradition bids for the Varati women, Kajari raises her voice in song, a 
  velvet contralto joining the plucked sounds from her oud to paint an image 
  of the magnificence of this night in the very air.

Khalid passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah 
  and joins you on the street.
Khalid has arrived.

Firecrackers are not something that most Atlanteans are used to seeing, and 
  Raijin is no exception. A dark eyebrow notches upwards as the ripple of 
  explosions goes off a few feet beside him, and a questioning glance is 
  thrown to the Hound at his side. An explanation is supplied with a quiet 
  chuckle, and silently, the Seneschal nods his head. Fascinating.

Geridan stands tall and proud beside his wife, one of his hands loose at his 
  side and and wrapped lightly, discretely, about her waist. He watches with a 
  broad smile the display before him, his crystalline eyes shimmering and 
  dancing brightly to the music that plays and fills the air. He sighs, 
  nodding his approval, his gloved hand lightly stroking and caressing the 
  curved of his blade. It's excellent, and as he casts a glance over at his 
  son, a soft chuckle leaving his lips, he's glad the boy is here ot see this, 
  even if he wont remember it.

Some of the Mongrels and Sylvans in the crowd could care less for songs to the 
  Amir-al; a small handful of them are here out of Bordertown strictly because 
  a young healer with Varati silks and Sylvan eyes has reached out to them to 
  ask for their help... and their companionship as well. No more than half a 
  dozen of assorted ages and sizes and sexes, they are notable by the way 
  they're craning their necks this way and that and calling out to one another:

"C'n ye see 'er, then? Where _is_ th' lass?"

"You'd think the Queen'd put 'er own lantern up front, eh?"

"There, there, I see her! Great Mother, Far-Roamer, see what that shaping of 
  yours is like now!"

The target of their attention is a black wyvern lantern, coming out through 
  the gates in dips and soarings of uplifted wings and curving tail and fiery 
  eyes, the whole of it all draped with ribbons and streamers in the colors of 
  Clan Khalida.

Who can keep from smiling at such a display? Lailah certainly can't, and 
  merriment quirks the corners of her lips as she skips along the edges of the 
  parade, ducking her head to slip beneath that writhing paper snake and then 
  emerge on the other side - by some extreme feat of luck, or skill, avoiding 
  to have the lantern-carriers trip allover her. Clad in her most horridly 
  bright garments to the occasion, the shudra's attention too is arrested by 
  the bangs made by firecrackers. Funny things, those.

Grace
        Like some sort of mystical youth, Grace seems impervious to aging. The 
  girl is caught between childhood and maturity in that painful moment when 
  everything seems just about to come together in proper fashion--but does not 
  quite manage to do so. Her eyes, however, hold an edge of maturity beyond 
  her physical appearance, containing in their indeterminate blue-green depths 
  a wealth of life-experience that adds a measure of years to her unassuming 
  stature. Likewise, the pristine expanse of white wing lends illusory hight 
  and weight in the curve of feathered-shoulder that arches overhead and the 
  soft, broad expanse of feather that falls down her back to her ankles.
        The season has left her pale as the occasional snows that dust Haven 
  at infrequent intervals and her hair is warmed to golden without the sun to 
  bleach it gilt-silver. The warmly-colored tresses are left free to flow down 
  her back. The rest is a walking advertisment for her current trade. Gold 
  hangs from her delicately-pointed ears, the dangling pendant of each earring 
  set with a stone carved into the shape of a strange, round-shaped beetle. 
  The rich green of powdered malachite deepens the shadows beween winged brows 
  and sparkling eyes, lending them additional color and depth along with the 
  fine line of deep black kohl along the upper lid. Rouge subtly marks her 
  lips and cheeks as well, emphasizing the fullness of the former and the high 
  angles of the latter.
        Her apparel is unfamiliar as well, given to brilliant jewel-tones 
  often reserved for royalty and nobility due to the expense of the creation 
  of such hues. Thickly woven linen and fantastically soft wool make up her 
  outfit, the upper garments painstakingly modified to allow for her wings. A 
  long coat covers her upper body down to mid-thigh, covering the much finer 
  white linen shirt beneath, and much of the wide and full skirt below. Fine 
  boots of leather shield her feet from the cold to the knee, clearly lined 
  with fur.

Nebat passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah 
  and joins you on the street.
Nebat has arrived.

Is this, indeed, an invitation, before all the people? Grace may be warry of 
  explosions flung from childish hand, but she's not about to pass up being 
  seen in public next to the Queen-Maharani, herself. The woman's dancing 
  steps turn to glide her past others with a wink for some, and a smirk for 
  those not so adept at hiding surprise behind a supercilious look down from 
  so far above. Of course, it's difficult to look smug and aloof when most of 
  the rest of the crowd towers so high above. Eventually, the girl just shrugs 
  and grins, slipping over and bowing at the edge where guards watchfully mind 
  the safety of the Thalia Khalida. "Forgive my impertenance, Queen-Maharani, 
  if I doubt your words." Grace casts a significant look to where the 
  firecrackers snap and explode. "They do not /appear/ to be safe."

Dancing is one of the many ways in which one can show one's love for the 
  Amir-al to all of Haven, be them candala or true Varati, and thus it is with 
  light steps and hands thrown up in delight that Thurayya dances. Fingers 
  twiggle around, holding the red and golden scarf above her head, flirting 
  with the silk when the wind and the excitement of the motions cause it to be 
  fold out. Around and around Khalid's consort twirls, brown eyes sparkling in 
  the midst of redness that surrounds her as, alongside black hair, wisps of 
  orange silk are spun around her figure.

There are only a scattering of winged folk in this gathering, so far as Julian 
  Nemeides can see -- and so even as Moirae joins the younger children of 
  their part in the tossing about of firecrackers, shepherding them carefully 
  away from Julian's ebon pinions as well as her own white ones, the Deus of 
  Nemea quirks up a brow at the sight of Grace nearby to the Varati Queen. 
  Twilight eyes narrow a bit, as if perhaps he's striving to place where he's 
  seen her before -- though his attention is but fleeting, seemingly diverted 
  by everything and everyone within his range.

As the flow of people out of Atesh-Gah ends and the lanterns proceed through 
  the streets of Haven, looping south and then returning back to the parade's 
  point of origin, Thalia remains at the gates. She carefully places a string 
  of firecrackers over Grace's palm, allowing the other woman to grab them if 
  she will. "I have been assured by the fire mages that they are completely 
  safe and that they will only make noise rather than causing people to burn." 
  She waves her wings at Grace. "Obviously, I am easily flammable and I would 
  like to throw some of these myself."

Kajari is no consort of Khalid; the images inscribed in henna upon her hands 
  and feet are symbols of his mother, Ushas, confirming that she is of the 
  distinctly Varati class called the Houri. And while others wend through the 
  crowds in sinewy glory, only the voice and fingers of the Ushasti woman 
  dance as she continues to play her stringed instrument and sing low, velvety 
  notes of glory to the Amir-al.

Bouncing like one of the lanterns (only somewhat less..luminescent), Sarra has 
  her hands stuffed in her pockets along with her crumpled drawings So, Sarra 
  hasn't any idea of what is going on, except that involves a lot of dancing, 
  and a whackload of fire. That means 'party-time'. Then again, party-time for 
  Sarra means 'stand at a distance and grin like an idiot'. Ooh, Grace is 
  talking to an Important Person. A Very Scary Thing indeed (well, this is 
  Sarra, who thinks bunny rabbits are traumatic...) She shuffles closer to the 
  crowd, a dorky-looking lock of hair flopping over her forehead.

One of the Thalia's shudra spies Sarra and offers her a string of 
  firecrackers. "Have some," says the Varati servant. "They are free."

Khalid himself emerges among the evening's revelers, without fanfare or 
  progress-- it seems the gaily-illumined procession is fanfare enough. For a 
  time his presence is actually lost amid the bustle, but by degrees the sea 
  of kneeling souls that parts before him marks him out; with head held high, 
  deep blue eyes alive in their survey, and a warm smile gracing his lips, he 
  makes his way slowly in the Queen-Maharani's direction. At intervals, 
  glistening copper coins tumble from his fingertips to ring and settle before 
  the eyes of his supplicants.

The warriors with the flame-ended staves leap and twirl and dance, each motion 
  a perfection of form - it is amazing just how decorative the training 
  exercises of a fighter can be, and the warriors are dancing for all they are 
  worth. The warriors' dance ends as the Amir-Al himself is seen, the air 
  resonating with cries of joy as the men kneel to their God, their King, 
  their Khalid Atar. Sukhvir Al'Temjin is just one among many.

Hassan strolls in from the east along Palisade.
Hassan has arrived.

Grace laughs aloud and accepts the gift--foolish to do otherwise, really, and 
  why not satisfy curiosity? She bows again, amongst the Varati servants, 
  guards, and people, as much a part and as much out of place as Thalia, 
  herself. Indeed, it is a curious picture. "You are generous, as always, 
  Queen-Maharani." There is a significant pause where various well-wishings 
  and blessings are considered and discarded. At last she settles on something 
  almost nonsensical and therefor safe, "May it bring you good fortune."

Well, the shudra don't *look* like assassins who might want to give dangerous 
  firecrackers out in aid of blowing up hyperactive mongrels...At least not in 
  such a large crowd. Exploding mongrels really do take away from the festive 
  atmosphere of a party, no? So Sarra grabs for the string of firecrackers 
  (being careful to keep them *away* from her hair..) No way is she even going 
  to /try/ to dance, but holding the firecrackers does seem to give her the 
  boldness necessary to approach the excited crowds...

And in the meantime, forth seems to soar the wyvern lantern of Clan Khalida. A 
  small gaggle of shudra and naraki children are bearing up the tail, all of 
  them swell-chested with pride at having been entrusted with such a marvelous 
  duty -- no matter how tempting the thought of throwing firecrackers about 
  might be. A shudra youth bears up the wyvern's left wing, a maiden the 
  right, and each of them gently bobs their portion of their burden up and 
  down to lend the illusion of flight to the creation of wood and paper and 
  cloth they all bear. Beneath the wyvern's body stride a pair of Varati men, 
  one just shy of seven feet in height and the other identifiable perhaps by 
  some as the recently appointed Voice to the Sylvans; they carry the bulk of 
  the lantern's weight, and while the Voice is grinning kindly to those whose 
  eye he catches, the other man is positively beaming at she who bears up the 
  head of the wyvern.
That figure is Faanshi, still clad head to foot predominantly in black, though 
  for once the shudra maiden's eyes are uplifted, along with sungolden hands 
  raised up to the handholds on her portion of the great creation. From a 
  distance, perhaps, the leafy hue of her eyes might not necessarily be seen 
  -- particularly as she and the rest of the lantern-bearers are singing. Not 
  one of them has an instrument, for their hands are full, but their voices 
  float upward in massed harmony that ranges from the piping trebles of the 
  children through Mehul's resounding deep baritone on through to... yes, 
  realize the Sylvans and Mongrels in the crowd, the healer is _singing_, her 
  voice a shy sweet soprano.

A glance back over her shoulder, and a slight widening of the eyes is Lailah's 
  initial reaction to the entrance of the King and God of the Varati people, 
  the hushed sighs of awe and the euphoric cries of pure joy that drift on the 
  wind before the wave of kneeling bodies. The shudra's steps pick up pace, 
  and with a cat-like leap and a sideway twist, the girl mixes with the 
  candala masses along the path of the parade, a bright flash of cloth, soon 
  swallowed up in the sea of people. This, she can watch on a distance.

Behind Khalid Atar walks another woman, a woman wearing the white of the 
  Ushasti. Carrying a lantern bearing designs of Khalid Atar and Holy Ushas, 
  she sings the song of glory, the song of the dawn, the song of the Herald Of 
  Khalid Atar - the hymn that glorifies both Khalid Atar and Divine Ushas. Her 
  voice is low, deep and resonant, calm and yet joyous; particoloured eyes 
  shine with joy above Roxana's ivory veils.

With so much going on, Kerani can't even decide where to let her attention 
  stay. The children playing with firecrackers all about, the marvelous 
  lanterns being displayed in their fiery glory... and there, speaking of 
  fiery glory, is the Amir-al himself. The white-clad young woman blinks, 
  having never seen the God-King in person for all her time in Haven. 
  Adjusting her hold on the infant in her arms, she slowly lowers herself to a 
  kneeling position. The baby, for his part, hasn't yet grasped such things 
  yet, and puts up a little bit of the fuss. Mom, you're in the way of me 
  seeing the bang-stuff!

One other figure with black wings can't help but catch the eye of not only 
  Julian of House Nemea, but also the children under his protection. "Unca 
  Julian, look!" pipes Momus as he scrambles to be picked up by his uncle, 
  waving a small pale hand in the direction of Khalid Atar. "He got wings just 
  like yours! Look look look!" Casting a glance back in the direction of the 
  Queen, the Deus does indeed espy the God-King Himself, a rather more benign 
  appearance than the last time he can remember ever seeing him. Those nearest 
  to the darkling merchant Deus might perchance see him make a small bemused 
  face at his nephew and murmur to him dryly, "Well, they are black, aye, lad, 
  that's true." One fundamental difference: Khalid's wings actually work. But 
  Julian isn't about to tell Momus that.

At the approach of the God-King, Kajari lets her voice still so that all that 
  is heard from her is the sonorous trail of music from the strings of her 
  oud. Watchful as ever, expressionless beyond the active flicker of her black 
  gaze across the multitudes, she effortlessly fills the air about her with 
  music and remains aloof...for such is the habit of the Ushasti's secretive 
  Houri.

Zahrah passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah 
  and joins you on the street.
Zahrah has arrived.

Ramana approaches the edge of the parade. The lights, dance and song 
  refreshment for a Child of the Fire weary from many moons of travel through 
  foreign lands. The familar sights and sounds, bouy the weariness that wieghs 
  his body and soul, even bringing a faint smile to the stoic man's face as he 
  peers about the parade. With a muttered prayer quickly lost in the din of 
  the crowd, he bows his head respectfully at the entrance of his glorius 
  God-King.

Girls place their hands upon Thurayya's wrists, allowing her fingers to 
  entwine with theirs briefly erst arms are raised and they no longer dance 
  along with with one another, favouring the streets with a colourful display 
  of waving scarves and shawls, all woven from the ends of sarongs and veils, 
  spun around by the quickness of their steps and motions. It is a dance of 
  joy, of beauty, and is ended abruptly when one of the participants sees the 
  apparition of the Amir-al. Like the men, the women kneel down on the cold 
  stones, watching their God and Mahram with the same revelry as the other 
  worshippers as he approaches his wife.

Red-robed Atarvani mingle amongst the others, dancing and singing in 
  celebration, their tell-tale uniforms not hampering them in the slightest. 
  The Mufti Nebat actually smiles at some of the candala as they mimic the joy 
  of the faithful, after all, such expressions should be encouraged. As the 
  Amir-al reveals himself to even these, the Mufti directs their attentions 
  there as he may, with a quiet word or gesture. After all, the lanterns are 
  nice, but the presence of thegod-king is something the watchers can cherish 
  forever.

Geridan smirks, just like his son. Where most infants would be terrified of 
  such loud explosions, Zahir attempts to rise form the grips of his mother to 
  face them without a flinch. That is one of the Kentari blood, one of Rashid. 
  But with the coming of the Amir-al, the Representative of the affore 
  mentioned clan sweeps his cloak behind him and slowly drops to a knee as 
  well, gripping the hilt of his blade with one hand while pressing the other, 
  clenched to the street. Like this he stays for a time, his head bowed, eyes 
  burning.

Thalia smiles at Grace. "May the light keep away the darkness. Enjoy, 
  Dipavali." She turns, having caught sight of her husband out of the corner 
  of her eye. She smiles over at the dark-winged Varati. "Khalid, I am glad 
  that you could come. I know the kingdom is keeping you busy."

Fleeting attention is sharply drawn to what might be the source of such an 
  ecstatic cry. Raijin's eyebrow arches upwards again upon espying the 
  God-King of the Varati, but unlike the majority of those around him, he does 
  not go down upon his knees. Instead, he sweeps down into what could be 
  considered a polite, respectful bow. The Hound at his side does likewise, 
  and upon straightening, the Seneschal idly folds his arms across his chest 
  and continues to watch the crowds.

Within the crowd, Hassan Kadi Al'Din watches, in silence. As the Amir-al 
  approaches, he kneels with the rest of the populace around him... certainly 
  no one could resist the rush of movement as the faithful prostrate 
  themselves before their god. The emotion is palpable... as though one might 
  feel the fire of devotion warm the skin and tighten the cheeks of all in 
  this ecstatic crowd. A mighty shout surges forward, inarticulate, 
  passionate, overwhelming. Hassan can not help but feel the intensity of the 
  moment, the terror and elation of kneeling before his god. He risks a single 
  glance... and sees only ebony feathers... the great outline of a midnight 
  wing. It is too much, and he averts his gaze, so see the priestess of Ushas, 
  her fingers delicately coaxing music from the oud in her hands. His stare is 
  fixed and immovable.

She begins well enough, with warm tone and friendly (perhaps -too- friendly 
  demenor, for what woman would propose to speak so openly with the 
  Queen-Maharani?), "Thank you, again. You are much too kin.." and as she 
  trails off, what pleased evidence of color the girl had high in her cheeks 
  in speaking to Thalia drains out slowly at the sight of the approaching 
  leader of the Varati people. God or man, it is still undeniable that Khalid 
  Atar reduced an entire city (or perhaps raised it) into a volcano that still 
  smokes. Grace cannot hide the shiver that runs through her, head to toe, and 
  lodges in her wings in a silent quiver. She bows deeply once more with face 
  set in a mask-like expression that barely hides underlying panic and 
  firecrackers clutched closely to her chest in one hand. Now might be a good 
  time to retreat. Yes.

Zahrah mingles with the crowd, though she's accompanied as ever by a 
  black-clad entourage of servants. The dancing seems to have been 
  entertaining them, from outward appearances at least. But when the god-king 
  appears, and the faithful genuflect in the street like a wave, they kneel as 
  well. Low, all the bowed, covered heads are kept low, obeisance rendered to 
  the Amir-Al.

Khalid takes his time, seemingly comfortable among the press of the faithful; 
  the golden circlet of the God-King's rule catches the merry light as he 
  returns generous nods to their obeisances. His luminous gaze settles 
  approvingly over the Rashid family as his steps carry him past, then lingers 
  for a moment upon the dancers, before he turns his attention to the Queen 
  and Mistress of these ceremonies. "Where better to celebrate this joyous 
  time than here, among my family?" His deep voice is felt as much as it is 
  heard.

That she persists in entertaining rather than descending in unmitigated 
  reverence to the Divine Fire embodied in their God-King does not imply that 
  Kajari bin Nirav holds a diminished love for Khalid, no. In her eyes, in her 
  head's quirk, she issues a message of sincere, significant respect to the 
  Amir-al without allowing the quality and degree of music borne from her oud 
  to diminish. No, as a wind will rise and fall across the sweeping hills 
  surrounding Masada, so too does the Houri called Kajari allow her notes to 
  dip and dart, drifting along capriciously as she eases through the crowds 
  toward, oddly, that son of the Warlord. Hassan.

Faanshi can _sing_? Who knew? Certainly not the Mongrels and Sylvans who have 
  come to look for her in the procession, and who abruptly belt out cries and 
  cheers of greeting as they espy her. And hear her.
"Faanshi! Ho there, lass! Walk tall there, healer!" come their startled and 
  delighted shouts, as her friends in the throng seem to realize that she does 
  perhaps have a spark within her of the Varati people's fire.
The passing of Khalid is perhaps about the only thing that could distract the 
  shudra healer's small company of lantern-bearers, but somehow they manage to 
  bow with the crowd, making it seem for a moment as if the wyvern they all 
  carry dives in low along the street. As they come back up the song pours 
  from them with renewed vigor:

Let me sail across this ocean on the strength of shining wings
Let me lift my voice in union with the wyvern's mighty cry
Holy Atar, let me hear the inner song that wisdom sings
And if I ride upon the wyvern, let me fly
If I ride upon the wyvern, let me fly...!

And for once, after months and months of sorrow-eyed creeping through 
  Bordertown in furtive attempts to lathe her healing magic upon those who 
  will actually let her share it, the halfbreed known only as Faanshi lifts up 
  her shining eyes to the world around her... and sings.

Kerani feels Khalid continue on more than she sees him pass. Zahir's fussing 
  falls quiet as he stares, quite unabashedly, at the God-King - at least he's 
  too young to know better. Slowly, Kerani rises, smiling behind her thin 
  veil. She speaks to Geridan, not loudly but loud enough over the sounds all 
  about, "Ah, today is definitely a good day."

With a motion that speaks of imaculate grace, of a life of dedication to the 
  ways of a Warrior, Geridan Kentari too rises, but not til long after his God 
  and King passes by. He smiles then, his eyes pulled, if momentarily, taut 
  with a fierce and burning emotion that is captured within thise crystalline 
  confines and given life. The smile he wears now may not be as broad, but it 
  is far more so intense than it ever was before, singing volumes in the 
  silent air of respect and reverence that hangs about him as he watches the 
  procession of the Armir-Al. "Yes," he says softly, permitting himself at 
  least a small sigh of satisfaction, "A very good day..." and a gloved hand 
  lifts, carefully and playfully rubbing the head of Zahir.

The song of the lantern-bearers sends a wave of joy through the crowd, and 
  many join in, or attempt to do as much... perhaps they know the words, 
  perhaps not. It does not matter. Such jubilation demands expression, and 
  even upon their knees the people of the Neverending Flame rejoice. Hassan 
  feels this upsurge of joy as well, though for an entirely different reason. 
  The object of his fixed attention has wended her way, gracefully, 
  coincidentally, in his direction. As the priestess of Ushas draws near the 
  Warlord's son, Hassan watches her fingers upon the oud with astonishment, as 
  though this were a new discovery to him, and a source of unexpected 
  pleasure. He is one man in a vast crowd, but his stillness sets him apart, 
  as he watches the priestess advance.

Fortunately for the children of House Nemea, Julian and Moirae are not alone 
  in the crowd to watch over them. Jenara, the Mongrel woman reputed to be the 
  Deus' right-hand -- well, _woman_ -- is there as well, and between Jenara 
  and Moirae and Julian himself, Roki and Elette and Momus are hoisted up into 
  supportive arms to get better looks at the fabled personage of Khalid Atar. 
  Momus can be heard to plead of his cousin Moirae to be taken into the air, 
  but the white-winged maiden stays put upon the ground, murmuring assurances 
  to the fretful child. No, Moirae won't be making a public spectacle of 
  herself flying... not until her father, at any rate, can join her.

Grace dares, after all, to bow again, this time not to the Queen-Maharani but 
  rather to the imposing figure that has joined her in the small ring of 
  servants and guards. After all, one only lives once, right? As she 
  straightens, blue-green eyes drink in the figure close enough, almost, to 
  touch. Close enough, almost, to 'borrow' one of those long, glossy black 
  feathers. As if the thought might show on her face, Grace swollows hard and 
  begins to slowly back away, leaving the rulers of the Varati people to their 
  own celebration.

Thalia touches Khalid on the shoulder, then turns and looks at all the 
  kneeling faithful. "Your family has missed you. As you could come, would you 
  like to open the festival?"

A servant close by - a younger Ushasti priestess in training - takes the oud 
  from Kajari's fingers and is sent toward the others with a whispered command 
  from the Houri. Unencumbered now by the musical instrument, Kajari may find 
  a place at the side of Hassan, where her voice resumes the earlier song 
  iterated...this time a capella and, presumably, for his ear alone, for its 
  pitch is low and intimate.

When the Amir-al has spoken, those who serve Him in his Harem exchange looks 
  from which little, if any, can be determined by those not closest to them. 
  Hands fall upon shoulders, cobbles and knees as they help one another when 
  rising from their downward position. Subdued giggling can be heard when a 
  few of the Houri lift their henna-marked arms again and move their feet in 
  the first step of the dance of joy but their sisters remain silent and 
  merely look around. It is Thurayya whose eyes are almost constantly glued to 
  the figures of the leaders of the Varati nation, so intensely that a worried 
  concubine has to shake her before the consort actually cares to turn her 
  head around. Soft words and laughter are exchanged while her gaze moves over 
  those within the crowd, seeking for familiar faces in expectation of the 
  opening.

A Shudra in Temjin colours arrives at the shoulder of the Second Son of that 
  Clan, whispering something in his master's ear; Sukhvir nods to the servant, 
  who beckons another out from the gates of Atesh-Gah. The second servant 
  carries a lantern, yet another lantern, bringing it out into the parade with 
  all the others while Sukhvir smiles proudly. What a marvel the Shudra have 
  wrought!

Though the crowd about him has yet to regain their feet, awed as they are by 
  the presence of their immortal savior and king, the Warlord's son rises 
  slowly, his movements unobtrusive and careful. One must not disturb true 
  devotion. Watching where he places his feet, Hassan closes the distance 
  between himself and the priestess who has so recently surrendered her 
  instrument and given herself purely to song. He does not touch her, but 
  their proximity is quite close, his gaze quite direct, and his head tilts 
  toward hers, listening intently.

Zahrah takes her cue from the Children of Fire closest to her, rising only 
  when they rise. But unlike the flustered phalanx of servants behind her, she 
  takes the opportunity to look toward the god-king, albeit through the thick 
  veil of her lowered lashes. How could one possibly explain, in old age, that 
  yes, one has seen the glorious Amir-al... but cannot speak of his 
  appearance? She does not intend to be such a one, so characteristically she 
  seizes the opportunity presented her.

Content to remain within the crowd, still and watchful, Raijin's eyes linger 
  upon the God-King and the Maharani. A lone Atlantean amidst a sea of 
  darker-skinned Varati, the Seneschal does not give the appearance of feeling 
  out of place. When he turns away, it is only to murmur lowly to the Hound 
  beside him.

Nebat rises once the Amir-al has passed, picking up a string of firecracters 
  that one of candala children had dropped. Handing the bundle back to the 
  child, the Mufti reaches out to ruffle the child's ragged hair. "Celebrate, 
  little one, and be blessed." For a moment he glances towards the Houri and 
  warlord's son, but he can hardly fault a holy hymn on such a day as this, 
  and so his gaze moves on. Those who meet his eyes recieve a blessing, "May 
  the Amir-al guide your steps this new year" "May the new year find you 
  warmed by the Eternal Fires." And the like.

As her song dies down, Kajari lets herself settle from performer to observer 
  as she joins the masses lingering about the array of glory to the God-King 
  and his Maharani. Song will be renewed, assuredly, but no dancing, for such 
  is reserved for those to whom the Houri is given in private. So, still as 
  the supple stretch of a palm tree's trunk reaching skyward, she stands at 
  Hassan's side and enjoys the simple joy of observing her people in their 
  true radiance.

Slipping away, Grace disappears quickly into the crowd. There's a brief 
  explosion of sound and a startled 'yip!' of reaction as the gift is tested 
  for its potencey. Then, the Halfbreed is completely subsumed within the 
  milling masses of towering Varati as they caper about.
Grace travels south toward the intersection of Fairway and North.
Grace has left.

Khalid nods in answer to the Queen-Maharani's words, his smile broadening with 
  a certain air of mystery. He takes a few long steps into a space that opens 
  before him, his great, ebon wings spreading as the bodies recede. 
  Well-thewed arms lift to either side; vast, twin gouts of flame boil up into 
  the night, casting an eldritch day far about them, only to vanish once more 
  like forlorn suns. "Darkness!" the God-King calls, with the voice of the 
  earth's foundation stones. Then, more softly, he begins, "Darkness is 
  primeval, and flame is a fickle thing." His smile has, for the moment, 
  vanished.

He's hardly a God-King of an entire people, but Julian is still father, uncle, 
  guardian, and Deus to the small cluster of women and children about him. As 
  he peers as best he can from a distance up to the figures of the God-King 
  and his chosen bride, it seems to him as if something might soon happen. 
  "Hsst, children, pay attention," comes his velvet tenor murmur to his young 
  wards, just enough to alert them. Roki, most sharp-eyed of the three smaller 
  children, fidgets hopefully in his uncle's arms, making Julian have to shift 
  his weight; behind the Deus, his wings shift with the movement, somehow less 
  graceful than the rest of him yet still changing position with his motions. 
  As a pair of young Varati maidens scamper past him, one does a double-take 
  at the sight of his wings -- and impulsively caroles from behind her veil, 
  "Firecrackers for you, with wings like those of the Son of the Dawn!" So too 
  does she toss forth a handful of the small explosives, provoking a blink 
  from the Deus and an uncharacteristic look of surprise.
"Well," he drawls to his small knot of family as the maidens pass and as he 
  gives the unsought gifts out to the children, "_that_ is a switch." Only 
  then does he let his attention jerk back to the display beginning in earnest 
  up there where the God-King watches his people.

The hush is sudden, but absolute. All eyes are fixed upon the Amir-al. This 
  has the air of both theater and ritual... oration and prayer. Sacred. 
  Awe-inspiring. Profound. Many people around Hassan gasp and hold their 
  breath. The warlord's son gasps also, and his right hand flexes 
  involuntarily, moving toward Kajari's... fingers touching fingers... the 
  briefest of contacts. Then, he withdraws, offering her a quick glance. If 
  there is apology in his eyes, it is fleeting, and carefully veiled.

Far less worldly than the darkling Deus of Nemea, for all that at the moment 
  she has in common with that particular stranger a penchant for wearing 
  black, Faanshi anxiously waves a dainty hand to halt the wyvern-lantern 
  bearers behind her as she, too, realizes that the Most High will address 
  them all. As the Holy Fire springs up to brighten the evening, she and Mehul 
  and Salmalin and the shudra and naraki assisting them kneel again, still 
  willingly bearing their burden -- for although it is large, it is light 
  indeed.

The lights within the lantern Roxana carries also flare up for just a moment, 
  dying away into nothingness, leaving the lantern hanging dead in the air. 
  Roxana walks forward at a slow, measured pace to kneel before the Amir-Al, 
  the lantern at her feet.

A black-crowned head, disappeared from sight for a while now, peeks up quite a 
  bit from the center of the festivities. Snugging nice and tight in a clump 
  of bystanders made up mostly by mongrels and city-Sylvans, Lailah's pale 
  eyes redirect themselves back towards the laughing, singing crowds that move 
  almost like one being with the music, then suddenly stop; she, as most 
  everyone else, centers her attention upon the God of the Varati people, 
  lifting a delicate hand to scratch at her neck as if trying to get rid of an 
  itch.

Kerani opens her mouth as to say something further to her husband, but the 
  God-King's voice silences the young Ushasti before she starts. She adjusts 
  her hold on Zahir again, to once more hold him so both mother and son are 
  comfortable. With silence reigning supreme, she quietly fixes her attention 
  to the Amir-al, at the same time leaning lightly against Geridan.

The flames that burst forth from Khalid's hands, coupled with his commanding 
  voice, widen Zahrah's fiery dark eyes. Bereft of the concealing veil of her 
  lashes, she nonetheless continues to regard the black-winged Amir-al. 
  There'll be no shrinking back here. And if she caught her breath a bit 
  sharply at first, no one has to know.

Thalia stands beside Khalid as he speaks. Her bag of firecrackers, half-empty, 
  is held limply at her side. Farther away in the city, where the parade 
  proceeds along its circuit, music and fireworks can be dimly heard, but the 
  well of silence around the God-king is continued by his faithful.

Khalid proceeds into the pitch his display has left, for the moment little but 
  a rich, rumbling voice speaking from the void. "The Varati know darkness 
  like no other people. It is the sunless shadow of our deep-mountain homes. 
  It is the long night of eons, of subjection, of neglect. It is the chill of 
  fear. It is the cloud of confusion that covers all in its turn." Grave, this.

The lean is welcome, the presence of his wife and son so near. But, despite 
  the savored sensation, it is his God and King that arrests Geridan's 
  attention in its entirety. He stands tall, a Warrior, a soldier being 
  addressed by his superior as the words sweep out over the crowds. He looks, 
  and listens with a quiet dignity, the smile on his features faded to a 
  solemn expression. He nods once at what is spoken.

Well, almost complete silence. Mongrels and Sylvans in the crowd are choking 
  back startled little cries, whispering agitatedly to one another at the 
  display of divine power. And one small child, the most solemn of the 
  children of House Nemea -- little Elette, currently held in the arms of her 
  protector Jenara -- stares searchingly at the God-King. And then at her 
  Uncle Julian. Then at the God-King, or more specifically, his hands. Then 
  Elette whispers earnestly into Jenara's ear, "Can Uncle Julian do that too?"
Which makes Jenara almost choke, and whisper back, "Lares, no, kit, that's for 
  th' fire-folk an' their God, nae f'r th' likes o' your Uncle...!" Not that 
  this is any denigration against the Deus -- for while neither he nor the 
  children are looking, the redheaded Mongrel shoots Julian a look that 
  eloquently portrays which of the dark-winged personages in immediate view 
  are of more direct importance to _her_.

Nebat is not alone among the Atarvani as he closes his eyes in rapture as the 
  Amir-al speaks. Though the opening ceremony is something of a ritual, it can 
  hardly be anything but extraordinatry when spoken by the Amir-al himself.

Around him, Hassan can hear the sound of breathing... of the populace taking 
  in a long breath, and remembering. The past descends upon the present, 
  making its presence known in the words of the god-king. The houri and the 
  warlord's son exchange somber glances. The Varati people are a culture of 
  traditions, of remembrances, of respect for the past. When their god speaks 
  of what has come before, it can inspire naught by the deepest solemnity.

Away from the crowds, away from the worshippers and away from the priests, 
  some of them well known to the woman originally from the Atarvani caste, 
  move Thurayya's eyes when the God speaks. Her gaze is filled with respect as 
  well as attention when she watches her Mahram speak, her head tilted lightly 
  so that even through lowered eyelashes she can see Khalid's face.

Marner arrives from the west along Palisade.
Marner has arrived.

A light breaks forth on the God-King's palm, delicate, frail; it runs like 
  living quicksilver across his fingertips as his tone shifts. "And... the 
  Varati know flame like no other people. Where others will not-- or cannot-- 
  they pay the price of its consumption for the light that it brings. It is 
  the warmth of a civilization carved out far below ground. It is the burning 
  passion in the heart of a warrior, a wielder of magics, a lover. It is the 
  ineffable glow of divine truth that lays bare the path of a chosen people to 
  their ordained future." Khalid's smile breaks once more, slowly, as if with 
  the delicious, timeless irony of it all.

Either drawn by the God-King's pyrotechnic might or simply having finished the 
  circuit designated for the parade, those who were marching through Haven now 
  advance upon Khalid and Thalia's position at the gates of Atesh-Gah. The 
  sight of the black-winged male brings the lantern-wielders to a halt as they 
  too fall to one knee in obesiance to their God and King. The parade does not 
  falter as much as it ceases motion in one fluid action, waiting for Khalid 
  to finish speaking.

A soft sigh is torn from hundreds of Varati throats, rippling gently through 
  the crowds. He has cut them down, and now he will raise them up!

Not for the likes of Faanshi is to gaze upon the countenance of the Hawk of 
  Heaven -- though it is said among the shudra of Atesh-Gah that she has been 
  favored with the honor of being in His presence more than once. Here and now 
  it is enough for Faanshi to kneel with reverently bowed head as Khalid's 
  words roll forth to the ears of His people. Indeed, she has heard that 
  divine voice more than once, but for this humble maiden, it sends shocks of 
  what can only be called religious awe shooting through her system. 
  Especially when He turns his speech from darkness to flame... from solemnity 
  to joy.

Impassive and stoic, but atttentive. That is Raijin's countenance as he 
  watches the display of magic and listens to the tale. One might almost say 
  he was unimpressed. But who can tell with Atlanteans? Calmly turning his 
  head, he fixes a direct stare upon his Hound companion, who only looks back 
  at him with a small nod.

Kerani is one of those whose soft sigh sounds as Khalid Atar illuminates the 
  solemn darkness with the fires of the heart, the fires of life. Her smile is 
  faint, but it does indeed show as the God-King of the Varati demonstrates 
  his archetypal mastery over the light and fire of which he speaks.

Fenimos passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah 
  and joins you on the street.
Fenimos has arrived.

Something in the Amir-al's words causes Hassan to close his eyes. The crowd 
  around him stirs with the inspiration the god-king has wrought, still to 
  awe-struck to move more than a gentle shifting of weight and a scant 
  exchanged glances. Hassan feels the soft pressure of a hand on his arm... 
  the houri at his side touches him... a concerned gesture. He takes in a 
  breath, attempts to smile, to reassure her, and fails. Instead, he returns 
  his gaze to the Son of the Dawn, and listens with a gaze somehow more 
  sombre, more dulled. If he has inspired others, his words have struck a 
  different chord in the heart of this young man.

Lailah's eyes have narrowed where she stands, still and immovable like a 
  miniature copy of the people to whom the Amir-al directs his words; the 
  green-eyed shudra's attention seems to be more on those flames licking the 
  God-King's fingers than anything else, really. Though no doubt she is 
  listening at least with one ear to the story.

Each word spoken by the Amir-al is absorbed by Ramana. Just the sound of the 
  God-King's voice takes over his soul. Everyone else melts away from his 
  senses as his complete devotion is commanded by the living flame.

The Representative of Clan Rashid's features however, remain unshaken by any 
  other sign of emotion. He observes, nodding once more. Yes, he too 
  appreciates that simple and subtle portrayal of the mastery of fire... That 
  which both consumes and gives life. All to the flame, purifying and 
  destroying. Geridan's own eyes burn fiercly in the darkness, capturing that 
  dancing light and holding it firmly within. Silence reigns over him and he 
  lifts a hand to press to and clasp Kerani's shoulder.

It seems to young Roki that the ability to make fire spring up from one's 
  hands is all very well and good -- but what's the big deal? He can make fire 
  too, if he sets off the firecracker he's got! Which he does, making a small 
  *pop* against the hushed and breathless silence of the crowd.
"Shhh, Roki, settle down," murmurs his uncle in his ear. "It's rude to make 
  noise right now."
The boy chews his lip and mumbles an apology, though he also follows it up by 
  whispering back to Julian, "I like yer wings better anyhow!"
And once again, though he's still keeping an eye on the God-King, Julian 
  Nemeides smiles.

Khalid turns to the dimmed lantern Roxana holds, side-lit now by the glow of 
  his own hand. "Today we face the ancient darkness with the smile of victors. 
  Today we celebrate the faith and fortitude of a great people, and revel in 
  its reward. Today we light our lamps--" and here the flickering flames 
  blossom in the delicate lantern once more, shining warmly out from within-- 
  "to remember our past, and to serve notice on times to come. This is 
  Dipavali, my children. Go forth, and be as a beacon to all the world!"

Fenimos makes his way towards were the large gathering is, to see what the 
  commotion is about. Once closer he comes to realize that it is just the 
  parade that everyone was anxiously awaiting, he stops and places his hands 
  behind his back, his eyes taking in the crowd and the faces in it. His 
  visage is emotionless and calm, but his intense gaze finally comes to rest 
  onthe God-King and his jaw clenches slightly at the sight.

At the conclusion of Khalid's speech, the air is wracked with the sounds of 
  fireworks being shot into the sky. The soft aural stimuli imply the 
  spectacle that is to come.

Up in the sky, First, there is nothing. Then, abruptly, there is a bright 
  crimson rose lighting up the sky, blossoming outward to consume more and 
  more of the inky darkness. In the very middle of the bloom, where darkness 
  is again regaining its own, faint orange bursts of lights begin to appear. 
  Each orange blossom sizzles out of the heavens only to explode once again 
  and fall in pieces toward the ground. Simultaneously, the outermost petals 
  of the rose also begin to disintegrate, fading out of the night sky.

Roxana stands and bows to the God and King of the Varati people, he who has 
  set his own flame of love afire inside her as inside the lantern. The 
  lantern too rises as Roxana turns, raising her arms to their fullest extent 
  and displaying the glory of the light, as brought forth by the Son of the 
  Dawn.

Kerani tilts her head to lay it against Geridan's hand as he touches her 
  shoulder, moments before the end of the Amir-al's pronouncement. Now, she 
  lets her smile show brightly. Zahir, having started to nod off with little 
  going on, is startled back to wakefulness by the fireworks going off 
  overhead. Kerani turns her smile to Geridan, the man whose fire and hers 
  have burned brightly together, and at their son, the small flame that they 
  brought into the world.

Thalia's soft smile washes over Khalid, but it in turn is caressed by crimson 
  flames with light up the sky.

The members of the parade rise as one and begin to cheer. The lanterns held in 
  their grasps bob likes ships in a storm-tossed sea as the Varati cry out 
  their joy. Firecrackers join the shouting and the explosions overhead.

Well, that's a cue if the bearers of the Clan Khalida wyvern lantern have ever 
  seen one. The shudra boy doing duty as a wing-bearer -- like Faanshi, a 
  mage, carrying magic from a chance off-shoot of blood into otherwise humble 
  birth -- turns his head to peer at their burden. And abruptly the lamps 
  within it flare up into tiny stars of golden light. Then the wyvern lifts 
  off again, Faanshi at the head, sungolden hands of the healer framed on 
  either side by the streamers that trail down from the wyvern's open maw and 
  shining in the glow cast forth by the lamps of its eyes.

_Now_, the children of Nemea are assured by their grinning uncle, they may set 
  off the fireworks. Enchanted by the noise and light, Roki belts out cheers 
  of approval and provokes Momus into doing the same for once, while Elette 
  clings to the neck of Jenara and stares at everything with silent eyes. 
  Moirae smiles, shining-eyed, at the display as well as at the Varati whose 
  eyes she catches, and more than one of them might be seen to start a bit to 
  be so gazed upon by a maiden with wings... but then again, not everyone in 
  Haven holds to old racial hatreds.

Amarista has kept quiet throughout the ceremony, only lending a curious look 
  and ear to everything going on about her. Yet, she can't help but feel 
  overwhelmed at the God-King's voice, words, presence. She closes her deep 
  blue eyes half way, squinting and attempting to get a good look of the event 
  about to unfold. Lips are slowly licked as she stares at the enchanting 
  lights overpowering the skies.

Zahrah lowers her lashes during the last of Khalid's speech-- but doesn't 
  avert her quietly enigmatic gaze. The God-King's words ripple through and 
  over the crowd, the lantern flaring as he speaks. Her attention remains on 
  the opening tableau until it's diverted toward the sky.

Nebat opens his eyes as the speech ends, not wishing to miss a moment of the 
  display that is to come. There is not long to wait, as the fireworks light 
  up the night sky. Ooohs and aaahs come from the Havenites and other candala 
  who may never have seen such a thing. The Mufti's eyes are alight with the 
  echoes of the fireworks sparks and more as the celebration continues.

The reaction of the crowd as the fireworks explode above is immediate. Many 
  lift their faces and hands, delighted smiles touching their lips. Others, 
  overcome by the moment, genuflect before the Amir-al, or chant prayers upon 
  their knees. Hassan's entire body jerks with the first harsh crack of the 
  explosion above... his tension had risen to such an extreme that the sound 
  of the firework pulsed through his body like a shock. Again, he feels 
  Kajari's gaze upon him, knows that she alone would understand what inspires 
  his emotion. Again, he tries to smile, and fails. The crowd suddenly 
  overwhelms, and he whispers something into his companion's ear. She nods... 
  once only, but with an eloquent reply seemingly voiced only by that simple 
  gesture and the look in her eyes. Their understanding seems to go beyond 
  words. Quietly, they begin to weave through the crowd, as though seeking an 
  escape from the festivities.

And it's then, with his final words, that Geridan's free hand lifts from his 
  side, clenching to a fist and crossing over his chest to place firmly over 
  his heart. And he bows to his God-King, deeply, a smile at last frawing over 
  his lips. It may not be as vocal as some of the other cheers that have gone 
  up, but for this Warrior Varati, it is no less, if not more powerful. To 
  Kerani he turns his brightened expression, taking her and his son in, the 
  flames burning within his eyes enveloping them in a loving warmth. So he 
  draws them in, a hand about her pulling her close to him and tugging at her 
  affectionately, leaning down to place a kiss atop Zahir's head.

A single ball of shimmering silver light is shot up into the darkened sky; 
  behind it trails a shimmering tail of that same silver. Tiny sparkles rain 
  off the tail, expanding outward so as to sprinkle a swathe of velveteen 
  night with their shimmering embrace. The main point of bright, silvered 
  light continues up into the sky and, at its apex, explodes into countless 
  points of twinkling light to elegantly float earthward.

The faintest start moves through Lailah as the loud roar of excitement erupts 
  around her; still at the outskirts of where all the faithful have gathered, 
  the sound is quite overwhelming. Enough to keep her attention from the skies 
  even a little while longer - only as the first grand burst of light has come 
  and winked out does the shudra's gaze lift to join so many others in 
  watching the brilliant display against the pitch of night.

Almost like a child Rista opens her mouth wide at the brilliant display in 
  front of her. She smiles broadly for a second before staring down at her 
  sandals. An invisible spot seems to have caught her attention. She just 
  can't be having as much fun in such event. She shakes her head as if to let 
  the joy the event brings her out of her head. Knowing that she can't control 
  the feelings at the moment she just decides to enjoy the beauty sorrounding 
  her.

Fenimos turns his gaze to the fireworks for a moment before looking back to 
  the cheering crowd, a slight smirk crossing his dark face for a moment. He 
  just watches them and shakes his head slightly, purebloods and thier games 
  to make themselves feel better. Once more his eyes come to rest on the 
  God-King, but it is only for a moment before his gaze is lowered to the 
  ground like a good slave....the presence of Khalid seeming to shakeup the 
  burly Gladiator.

Little crackles of bright yellow light, bunched tightly together, light up 
  only a small portion of the darkened sky. However, with every passing 
  moment, there are more pops and snaps that become new crackling bursts of 
  light. Growing, each takes on a deeper orange hue and eventually shades to 
  scarlet as they balloon outward, away from the still crackling yellow 
  center. The snapping and popping grows louder and begins to eat up the sky. 
  Soon reaches its climax in a huge crackling ball containing all the hues of 
  fire, lighting up a huge chunk of dark velvet. As each color and spark fills 
  the sky with light and sound, it begins to fall; the crackling becomes 
  quieter as it does so, eventually fading into oblivion and leaving darkness 
  and silence behind.

Thalia tosses out the contents of her bag to the crowd around her, encouraging 
  them to join in the explosions. Firecrackers rain down upon the heads of 
  Varati, mongrel and other races alike as Thalia empties her bag. However, 
  the crackers do not explode. Those not caught merely tumble to the ground to 
  be picked up by scavenging children. It would appear that the Atarvani who 
  promised the Maharani that the firecrackers would be safe has told the truth.

She is not exactly pureblood -- but she's not exactly slave, either. And for 
  once in her life, with the blaze of fireworks overhead, the Children of Fire 
  cheering all around, Faanshi is swept over with a rare sense of *belonging*. 
  It helps immensely that she can see two Mongrels of her acquaintance waving 
  enthusiastically at her, and the Sylvan Far-Roamer responsible for shaping 
  the body of the wyvern lantern gazing with far more pride in the results of 
  his work than for the festival in general. And it helps that Salmalin is 
  there, his expression encouraging -- and big brawny Mehul, once again 
  turning that radiant smile upon his dark-hued face towards her, his 
  expression one of a strangely guileless delight at odds with the tigerish 
  grace of his seven-foot-frame. In the midst of all, her eyes coaxed up to 
  the heavens, Faanshi takes in everything around her with wonder.

Tilting his head back so that he may watch the skies, Raijin's eyes widen and 
  the low rumble in his throat sounds like appreciation. "They remind me," he 
  remarks in a quiet tone of voice to his companion, "of anemones." There is 
  only a grunt to reply to that, but the Seneschal seems content enough with 
  this lapse in conversation. He soon returns to watching.

Racoon strolls in from the east along Palisade.
Racoon has arrived.

Booms fill the air, then sizzling up from the ground are dozens of silver 
  beams of light. Hissing like snakes, each beam sheds tiny silver sparks like 
  dead skin. These fall back towards the earth, fading out of the sight. The 
  hissing lines of shimmering silver zig-zag high into the sky, spraying 
  miniature stars across the heavens. Then, as they reach the pinnacle, the 
  silver snakes collapse, creating a raining cloud of silver that falls to the 
  earth in an unending curtain. Above the curtain, blossoms of purple, gold, 
  white, green, and red capture the sky. The colors intermingle with the 
  simpler silver curtain before both sets of explosions fade away.

Wings furling, Khalid retreats for the moment into soft-spoken conversation 
  with Thalia. Sharp eyes, raised to the show above, reflect the chromatic 
  brilliance of each explosion as it blooms and fades. His dusky countenance 
  is alive with muted but evident pride.

So perhaps she is a grown woman, one who stopped being a child a long time ago 
  when at a tender age she had been forced into the duties of a mother and 
  housekeeper, but at Dipavali Thurayya's solemn nature dissapears like snow 
  melts for the light brought by Ashur Masad. The consort laughs wildly as she 
  catches one of the firecrackers tossed in her direction by one of her 
  sisters. She too pulls the string, throwing it in the air as it explodes, 
  darting away with a strange nimbleness betraying her hours of dancing 
  practice. Once feet touch the ground a hand is lifted to shield her eyes 
  when she admires the beauty of the fireworks.

Catching an entwined pair of the little 'crackers thrown by the Maharani, 
  Zahrah looks away from the sky for a moment to study them. One sleek dark 
  brow lifts, and she turns them over in her hand, bracelets chiming far too 
  softly to be audible in this crowd. A fluid shrug lifts her shoulders next, 
  just before she hands them without comment to the black-draped women behind 
  her. As the next boom signals another display arising in the night sky, she 
  tips her head up again to watch. Detached or merely hiding emotion behind 
  the silken veil and the implaccable darkness in her eyes... it's hard to 
  tell.

Pausing at the periphery of the crowd, the warlord's son and the houri pause 
  to exchange a few words. The noise surrounding them is deafening now, making 
  it impossible for their conversation to be overheard. Kajari gestures toward 
  the lantern-bearers and dignitaries surrounding the God-King, and speaks a 
  rush of words. Hassan nods, and says something apparently simple and 
  sincere. As though stealing the moment, he takes Kajari's hand with both of 
  his own and holds it, in silence. Then, releasing her, he slips away from 
  the throng, pausing only once, long enough to cast a burning glance at 
  Kajari's retreating figure as she makes her way back to the parade. Her 
  place is here. His, it seems, is not. Hassan turns, resolute now. The sky 
  dances with fire, transient stars forming a myriad new constellations to 
  hang for a tremulous moment and then rain down upon the earth. Beyond these 
  blossoms of light, the true stars burn ancient and inexorable, watching the 
  new-born points of light as they fall. Hassan watches as well, his dark eyes 
  reflecting the flashes of color and light... and then he turns, and his 
  steps carry him away.

Fenimos raises his gaze once more towards the fireworks display, they seem to 
  bring little joy to this surly Mongrel. His eyes close a moment and he 
  turns, when they reopen they fix upon the area of town that the Gladiator 
  Arena is. His shoulders heave slightly as he sighs, the crowd and party 
  around him is lost as he just looks sadly towards the large complex.

The show continues to bewitch the crowd and Amarista is not one to be left out 
  of things. Sha narrows her eyes at the skies for a second before turning her 
  gaze to the floor. Amarista arches an eyebrow and holds her red robes close 
  to her as if to maintain herself warm. She looks down at the firecrackers 
  resting to her feet and studies them carefully. As a smile spreads over her 
  face she kneels down to grab them. A young Varati beats her to it as he 
  takes a hold of the firecrackers with a soft giggle. Rista stares at the 
  young thing amused, with wonder. She crosses her arms in front of her chest 
  and relaxes once more, her deep blue eyes dancing to the light emanating 
  from the skies.

Leila passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah 
  and joins you on the street.
Leila has arrived.

A shooting star climbs the heavens, swelling in size until it resembles a 
  sapphiric moon. The crackling report of its tail softens bit by bit during 
  its ascension as if being quieted by a greater hand, and it slows as it 
  reaches the summit, its brilliance pulsing intensely. When the taut silence 
  is ripe, the star does the unexpected. It implodes. A gentle cascade of 
  thunder rumbles outward as the light collapses upon itself and dissolves 
  into a thousand shimmering selves. Azure shivers and trembles in pieces, 
  broken over the vast black scope of the sky like a dangling chandelier. 
  Suspended for a fleeting moment, the incandescence tumbles all too soon to 
  the earth, falling, falling in drops of blue fire to glitter chastely upon 
  the horizon.

Oh yes, he is lost. And to think, he just /knew/ all the ins and outs of this 
  city...or so the youth /thought/. Now he moves quickly, paranoid through the 
  streets, his tunic's hood pulled over his head to mask the top of his face 
  in hopes to conceal his indenty. HIs gaze is wild and frighten, what will 
  and wits he had left slowly slipping away as he passes building after 
  building, nothing looking familar. And when he discovers this is a Varati 
  country, his breath quickens as does his pace. Up until now the streets were 
  fairly empty, helping him to be calm, but when he turns the corner and finds 
  himself in this mass of humanity, Racoon all about backs up into a corner 
  and starts swinging. Calm...be calm now, his heart tells him but his mind 
  doesn't seem to be listening.

The throngs of Varati appear visually to grow thicker as the parade 
  participants leave their organized formations and join the others in the 
  street. Mouths agape with wonder or shouting words of well-wishing, men and 
  women watch the symbols of fire which embody not only their culture but 
  Dipavali as well.

The crowds are maddening and the youth takes cover by ducking in a filthy 
  alley, crouching on the balls of his feet until the waves of Varati pass. 
  His breath becomes shallow, his eyes flicking from face to face as Racoon 
  wacthes and waits for it to be safe so he can find his way out of this 
  horrid maze.

Amarista yawns slightly still in trance from the lights. The sight, too 
  beautiful to believe affects Rista deeply. Perhaps she feels out of place, 
  perhaps she just can't place herself in the crowd. Feelings overwhelm the 
  young girl who wrinkles her nose uncomfortably. There is nothing more to do 
  but leave. It was a brilliant enchanting sight but soon things are bound to 
  return to its normal state which suggests Rista that its time to head home, 
  step back from this fairy tale world.

Leila tries, unobtrusively, to make her way from out of Atesh-Gah and into the 
  street. After all, she is late but it is a little difficult to be 
  unobtrusive when one is accompanied by a guardsman, this one, specifically, 
  a Clan Messala guardsman. The sight of the shooting star, however, puts all 
  such thoughts from her mind and she stares in wonder amidst the crowds.

Julian -- at least in guises he's not about to show to this sizeable horde of 
  generally respectable people -- is often a creature of the night, 
  well-accustomed to staying up until the strangest of hours. Not so, however, 
  are his nephew and Mongrel wards. The Deus takes the time to murmur to 
  Jenara and Moirae, comparing opinions on how long they should keep the 
  youngsters out. And much to Roki's consternation, his uncle murmurs the word 
  to him and his sister and little Momus that they will be departing once the 
  fireworks are over. But not quite yet. As they wait, Julian does let the 
  children play with the far smaller firecrackers, and the raven-haired, 
  raven-winged Empyrean smiles more than once at the Varati that pass him and 
  his family. If he's noting the occasional stare of awe his dark pinions are 
  getting him, he's not letting on.

Even before the fireworks are concluded, some of the musicians in the parade 
  strike up a tune and dancers begin whirling down the street. Legs and silks 
  fly as drummers bang their sticks on a rhythm that fires the blood. The 
  dancers, with graceful agility, flick firecrackers from their wrists as they 
  twirl. The snaps and pops occur in time with the music and the pounding of 
  their feet.

The hustle and bustle of the crowd following the parade, eager to join this 
  festival event, the abrupt halts from a large number of people whenever one 
  of the fireworks goes off, which happens quite often, all make it difficult 
  for a young woman twirling about herself to stay in touch with her fellow 
  harem girls who did join up with the parade. Thurayya's dancing to the 
  rhythem of her clapping hands, made hollow whenever fingers playfully aim 
  for the lights dancing above her head, is stopped once she realises her 
  loss. Confused, a few steps are taken, against someone's unsuspecting back.

A rapid series of muffled reports signals another full-sky composition, the 
  faintest of glowing lines ascending in formation into the velvety darkness. 
  When the highest of the three reaches its apex, it bursts into silver-green 
  spangles, like a river of stars that trail pale green fire. They cascade 
  downward fluidly, painting a huge illuminated weeping willow tree in the 
  night sky. The second explodes before the curliqued ends of the 'branches' 
  have fully finished themselves. This one separates into multiple bursts, 
  each one forming a delicate pink blossom that opens amongst the glittering 
  foliage of the fiery tree. And before the effect completely fades, the third 
  and final rocket divides into myriad, crackling and whistling silver 'birds' 
  which dart here and there in the illusory tree. Slowly, the glow fades and 
  the magical tree disappears, leaving the night sky once more a dark and 
  empty canvas.

Niamh arrives from the south.
Niamh has arrived.

That last part was enough for the slender Racoon. As the loud noise erupts in 
  the sky and the colors illuminate the inky black above him, he gives out a 
  loud, screeching cry. He's on his feet in a moments time, bursting out of 
  the alley way like the frighten beast he is. All he knows now is to run, as 
  quickly and as fast as he can from this wretched place, even if this means 
  going back the way he came. And that's just what he does, hurling himself 
  through the crowds of people, running and knocking them down in his 
  desperate attempt to find his way out of the ugly mass of humanity. The 
  young, the old, it doesn't matter, he pushes through them all, his mind 
  screaming one thing: danger.

Zahir watches the fireworks with a childlike and innocent awe, blinking with 
  his little mouth gapping up in to the heavens. When they settle, he claps 
  his small hgands together, laughing merrily and looking from his mommy to 
  daddy. With a chuckle, Geridan leans down to Kerani, whispering in to her 
  ear. With a soft smile and a glance down at her son she nods. It /is/ past 
  his bedtime and he's had enough excitement for one day. The Rashid 
  Representative, watching his wife leave, straightens himself, adjusting his 
  cloak and his tunic, the golden phoenix emblem glittering in the lantern 
  light. Nodding to himself when ready, fingertips once more start to 
  delicately trace the lines of his elaborately carved hilt, his graceful 
  stride carrying him off in to the crowds rather aimlessly.

While most of the bearers of the wyvern of Clan Khalida seem content to guard 
  it and watch the festive display in the air, one of those bearers -- Mehul 
  -- steps abruptly forward to seize the black-clad Faanshi by the hand and 
  whirl her several steps away. The healer might be bold enough to sing in 
  public, her generally acute shyness bolstered up by the encouragement of her 
  companions, but it takes a streak of bravery she does not yet possess to 
  actually join the dancing. Mehul, on the other hand, is not quite so 
  hampered, for all that he arguably has even less experience with the culture 
  of his own people than Faanshi -- at least if the lift of his dark chin and 
  the way he studies the dancers is any indication. Along with the way he tugs 
  at Faanshi's hands to get her to help him copy them.

Fenimos turning once more he looks at the crowd, his head shaking again. He 
  turns and starts to walk away, he has no place here.....his place has been 
  made for him by his masters and that is the Arena, he mutters softly as he 
  walks and keeps his eyes downcast, "I wonder how they will top this show." 
  His steady strides carry him through the crowd, the firecrackers exploding 
  and twirling dances and just generally happy people are left soon behind as 
  he heads into the night.
Fenimos passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to 
  Atesh-Gah.
Fenimos has left.

Racoon travels south toward the intersection of Fairway and North.
Racoon has left.

Hassan passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to 
  Atesh-Gah.
Hassan has left.

Arms tired and despite the boyant effect of the revelling crowd, some of the 
  lantern-bearers slip into Atesh-Gah with their burdens. Thalia gives the 
  parade participants a smile as they walk past her. She looks at each 
  lantern, made proudly and lovingly by the contestants. She announces to the 
  crowd, though her words are swallowed in some respect by the firecrackers, 
  the music and the fireworks, "All the lanterns will be displayed in 
  Atesh-Gah's courtyard. Come vote on a winner." Still the democrat in an 
  dictatorial theocracy, Thalia continues to encourage republican ideals the 
  small ways that she can.

Roxana had been standing, watching the fireworks in awe. She is still, in many 
  ways, the girl who came to Haven not that long ago, and the fireworks are as 
  nothing she has ever seen before. And then she is bumped, her lantern 
  bouncing with the impact. The young woman turns to see who has bumped her, 
  looking with a smile beneath her veil instead of the more expected frown. 
  She sees Thurayya and opens her arms wide to give the other a hug; a Naraki 
  takes the lantern and makes her way back with the other lantern-bearers to 
  Atesh-Gah.

Amipal passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah 
  and joins you on the street.
Amipal has arrived.

Oceanic blue eyes lower from the skies to roam over the bobbing heads of the 
  multitude. Raijin frowns slightly to himself, one hand lifted to rub 
  thoughtfully at his chin, and quiet remarks are made to the Hound who 
  follows him about. Where could those students have all gone? Some, brightly 
  garbed in their kaftans, are spotted in the thick of the crowds, playing 
  with fireworks. Others are noted turning towards the Varati embassy to take 
  a look at the lanterns on display. Thus assured of their safety, the large 
  Seneschal likewise turns to approach Atesh-Gah.

The finale arrives with a series of muffled booms which leave the sky its 
  original inky blackness. Time passes, seeming long without the ocular 
  spectacle of light to dazzle the senses, but it is, in truth, only a few 
  moments before the smooth velvet of the heavens is broken by a single burst 
  of yellow light. Further explosions of yellow light create a line across the 
  horizon, each hovering in the sky like a miniature sun. The fireworks create 
  an outline, drawing the image of a lantern across the black palette. The 
  picture collapses, twinkling down. In the process, the light shifts from 
  yellow to orange, then finally to red before vanishing completely. This 
  time, true silence and solitude is left behind. Now, only the moon and stars 
  are in the sky.

Having blended in with the crowd, the Estrel bin Mazat steps forward a bit out 
  of the way of some children who are having a race to see who will get to 
  Atesh-Gah first. Bespectacled eyes scan the crowd...Majidah should be here 
  someplace with the children, but he isn't too concerned...perhaos they are 
  already inside? The fireworks are awfully loud...perhaps too loud for infant 
  ears. As the final display commences, his eyes are drawn back up to the 
  skies as he watches, like everyone else, in wonder.

Amipal approaches from the south, his nondescript brown cloak reflecting the 
  riot of colors that make a false and momentary day above. The man's hood is 
  raised, his features therefore indistinct, but his dark eyes are vivid.

At length, the awed stare of Lailah tears itself away from the bespangled 
  skies, and her keen attention shifts from one to the other in the crowds, 
  now truly alive; the same, faint grin the shudra wore when first entering 
  from Atesh-Gah returns, and grows wider. A knot of children scamper past, 
  carrying home-made, modest lanterns that twinkle merrily in tune with their 
  own laughter, and this seems to also tease her into motion. The girl bends 
  down to pick one of the unused firecrackers up from the ground, fingering 
  the thing experimentally as she slowly begins moving along with the dancing 
  crowds, without no real aim it would seem.

Thurayya's pupils, enlarged by the shock that she actually bumped into 
  something, even if it's rather a common occurrence in such a joyous crowd, 
  sparkle with relieve when she is swept into a hug by none other than the 
  Mahisi herself. "Aravi" the consort calls out, placing her arms around the 
  other woman's back, something done as much for delight as for need of an 
  anker of some sorts. Her eyes follows the lantern and then move to the sky 
  to watch the latest of the fireworks, "Beautiful" she sighs, deeply content.

Roxana says "Aravi!", hugging Thurayya tightly and beaming. "It is a beautiful 
  thing, yes? Never have I seen the like!"

A most impressive display, indeed -- and one, Julian Nemeides tells himself, 
  he's quite pleased he's thought to bring out his wards to see. Elette's 
  little face is as somber as always, but the boys are shrieking delightedly, 
  and the features of Moirae veritably glow with pleasure. At last, though, it 
  is time for the Deus and his party to retreat back into the Empyrean quarter 
  of the city and leave the Children of Fire to their party. Small boys and a 
  small girl need their sleep, after all.
Thus does Julian oversee the carrying off of the little ones, with the help of 
  his daughter and the redheaded Mongrel who accompanies them both. All three 
  adults smile kindly at the chattering lads... and Julian makes a specific 
  point of meeting the gazes of every Varati he passes, his fine-boned 
  features deliberately open of expression, deliberately friendly. Let the 
  fire-folk see that at least some Empyreans can be amiable, though it's a 
  strange Empyrean indeed treating Mongrel and Empyrean children both as his 
  own wards. Even as he and the rest of the representatives of his House make 
  their way off out of the crowds, Julian also deliberately pretends to ignore 
  the wide-eyed stares at his wings... while taking note of it for the future.
There are, it seems, _some_ advantages to being a darkling.
Soon enough, though, the Deus of Nemea and the women and children with him 
  have vanished into the night.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, one that Raijin knows is spotted. A 
  faintly pleased and polite smile is summoned when Niamh is noticed near the 
  gates, and gently pushing his way through, he lifts his voice to call out, 
  "Blessings of Pure Water, Estrel bin Mazat." The Hound who follows at his 
  heels likewise nods to the Varati man, though he says nothing.

Niamh turns about as he hears his name, quite surprised to see the Seneschal 
  there, "Namaste, Seneshal," did he actually offer that greeting to a 
  non-Varati? It must be the first time! Perhaps it is the festive atmosphere 
  that allows him to forget, "Did you enjoy the fireworks?" Please say that 
  the Atlantean isn't going to talk about Delphi business...not this week. 
  Like it or not, he's taking a vacation during Dipavali.

"Neither have I." Thurayya shouts, her loud tone stressing her excitement. An 
  arm is entwined with one of the Mahisi's so they may actually meander, with 
  some difficulties, along with the crowd instead of being crushed in each 
  other's arms all the time. That'd be inappropriate, even at Dipavali. "But" 
  she waves with one hand to the sky, "never have we celebrated this year 
  before... or in the presence of our Mahram."

Faanshi, quite apparently, has been distracted -- and so the Voice to the 
  Sylvans, giving a considering glance to Mehul and the maiden with whom he 
  dances, turns to ask of the shudra and naraki with him that they help him 
  carry the wyvern lantern back into Atesh-Gah. His bearing is as 
  self-composed as that of any kshatri man, but still this particular kshatri 
  seems to look with unusual easiness upon those of lesser caste with him -- 
  and his tone holds rather more of request than it does of order. It is met 
  with ready agreement, and with a count from the Voice, the wyvern is hefted 
  aloft again to join the rest of the lanterns within the embassy courtyard.

Zahrah's gaze drifts from the sky to land on the dark Empyrean and those with 
  him, resting there for a moment before she again lowers her lashes. The 
  restless, excited women behind her are noted peripherally, and turning, she 
  dismisses them with a graceful, if impatient, wave of one bronze-skinned 
  hand. All but one promptly fade away into the crowd. The kshatri woman 
  faintly narrows her eyes at the shudra who remains, but soon turns away, her 
  body language conveying irritation.

Amipal weaves against the stream of revellers, dodging gaily-dyed silks and 
  stepping round firecrackers with the gait of a man peculiarly immune to such 
  outlandish joys. Indeed, his earthy garb is in marked contrast to the blaze 
  of color that flashes about him. The soldier's gaze seeks the Maharani and 
  her escort; having placed them, his pace slows to a wander.

The Seneschal doesn't seem too intent upon discussing Delphic business, for 
  the Atlantean man replies, "Ah, yes. I was quite impressed." Raijin comes to 
  a halt at a polite distance from the Varati, and he folds his hands behind 
  his back. After hastily glancing towards the crowds again, eyes seeking out 
  a select few students in particular, he looks back to Niamh. "I must also 
  admit that the parade was enjoyable as well. Neither of these are exactly... 
  common where I come from."

Lailah's firecracker isn't thrown to join those already filling the air with 
  loud bangs and pops; as she moves along, deft fingers instead begin tearing 
  the item open, to allow for a curious mind to see what's inside. Vividly 
  dyed paper comes loose with satisfyingly destructive noises, and dark powder 
  spills out over the woman's hands, then flows downward to dust the cobbles 
  at her feet. How curious. She actually stops at this, forgetting about the 
  singing and dancing around her.

As the sea of faces and strangers sweep around the Akhund, he stops to kneel 
  in the street. Picking up some unspent firecrackers in his thick fist, he 
  readjusts the traveling satchel sagging over his shoulder. A nearby dipa 
  lamp provides the spark that brings the noisemakers to life. Tossing the 
  fireworks to the gate of Atesh-Gah , the noise and bright lights chasing 
  away the dark spirits, insuring another good year for it's residents.

The fire-staves of the warriors who dance their deadly dance for naught but 
  show tonight are soon relit, spinning and twirling through the air once more 
  in perpetual motion. Each man dances a different dance, somehow both with 
  and against the others as two face off and mock-duel only to break and find 
  new partners in their fiery art.

"I would think not," Niamh replies, actually chuckling. Who would have thought 
  that the young Estrel could actually be...convivial? "How would the lights 
  stay lit underwater?" Oh, he is so clever. The cleverness of him.

Was that supposed to be a joke? If it was, it seems to go right over Raijin's 
  head. As he tilts his head at a slight angle, peering at the Estrel, the 
  Seneschal remarks, "Actually, Estrel, it is not that difficult of a trick 
  for an Elementalist such as myself to keep hold of a pocket of air within 
  the water. And in there, fire may be lit." He begins to smile slightly, and 
  he adds, "But an easier trick is to simply use the light of our lichens."

Roxana chuckles, "O, but this is a night I will remember for the whole of my 
  life, Aravi! Shall we dance?" And so the woman, clad in Ushasti white as she 
  rarely is, begins the steps to a well-known dance, a dance for festivals and 
  feasts, a dance where the dancers link arms just as the two young women have 
  already done. She beckons to another of the Concubines of Khalid Atar to 
  join them, a woman whose distinctive veils she has seen in the crowds, and 
  the girl runs over to join in.

And only belatedly, her hands still caught up by those of her big companion, 
  does Faanshi realize that the wyvern-bearers have left without her. What she 
  whispers to Mehul cannot be heard over the din of the still-exultant 
  throng... but the dancing of the healer and the hunter eventually does slow 
  down to a contented walk. And, hand in hand, the pair of them slip off 
  towards the gates to follow the course their compatriots have taken, in a 
  close -- at least for the two of them -- to a highly magical night.

[End log.]