"The Healing of Prince Kuronbo" Log Date: 3/13, 3/16/99 Log Cast: Shinjukou, Yoritomo, an NPC Akhund, Amineh (spoofed by OOC permission), Ulima (NPC), Aurora, Faanshi, Kuronbo Log Intro: For weeks now, the shudra Faanshi has been dwelling within Atesh-Gah, trying to live peacably, and to loyally perform the work that her heart- mother Ulima helps her find within the Varati citadel. As it was when they had travelled with the armies of the Varati, so it is now in Atesh-Gah: Faanshi's mistress, Kiera Khalida, is very rarely in the young shudra's company, and so Faanshi and her elderly kinswoman must make do with what work they can find on their own. However, the fact that Faanshi possesses a potentially powerful magic has not been lost upon her God-King, her Clan Warlord, Khalid Atar. Without the slightest hint of warning, the Amir-al has bidden Faanshi to heal the gravely ill and injured Atlantean Prince Kuronbo*. The order has shocked the young halfbreed to the marrow of her bones, for although she has been offered training from the Empyrean Aurora, she has not yet managed to get more than the barest grip of control upon her power. But an order from Khalid Atar is not one that can be refused, even when it is given almost as a side note to the exchange of marriage pledges between the divine ruler of the Varati and the Empyrean noblewoman who will become his queen. And thus, desperate not to disobey the Khalid but ill with fright that her power might get out of her control, Faanshi is escorted to the chamber where the stricken Atlantean lies. Only the presences of Ulima and Aurora lend her some hope that she might succeed at the task that the Khalid has placed upon her shoulders.... * -- See "The Calling of a Healer, the Choosing of a Queen" *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Night Date on Aether: Tuesday, May 2, 3904. Year on Earth: 1504 A.D. Phase of the Moon: New Season: Spring Weather: Breeze Temperature: Comfortable *==========================================================================* Guest Room - Atesh-Gah - Haven Thick carpet pads steps underfoot as one enters the guest chamber, the royal blue and ivory pattern leading the eye toward the bed. A comfortably large affair, made for two, and covered in a blue velvet coverlet, it rests on a teak pedestal set with drawers. Upon the near wall hangs a polished steel mirror to face the bed, and the arched window, hung with blue velvet draperies behind it. To the right stands the teak wardrobe, and tucked into the far corner is a doorway covered with a blue and ivory tapestry, into a bath. To the left of the bed are a pair of padded settle chairs with blue cushions, a small marble-topped table standing between them, where the slanting light from the window can fall in the afternoons or early mornings. The fragrance of Atesh-Gah's garden wafts up from below, sinuously scenting the room when the window is opened. The guest chambers are darkened, and cooler due to the open windows, out of consideration for the different needs of the Atlanteans here. The area near the windows is sweet, fresh with the rich breeze swirled up from the Courtyard - further from windows, the air grows cloying, thick with decaying sickness that translates to the atmosphere as much as it does the smell. The Orcinus Heir has been laid out on the bed, his ruined body covered only by a single silken sheet, damp clothes pressed to brow, armpits and throat to keep his temperature from rising. The Crown Princess rests in a chair beside the bed, keeping tired watch over the empty shell of her brother. The woman is wrapped in an invisible cloak of weariness, deep physical and mental exhaustion that lends shadows to an otherwise pale countenence. And yet she remains awake. Watching. Khalid Atar might be a god of war and fire and implacable temperament, but he is also a god aware of the dire status of his honored guest Prince Kuronbo -- and thus, the explanation for the party quietly gathering in the corridor outside the guest chamber where the Atlantean nobles are housed. From that corridor, there comes two soft but firm raps upon the chamber door, and a voice calls out with just enough volume to carry into the room, "By the mercy of the Khalid, the attention of Crown Princess Orcinus Shinjukou of the Orcinus is requested." Perched calmly in the chair not all that far from Shinjukou and the Heir himself, Yoritomo sits quietly, now, steepling his fingers together as they're held firmly and precisely upon his lap. As the proceedings head along, he sits in this position like some sort of structure which has been sunken 'neath the surface of the sea, with all the stillness and silence commonly attributed to Atlanteans, no matter how many clothes he has chosen to wear. Wave-colored eyes sit squarely in the direction of Kuronbo's resting form in mute observance. That attention is duly directed to the request. In a smooth whisper of thin fabrics, Shinjukou rises from the chair and walks to the doors - her step bearing only a tiny hint of the limp that plagued the woman before - drawing the entrance to the chamber open to regard those outside. Hands slide to her waist, clasp neatly before her as a short bow is executed to the group, eyes flicking over each face in turn. "Peace of Pasiphae to you. Please..." A small half-turn is performed even as the bow is lifted from, a mild inclination of her head beckoning those outside to come within. Those without prove to be a rather... sizeable group. He who knocked upon the door is an Akhund, and there are others with him, the retinue of the scarlet-robed Nabi Amineh, who holds her place in the group and surveys all with a piercing gaze. Another aged Varati woman, this one in white and stooped with her years, is bearing a bag woven of string slung off her shoulder; within it are stored several small vials and rags. The Empyrean Aurora, whose wings hang oddly still from her shoulder-blades, provides a striking contrast to the primarily Varati gathering. And lastly, there is a young maiden in the red, blue, and gold of Clan Khalida, her head bowed shyly, her bearing suggesting distinct uneasiness. The Akhund bows to the Princess as the door is opened, and as those in the corridor are gestured within, he takes on the function of herald, naming those who enter the chamber. The girl in scarlet and blue and gold is last -- and is introduced simply as "Faanshi," entering the room immediately next to the aged woman in white who is named by the Akhund as "Ulima, priestess of Ushas, Holy Mother of the Khalid." Aurora enters the room with a whisper of silks -- her gown is finely-made, but it is Empyrean in design. Her wings rustle silkenly as well, but it is only her movements that disturb her feathers; her wings are folded against her back, but otherwise, they are lifeless. Taking in the scene with calm yet alert grey eyes, Aurora nods to Shinjukou before glancing over to the bed. "We were told that the prince was in need of a healer." She makes a gesture toward Faanshi, bidding her to step forward. "This one has answered the summons of Khalid Atar. Will you let her take a look at your brother?" In contrast to Shinjukou's voiced greeting, the cloaked Atlantean in the chair rises smoothly, like a ripple in a lake, attaining his footing in the same moment that he provides a greeting bow of his head. No speech, but the gesture conveys the same meaning. It's quite a wonder the messages one can transmit without uttering a single word. Especially when you come from a people who habitually do so. He then looks up warily at the entrants and back towards the patient-to-be, with an expectant look upon his countenance. "Now, child," comes the soft reedy whisper of the priestess in white, who calmly finds a place to put down her burden, the better to free her hands for assisting the maiden. And that maiden, Faanshi, catches Aurora's gesture and the voicing of her name. She comes forward a few steps, drops a curtsey to Shinjukou, and whispers, "If I can... serve, Imphada, I will try my best..." But her voice is hoarse as she speaks, and her green eyes flash a palpably nervous and frightened gaze towards he who lies upon the bed. Aurora's grey eyes flash over the top of Faanshi's head to fix on Ulima's wise, dark ones. Her expression exhibits some of her concern -- concern for the young woman who has been faced with so important a task. 'Is she ready?' her eyes seem to ask? Atlanteans are not the only ones who can communicate without speaking. The Varati maiden is studied silently for several heavy moments by Shinjukou -- the unspoken communication passing between the others ignored in favor of regarding the one who might heal her brother. Finally that pale head inclines forward in a nod of... acknowledgement? Approval? Those crystal eyes are as unfathomable as the ocean they draw their color from. Betraying none of the tension that might be expected from such a situation, the Crown Princess pivots slowly about and proceeds back to the bed, coming to rest near the head while looking back to the visitors. Polite, if silent, invitation that they are welcome to approach and assess the condition of the Heir. Among those who have entered the chamber, the Nabi Amineh opts to take up a station near the door, gesturing the Akhunds who have accompanied her out into the hallway while she surveys the scene with a critical eye. No less alert of gaze than the priestess in red, the priestess in white returns Aurora's unspoken glance, her own just as full of unvoiced meaning as that of the Empyrean woman, in the mere fact that her countenance is decidedly impassive, save for a touch of resignation. Faanshi herself swallows hard behind her veil, already having taken a few unconscious steps towards the bed upon which Kuronbo lies; she has a slim golden hand outstretched, as if wishing to touch him but not yet daring. That outstretched hand shakes. And it is Ulima who respectfully addresses the Princess, "It will doubtless aid the girl, Imphada, if you could tell us briefly and quickly what has befallen him." No immediate reply is made. The words must be found, sorted into the correct order before being given voice. Meanwhile, Shinjukou's gaze drifts down to rest upon the ruined face of the man in the bed. "We were on the upper deck of the Iruka. A flaming bolt struck the deck at his feet, and we were thrown into the water. The damage was caused initially by the explosion... and left without healing, until he was found recently." The water-whisper voice trails into silence after this recitation, and the woman brings her regard again to Faanshi. No words... but what may be warmth touches the curve of her mouth, a small smile that is brushed with muted reassurance - no hope, no despair for whichever outcome the girl's touch may bring. Aurora ventures closer to the bed as well, but her eyes are trained on Faanshi rather than the wounded Atlantean. Her features are set and still in watchful regard, and her posture reflects that same alertness. Poised, yet ready to lend what small aid she might, she studies the healer and maintains a serene, placid exterior so as not to alarm the young woman yet further. A breath stirs the air from no known source; there must be a window left open somewhere. Some might imagine the mist-spray, salt-scent of the sea conveyed fleetingly upon it; others might sense wood-smoke, incense, and the lamp-oil that keeps the flames bright in Atesh-Gah. The fallen Decemvir-Apparent lies upon the indicated bed, and it is quite obvious that he has suffered more than any person could possibly be asked to endure. His entire upper torso burns the none too gentle kiss of flame...his onyx skin seared from the bone. His head and face bare both the flame damage and the shattered features of one whom has suffered through an explosion. Most horrible, his lips and skin are burned away to reveal bone and two precise rows of feral shark's teeth. There is a patina of death in the air, the smell of rot and decay...of wounds left untended. The smell hits Faanshi first, that aroma of sickness and waning life, and the young shudra has to swallow against a surge of bile in her throat. She barely hears Ulima's quiet words, or Shinjukou's even quieter reply; her gaze, turned so dark as to render the green hue of her eyes nearly black, has riveted itself upon the stricken Prince. Both her hands come forward as, on the tail end of the gagging reflex that tracks down her throat, the magic within her roars into life. She does not know whether she shuts her eyes before she closes the gap between herself and the bed, or vice versa; nevertheless, in two heartbeats she's done both, those quivering hands of hers flinging themselves towards Kuronbo's mangled form as though they were iron drawn by magnets. "Gently." That word comes from Aurora, softly-spoken. She moves to the opposite side of the bed, so that she might watch Faanshi and monitor her actions as best she can. "Remember what I told you -- let it flow like water. It will overwhelm you if you call your magic forth too quickly." She maintains a soothing rhythm, hoping to imbue Faanshi with some of that calm. Her voice is low and musical, with that peculiar airy quality to unique to Empyreans. It holds a slight accent as well, though the source is unknown. After speaking thus to Faanshi, she swivels her blond head toward Shinjukou. "Have you been able to reach his mind?" she asks. Ulima flashes a black gaze at Aurora, a stare that assesses the winged woman in no more time than it takes to draw a breath. The Ushashti priestess keeps silent, deferring to she who has been bidden by the Khalid to aid her young kinswoman... but even as she takes a step back towards the door and her red-robed counterpart, her aged mouth moves in a murmured prayer that the Lady of the Dawn give the girl strength to accomplish her task. In spite of the perfection of an outward pose of the serenity expected from the Princess, there is tension there -- visible in the tightness of fingers laced together before her waist, the set of her mouth and mild glitter of the eyes that never leave Faanshi. "His mind is closed to me, and has been since he fell into this trance." If trance is the proper word for it. No other suitable choice presents itself, not now, not while waiting to see what happens. "I can attempt to reach him again, if you believe it would help. It is... a concern, his mind was not... stable, when he was found." Aurora's gaze drops to the injured Atlantean. She does not shrink from the sight of his burned flesh or shark's teeth -- after all, she was with Khalid during the war, and has seen far worse visions than this in her lifetime. Studying him critically, she responds to Shinjukou, "Faanshi will heal his body as best she is able, but his mind..." she shakes her head. "I am afraid that will be beyond her abilities." Her brow wrinkles mildly as she looks across at the Crown Princess. "You are close to him, yes?" She should not have to ask -- Shinjukou's attentiveness at his bedside is apparent enough. But perhaps she wants to hear the truth verified from this cool, aloof, Atlantean with a demeanor like ice and skin like mother-of-pearl. There is so much, so very much wrong with the Prince. Faanshi makes no sound or outcry, but the corners of her tightly closed eyes crinkle up with strain. Power swells up from within her, unfettered now, shooting out from the slender golden fingers splayed there against his shoulder and his belly, searching for something to mend. _Gently_, Aurora says. How can she proceed gently, when fire is surging up out of her inner being and there is so much so very _wrong_ with the stricken man beneath her palms? Still, though, she tries. If she cannot hold back her power, she can at least grab hold of it, and try to direct its flow. Her thoughts race, and then instinct leads her to focus upon the flesh immediately within her touch. _Be right,_ she implores it, not knowing whether she thinks it or speaks it aloud or both. "Be right..." And then something begins to creep into the very edge of perception. It is more a sense than anything else...a sense of wrong, of moral outrage, or promised violence. The reek of it seems in concert with the smell of decay. And then it manifests itself into reality. There is a faint buzzing sound. The buzzing speaks of Cicadas on a hot summer day and it is growing louder. "Very close." A simple affirmation, accompanied with a bare glance at the one who asked the question. Time is taken for a brief though thorough inspection of the Empyrean - noting dress, expression, wings. How to explain to one who cannot touch the fullness of Knowing, with the simple brush of a mind? For just an instant, the strength of feeling for her brother can be seen in Shinjukou's eyes. It fades all too soon, however, into first the utter lack of expression from before - then a puzzled uneasiness as gaze returns quickly to the man on the bed. "Take care," she breathes, the words almost too soft to hear, meant for Faanshi or perhaps for Kuronbo himself. "One at a time, Faanshi," instructs Aurora softly. "You cannot heal everything at once. Concentrate on a part at a time." She gestures to Kuronbo's prone form, first indicating his face, then chest, then mid-section. "Your magic will be attracted to what is most in need of mending. Let it find its own path, and just follow it." After imparting these words to Faanshi, who may or may not heed them -- after all, it is one thing to hear the advice, but quite another thing to actually *follow* it -- Aurora brings her gaze back up to Shinjukou. "You must try to calm him," she says. "If... *when*... he returns." Her exchange of the word betrays her doubt, but she strives to hide it through determination. Strange, that she has no powers whatsoever to aid in this endeavor, and yet she issues instruction as if she were one of Delphi's wisest instructors. The body of the male Atlantean lies motionless beneath the hands of the Healer, but it is quite evident that the feeling of malvolence in the room is emanating from him. The room seems darker as the ritual proceeds and the air becomes stifling hot, the smell of the Atlantean's sickness growing oppressive in the near confines of the chamber. The buzzing sound is noticeable now...it is impossible to miss but impossible to pinpoint. It seems to be coming from outside and from within each of the partcipants. Ulima straightens her frail form as best she can, alarm flickering across her otherwise impassive countenance at that impossible sound beginning to intrude upon her hearing. "He rouses," she murmurs, to none in particular, though her gaze is riveted upon the veiled girl who stands at Kuronbo's bedside, her head bowed, her slight form leaning forward as though to physically add force to the lash of unseen power disturbing the aether because of her. Cicadas. Faanshi barely knows the sound; she's had only a few scant months' worth of experience with the noises of insects, the noises of things that belong outside the hidden stone fastness of a vara. The sound is immaterial to her, for it seems to her that she has a Task, and she cannot let herself be distracted now by the chirpings of bugs! Her thoughts shut out the sound; almost, she succeeds, but it lingers on the edge of her consciousness nevertheless, along with Aurora's wisely delivered words. She does not see the Empyrean's gestures, for her eyes are closed. But she does hear Aurora's words, and thus she strives to let her power go where it is most needed... and to keep her concentration there and only there. Sweat beads out across her golden brow. The instructions may well not be needed - already Shinjukou's eyes have taken on a distant cast, as the woman extends consciousness towards the shell surrounding her brother's mind. If aloof and unfeeling she had seemed before, then utterly lifeless - a true sculpture of mother of pearl - she seems now while the mind focuses on the task of attempting to wrap a calming blanket around Kuronbo's stirring awareness. "The burning pool... " Dead words, falling in a hollow whisper from numb lips. A single hand stretches out, hovering in the air above the man's head, fingers splaying wide as if seeking to hold in whatever this is he is sending out. As the hand's of the Decemvirate Princess fall upon the head of the shattered figure, there is a sense of released power in the air. For those that are attuned to such things, there is an instant of awareness...of three powers within the room. There is the power of the mind that stands out upon the form of Shinjukou like sterile ivory. Of course, there is the power of the Healer..a pale ice blue that emanates from her hands and forms a patina of pale light over the shattered Atlantean. But there is the awful awareness that the third power, a black and crimson core of malovlent light is the prevelant power here. That awareness lasts for only a second before it explodes outward and consumes the competing powers of the room... The buzzing sound increases to a deafening volumne, and it is quite clear that it is coming from within the heads of all present. The buzzing seems to draw from the illness that is within the Atlantean laying on the bed. There is no longer thoughts of healing and compassion now, there is the feeling of mortal danger. It screams within the veins of all present, and for a terrible instant...all feel the terrible injuries that this man has suffered as surely as if it has happened to you. The power of whatever is transpiring seems to be feeding off your attempt to Heal him...it is almost as if your actions were the catalyst that is allowing this to happen, as if it was the thing that woke the terrible intent. You sense that much. "Sweet... Mother of the Khalid...!" Someone gasps this out, and it might be the white-robed priestess Ulima. Ulima, who Sees things... and who is treated to the full malevolent spectacle of those three clashing auras that fill the room as the buzzing crescendoes. Her unveiled face turns grey beneath its dusky skin, and the old woman's features tighten in strain as she struggles to withstand the raw screaming pain that has set fire -- or so it seems -- to her entire body. For the first time upon being granted her newborn wings, Aurora uses them voluntarily. They snap outward, unfurling in response to the *waves* of pain, danger, terror, anger... all emanating from the mind of Kuronbo. The tidal wave slices into her *own* mind and she cannot block it out, and her wings unfold in unconscious reaction. Either the feel of those long-unused muscles flexing, or the vicarious pain lancing through her mind draws a cry from her own lips, but she clenches her teeth and grinds out to Shinjukou, "*Call* to him... *calm* him... you are the only one he knows...!" Only then do her eyes go to Faanshi to see what effects the released, telepathic onslaught is having on her. Once already has she suffered through this, this unholy wave of pure overwhelming Other-Mind. But the effect of horrorangerragepain is no lessened for past experience. A full-throated keen escapes Shinjukou as her entire body stiffens, locking into a rictus of agony - unable even to remove her hands from the brow of her brother. Breath stolen by the raw cry that empties her lungs, her mind staggers, reels beneath the onslaught - then tries to push through the consuming presence filling every corner of her thoughts. No words, no controlled effort or attack is made. Rather what little coherant effort she can muster goes into a terrified wave of pleading mingled with wavering control learned from this very man - Calm yourself! Control! Pull it in, shield yourself if you can feel me here with you! I am here! "NooOOOooooOoo..." The strangled little sound drops forth from Faanshi's lips, a plea of denial. Her face has contorted in reflected agony, sheened over now in sweat -- and tears beginning to pour from beneath her tightly closed black lashes. Her entire body trembles like a sapling buffeted by a hurricane; indeed, the only entirely unmoving portions of her body are her hands, now pressed against the Prince as though her flesh were fused to his. In reaction to that blast of pain, her own magic flails out wildly, no longer under the girl's conscious control. Within the blue witchfire that is her power's aura in the aether, her thoughts are reduced to a single pure pulse of adjuration: _Be right stop hurting no pain be right please be right be right be right..._ The black and crimson is a hungry creature and the agony and violation of those within the room serve only to fuel it. The buzzing grows deafening and turns into the echoed roar of the conflaguation that once consumed the Atlantean and now is being shared with the occupants of the room. There is a terrible instant where the threshold of pain and human awareness have been crossed and all are reduced to screaming writhing constructs..and then darkness consumes them. The last image that is seen before the darkness is the eyes of Decemvir-Apparent Orcinus Kuronbo opening, no longer black on black...but flame red... Awareness is slow to return...and two feelings are immediately evident. The first is that there is no longer the terrible assault of flame. It is gone. The second feeling that is evident is that you are somewhere different, somewhere distant from Atesh-Gah. The blinding ivory of Shinjukou's telepathy flares and begins to focus - avoiding the icy blue and drawing instead on the most intense of crimson and onyx. The shield she has so often used, a rippling wall of chill mental waters, struggles to form itself and lend cooler emotions to the blazing heat of Kuronbo's sending. *No, no this is not right, not the burning, the fire, no think of the water, the ocean the cold secret grottos please control please* The barrier is nothing against that final roaring, and the Princess tears her hands away from Kuronbo's brow, staggering back before collapsing to her knees - hands pressing immediately to her eyes. *Blessed Pasiphae watch over us, he is insane, bless us and keep us in peace oh where are we* What... where... where is she? She has been moved? Buffeted nearly into a mindless stupor between her own rebellious power and the storm that is the mind of Kuronbo, Faanshi reacts sluggishly, still feeling as though her hands are afire with healing force. But where did the room go? And where... oh, Mother of the Khalid, _where is Ulima?_ There is utter silence with the exception of the dropping of water in the distance. The area begins to resolve itself, and it is apparent that all within the room are standing within a dark cave. It is cold here, the antithesis of the heat that the people have so recently been subjected too. The effect is enhanced by the fact that everyone is standing in ankle deep water. And then you see Orcinus Kuronbo... The Atlantean is sitting upon a rock in the middle of the dank chamber, his body perfect and unravaged by the injuries that were evident upon his body a few minutes ago. He is utterly motionless, his eyes falling upon his...companions. Surrounding him are corpses...dozens of bodies in fact lying about him in the water at his feet. The corpses appeared to be Atlanteans, a few other races are represented as well. Their faces are locked in rictuses of agony, of the final moments of whatever life they might have enjoyed once. Orcinus Kuronbo sits upon his rock, his face pensive as he rests his chin in his palm and regards that which is about him. Blessed cold, welcome and accustomed to. Better than the heat for which her race is so unsuited. This would hardly be the time to revel in comfort, however, and Shinjukou greets her surroundings initially with wary fright - the majority of it directed at the Heir, eyes locked to his face. *He should not be able to do this. Not this, the stories... Kuronbo* Speculation on what may be happening is pushed aside so as to focus attention on her brother - and to keep him from hearing these pained imaginings of his sanity. Silence is kept to, the others here ignored as is the carnage. Already a vague suspicion of just where they have been brought is growing. *Kuronbo, my brother, what have you done?* Inside someone else's mind. Inside their thoughts, feelings, their very *core*. Aurora, who has always maintained such reserve, and held herself aloof now finds her entire being plunged into a reality that is entirely subject to another's whim. Fixing a gaze gone cold and hard as steel onto the fathomless black-on-black eyes of the Atlantean, she says, "This is not real. We are not here, and you are skirting along the edge of madness. Release us, so that we can heal you." No Ulima. For a seemingly eternal chill moment of panic, Faanshi finds herself alone in the dark and the cold and the wet without her heart-mother's serene buoying presence... and then she begins to register the further details of her surroundings. The sight of the bodies strikes her as hard as any physical blow -- she who has never before seen death, not even the death of the Warlord who imprisoned her, is very nearly driven to her knees at the sight of it in conjunction with the absence of the old woman she loves. The urge to retch is almost overwhelming, and her senses swim with nausea... but her rogue restless power is still Awake. It sets her moving, staggering through the water towards that rock. _I must do this,_ she thinks dimly, _this isn't Right... this isn't Right..._ Here and now in this Other place, her face is unveiled, and without its veil, her youthful features can be seen to be awash with tears of agony. Aurora, for her part, pays little heed at all to her surroundings. She refuses to acknowledge them, in the hopes of remaining grounded in some semblance of reality, and not being carried along on the tide of Kuronbo's pain-induced fever dream. The Atlantean cants his head slightly at the sound of the intrusive voices on his solitude. However, he does not turn his head...his eyes seem to be locked on one body in particular. It is the body of an Atlantean woman, a woman whose features are maimed beyond recognition. With an audible sigh, he takes a few halting steps forward and kneels in the water...and holds the corpse of the Atlantean woman in a loving caress. He stares down at the Atlantean in his arms, and a single tear flows down his perfect and unharmed cheek. His voice is soft as he finally decides to reply, "It matters little if it is real to you, Empyerean...the fact that it is so terribly real to me is what compells this..." There is a flatness to his voice, an alien tone that is leeched of emotion and does not seem to fit the tears flowing down his cheek. Blessed Pasiphae. Again the wordless prayer goes up when Shinjukou rises to her feet and takes a step forward - gaze taking in the identity of those faces belonging to the corpses scattered about her brother. A pulse of understanding, of recognition stirs beneath the attempted calm the woman is projecting. The burning pool, experienced rather than simply seen, as before. The Atlantean female whispers beneath the spoken persuasions of Aurora with soft brushes of her mind. *You must choose, Kuronbo. Return these two, and choose whether to remain here or to carry out what has been Seen for you, bring this killing to those you hate* Another slow step forward, over the twisted body of unrecognizable race - the corpse is too ravaged for details to be made out. *If you would remain here, I will carry you into Pasiphae's arms and see you at peace myself. But return these two. They sought only to help you.* "You are locked in the past, Orcinus Kuronbo," Aurora says, and she refuses to allow compassion to touch her features -- or her very thoughts. Though she exists in the reality of another's making, her own mind remains sealed tight, shielded from scrutiny. Nothing leaks through that steely reserve. Sparing a glance for Faanshi, first, she says, "Let your power work, healer. You are still touching him. You are still kneeling beside the bed with your hands pressed to his body. This is not real. Close your eyes, Faanshi, and let your power flow." Her voice is stern, and so weighted with conviction that she might -- just might -- induce others to disbelieve their eyes and put faith in the unseen. Flashing a glance toward Shinjukou, she waits to see what effect the pale Atlantean's words might have on her dark-skinned brother. Let her power flow. Faanshi registers Aurora's words, and those she'd uttered earlier -- that her magic will want to go where it is needed most. Something seems to shift within her green eyes -- bigger than a Varati's eyes should be, in a face a few shades too pale for a Child of Fire -- a glimmer of understanding, perhaps. Her tears continue to flow as she stumbles closer to Kuronbo still, a hand stretched forth, but not yet touching him. "Who is she, Imphadi?" she whispers softly, her voice full of sorrow. Here, she thinks to herself, here is somewhere where her magic is needed. Orcinus Kuronbo tilts his head upward at the approaching Healer and he responds to her simply, "It is a person whom is of little consequence, a person that it is soon to be...removed" There is no evil posturing, no mad outrage..only the simple utterance of fact. His face turns towards the Empyerean and he nods once in response to the unspoken question, "You are correct of course, that we are really standing in a room in Atesh-Gah...and what you are seeing now is what may transpire." His hand drops down and he lifts a handful of 'water' to his face and he smells it once, and then allows it to fall upon the ivory white body of corpse...blood red in color upon the naked breast. He speaks aloud, "This was necessary...all of this about me was necessary...and now it is time to go" A slender hand flashes out, glimmering ivory touched with a rainbow of colors in the gloom of the cave, seeking to stop Faanshi with a gesture meant to convey urgency. Do not touch that body! Not that one, the corpse of a woman who has yet to die. She can only imagine what the result would be for this young Varati healer to come into contact with that shade of possible future reality. *Kuronbo* Shinjukou straightens, squaring herself into the mold of Crown Princess - mental tone as commanding as she can manage knowing she addresses both beloved brother and her superior in rank and years. May pasiphae see to it that she is not misunderstanding his words. *The necessity can be argued once we have gone back. Return us now, as you said. It is time to go back.* The healer maiden is not looking at Shinjukou, and thus, she misses that sharp urgent gesture flashed in her direction. But then, perhaps she catches the intent even without the gesture... or perhaps, she had already reached the same conclusion herself. It is not the body in Kuronbo's arms for which she reaches, but rather, Kuronbo himself. She knows nothing of future realities; indeed, as far as Faanshi's power is concerned, the only thing of importance here is the mending of that which is wrong. "Imphadi Kuronbo," she breathes, "this is not Right... let me fix it...!" There is no command in her voice, only quiet pleading and grief, reflected and refracted within her liquid innocent gaze. "Let me make it right... let me make it right..." The Orcinus Atlantean tilts his head slightly in the direction of the Varati Healer and a cold expression passes his features, but he allows the corpse to fall out of his hands and back beneath the water. He bows his head and smiles once, the feral teeth appearing once in a flash of ivory..the tears still falling from his cheek and into the water. Everyone's eyes follow the tear as it hit's the water... The impact causes ripples in the water and they flow outward in a pattern that is near hypnotizing...as the ripples extend impossibly outward on the surface of the water, it passes the legs of those within the room and there is the faintest recurrence of the buzzing sound and the darkness grows. This time there is no lack of awareness in the transit between vision and reality. It is as if one moment you are within a construct of the mind of the Atlantean, and then a single blink later...you are standing within Atesh-Gah, the same exact positions that you were in only seconds before. Finding herself once more on her knees beside the bed, Shinjukou reaches out to set hands against the side of it to steady herself - mind not a little off balance from the transition. Luminous eyes blink slowly once, twice, a third time then lift to the onyx profile she can just see over the edge of the bed. *Pasiphae forgive me if I should have placed a coral dagger in his heart when he was first found* she thinks, the icy shield snapping up around her thoughts once more - the not quite prayer is spoken for no one but the Princess and her goddess. The repercussions of the future her brother seems fixed on are known to her, and that knowledge lends a pained, indecisive light to eyes that are otherwise blank, as expressionless as ever. Aurora's grey eyes flutter shut and then open as she adjusts to the transition from finding herself back in the guest room of Atesh-Gah. Her wings flutter as well, echoing that brief instant of confusion. Then, after assuring herself that things are as they should be, her gaze flies first to Faanshi, to see how the young woman has weathered this psychological 'storm.' Once more Faanshi is buffeted between the mind of the Prince and the roiling demands of her own power... and once more, her awareness is battered down to a single focused thought, out of sheer desperate reaction. The transition of perceived locales is barely noticed by the shudra, immaterial, irrelevant. Her reasons for needing to heal the stricken Kuronbo vanish out of her cognizance -- never mind that the Khalid _told_ her to do it, and that perhaps her heart-mother will go hungry and sick if she, Faanshi, cannot use her magic as her Clan Warlord... as her God-King... has bid her. Never mind, even that her entire being aches with the Atlantean's wounds. The halfbreed healer, caught up in the grip of the instinct that had swelled over her at the sight of the onyx-skinned Prince with the broken body in his arms, knows only one thought: _make it right._ And thus she stands, her veil now soaked with her sweat and her shed tears, her frame rigid and immobile. Her magic's flow has picked up strength and depth, as if somewhere within her a gate has been forced open, tapping into the heart of her being. The work of the Healer is near completion, the resonance of her passion is reflected in her work and he is quickly mended under the force of her efforts. Ravaged skin is healed with passes of her hand and his breathing grows easier as that which is ill within him is healed as well. Soon, her mission is complete...and Kuronbo is as healthy looking as he was before that fateful day upon the Iruka, as healthy as he looked in the vision that all just witnessed. "Faanshi... child..." The breathless croak comes from a crumpled heap in white upon the floor: the priestess Ulima, fighting her way back to consciousness. Her body, become fragile these last few months from her accumulated years, is protesting this upstart notion of hers about getting to her knees, much less her feet. But somehow Ulima wobbles into something resembling an upright position, her face turned nearly dark grey with her exertion, looking nearly ten years older as she forces herself to stand. "Faanshi..." Aurora's voice might break through that zealous concentration that the young healer has maintained. She reaches across the bed to touch the girl's hand, resting atop the dark-skinned Atlantean's torso, through which her magic flows. "You have done enough." Hearing another voice echo her own, Aurora glances over toward Ulima, fighting a brief sense of surrealism to see the familiar form of that old woman after the recent ordeal. "She will be exhausted," she tells Ulima. It's a struggle as well for the Atlantean princess to gain her feet, even braced as she is with both hands on the edge of the bed. It takes a minute or two before the woman manages, another minute before enough balance is regained to keep her from toppling over onto the ground again. What she would no doubt give for the support of the ocean around her right now... "You have done enough, healer," Shinjukou echoes the Empyrean's words, adding yet another surreal aspect to the atmosphere of the room. "He is... he is whole." Physically, at least. Tiredly pushing foamy hair back from her face, smoothing the skewed drapery of fabric that conceals her form, she looks from brother to Varati girl, mustering a small smile for Faanshi's benefit - for all that it goes unseen. It carries well enough in that whisper soft tone, however. The Atlantean upon the bed is whole again, it is indeed as Shinjukou has stated. His skin is unblemished, the stink of decay is rapidaly disappearing in the room and it is evident that his breathing is becoming less labored and more controlled. But there is the memory of that vision and the doubt of his sanity still lingers...painfully lingers. She can feel it happening. The shifting of splintered bones into proper positions before they knit themselves into harmonious wholes... the recreation of smooth onyx skin, new and soft and unblemished... the mending of tortured organs within the horrifically battered frame. The Healer feels it all, riding on the crest of her power, and amazement and joy lends the flow of healing strength as it seems to her that she is, indeed, making things Right. _Such pain he must be in,_ a back of her mind whispers, and the power responds to that whisper, pale ice blue turning softer and soothing, meant to ease agony, to bring peace and slumber, to give strength until the wounded one is whole within and without... and still Faanshi doesn't quite yet move or look up. "Faanshi," Aurora says again, louder this time. She squeezes the girl's hand, hoping to pry it away from Kuronbo. "Enough," she tells her. "You overtax yourself. It is done... you have made him whole." She smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring manner, but her own nerves are frayed and ready to snap. Darting a glance toward Shinjukou, she seems to seek confirmation with her gaze that Kuronbo is, truly, 'whole' once more. In mind as well as body. "Child...!" This, more urgently, from Ulima. The old priestess stumbles to the shudra girl, reaching gnarled hands for Faanshi's unmoving figure. Now, te maiden has leaned so far over the prone Prince that it might seem that the only thing keeping her from collasping atop him is the unyielding rigidity of her arms. Seeing this, Ulima shoots a glance at Aurora, and then reaches to bodily lift the shudra's other hand from Kuronbo's mended boy. "Faanshi, heart-daughter, come back to us...!" What answer can she give to Aurora? Shinjukou wets her lips with her tongue, draws in another breath to give fuel to a whisper of... but the words won't come. The breath is held, the woman's eyes lower behind a veil of silver lashes and that pale head shakes just once. Uncertain of just what state the mind of Kuronbo may be in, whether or not this healing was a waste, a tortured gift given to one who may end up only as a madman. "I will look after him now, Healer. You have... done more than I can give thanks for. You should rest." Finally words to use that breath on are found, directed to Faanshi to back up the directions of Ulima and Aurora. Wait a minute... Faanshi? Healer? Is that... her? Still practically one with the man whose body she has poured every fiber of her being into healing, it takes the shudra girl several moments before she responds to the efforts to disengage her from the Prince. She staggers blindly backwards once her hands are lifted free of him, and bumps into Ulima; very nearly, the priestess collapses at the impact, but the old woman undauntedly wraps her arms about the maiden. Faanshi turns her head towards Shinjukou unseeingly, and then towards Aurora; her veil, practically transparent now that it is soaked through with sweat and tears, hides very little of her not-entirely-Varati visage beneath it. She is almost as grey of face as Ulima, her skin practically transparent, her eyes wide and dark. "U-Ulima? Impha...di Aurora...?" "That was not a vision of the past." It should be a question, but it isn't. Aurora's mouth hardens into a firm line as she studies Shinjukou for several moments longer. At last, in a hushed yet grim voice, she responds, "Yes. Look after him." There is more to her meaning than simple care that a sister might provide for her healing brother. Then, exhaling a shaky sigh that carries some of her tension with it, she moves around the edge of the bed toward Faanshi and her aged mentor. "It is over," she tells the young woman again, with a soothing smile -- one she affixes to her face in the hopes of concealing her troubled demeanor. "You have healed him. The best thing for the both of you now is... rest." "Come, dear one," Ulima murmurs to the maiden, still holding her firmly for all that she looks just a bit farther away from collapse than the shudra girl. A gnarled hand reaches, beginning to turn Faanshi to the door. "Come, my child, and we'll get you resting." "He's all right?" Faanshi murmurs. Her voice comes out of her entirely deprived of strength, rather higher than normal, the sort of plaintive question a very small child might ask when she is tired beyond belief and deeply worried about a grownup's welfare. She lets herself be turned by Ulima, but her head turns the other way, seeking out Aurora's face before she gazes liquidly at the now sleeping Prince. The Atlantean only dips her head forward slightly - not a nod, but more recognition of the things that weren't said. Passing a hand over her face, Shinjukou then sinks down to sit on the bed. Taking up the silent watch of her brother again, it would seem. "She is right, you need rest now." Again that tiny, tiny smile for Faanshi - touching the ice of her eyes and speaking of the gratitude felt for the task the girl performed. Time enough later to wonder whether it should have even been attempted. "You did very well." "You can check in on him later," Aurora promises, as she moves to Ulima's side to help herd Faanshi toward the door. Her wings, so long stilled, now move slightly in response to her movements. They fan outward, and though there is discomfort on her face for a split-second, she gives no other outward sign. "Let us go to your chambers, Faanshi. You must be exhausted." So must Ulima, but Aurora does not say that. She plans to get them *both* out of the room and calmed down as quickly as possible. The ordeal has been strenuous for everyone. Out, then, they go: the Empyrean, the halfbreed Healer... and the priestess of Ushas. But as they go, Ulima glances once back at Shinjukou, giving the Princess a single deep look tinged with something that might be sadness. For all that she was not dragged into the inner vision of Kuronbo, perhaps, just perhaps, this old woman understands something of the doubts that plague his sister now. [End log.]