Log file from Jaihyn.
time and date yet to come
Courtyard - Atesh-Gah – Haven
If indeed the Hebrew folk of lost Earth are correct in their legends, then this must be the legendary garden from which mankind was expelled. The flat expanse of the great courtyard of Atesh-Gah is covered in the most luxurious grass of bright emerald green, broken only by a cobblestone path for riding and walking to prevent wear upon the lawn. Rich copses of carefully tended wood grow by the walls, lovingly groomed flower gardens acting as a barrier of color before the rising trees.
Perhaps even more relaxing than the sight of the yard are the sensations of it. The lovely scents of flower and tree; honey-suckle, apple blossom, peach, and jasmine; combine with the soft cushion of green grass to provide a sense of peace and harmony that defies the looming sand-hued walls of unbreakable stone. Not even the shadowed maw of the main gate, nor the blocky, unimpressive presence of the impenetrable main keep can overshadow the beauty of this place. Indeed, the stark contrast serves only to enhance it.
Khalil steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard. Khalil has arrived.
Jaihyn is sitting on a bench, working his sword with great care, cloak off and folded up beside him.
Khalil walks down the steps of the embassy into the courtyard, without his brigantine or haik. He wears only a white cotton shirt of his chest, but as always his sword remains at his side. He gives a short grunt at Jaihyn before he moves toward a somewhat secluded area of the courtyard.
Jaihyn looks up at the grunt with a raised eyebrow. He watches the Lion settle himself and then goes back to his sword cleaning, watching from hooded eyes.
Khalil kneels down once he reaches his favorite spot, drawing his word from its scabbard. Perfect as usual he bows at the waist before closing his eyes. Moving into the beginning of a sword form he slashes downward, slices upward, drawing him to his feet and then thrusts forward. The tip points directly toward the priest, though it seems perhaps impossible for it to be anything more than coincidence, as his eyes are closed.
Jaihyn puts down the sharpening kit with a chuckle, "Is that an invitation, Lion?" he asks, tapping fingernails along his blade in speculation.
Khalil's eyes pop open and he glares at the priest. Straightening he draws his sword close to him, until the blade is side by side of his face, reflecting light onto his visage. An eerie smile crosses his lips. "As you would take it, Imphadi. If not before, then now I will make it so."
Jaihyn cocks his head, narrowing his eyes a little, trying to read Khalil's mood. Would he be stepping into a physically dangerous situation? Ah well, one must learn some way and being pushed during sparing usually does it for him.
Jaihyn nods, "As you will then." and stands up, leaving the scabbard on the bench behind him, stepping forward.
Khalil also steps toward the priest, his expression nothing but stone, just as it should be. He moves the sword in front of him defensively and begins his circling of the prey.
Jaihyn sighs, that circling thing again... He pivots on his back foot, following his opposition with sword point up and waiting, watching, always keeping the other man in front of him. He nods slightly taking in the man, all of him.
Beneath the cotton shirt, muscle ripples, tensing and un-tensing with each movement. Instead of the circle becoming smaller, Khalil forgoes with this taunting and instead covers the distance between them with a few steps and then a vicious arc toward the priest's head.
Jaihyn blinks and doesn't bring his blade up to block the sword coming at his head, instead dropping down into an almost crouch/lunge down to the man's right, bringing his head offline of the swing and snaps his sword out, dull edge against the length of his arm, sharp side out, come in with a forearm/elbow strike only now with a dangerous cutting edge.
Khalil leaps back and away from the priest, bringing his sword down to sweep away the threatening attack. His feet pause upon the ground before he strikes out to sweep the man's legs from beneath him, his sword moving before him once more, pointing out with the tip aiming for the neck.
Jaihyn is way low to the ground from his crouch and he purposefully lets himself get swept, rolling forward, keeping sword up and in the way and in the roll makes a snapping move with his head to /bite/ the Lion's leg, swinging sword in an upward thrust towards the other blade, also seeking belly.
Khalil lets his free arm come down and sweeps away the sword toward his belly as he kicks out with the leg the priest seeks to bite. This leaves his sword free and he uses this as a last resort, preparing to strike down, if his kick does not knock the man away.
Jaihyn jerks his head back, tucking chin into chest to avoid getting a boot to the head, although the leg grazes him slightly. He rolls around, putting himself on his back and with a no-handed kip-up, is back on his feet. Sword whirling, he goes for a beat, a clash of blade to blade to try and create shock up the other's arm.
Raised with that feeling, it is but a tickle and Khalil brings his sword up once more, arcing it sideways toward the left side of the priest. This leaves his right side a bit open and without his armor, there is a chance to draw blood.
Jaihyn is unsure in a slight instant, tactics not being his best thing. Should he go for the cut, he leaves himself open for a cut himself along his left, but should he block that swing, then he's left an opportunity behind. Then the sword snaps out, blocking left and the priest lets fly a swift kick to that opened area on the Lion. He did learn something from that last sparring bout it does seem.
Khalil moves his right foot back, until he is sideways, the flying knee passing by him. As his right foot finds purchase he lashes out with his left leg, kicking at the knee while the priest is unbalanced.
The kick connects much to Jai's disguntlement and he tumbles back and down to the side, still remembering to keep his sword up to protect any follow throughs the Lion should send his way.
Jaihyn lands hard on his right side, opposite the left leg that was kicked out and apparently lands pretty hard, even though he keeps the sword up.
Khalil moves in for the kill, he sweeps the upraised sword out of the way and brings his foot up to smash down upon the mans stomach.
Jaihyn blinks as his own sword goes crashing out of his numb hand and he barely manages to roll out from under that foot coming down, trying to get into a position to come back up to his feet and move in hand to hand.
Khalil pivots on his foot to face the priest, his sword moving in to catch at his neck as he rises to his feet.
Jaihyn isn't quite done yet and still on the floor, not quite yet standing. He eyes for his sword, a bit too far away but makes the lunge and roll towards it...
Khalil kicks out, doing all he can to keep the priest from his sword. He aims for the man's stomach or anything he might be able to catch
Jaihyn sees the foot and rolls away, coming to his feet in one smooth motion, still a bit aways from his own blade. He backs up instantly as well, to put himself a little more out of blade reach, although not much.
Khalil lets the momentum of his kick draw his blade forward and then he lunges, stabbing straight out toward the priest. His left foot plants on the ground a adding to the strength of his attack.
Jaihyn whips to the side but not quickly enough as the sword edge slides along the flesh of his bare right upper arm, into bicep. Only the continuing motion of the priest twisting out of the way keeps the cut to a mostly shallow depth in his arm.
Khalil spins on his heel and slashes down at the priest with another viscious arc toward his right side. A soft growl eminates from the Lion, but whether from anger or pleasure, remains a mystery.
Concentration shattered by pain, Jai barely manages to stumble forward, into the arm's length of the Lion, only reachable by sword if the man contines the arc in full circle. He snaps up a hand, merely reaching for the Lion's elbow, not in a particularly aggressive move, although doing it with some quickness before that sword's edge gets to his back.
The sword halts and like a striking snake, his left hand aims for Jaihyn's neck, seeking perhaps to squeeze the life from him.
Jaihyn actually lets the Agni-Haidar take him by the neck. To a skilled warrior, that is very obvious that is was completely and totally allowed. He puts his own seeking hand over the wrist of the choke hold. For a moment he stands there and then... is his hand getting warmer rapidly?
Khalil brings his sword up to the priest's belly hoping to press the tip into flesh. In a voice that represses the agonies of pain. "Stop, or you will know pain beyond anything your magic has shown you." If he feels the burning of his flesh, all that he does to acknowledge it is to perspire more than he already does and to have his hand tremble, his teeth grinding together as he forces his mind beyond the body.
Jaihyn looks at the Lion and his eyes roll back up into his head, his hand drops from the man's wrist and... he gives himself completely and totally over to the fire, the flames sheeting up around him in an instant. A sudden fury of intense heat slamming in out of nowhere. The heat immediatly starts conducting up the blade and even if the Lion ran him through it looks almost like the Atarvani is lost anyways.
Khalil pulls back from the heat, his sensibilities taking over. Perhaps if he were a true enemy. His shirt catches on fire before he is completely free and in an effort to not get burned anymore, he rips it off, stomping the flames out once it hits the ground. Backing away slowly, he sheaths his sword, the handle becoming too hot. Around his left wrist are visible burns, also up his right arm where the flames had caught. But he does not notice as he crouches low and watches the priest with curious eyes.
Jaihyn throws his arms out, completely oblivious to anything around him, head thrown back, hair seeming to lift and float like some ethereal energy around his skull. He can be seen well through the flames, they almost have a translucent quality to them and then slowly his body shimmers and fades, being replaced by more flames shaped rather like a tall body. Then his more human form wavers back in, and then out, alternating between flames and flesh.
Khalil raises an arm to shield his eyes from the intensity of the flame's light. Standing, he quickly moves backward, the heat becoming a bit much. Concern perhaps, or still just curiosity flickers over his face. All he can do is wait. So he shrugs and crouches once more to watch, just in case it looks like the priest has taken on too much.
Teeth clench now and it looks as if the previous look of almost ecstasy on his face has now turned to agony. Outflung hands clench into fists, cords stand out his his neck, muscles of the entire body to a practiced all competely knotted and tensed. Then the heat and flames flash again fiercely and is gone and Jai drops to his knees and then almost to his face, an outstretched hand catching at the ground before it can be one with his hand. Even that doesn't seem to help and he pitches forward but not with the same force he would have.
Khalil rushes forward to kneel at the priest's side. He reaches out a hand and nudges him quickly. "Hey. Um... you okay?" Why he cares is beyond him, but he should at least try.
Jaihyn groans, trying to push himself back up to a sitting position but he seems too weak. He slides back down, face to the stones of the courtyard, breath a little ragged but apparently conscious. He coughs a little, trying to speak but can't get anything out either. He tries again and then gives up, fingers twitching seemingly without control.
Khalil sighs. "Foolish man. What did this accomplish? I could kill you right here." But instead of doing so he grumbles and turns the priest onto his back. Standing he rushes to grab the priests folded cloak, when he returns he puts it beneath the man's head. He also makes a quick trip to the fountain, returning with a wet clothe which he puts on the man's head. "They will probably blame this on me also. Always the Janizar's fault, never anyone else's." Right, he is talking to himself. He promptly shuts up.
Jaihyn coughs again, still trying to speak, for a moment, trying to batt away at the Lion's helping hands but then gives up, too weak to protest further and lets himself be administered too. He looks up into the Haidar's eyes, his own grey ones very clear and mouths, "Why?" No sounds comes forth, he just forms the words, hoping the Lion can understand.
Khalil laughs. "Why you are stupid, or why I am helping you? Well, why are stupid. That one is easy. Never do more than is necassary to win, especially during a spar practice. Second, why am I helping you.. That is a good question. Perhaps I do not want you do die so soon, I still have a few good beatings to give.. err.. teach." Hopefully that was what he was asking.
Jaihyn manages a nod in response to the first, filing that information away for further... use. To the second, he manages a smile smile and mouths silently, "I really would not have killed you." he seems almost apologetic.
Khalil nods slowly and motions for the priest to be quiet. Exiting from the embassy are those more suited to take care of the man. Before they arrive to push him away Khalil grins, "I know, but do not think that changes anything." Whatever that means, he quickly is moved aside, his rank vanishing in front of those who seek to help the downed priest.
Jaihyn blinks and manages a grin after the Lion's departing back and then waves off the healers, grumbling. There is nothing they can do to help and staggers off himself. You ascend the stairs into Atesh-Gah, allowed past by the ever-present Agni-Haidar.
Entrance Foyer - Atesh-Gah - Haven
The entranceway to Atesh-Gah is a marvel of Varati architecture and art; a half-dome rising from the earth to the heavens, appearing as if solid stone and seemingly made without reinforcing supports. It is but a shell of smooth, solid rock, made unbreakable by a combination of shaping and ingenuity. A long flight of stairs leads up toward the double doors of the throne room, while a smaller door down below and to the right leads to the back hallway.
The massive space is acoustically sound, carrying each gurgle of crystal water from the central fountain throughout the entire room. Four couches of rich royal blue upholstery surround the fountain, providing a resting place for any who would wish to sit and speak; though the edge of the fountain itself may function in a similar fashion. Flecks and veins of bright gold streak through the pale marble of the walls, leading the eye ever up... until a breath-taking sight catches the eye. Above all else in the room stands Ashur Masad, the Lord of the ever-rising Sun, and father to Khalid Atar. Surrounding the glorious sun-lord is a vast mural of his son's accomplishments, a millenium and a half of legendary history.
Contents:
Kiral
Rory
"Of course," explains Kiral. He nods to you and says, "All within our kingdom know the ways of Khalid Atar. All know the ten surahs. And all understand the principals of Atarism, though I would recommend that you seek out one of the Atarvani. With permission from your mistress. You are only naraki and could not ask yourself. Your mistress or someone of rank, such as I, would have to ask a member of the Atarvani to teach you."
Jaihyn manages to stagger into the foyer, bleeding from his right arm, sword sheathed and belted, and looking extremely, very, muchly dragged out. He manages to catch himself on a wall, hardly noticing the two in the foyer.
His conversation lost for the moment, Kiral blinks a few times as his grey eyes go towards Jaihyn. Immediately, his right hand draws out the keris as he quickly surveys the area. "Are we under attack?" None of the Agni-Haidar seem to he called out an alarm, so that idea is unlikely at best, yet he is still wary.
Jaihyn shakes his head with great effort. "Sparring session... with Imphadi Lion Khalil..." he manages to whisper. He sees the lady and tries to straighten up and look more dignified and proper but it just ain't going to happen.
Again, what miniscule seeds of hope Rory had gained, disappear. As she rises, there can be no possible spirit left in woman. A dead woman walking, so to speak. Basket of laundering taken, the naraki no longer notices much of anything. Only that of the floor before her, as she moves with small, subdued steps to within. Even the sharp words and crimson blood, no reaction is gained. Rory leaves the foyer, ascending the stairs toward the hallway. Rory has left.
"Oh." Kiral pauses, then cuts a sharp scowl as Rory exits the chamber. He speaks, "You are Atarvani, yes? Do you have a moment? I am Kiral Khalida of Clan Khalida." Kiral leaves the foyer, ascending the stairs toward the hallway. Kiral has left.
Jaihyn blinks a little and follows.
Hallway - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Following the same design as the rest of Atesh-Gah, the long hallway is done in shades of polished white, delicate gold, and ethereal sky-blue. Here and there doors dot the otherwise unblemished magnificence of the simple design; each one leading to the room of some important personage in Atesh-Gah's roster. A long flight of stairs at the beginning of the hall leads down to the Foyer, though a balcony at the landing atop the climb allows for a magnificent view of the courtyard.
Contents:
Kiral
Rory
Meandering .. well, a bit -blankly- down the hallway is that same, annoying baggage that laundered shirts not two hours past. Rory is quite oblivious to her surroundings yet again, though the path does seem to be bringing her towards Seraskier Faisal's door.
Jaihyn is almost breathless as he makes his way slowly up the stairs. He pauses, frowning a little, "Yes, I am Jaihyn Ramah al-Ramai... what in Khalid's name is going on..."
Catching up swiftly to Rory, Kiral simply reaches out with his left hand, towards her hair. It is obvious he plans to bring her to a swift halt as he growls out, "Naraki, you were /not/ dismissed. Who has taught you such terrible manners!"
Yanked back by that fiery man of hers, veils dropping unheaded to the floor, Rory's body is limp but for the muscles that keep her from kissing the ground. Even where pain normally would flash, there lies none felt in that numb mongrel.
Jaihyn blinks and his hand flashes down to the hilt of his sword, uncertain of what's going on, even if he couldn't fight a slug right now and win. He watches, trying to stay upright and /look/ like he could fight a slug (and more) and win.
Spitting out in anger, Kiral keeps his hold on Rory's hair as he commands, "Kneel, naraki." Glancing towards Jaihyn, he explains, "This slave is owned by the Seraskier Faisal. Yet, she has not been trained in the ways of our people. In Atarism. Nor does she seem to understand the proper etiquette towards her betters. Especially a kshatri. Of Clan Khalida." It is obvious that he is /quite/ proud of being a member of the Amir-al's Clan. Who wouldn't?
Knees buckling on command, the mongrel woman sinks to the floor, the basket she carries, strangely enough, set neatly to the side. Preserved.
Jaihyn cocks his head and walks forward, albeit slowly, hand falling away from the hilt as he walks. "Auvrey, isn't it?" he asks of the woman, not the man holding her firmly in place.
Releasing Rory himself, Kiral's gaze wanders towards the Akhund. He nods slightly, then turns to study the kneeling mongrel woman. Once again, he appears calm. Perhaps it is simply an illusion. He must be skilled at them, if he is truly the head diplomat for the Varati.
It takes a long moment for that name to register in any of Rory's brain cells. "Yes, Imphadi," whispers she with a detached voice.
Jaihyn looks up at Kiral, "So..." he says slowly, "What is it that you wished to speak to me about, Imphadi." through the exhaustion, there is a sense of steel in his voice as if he doesn't wish to be in the dark about the situation any longer.
Arching an eyebrow, Kiral replies with respect, yet without deference for a kshatri is at /least/ an equal to the atarvani, "I believe one of the Atarvani should train this woman, Imphadi. Teach her of the ten surahs. Teach her of the ways of our liege and God. She seems to think she has no hope. She seems to think her fate is sealed and that she will be reborn as naraki again and again. I have tried to explain to her that this is not so; that if she were to follow the tenets of Atar and serve him faithfully and loyally, she may be reborn in a higher caste in the next life." Peering down at Rory, he remarks, "Though she seems to be making a bad start of it."
Rory merely sits there, obedient, without thought nor emotion. Dead, if it where not for the rising and falling of her lungs, or the beating of her mongrel heart.
Jaihyn listens with his chin tucked towards his chest, still bleeding and apparently quite unaware of it. He nods a little at the end of the explanation and then leans down a little to take the woman's chin in hand, tilting her head up. He almost seems to be examining her for harm done. "Has the Seraskier approved this?" he asks of Kiral, looking back down at the girl with grey eyes.
"If I am not mistaken, the Seraskier has been called to war. I have not spoken with his Mahisi, however. I believe she is in charge of the household in his absence. Yet, /all/ of the kingdom should be taught of the ways of Atarism," responds Kiral in measured, even tones. His gaze slides towards Rory.
Vayu reaches the top of the foyer stairs. Vayu has arrived.
Jaihyn nods a little again. Keeping her face upturned towards his, still holding her chin gently, he nods again, "Do you believe that you can be saved with the teachings of Atarism, Auvrey? That under tutelage and learning, that you can be reborn to a higher position?"
Jaihyn is standing above a woman on her knees with her chin in hand, bleeding from his right shoulder/bicep and looks extremely exhausted, clothes dusty, clothes and hair full of what looks like ash.
On her knees, held up, it seems, by Jaihyn's hand, Rory answers in a quiet, lifeless voice. "No, Imphadi." Those once sparkling pale grey eyes are merely blind pools to reflect the same.
Kiral is apparently standing near Jaihyn and Rory as well. He has a keris in his right hand, but it is not wetted with the blood of any, so the Atarvani must have gained his wounds elsewhere. Or the blade was cleaned off. Dryly, he makes mention, "Akhund, you are, ah, bleeding."
Soft-sounding footsteps herald a new approach into the hallway long before anyone can be seen - the footsteps become a drumbeat, someone's untrained but nevertheless exceptionally pleasant voice lifted in what sounds like an ancient love ballad of some kind. "Come into these arms again, and lay your body down," sings the fellow, appearing on the threshold with arms outstretched. Yes, Vayu is ordinarily quite reserved, but perhaps it was something about Haven, blanketed in snow at night, that's touched him. Of course, as soon as he sees Jaihyn and Kiral he gulps and bows his head, much embarassed.
Jaihyn considers the woman's answer for a moment until his attention is brought to his arm and he stares at it as if looking like he never knew he had an arm there in the first place. He blinks and letting go of the girl's chin, bends down to scoop up her veils and makes up a binding for the wound, nodding in satisfaction when he finishs. He looks down at Rory again, "Why not, do you hold different beliefs?" he asks of her.
Rory's chin drops, sagging under a weight unseen. "No, Imphadi."
Jaihyn cocks his head, "Well, would you like to learn of these ways? Of Atarism?" he is still looking down on the woman, nothing in his face to suggest anything but an intenseness in his being towards her.
Spying Vayu's entrance, Kiral breaks into a soft chuckle as he finally sheathes the keris into his sash. Beside that unopened scroll. "Greetings akraba," he intones towards Vayu. Once more, his gaze flickers back towards Rory. Watching. His attention spins between the three before him.
Almost unable to look away from Rory's cowering little form, Vayu presses his hands together as he bows to Kiral; "And a good evening to you as well, Imphadi; I trust that the night air finds you healthy and blessed by Amir-al?" greets Vayu - and it's not just a perfunctory greeting. The rolling, easy tones of the whiterobe's voice are, to be sure, quite devout.
"If you wish it, Imphadi." comes the proper naraki response.
"As well as could be expected when faced with a naraki who knows neither her place nor the ways of our lord. I cannot believe she has not even heard of the Amir-al until just recently." Mimicing Vayu's posture, Kiral presses his hands together and shows the same respect that he was given; a kshatri of the same Clan does deserve such deference.
Jaihyn squats down on his heels in front of her. The move apparently takes great effort on his part. "I cannot teach you without your true and honest cooperation or even interest, my dear." he says gently to her, "Else I would be wasting both of our time. Please answer from your core and expect no retribution from me for whatever you say."
Raising himself to his full stature, which truly isn't all that much, for he is not the prime example of a might kshatri warrior, Kiral tosses an amazed glance at the Atarvani. He almost opens his mouth in protest as he sees Jaihyn lower himself to the same position as Rory, but his jaws clamp shut immediately.
"Why teach nariki, Imphadi, when the nariki has been tamed?" There is no fire. No mirth, no disrespect. Nothing, in that void which Rory voices.
"You have met Auvrey, I see... Yes, she's been a rather pestulent little child here and there. She seems to enjoy incurring the wrath of those with an urge to dispense violence upon her," drawls Vayu, glancing to the slavegirl with one arched brow. There is no judgement of pronounced guilt in his voice, no punishment soon to follow - merely a statement of fact that, from all appearances, seems true. "Evidently she's Faisal's new slave, sold by the Hand. I cannot imagine Imphadi Faisal not examining the wares before purchasing, so I must assume it was done by one of his underlings."
"It was done by his Mahisi." Kiral shakes his head slightly, obviously displeased with the entire situation. "And yes, I have. I find it irksome that she is not schooled in the proper ways." His hands rest lightly at his hips, atop the sash, as he watches the scene play out with careful, grey eyes.
Unable to stifle a laugh at Rory's voidful, apathetic manner of speech, Vayu cocks his head to regard her with a stare as empty and hollow as her speech - not hard, not soft. Simply... probing. After a moment, he glances back at Kiral, inquiring, "Might I have the pleasure of *your* name, akraba? I have met many who dwell in Atesh-Gah, but your face remains a mystery to me..."
"Ah. My apologies," utters Kiral. He clears his throat and speaks, "Kiral Khalida." He continues to watch the situation out of the corner of his eye. "You are Vayu Khalida Sira, yes? I heard of your arrival. It was expected and very welcome."
Jaihyn smiles gently, "I believe that all creatures on this earth have a chance to be something more. I believe that you can too, Auvrey. And I am willing to help you, but only if you agree. I could have forced lessons with you but I really do not think that would help at all, nor would I be comfortable with that position. But..." and trails off and then plunges ahead, "I know that life would be much easier for you following our ways. But I leave the choice up to you."
Well, Kiral's name breaks off Vayu's musings upon the slave girl and the Atarvani fellow; Jaihyn is quickly looked away from as Vayu raises two fingers to his forehead, then throat, extending his hand palm up as he bows his head. "Ahh, pardon me, Imphadi - I did not know to whom I spoke. 'Twas to you, as you must know, that I was to come and speak with. I inquired as to your whereabouts, yesterday, but you had stepped out."
Rory's murmur is more of a whisper than anything, and at that level of quiet it is difficult to tell if there is any emotion injected within. "Then I will learn, Imphadi." It does not matter that he speaks to someone else. She still does not seem to have much of her sight now anyhow.
"Ah, I apologize. I was meeting with the Atlantean Decemvir. Those..." Kiral bites off his next words as he smoothes over his expression. The diplomat can be a diplomat when necessary. "
Jaihyn nods, relief spreading through his features, almost swamping anything else, hoping that she would choose yes so that she would not anything else from her manners. Although the attentive might get the feeling that if she had chosen no, he would be saddened but respectful of her choice.
"Ah, I apologize. I was meeting with the Atlantean Decemvir. Those..." Kiral bites off his next words as he smoothes over his expression. The diplomat can be a diplomat when necessary. "I was unfortunately detained due to diplomatic duties at the Korallion. I had to explain to the Atlanteans the position of the Varati. I had to speak slowly, for they apparently need time to grasp certain concepts."
Letting loose a tiny, quite-amused 'hmmm' of understanding, Vayu bows his head in mock mourning; "Be brave, Imphadi, for while as fickle children, they do wield weapons befitting adults. I... sympathize... with your discomfort. I have heard much on certain Decemvir whose manners are more akin to rabid dogs than men. But this is why we exist, no? Tough skin, Imphadi, and strong bones to fend off acidic words."
Rory simply remains as she was before. No more. No ability to sink lower with less.
"This is true, too true. It is a difficult task and one I am not always suited for, I am afraid. I find it difficult to speak to those who should be little more than appetizers on our plate for dinner as if they were equals. Because a fish can speak does not mean it is anything more than just...a fish." It is obvious Kiral has had some bad experiences with the Atlanteans, for his tone is decidedly agitated. "One day, the Amir-al will see fit to cook them in his flames and be done with the lot of them."
Jaihyn speaks to her, "Now, please stand up, that floor looks and feels terribly uncomfortable." he stands up himself and staggers hard, almost dropping down to one knee and that light bronzed skin is almost white in comparison to normal. He manages to steady himself and even to offer a hand to help her up if she wishes to take it.
"Well," muses Vayu, hands waving outward in a gesture of magnanimity, "Perhaps they will not always be ruled by crude, short-sighted individuals. My hopes, at this point, ride on merely keeping them out of our collective hair - if this can be done, I will be happy, and give thanks before I sleep and when I wake."
A curious detachment, but curious nonetheless, spawns Rory's question. "Imphadi, do you wish me to sew you? You have a rip." Maybe she's been at that laundering a bit too long.
"True. This is what we must do; keep them out of the war. If we can hold them off and the Sylvans too, the war should soon be over, for I trust the Amir-al to be victorious against the feathered kafir, without the intervention of the others." Kiral exhales softly and the pressures of his position become acutely obvious. Worry touches his brow and taints his eyes. "I fear I must find some rest now. Too many things to work for the morrow."
Jaihyn almost chuckles at that and nods, "Indeed, Auvrey, that would be most appreciated...a service for a service." and bows a little unsteadily, wondering if she can truly handle it as a medic could.
Nimbly fingers delve into her sewing equipment, and, extracting the heartiest needle and thread, sure to stand up beneath the rigors of skin-patching, Rory threads the thing. Stepping closer, the quiet, "Be still, Imphadi." is all the warning Jaihyn gets. And yet, her touch is soft, gentle, and relatively quick. The needle begins to work in and out of the skin, her kerchief whiping what blood gets in the way of sight.
Vayu repeats his strange forehead-throat-palm salute - which, should one have ever visited Port al'Salla'hin, is their custom - and cannot help but smile. "I exist but to serve the Most High and His will," he says simply, "And He says that you're being forced to deal with far too much. I will be meeting with the Sylvans soon, and perhaps I can assist with the Atlanteans sooner than you think.
"I would be most grateful if you could take some of the burden off of my aged shoulders. The Amir-al has levied many tasks upon me and I find it difficult to keep up with them all. Especially when the /naraki/ have become so disrespectful." Kiral tosses a withering glance in the direction of Rory, snorting once at her endeavors, as he begins to retreat from the area. "Good eve, akraba. Atarvani." He says not a word to the mongrel, however.
Jaihyn closes his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain, snapping his teeth sharply as she delves a little deeply into the wound with the needle, "I hope you know what you're doing, Imph..." and then stops, mindful of the other two men nearby, and replaces that interrupted word with, "Auvrey..." and then nods to Kiral, "Good eve, Imphadi. I will train her."
Vayu only bows his head as Kiral vanishes, turning to regard Rory and the Atarvani once more.
Kiral steps through the door of the Guest Room. Kiral has left.
It's over and done with, quickly and efficiently. If one didn't know better, Rory may have had to patch others up, or even herself, upon a few occassions. Nipping the thread and tying it off, there should, weirdly enough, be little scarring. "Pour alcohol on it three times a day, the better the liquor the easier the healing." Recited, word for word, from someone long gone. Whiping the needle clean, and placing it into the basket once again, her hands fold before her, head bowing. It is as though she never really was there.
Jaihyn examines the work carefully, "Very nice, Im.. Auvrey. And thank you, I will do as you have instructed. And soon I will speak with your Mihisi about beginning lessons whenever you are free to come and learn." he looks up, noticing Vayu and bows his head respectfully, "Imphadi." he says.
Vayu bows his head to Jaihyn, contemplating the two with a curious little twinkle in his eye; "Honored One. If I may, Akhund, I would like a word with you on this subject tomorrow, or perhaps the day after if tomorrow does not agree with you?" he inquires. Something's brewing in his brain.
Jaihyn cocks his head, "Which subject, sirrah?" and returns that twinkle just as easily even if he looks like he's going to pass out where he stands.
As both men voice their thoughts, Rory retreats further into her self, remaining silent.
Vayu flicks a finger at Rory, smiling vaguely at her. "Little Auvrey..." he states simply, laughing just a notch - a strangely wooden yet amused sound.
Jaihyn looks at the woman again and reaches out and then curbs his impulse to tilt her chin and eyes up from their cast down position. Who knows what this other man's beliefs are on slaves. He nods, "As you wish, Imphadi. Tomorrow would be fine, even now if you wish to go elsewhere."
"I would say now, Honored One, but I am in too strange a mood - speaking to Sylvans in the woods does that to a man, I believe..." Vayu states, stepping past the two - and he pauses, leaning down. "Don't worry, Auvrey. Your lot will improve, have no fear..." And then he's gone into his suite! Wierd fellow.
Jaihyn nods and says, "Tomorrow then, Imphadi. Hurry back now, Auvrey." he straightens and goes white. Then manages to make his way towards the doors of his room after the other leaves.
*********************
Rory
Pure waves of liquid fire drape dramatically in a loose chiffon, mischievous tendrils escaping to lick the soft curve of this woman's neck. Lightning has been captured within her gaze, flashing saucily within their captor's frame of dark, heavy lashes. Her ivory complexion is like porcelain, as perfectly smooth as rich cream, accentuating her lush, pouting lips. Oft times they are greedily seized within the confines of her even, white teeth to be nibbled upon.
Light, shimmering sage silk glides over her feminine curves and slender form, the elegant sari securing just beneath her fine, dainty features. The fabric has been wrapped in such a way as to indicate her status as a slave in a rich kshatri household. Whispy veils of darker hues ripple downwards, allowing only the barest hints of her fingertips to be seen. Forming and concealing as a proper gown should, this concoction she wears is nonetheless quite flattering.
At five feet and five inches, this woman moves with a silent step long since known to her. Her mouth, however, remains quite the opposite as she always has something to say. This sassy attitude is second only to the stubbornness and brazen flare of impishness that sparkles teasingly within her gaze. A hint of apple spice wafts around this young woman.
Vayu
While often we are told that the outer shape does not make the inner, we sometimes forget that the inner mettle of a man will often shape his appearance, by virtue of determination and will. This Varati man shines with his inner strength, body shape and language radiating confidence and self-reliance.
Tall, this Varati man - perhaps six and a half feet, perhaps a little less; his shape is, as the Varati are known for, seemingly chisled from some sort of dark brown granite. He does not appear exceptionally strong - for a Varati - but rather appears to have the hardiness of one who has travelled many miles during their life, and has endurance to outrun the greatest Olympians. He is lean, like a runner, but the muscles stand out as proof of said miles travelled. His face is beholden of the strong features of the Varati, dusky skin matching his hard grey eyes and jet black hair - everything is a square, hard angle, matching his prominent nose and jaw. He is marked with a mustache and goatee, as is the style of the Easterland Varati. These are noble features, matching fierce purpose with kindness and acceptance - he is, without fail, a handsome and regal man. Age can be see creeping in around the edges of his eyes, marking him in his early 30's, but it does not diminish his appearance one whit.
He is clad in simple fare; the mix of styles shows that he is a diplomatic envoy of the kshatri caste. He wears a plain white robe, embroidered with grey around the lapels, cuffs, and edges. Belted with braided leather, a jambiya dagger is present - it looks like quite a fine weapon, too. Below the robe appears to be brown jubbah; he wears simple sandals on his feet. Despite the plain fare, however, the Varati man holds himself as though he were a king among men - or, perhaps more accurately, a sage among students. Not condescending, but certainly aloof - kindly, but still distant.
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