Throne Room - Atesh-Gah - Haven:
      This massive rectangular area seem to rise forever; white polished marble catching the light that enters through the spacious windows on either side of the room and reflecting it throughout to dispel all shadow or gloom. The walls themselves are a work of art; the top half being the aforementioned stone, broken at mid-point by a border lovingly carved into an intricate design. Housed within the near foot-wide space is a pattern of interwoven bands of gold. The bottom half of the wall is sky-blue marble shot through with graceful swirls of cloudy white, once again giving way to pale marble for the few inches nearest the floor. Sturdy seats of golden-varnished wood, covered in cushions and upholstery of shimmering royal blue, are placed in orderly fashion at the sides of the room. Those who await the God-King's attention may rest as he attends matters of state.
      Dwarfing all is the raised dais of solid marble, upon which looms the throne of the God-King. A testimony to the art and craft of the Varati people, it practically shimmers in the resplendent light of the chamber, the same satiny hues of the royal blue upholstery surrounded by a detailed filigree of gold. There are two doorways in the room; the first, at the furthest end of the hall from the throne, leads to the foyer. The second is to the left of the dais.

There is a sharp snap of the air, brought on by the crisp and precise motion of the Agni-Haidar who stand guard in this chamber suddenly shifting to a low bow, then standing once again with spears at the ready. This is the respect given to Khalid Atar, God-King of the Varati, by his loyal guards, as their postition within Varati society is a mark of his respect for their loyalty.

Entering from the side door to his personal quarters, the black-winged, dusky-skinned figure ascends the steps of the dais with a loping, regal grace. One step flows into the next, powerful muscles working beneath ageless skin in a symphony of effortless movement. At last he lowers himself onto the resplendent throne, gazing out upon the assembled court with an unflinching gaze. "The afternoon court will now begin. Those who would have the attention of their God and King may now approach."

Standing at the main entrance of the Main Hall, the ambassador of Delphi to the court of the Amir-Al, Khamseen Al-Fajr, looks inscrutable. Much care has been taken into the properness of this audience. The mage is clothed in his usual robes of black, gold trims running down his sleeves and around his hems. His raven-black hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail to accentuate his features. Features that are purely Varati, despite the years away from the homeland. Harsh and stone-chiseled. As the Amir-Al enters, Khamseen bows his head, as do all who stand before the god-king of the Varati. Then, as the monarch speaks, Khamseen's head rises back up, and a sure yet slow step or two bring him forth.

Unlike many of his subjects, it may be said that Khalid Atar does indeed often show expression upon the carven features of his face; though they mention that the expression he perpetually wears is a half-formed scowl, which is of little comfort to many who witness it. He sits upon the throne, still as the statues of himself which grace temples across the Varati lands. Two fingers twitch on his right hand in a rhythmic motion, and with that, one of the Agni-Haidar motions Khamseen forward.

Khamseen takes further steps forward, at the Agni-haidar's beckoning, until he is at the proper distance from the throne. There, he bows his head, and speaking in a formal tone, says, "Your majesty, Khamseen, of Clan Al-fajr, and Ambassador from Delphi to his majesty's court, requests formal audience to be heard in the court of his majesty, ruler of all Varati, Khalid Atar." The formal words of introduction, titles and what-have-you are given neutrally, as if Khamseen makes not much use for them but the necessary protocol before the court.

Khalid, save for his voice which seems ever on the edge of anger, speaks without further inflection. "Speak, Khamseen of Delphi, and know that your God and King hears your words this day."

Khamseen's head rises up again from the bow, without though, allowing his eyes to meet yours straight. Not until it is proper or allowed. "I have come to answer to the Amir-Al." Simple, terse, to the point.

A raised brow is the sum and total of the Khalid's response beyond his words. "And what is it that you have come to answer for, Khamseen?"

Khamseen's lips form the sentence slowly. "I was told the Amir-Al requested my presence to answer about my role in the tragedy that has befallen Clan Behzad." He pauses, and lets his gaze scope the various occupants of the Audience Hall. "When the Amir-Al requests my presence, I oblige." Again, spoken firmly, with no two ways to interpret it.

Khalid's head tilts slightly in emphasis of the curiosity which would seem to be present in his booming tone. "Indeed? Is it so, Khamseen of Delphi?"

"So it is," Khamseen replies, his soft tone a visible contrast to your booming.

Once again the thunder of the voice of the God-King fills the chamber, his tone setting the scribes, clerks, merchants and gathered nobles to blanching at his words. Aye, even the Agni-Haidar pale at what is said. "Yet it is said of Khamseen of Delphi, that he speaks traitorous and blasphemous words. That a Varati must throw loyalty to their people away when inside the walls of this city of infidels. That the Gods have no place here." The expression of some is shock, on others it is worn as rage. Yet regardless of the expression shown, all eyes are turned upon Khamseen of Delphi. Most especially the watchful hawk's eyes of the Khalid.

Khamseen barely flinches. If there is a tribute to the Varati nature of the warrior, and his honor, Khamseen might be the perfect example, right now. "Things are said. Words can be misunderstood, misrelayed, misinformed or even plain lies. Who makes such accuastions?" he asks, tone still firm and soft.

The two motions come at once--Khalid Atar leaning forward with a quick lurching of his inhumanly powerful frame, eyes burning in silent wrath, and the almost scalding wind which washes through the hall. The Agni-Haidar set to quietly and quickly evacuating the gathered masses. "It has been said by many Khamseen. Is this blasphemy truly in your soul? Do you believe that the holy names of Ashur Masad and Ushas are to be stricken from the hearts of my people upon entering the gates to Haven?"

This time, Khamseen winces. How could he not, before the God-King's approach? Quickly composing himself, best he can, Khamseen manages to reply. "It is not, Your Majesty, in my soul to be blasphemous." He lets a pause, breathes, in... out... in, then speaks again. "I have spoken candidly to His Majesty on a previous occasion about my beliefs. About the ability to walk the line between Faith and Loyalty to the Varati people, the Amir-Al, the respected and revered gods Masad and Ushas, and the more secular concerns of Haven. One does not have to negate the other." Again, a pause for breath. Khamseen continues: "I spoke candidly of the way His Majesty's words were relayed to the outside world, to Haven, in the manner they are interpreted. I see this matter remains of concern as I have never expressed any word of blasphemy towards your person or any of the other Gods I revere."

Khalid allows his weight to fall from the position of leaning forward that he is sitting in, the bulk of his body moving underneath to turn what could have been a fall into a swift and graceful departure from the throne, descending the steps swiftly toward Khamseen. "Is this so? And yet it is my priests who have heard these words uttered from your mouth, Khamseen of Delphi." Each steps is a thunderous move toward the apocolypse, each second a drawing nearer of the black presence of Khalid Atar. He pauses at the bottom step, looking down at Khamseen. "And so it is that we must talk." The last sentence is strangely at odds with the others--almost calm, studied.

Something appears to click into place inside Khamseen's head, as is betrayed by the swift blink of the eyes. Quickly recovered from whatever it is--probably recognition of the source of the accusations--he nods his head. "Yes. We must talk, as there is much to learn, my lord." Then adding in a second breath. "I did speak to a priestess, the lady Zsosa, and I believe my words were clearly misinterpreted." He allows himself a slight smile, in remembrance. "In her own admittance, the lady claimed to be blinded by her faith in Your Worship. Not meant negatively, of course. But when one claims not to have need to open their eyes and look at the world outside, for they are content with their faith, I must beg to argue it insufficient." He looks up at you now, more assured, as the words now come not from a thought process but from a genuine and sincere root in his beliefs. "For I say, to the shechah: What is your belief in the Amir-Al for, if not to bestow it upon the world, as he commands. Is his word not to teach? You blind yourself with his light, bask in it, but keep it all to yourself and profess to watch all the others burn under His cleansing flame, for their lack of loyalty and faith." Khamseen's chin juts out proudly now, if he is to be striken for blasphemy, he at least is going to state his beliefs out loud for all to hear. "If that is blasphemy, Your Majesty, then yes, I am a blasphemer." His voice falls down to a mere murmur. "And if that is what I have to answer to, I do so proudly."

Khalid allows a slight smile to touch the left corner of his lip, but no more. Even the wrath of his gaze seems momentarily lit by something akin to amusement or the mien of one who is impressed with the answer given. That moment fades swiftly, however, and is replaced with the ever-familiar half-scowl so much a part of his natural expression. With a casual wave of his hand, he indicates that Khamseen should follow as he treads toward the door which leads to his living quarters. "Come."

Khamseen falls silent at the end of his tirade--as if perhaps uncertain if he did say all of that out loud. And why exactly he is still standing in one piece. Then, as you speak, beckoning him with the one simple word: 'Come', a slight smile returns to his lips, not anything pompous or arrogant, but a simple smile that speaks of one who is perfectly content at this point, one at peace with himself.

[Interlude: Chambers of the God-King - Atesh-Gah - Haven]

Khalid passes through the doors of his chamber, saying nothing, nor looking back to ensure that Khamseen follows. He instead crossed directly to the table of foods and wine which sits opposite the door and pours himself a goblet of white wine, indicating with both gesture and word permission for you to do the same. "If you thirst, quench it. If you hunger, feed it." The blunt invitation rings throughout the large bedchamber as the doors close and latch silently.

Khamseen stops, then turns around, actually peering at the doors as they close. A subtle smile crosses his face, before he continues over to the table. "Thank you, Your Majesty." He nods, letting his eyes drift over the lavish expanse of fruits and foods available. This is indeed, a table befit a king.

Khalid's own attentions turn to the table as the Delphi diplomat turns to the delicacies spread thereon. "It is perhaps a trifle lavish, but I must admit a fondness for the sweetness provided by the fruits of the earth. Pastries and other fineries have never sat well with me." He gestures toward the table. "That," he says, "is the bounty of the Gods. Candies and pastries are the bounty of man."

Leaning forward to pluck an apple from the silver plate that carries the fruit, Khamseen smiles. "Well said, your majesty. And of the bounty of the gods does man feed." And having said so, he takes a hearty bite from the apple.

It may be of note that even on the rare occasion when Khalid Atar's face relaxes, even then his eyes may often seem to glare. Perhaps it is due to the furrowed brows. Or perhaps to the harsh, burning light which seems to emanate from within. Or perhaps it does not matter which, for those eyes are trained upon the diplomat now; staring, unblinking, above the golden rim of the goblet as the God-King sips at his wine.

The apple is lowered, quickly, as soon as the small ritual of taking a bite is done with. Now, the Ambassador looks back at the God-King. His eyes do not carry the flame of immortality that the Amir-Al's eyes have, yet those Varati eyes seem to constitute the core of Khamseen Al-Fajr, or if not the core, then the mirror to it. Curious, inquisitive, he regards the Amir-Al with that intensity of one who confronts the immortal and knows he must lay his soul at stake as he does so.

With a slow, ponderous grace, the wine-cup lowers. Khalid Atar's features are still caught in the half-scowl which seems entrenched in his very nature as his brows furrow deeper. For long moments he stares at the darkly clad diplomat, unconventional in both method and dress. "I will be frank, Khamseen." Once again his voice rumbles forth like the cracking of the earth itself. "You are a mystery to me." At this admission, Khalid's head turns, the piercing intensity of his gaze now focused on the archway of the balcony, staring out at the courtyard through a small part in the curtains. "You appear to attempt a dance I have often seen before, yet you do it better than most. I ask you to put the words of diplomacy aside and address me directly. In public, in my court, this could not be so. Appearance and form are as much a part of my chosen people as is their fiery nature, and cannot be put aside. Yet here, alone, you may speak you mind without suffering the consequences which would be demanded were such impudence to be displayed in full view of the people."

Khamseen's brow quirks at first, slightly, as the words are spoken in the usual rumble. Then, Khamseen's features take on a surprisingly serious expression: brows furrowed, lips tightened into a thin line. His eyes leave the face of the Amir-Al and wander away, dancing about the room, yet seeing very little of it, as they go unfocused into an introspective and thoughtful moment of silence. Finally, Khamseen speaks, terse, direct: "I will speak thus."

Khalid no longer bothers to address Khamseen directly, but instead speaks as he moves, parting the curtains with one hand to observe the courtyard far below the balcony outside. "Then say what it is that rests so heavily upon your mind, Khamseen of Delphi. Your life has been harsh, this much I know. For you are clanless, and such a man is never well regarded by the close-minded Varati." Though his face is turned away, the sudden, muted snort of derisive humor certainly indicates a wryly amused smile. "My people make excellent warriors, but wretched philosophers." A pause. "Yet you have broken this mold and found your way outside their society, even risen to a position of some importance. Therefore you cannot be one of the weak, and so must have developed thoughts and questions of your own. Speak them, then. If you would have answers." Despite the winter's chill, the courtyard remains surprisingly warm, as do the chambers of the God-King himself.

Khamseen turns slightly, as you move towards the balcony and its offered view. Another bite is taken from the apple, as he appears to take his time, composing a reply with the care and attention to detail that the matter at hand requires, then, in his soft voice, always a contrast to the Amir-Al's thundering speech, he speaks: "I do not need to inform you that your assessment is very much correct, Your Majesty. As for what thoughts brew in my mind? Many. Too many to speak of in one sentence. But what they amount to is always the same question, a question that both disturbs me, yet keeps me alive: What am I? What are we? What purpose do we serve? All different forms of one same question, yet one that cannot be formed into words of its own." The smile that touches his lips again is faint, almost sad.

Ebony wings rise and fall with the deep sigh that moves the Khalid's powerful torso. "Indeed, these questions are not foreign to me, Khamseen Al-Fajr. I was born divine, yet I am restricted by my father's will to mortal form. What am I? A God. A King. A man. Each answer is the truth, yet none wholly so. What are the lot of you? Servants, thralls, slaves... nobles and warlords. Academics and philosophers. Or are those merely the purposes you serve? Is it something greater? It is said that no man may know his father's will greater than his favored son. Yet I sometimes feel as if I have but glimpses of the will of Ashur Masad. He is deep and great, Khamseen, and even the other Gods cannot fathom him fully."

A faint chuckle, not even meant as anything but an appreciation of the difficulty of the task at hand, is what Khamseen replies with. That, and after taking one last bite of the apple, and gently setting the core in an empty silver plate, a reply in words: "My lord, us mortals fail to understand each other, let alone understand the gods. The revered Ashur Masad, your father, goes beyond what I would try to understand, given I barely make pretense to understand his immortal son." He moves, for the first time since he took his stance inside this room, moving to your side. "However, I will say this. I have found that my question will never be answered, I have accepted it to be so. Yet, I have learned that what does make me who I am is the pursuit of the answer, but not the answer itself." Again, that faint smile. "In that vein, you ask, my lord, are we slaves? servants, nobles or warlords to you. And to that I answer, albeit tentatively, we are what you make us to be. Just as you are what we make you to be. With all the impudence and heresy that might be pasted on me, were others to hear these words, I will say this: What is a god without people who worship?"

Khalid's laughter and the turn of his head are born in the same moment, each coming with the ponderous ease that are intrinsic to the movements of the God-King. The laughter goes on for some time, deep and rich, and not at all as wrathful or malevolent as some might expect. "That much, at least, I know, mage of Delphi. We gods exist whether or no our people display piety. We touch your lives and make our presence known in the smallest of ways. Even those of my kin who rot in their restrains may do so, and by this token are not to be taken lightly. I am not the God of War, the God of Fire. I AM war! I AM fire! They are my nature, the very heart of my being. I am that which empassions and that which spurs acts of cold-blooded murder. I am the just defender and the dark reaver. Light and dark, both within the same form." His merriment fails suddenly, replaced by a scowl, though not one of habit. This time his displeasure is true and deep. "And I am trapped in this form by my father's will, for reasons I do not fully understand."

When the Khalid looks up, staring deep into the eyes of the Delphian with a scalding gaze of countless years, his words are surprisingly cold for so fiery a temper. "Can you imagine how it must be to be trapped in the body of an ant, Khamseen?"

Your words are heard, no doubt. Khamseen however, looks away, into the far distance, his eyes unfocused and his stare absent again. As your words sink into his awareness, his features most definitely darken. Yes, it is a touch melancholy, a touch sadness, or even... even some odd form of pity, but for whom or what? "I make no pretense of understanding how it feels to be Khalid Atar." Those words are spoken coldly as well, not in malice, but in detachment of some form.

Khalid says, "And therein lies a great part of the problem. For you cannot imagine what it is to be a God in a mortal body, nor is it within my grasp to conceive of what it is to be merely mortal. I have often wondered if that was a part of my father's purpose... though I know it not to be the whole one." Khalid looks about his chamber as he speaks, his gaze slowly passing over each of the colorful tapestries which hang from the walls. After sipping at the wine for a moment, he speaks once again. "Yet this does not answer your questions, merely let you know that the same questions plague one who has been closer to the source of all answers. I can tell you, Khamseen, that there is a purpose to things, though what that may be I only have glimpses of. I can tell you that the Gods exist, and that we do so in a way far more pervading than even you might guess at. More than physical representations, more than ideas, more than even elemental forces themselves, we exist as a part of creation which embodies all that is, and all that is dreamed whether that dream be fanciful or feared. We are both made mortals, and made by mortals. Because of this, we can never be fully removed. Never truly die."

A deep sigh lingers and draws from Khamseen's lips, as if the entire weight of the world, and the heavens together had borne their weight on his shoulders. "Yes. That, I do understand. I do not know, still, if with that understanding comes the curse of knowledge, or is it a blessing?" He turns his head back towards the Amir-Al, letting his eyes study this form, winged like an Empyrean, dark and imposing like a Varati, ever so intriguing in every moment of his presence. "Is it a curse, similar perhaps to the one you speak of, yet lesser in magnitude, to suffer a vision and knowledge that others cannot grasp? Is it a blessing to feel like one has to be the eternal thorn in the side? The one whose sole purpose is to remind those who cross his path, of what disturbs them?"

Khalid's voice booms forth, fully a God again, though less so a King in that moment. "It is both, Khamseen Al-Fajr. There is a price to pay for all things, and knowledge holds just as great a price as any other desirable thing. Perhaps even a greater price, when self-knowledge is included in that deal. The old adage is true, but incomplete. Simple minds are easily entertained... they are also blessed in their ignorance. And cursed because they cannot act with full knowledge of what they do. Your questions are a natural extension of your life and experiences. These, in turn, were created in part by your time among the Varati. The society of the Varati was specifically formed to create people such as you. Know that you are but a part of a greater plan."

There is a brief glimpse of true understanding, in Khamseen's semi-golden eyes. It is fleeting, and quickly gone. His nod remains that of the habitual impassive persona of his. "I think I see that better now, my lord." His next words, not only come down to a more mortal realm than that of philosophy and theology, but his features seem to do the same. His expression akin more to a living man, than to the distant and unfocused appearance it held moments ago. This time, Khamseen's words are simple again, no pomp here: "It is frustrating." He makes a wide gesture to encompass the city underneath. "I see those who only understand or see a glimpse of what is, acting in ways that challenge the core of what we all are. I see Varati shedding Varati blood. I see those who think that holding a position of Shechah, or Envoy--" he all but needs to tack names there "--thinking because they are bestowed with a title, and told they serve a god, that they speak a god's words. I see a loss of shame. I see a loss of humility. I see pride, foolish pride. Not the pride that comes from the knowledge of what lies in one's heart, but pride that comes from the mortal power one holds over others. I see so much, and it disturbs me, my lord."

Khalid says, "And so it should. The power of the Varati is in their strength, though not in the way most think. The people of your birth worship strength, almost as it were a deity unto itself. Varati society is harsh. It is nigh impossible for a shudra to rise higher than their station, and almost as difficult as a woman to do so... or a clanless man. Just as the hammer strikes the steel and bends it to the will of the smith as it lays molten on the anvil, so the fire of the Varati people combines with the force of their society to forge people of great strength. We depend on the ignorant to produce the wise, the weak to test the strong." He smiles and nods to himself, placing the cup down on the table and turning about with hands clasped behind his back to look out at the courtyard once again, with something resembling paternal pride. "The pressures of living forge the brightest and strongest steel... though the hammer and tongs do not see what is made."

Khamseen remains silent at that--his own gaze leaving your person now to stray out the window again, as if trying to grasp some of this 'steel' of living throngs outside or trying to put his finger around it. Yes, understanding godly matters is not an easy task, no doubt. Khamseen is contemplating now. Perhaps something in his core is shaken. Perhaps on the contrary, something inside him is revived or reassured. Nonetheless, the man stares upon Haven as if it were the mirth of creation.

A hand is extended in sweeping gesture at the troop movements of the Agni-Haidar among the beauty of the courtyard's garden, a visual dichotomy not easily resolved. "These men are the hammer and tongs. As are the other nobles, warlords, slaves, mongrels, concubines, wives, mothers, fathers, siblings, and the multitudes of the world. Aye, even the members of the other races... we are all a part of the great plan of Masad. I was given mortal flesh that I might lead the Varati to glory, just as you were tested by a society which could not comprehend your vision and so strengthened it through adversity. All the years of that balance of self-doubt and contempt for the idiots around you... all that time spent dodging the blows aimed at you, both physical and otherwise, by those who could not see... they have formed the man you are today. Yet the testing is not done, Khamseen. Neither my father's, nor mine." Now this moment in time may be marked, for Khalid Atar smiles as he turns to regard the black-clad magi once again. The simple motion dimples his cheeks and brightens his eyes, dispels shadows and gloom, and removes threat or menace from his seeming as surely as night turns to day. Yet there is an underlying seriousness in his eyes, one which waits, patiently, to see what may develop in the man before him.

Khamseen's features are effectively lit up by the Khalid's smile. Quite so. As a flower is lit by the sun, or the mother to be glows with her unborn's presence, Khamseen's features, for the first time that one can remember, is not that darkly grim or stern mask of stone. For once, there is light there, not light from within alone, but light to bask in. He also smiles, a genuine smile. Indeed, this moment is memorable were it to be recorded in the histories of Haven, for there is a strange communion on those two smiles, so rare they are, and so genuine on this occasion.

Khalid's face grows a little more stern; a little more serious. "You have come far, Khamseen, and shown a courage that many of the Agni-Haidar themselves would pale before. In token of this, I leave you with further knowledge which may aid you." He draws a breath and the smile fades. "I tell you now, most solemnly, watch Rani Sakun Rajan most closely. She too ascended the steps of knowledge and self-enlightenment, but the tremendous forces which forge the strong of character have broken her. While she is still stronger than many, she can no longer fulfill the purpose that was meant for her."

Khamseen's face darkens, fast. As quickly as that moment of basking glory came about, so does it fade, and Khamseen shivers slightly, as he turns toward you. There is no cold here, yet that shiver. "Broken how?" A pause, then: "Madame Rajan is one of the few who have seen through me. For that, I respect her much more than I do many others.... I must know... broken how?"

Khalid's voice rumbles with the presence that only a millennium of walking among men can bring, a force that is weighed with experience beyond mortal ken. "She has seen through you because she has been where you are now, Khamseen. You are caught in the shearing forces of your conflicting nature. The struggles that now tear at your heart and your mind, the doubts and concerns which plague you... she has seen these. Indeed, she has lived them. But in the end she chose a path which has removed her use, and so I say she is a broken blade. Near useless to our people, save as a sign of weakness." He sighs and the sound issues from his broad chest as the sound of deepest disappointment. "Rani was once among my favored, but the weight of it was too much for her. She could not find the strength to bind herself. I cannot say more than this without pointing out her failing to you, and to do so would deprive you of the experience of perceiving her fall. It is one of those most devious of traps, her failing is hidden in plain sight."

There is no reaction from Khamseen as he absorbs those words. In that, he reverts to the inscrutable figure of stone that he can so well mold his expression into. The words, undoubtedly make their mark upon him and within him, but to what particular avail? Hard to tell. He takes a step back, turns towards the table, as if finding solace or salvation in anchoring his sight on the fruit, or any of the more concrete objects in the room. His words, finally spoken, after a long silence, are laced with icy determination. "I will be the thorn in the side of both man and god. I will be the one who reveals the ugly and the weak for what they are, for they will learn and see. I will be the shadow who soils the light of faith when it's too blinding, for the faithful will thus learn. I will be the one to challenge the strong and powerful, for thus they will learn." And with those words he sinks to a seated position, on whatever closest cushion, seat or couch might be, drained.

Khalid's eyes narrow before his words are spoken. "Be careful, Khamseen... for my words are not meant to guide you in any one direction, save that which you yourself choose. You must continue to make yourself, as you have thus far. I can only offer this advice to you... watch Rani. See where she has failed. See where she has grown weak for all her strength. Nobody stands alone, Khamseen. See what she has lost." All the weight of his presence falls upon the last word like the hammer of God, striking it and marking it with the stamp of a clue.

FIN  

[ Home | News | Staff | Players | Links | Gallery | Logs | Library | Updates | Mail ]
[ Connect to the Game ]