Date: July 14, 1998
Place: Plaza, Rotunda and Map Room - Scriptorium - Haven
Cast: Andromache, Khalid (II)
Scene: Khalid visits the scriptorium, intent on finding records about an Empyreal city that was destroyed over a thousand years ago. Andromache, an Empyreal scholar, aids him in his search, and questions his motives. His answer may not be something she wished to hear.

Plaza - Scriptorium - Haven:
      You find yourself in a broad, circular plaza that fronts the great Scriptorium of Haven. A ring of road surrounds it and provides constant traffic to the area. In the center of the plaza is a large fountain with a statue of Turse Kenda, a famous Atlantean philosopher-Queen.
      Within the plaza, painters, musicians and others practice their art while quiet discourse is held on the broad steps to the scriptorium and around the fountain. Here, men and women discuss matters ranging from politics to economics while youths and maidens listen attentively to their elders.

Andromache sits perched on the steps near a small knot of people, idly listening to their discussion without taking part herself.

Let there be no doubt that the tranquil studies of the Empyreal scriptorium are disturbed by the mere presence of Khalid Atar. The much-gossiped about God-King says nothing which implies threat, takes no action which hints at violence, yet the ebony cast to his wings and the exotic dusk of his skin trigger the worst of reactions in the pale, Empyreal nobility. Add to this the almost palpable force of his presence and the easy confidence with which he carries himself, even in this hostile environment, and perhaps the fears of the scholars are justified.

One just has to notice a disturbance in the plaza, especially when those around you are dispersing quickly, re-grouping out of the way of the newcomer. So, naturally, Andromache looks up and notes the presence of said God-King, rising to her feet a moment after the others nearby, though she doesn't seem in a particular hurry to get out of the way.

The soft click-click-click of Khalid Atar's sandals upon the stone walkway slows, then ceases altogether. Ill-prepared for winter, it would seem, he remains dressed in clothing fit more for a desert lifestyle... some thousand-and-a-half years gone. He turns about slowly, naked torso tensing with firm muscle at even this minor movement, and fixes the harsh light of his sky-blue gaze upon the slowest moving of the white-winged scholars. When at last he speaks, it is with a gravelly roll of a baritone voice unused to unsurety. "I... know you. You are the young scholar with whom I spoke before my departure from this place, are you not?"

Andromache halts and turns back toward the one addressing her, feathers rustling as her wings flex slightly. "I don't know how many scholars you speak with," she replies, clasping her hands in front of her to keep from fidgeting, "but I have talked with you before, yes. Some time ago."

Any trace of unsurety disappears from Khalid Atar's voice at that response, the appetite of his curiosity sated. "Excellent. Then perhaps you can be of aid. I seek specific historical records of your people, but I would have no idea where to find them in your scriptorium. They will be ancient, near fifteen-hundred years in passing." Once again the rolling baritone of his voice is stated command, a battle-field general, a king of warriors... not that of a foppish diplomat or a curious scribe.

"Records? Empyreal records?" Andromache tilts her head to one side slightly, curious. "If you don't mind my asking, what would you need with those? Aren't gods supposed to be omniscient?"

The stony mask of Varati expression, a half-scowl in the case of Khalid Atar, cracks for a moment. With a slight raising of the brow and the faintest of quirks upon the right side of his lips, he answers with the same tone that one might use in placating the fanciful questions of a child. "If I were the God of clairvoyant thought or memory, perhaps I would be. You should study your own theology before question that of other races, impetuous child. Even your own Jove, king of your false gods, is not believed to be all-seeing or all-knowing."

Andromache gives a light sniff. "I'm not a child," she retorts, drawing herself up and folding her arms across her chest. "And apparently I'm better off than a god, in some respects, since I know where to find those records and you don't."

Khalid's noncommittal, near-scowling expression returns with the humorless chuckle that lends no comfort to thoughts of mortality. "I still refer to mortals three score of years and more as 'child,' little dove. Walking among mortals for well over a millennium lends a somewhat different view on who is a child, and who isn't. As for finding the records, I assure you that I shall, sooner or later. The question is, how long would you wish the Lord of Living Flame to wander among your precious scrolls unattended?"

Andromache frowns, apparently somewhat annoyed, but still tries to at least sound polite. "What do you need to know about?"

Khalid's authoritative tone simply states facts as he once again begins to pace toward the scriptorium, seemingly unbothered by the winter chill. He speaks as he walks, forcing any who would listen to keep up with his long-legged and strong stride. "I seek information on the records you may have of an Empyreal city which disappeared one thousand, four hundred and forty years ago. It likely won't have extensive mention or historical importance, save for the fact that it is an oddity. It literally disappeared overnight."

Andromache blinks, then belatedly trots along after, suddenly interested. "But if it vanished so long ago, and isn't of historical importance, why do you wish to look for information on it?"

Khalid's long legs take the steps to the scriptorium two at a time, the burly roll of his titanic shoulders accented by the sway of mighty ebony wings. In regards to the young scholar's question, he opts to remain silent.

Rotunda and Map Room - Scriptorium - Haven:
      Here is the central reading room of the scriptorium; most patrons take their spoils to this room for perusal, handing them back to the attendants when finished. Comfortable benches, backless couches, chaise lounges and ornate chairs are clustered either in groups or around large tables of polished oak or mahogany. Only the whisper of pages turning, or the occasional crinkle of ancient scrolls being unrolled mars the silence.
      Dominating the room is a large sunken globe depicting what is known of the world; the continents are bronze, copper and gold while the seas are of lapis. Though somewhat stylized, with delicately painted sailing vessels, fantastic creatures, and embellished forests and fields, the map is nonetheless fairly accurate in its depiction of Haven and the surrounding territories.

"What could possibly be interesting about a vanished city?" Andromache persists, as she continues to tag along... though she does lower her voice once inside, automatically.

Even with a lowered volume, the great presence of Khalid's voice is not content to drift idle in a whisper, but rolls throughout the hall like soft, distant thunder. "I have often wondered how my enemies viewed that night. While there is something resembling a peace between your people and mine, I would see what you have recorded of that night, and how accurate it is." He pays little attention to the dove-winged girl, instead casting his narrow-eyed gaze around at the stored knowledge and environs of learning.

Andromache stops, silent for a moment as a vaguely startled expression crosses her face. "But... that was over a thousand years ago! What does it matter?"

Khalid pauses and turns his searing gaze down to the overly-curious Empyrean. "It matters to me, for I am the only living being that witnessed its fall. I have heard that the departing Praetorian troop recorded seeing a 'black-winged figure, a dark omen of death' flying toward the city, but did nothing to interfere with me. I wish to see if that is true, and to see what you have recorded of the city's final moments."

Andromache falters for just a moment under that gaze, eyes widening just slightly as she actually considers the words. After that moment, though, she recovers herself enough to ask, "You were there?"

Khalid's nostrils flare with unspoken impatience as he turns and begins to stride deeper into the rows of parchment records. "I am the one who destroyed it."

Andromache just stares for a long moment, unconsciously smoothing the front of her garment with one hand. Finally, she blinks and hurries after. "No, wait, you're looking in the wrong place..."

Khalid pauses, the massive bulk of his powerful back muscles flexing, night-hued wings rustling from the motion. "Then where?" More of a command than a request, that. Once again, the unblinking stare of an avian predator is cast about the hall, shriveling the courage of the meek scholars sequestered within.

Andromache frowns thoughtfully, managing to hide her sudden unease in the concentration upon the task at hand. "Those records... hmm. Around that time would be... over..." She glances about, then finally points. "Over there."

Without hesitation, the God-King's long legs carry him in the indicated direction. The wrath of his presence serves to remove any living obstacles, wisdom dictating a course of retreat.

Wisdom for most people, perhaps, but Andromache still follows. Whether from a desire to ensure the records stay safe, or just from intense curiosity, the result is the same. The Empyrean is still there and still pestering with questions. "But why would you..." She pauses there, chewing at her lip, trying to decide if she really wants to ask.

Khalid stops suddenly before a row of ancient and carefully marked scrolls, his eyes quickly scanning the marked shelves in rapid succession. Then, pointing a finger at the desired area, he announces; "There. That is the period I seek. You would wish to open the records which speak of an Empyreal city near Varati lands, named Avernus. Your hands are more suited to this task. My touch might very well destroy what I seek."

"I don't doubt it," the scholar mutters, barely audible, as she moves forward toward the indicated records.

Khalid's stance changes from impatience to stern composition. He stands with his hands folded behind his back, feet at shoulder width, and his back stiff. An 'at-ease' military stance, fitting for one of his position. The only indication of his interest is the sharp movements of his pupils, tracking the withdrawal of the desired scroll.

The quiet rustling of the scrolls accompanies Andromache's search, the silence bearing down again before she interrupts it with speech. "Why would you destroy a city?" she asks, still scanning the scroll in her hands.

"It was a tactical decision." The answer is curt and more than sensible, especially given Khalid Atar's divine portfolio. Yet there are indications that his decision was not without emotion. Minute flaring of the nostrils, a ripple of tensed muscle passing through his powerful torso, and the slight rustling of his wings as they adjust themselves bear silent witness to agitation well hidden.

Andromache doesn't comment upon that, but merely unrolls the scroll a little farther, reading quickly along its contents. Finally, she stops, re-reading a spot, then looks up again. "So why are you suddenly concerned about it so long after it occurred?"

"As I said, mortal, we have peace at the moment. I prefer to explore what I can in this period of grace," Khalid says as he reads over your shoulder.

Andromache turns the scroll slightly so it's easier for the winged Varati to read and rolls her eyes ceilingward. "Oh, yes. Must be my fragile mortal memory."

Khalid's dusky hand reaches over the shoulder of the scholar to point out a choice paragraph, the size and apparent power of his limb highlighting not a fragile mortal memory, but a fragile mortal form. "Best guard your words and your tone more carefully, impetuous child. I do not allow my chosen people to speak with such disrespect to your Emperor, I expect no lesser courtesy from you. You will pay heed to my station, and you will mind your tongue, is that clear?"

The paragraph indicated is a millennium-old indication of a dark-winged figure seen approaching the lost city, Avernus, the eve of its doom.

Andromache mumbles something that sounds vaguely like an apology as her attention is drawn to the indicated text. She reads it over once, twice, and frowns.

Khalid's finger drifts down, down over the page, as does the scathing light of his attention. His lips tighten further in thought, eyes narrowing as if to divine some hidden purpose behind the words. Finally he withdraws his hand and turns away with an exclamation of disgust. "Bah! They mention nothing of worth!" Nothing? To the God-King's eyes, perhaps. Yet there, nestled among the ancient words, is the brief record of what was assumed to be a natural disaster. A city which turned into a volcano overnight. Stone became slag, wood became charcoal, and nearly two thousand Empyreal men, women, and children were consumed by the flash of heat so quickly as to preserve their bodies in ash and stone. Records exist of dogs begging at mongrel tables for scraps, frozen in time, ash forever. Children at play, never to finish their games. Young couples frozen in eternal embrace, and proud soldiers of the Praetorian guard now forever watchful.

Andromache finishes reading and slowly re-rolls the scroll. "What do you think would be of worth to record, then?" she inquires, as she places it back in its place.

Khalid says, "Tell me, scholar. Who held Avernus as part of their demesne at that point? What was the name of the Aegian family who had occupied that once noble city? And who in turn was the writhing snake that took it from them? I tell you now, little scholar... there is much that is not written here that I can tell you of, but there is also much that I have forgotten, and hoped to find among your ancient texts. There is nothing recorded there that you could not find for yourself were you to go to that place this very day. This is why I say it is worthless to me."

Andromache folds her arms across her chest as she turns back, frowning slightly, thoughtful. "Perhaps so," she replies slowly. "What could you tell me that would add to it?"

Khalid looks back over his shoulder and regards the outspoken girl with his unblinking, withering gaze. "I could tell you of the heat of the day. How waves of ethereal heat rose from the sands, and windstorms threatened the land, rolling in with the swiftness that you can only find in that area of the world. The scent of flowers was in the air, grown in Empyreal gardens, sweeter than the filth who commanded them grown, but not sweeter than the old mongrel woman who caused them to spring forth from the earth by the diligence of her efforts. I could even tell you of the noble Empyreal House that once held that city as part of their demesne, but which was destroyed through the treachery of your own Aegis. White feathers were stained with blood... men, women, and children. All were murdered in the night by decree of your ruling council out of greed and jealousy." And now the mask shatters, white teeth bared in a feral snarl, cerulean blue eyes nearly glowing with white-hot rage.

"And I could tell you of the filth who took that land after the treachery, and how they dared scoff at my threats when they destroyed the one family who worked for peace. Or of how the Praetorian Guard left on foot that day, due to the supply wagons they guarded and the impending windstorm. And if I wished, little dove... if I wished... I could tell you how it felt to destroy the mortals I hated more than any who have lived since."

Andromache draws back slightly as that gaze falls on her again, moving back farther as the speech continues until she's up against the scroll rack, eyes wide and all appearance of her own pride gone by the end. Silence reigns for a moment before she finally stammers out, "I...I'm sorry..."

Khalid Atar, the living Lord of Strife and Flame, the fallen angel himself, turns full upon Andromache. He is an eclipse of light, the barrenness of hope, and the harbinger of doom; muscled flesh, dusky skin, and black wings overshadowing the frail, pale, Empyrean form before him. With arms partially spread, his presence rolls forth in dark waves to encompass the room with deep-toned words of wrathfully-stated fact, and when he speaks, he speaks with the voice of damnation itself. "I am Khalid Atar, son of Ashur Masad and Ushas, and I have walked this accursed mortal earth for longer than even the histories account for. And I am displeased. Let it be known, little bird, that the first act of aggression was Empyrean. It was Empyreal hatred which made the Varati hard. It was Empyreal deceit which crushed your own Empire, and it was Empyreal treachery which destroyed the best hope for peace that the mortals of this realm have known!"

Andromache's wings rise, curling forward as though to shield the Empyrean from the fire of the god-king's regard. "Not all Empyreans..." she manages to get out, softly, her own eyes fixed on the floor in front of her.

If the Hawk of Heaven hears the soft-spoken retort of the young scholar, he answers it not. His steps instead carry him toward the exit; the soft clicking of his sandals seeming loud on the stone floor amid the hushed silence of gawking researchers.

Andromache stays where she is for several long moments, listening to the receding footsteps before finally straightening up again, wings slowly folding back into place. She stares after Khalid, chewing at her lip, an expression of doubt and mingled fear open for anyone to see.

FIN  

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