Date: June 23, 1998
Place: Entrance Foyer - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Aziza, Khamseen
Scene: A riddle is asked of Khamseen Al-Fajr, by one of the Amir-al's younger concubines.

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 millennium and a half of legendary history.

Aziza lounges, amid several of what appears to be, others of the Amir-al's concubinage, upon two of the abutting benches' confluence about the fountain. Their feminine conversation appears at times pleasantly animated, at others, closely intimate and leading to an upraised brow or titillated humor. At least, so it seems, for the details are lost in the sounds of the fountain's pouring.

Emerging from the hallways of Atesh-Gah proper, a figure clad in black robes, with a similarly black hood drawn over its head, hiding most of the features, save for the chin and perhaps those tight lips. The figure in question appears to drift, more than walk, as it makes its way by the fountain.

One of the youngest, perhaps the youngest, of the women at the fountain, given her clear eyes and smoothly unblemished or wrinkled eyelids, looks upon the gravely withdrawn man approaching. Aziza beckons the man's recognition, attention, with a polite and altogether courteous gesture, eye and hand. And fetching, one might add.

The stern figure slows, then pauses. Even in that state of grim drifting, the man underneath the robes allows little to escape him. The hooded head turns slightly towards what appears a merry gathering of women, in contrast to ... a sternly dark-witted mage. Without a word, he modifies his path to lead him closer towards the one woman who beckons.

Aziza's smile is evident behind her veiling, not in what one sees other than her eyes and facial muscles, so much as the cultured husky tones of her voice. "I beg of you, imphadi, to help us settle a riddle, if you have the time for such matters of low import from such as ourselves." Her tone is appealing, not at all demanding.

The lips under the hood visibly smirk. The man--for it is a man, given the stature and broad shoulders--simply offers a slight nod of the head, as a velvet-coated voice oozes from under the hood itself. "Riddles are the essence on this day, so speak."

Aziza shifts places with another young woman--and of course they're all interested in this passing of affairs, not that any would so much as stare, they're peeking, as women surely will. Aziza does not retake her seat quite, but beckons the man to seat himself at the fountain, if he would. "You have the look about you of mountain-born." In tones meant to be flattering and elicit relaxation she asks, "Would you as well know of desert life, such as those barren places crossed in the long journeys between here and there, imphadi?"

Khamseen does not move from his stance, not to be seated, or anything else for that matter. In fact, were the robes not rustling in the slight breeze that the fountain's coolness generates, one would think this a statue of some sort. A statue with a voice. "How can you tell what look I have, when all that you see is cloth and frock?" The tone is mildly amused.

"There are more subtle things a woman notices." In time Aziza does take a seat, to best allow the flow of her silks and brocade, allow the mellow tinklings of her gold, her body's movements to beguile. "Men know these things," she allows, and again, her eyes' expression suggest the imphadi comfort himself at the close-by bench. "Suppose you must cross the desert without company but for five animals. A lion, a monkey, a horse, a sheep, and a cow. At this point, you must part company with at least one of those. Which one first do you abandon, and why?"

A slight twist of the hood indicates the man's head turns enough to catch glimpses of the different women, as one interjects, then Aziza speaks. "I was not born of the mountains." he offers the latter, in that yet sugary voice, before his thoughts on the question are expressed in that quiet reply: "The monkey would provide no food, drink or transportation, and would likely annoy the living daylights out of me."

Aziza absorbs that assessment, not mountain-born like herself, for future reference. "Now, imphadi, you keep on walking through this desert. It's really, really hot and dry, and you've got to get rid of another animal so you can make it to the oasis. Which one, next?"

"The lion," Khamseen replies without hesitation, and still, unmoving as a stone block. Not even a shift of the weight can be felt underneath those robes,

The other concubines shift about likewise, polite yet obviously making of themselves a flourishing, changing bit of pleasant scenery in this foyer to Atesh-Gah. Aziza speaks more low, encouraged and intrigued by the answers from one deemed by the others to be so illustriously well-known. "The lion. You... turn loose the beast, or what, imphadi?" Her young and questioning eyes search for yours beneath the perhaps softened scowl of hooded countenance.

Khamseen nods.

Aziza just has to shift here, or there, from time to time, young for sure. Yet, don't think for a single moment she is unaware of the effect she has upon the males about the room. Males who dare not cast a full stare at royal concubines, and at the same time, dare not take their eyes off them, lest something of impact be missed... "Alas, imphadi. The distress of the day is unrelieved, for upon reaching the oasis at the blanketing of the sun's relentless heat (bless the mother of Khalid Atar) it has dried up since last you heard. What beast-companion now must be abandoned, and why?"

A shift, finally, in the odd man, only witnessed by the fact that the robes move and rustle. "The cow would be slaughtered." Again, as terse as can be, and furthermore lacking any form of emotion or enthusiasm. It's as if the man is answering questions because he has to, although... there is nothing stopping him from leaving, is there?

Aziza quickly engages the man with what naturally follows. "The riddle must somehow be settled, imphadi. For we are women and inexperienced in such things. I, but for the journey here and arriving only weeks back in severe distress, know nothing of such things as you would. The expanses of sands are daunting and now, you have only two companions and must need abandon one more ... "

Again there is movement. This time Khamseen shrugs. "I would slaughter the sheep next, for its meat, and ride the horse forth, with what meat I could keep with me." A second shrug. "I have never been in the desert either." Another pointed revelation.

Aziza nods, for only a moment somberly. "I see that I have taken your time, imphadi, and assumed too much in error. Hopefully I shall have learned something, and yourself have rested these moments and cooled, for it is pleasant after the presence of the Amir-al." Palace gossips do seem to get information passed about. "So. You have left one animal, your horse. The animals mean this: Lion, pride; horse, passion; monkey, friends; sheep, food and other necessities; and the cow, your children, the young ones of your blood." She searches your face, what is visible, uncloaked, with her eyes. Not staring, no, nor boldly. Questioningly, even veiled of gaze, herself, for a scarce moment before her lashes lower to her cheeks.

With a swift arc of the arm, Khamseen's hand moves up to push his hood back, revealing his features, a mysterious and knowing smile placates the rather handsome face, that looks upon you with an intelligent twinkle in the eyes. "Pose this riddle to the Amir-Al, and you will be most pleased." He offers, in addition to gracing the gathering with his features, before turning on his heals to depart, without another word.

Aziza's face turns that her eyes may follow the man's departure. In fact, many faces so turn, not the least those of the other concubines who were under the spell of the new one's engagement with the man.

FIN  

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