Date: August 30, 2000 (Aether: January 7, 3907)
Place: Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Amipal, Asfoureh, Lailah, Maat, Raijin, Rashid, Riva, Sabirah, Thalia (II), Vasuki
Emits: Atarvani (Sabirah), Atlanteans (Riva), Delphic students (Raijin), Farzin (Thalia), General crowd (Vasuki)
Scene: The Queen-Maharani presides over a storytelling contest, meant to help ease the people's fears over the recent rumors that have circulated regarding Khalid's supposed death. The purpose of these stories is to sing the praises of the God-King.

The brisk chill of winter is abated slightly by braziers and small fires scattered across the courtyard. In the center of the area, a large wooden stage has been constructed for the contest. Torches for both light and heat blaze at the four corners of the stage. As a grandiose display of the wealth and generosity of the Queen-Maharani, cushions and thick rugs have been placed around the fires and braziers for the audience to use.

Around the edges of the courtyard, many tables are laid with food and drink. Shudra and naraki are stationed at intervals so that any guest will be able to summon sustenance without having to leave the warmth of brazier and rug.

At the east end of the courtyard, a small dais of stone has been raised from the flagstones. On the dais sits the blue and white marble throne of the Queen-Maharani, though the chair is currently unoccupied.

Vasuki emerges from the formidable entrance of Atesh-Gah, his clothing a bright, gaudy splash against the wintry vista outdoors. The little man seems no great fan of the season, for he's bundled up in layers -- sark, silwar, jubbah -- none of which match even remotely. He's even wearing a cap upon his bald head, with little ear-pieces that cover his ears but don't do much toward actually keeping them warm. Immediately upon exiting the embassy, he makes a beeline for the tables, hoping for some hot kaffe.

Lailah is, quite blatantly, one of these naraki. The small woman stands at one side of a table that's been laden with spiced meats, steamed vegetables, tangy sauces and what-have-you, demurely as you please, head bowed, while keen eyes peer up through a veil of lashes at the goings-on around her. She looks a bit tired, slumping almost, as if she hadn't slept much, but hey, with slaves, sleep is an overrated luxury anyway, is it not?

Through the gates of the embassy does one long figure emerge, a dour-looking Varati man in his middle years. Rashid bears no instrument with him, though he is but one of the many contestants who will appear upon the stage this day. And if he's nervous, he does not let it show. Brisk strides take him easily outside, after a nod of respect is given to the Agni-Haidar standing on guard.

Columns of crimson emerge in pairs and alone from the immense doorway leading into the Temple -- it appears as if some of the Atarvani have found time to listen in on the stories to be told here. Most of the figures are male priests, but a couple of feminine forms join them in the small group. Sabirah, one of those few, keeps away from most of those in her caste, content to watch the proceedings from the shadows cast by Khalid's temple.

Maat walks slowly out of the confines of Atesh-Gah. At a creeping pace better suited to a snail, she descends down the stairs. Through her stride is slow, it is dignified, and under the layers of clothing, her posture is perfect.

After her golden eyes glance over the courtyard with a supercilious glint, Maat walks stiffly to a set of cushions and brazier near the stage. Lowering herself, she settles herself onto the cushions and begins to arrange the rugs for maximum warmth. Importantly, she raises her hand and snaps her fingers imperiously. "Naraki," she commands, "kaffe!"

Raijin passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to Atesh-Gah.

Silently approach a group of the aquatic people. Sentries in the distinctive garb of the Korallion Guard accompany a woman whose distinctive mane of bright green hair marks her as Riva. Her regal, gliding steps carry her into what usually is a fairly tense environment. Little expression shows, as if she is bracing herself inwardly. Her right hand rests on the shoulder of a male child with wayward strands of cobalt blue hair wisping around his face and neck.

It is the child who speaks. "Why'd cha say we're comin' 'ere? How long will it be? Can we stop for somethin', like those yellar fish on the way back? You ate most all of them, even iffin' it did make the merchant near sick to watch you, scales and head and all. You'd think 'e never saw..."

The words trail off as Riva's hand on the shoulder tightens warningly. A glance downward to the child, clad in little more than a bit of material draped round his waist, is given with a hint of an indulgent smile from Riva.

"Hush now, just watch and speak silently to me, you ate just before we left, Murdock, so you won't starve anytime soon, and you are not to sample the spicy food here. You know it upset your belly last time you sampled some of the richer foods."

Other men and women brave the chilly outdoors in order to partake of some entertainment, for with the rumors that have been circulating recently, don't they need it? Before long, there's a sizeable group, some of them enjoying the refreshment provided, others seating themselves on cushions around the stage and eagerly anticipating the tales told this evening.

There's a hushed murmur that goes up at the arrival of the Atlanteans, and some of the Varati cast them dark or distrustful glances, but there is no outcry against their presence.

Copper-flecked eyes flash across the courtyard to the arrival of so many Atlanteans, and Sabirah tugs her thick hood up over her head. Her lips are painted with a scowl at the arrival of so many, and she steps backwards to rest against the wall of the temple, able to watch and listen to the stories, but out of anyone's way.

The familiar military tread of boots stomping in perfect unison announces the arrival of the Queen-Maharani of the Varati. She stops at the head of the stairs, looking out among those who have gathered and allowing them to see her, as well. She gives the Atlantean entourage a brief nod, then proceeds down the stone steps and across the courtyard to the dais.

Ascending to the throne, Thalia seats herself, blending in with the marble and the blue cloth as if she were stone herself. Two shudra immediately step onto the dais and cover her with a thick rug and move a set braziers close to Thalia's sides. For the moment, the Queen does not say anything. She merely folds her hands in her lap.

The slight form of Lailah has had the immense luck of ending up rather close to the stage where this whole spectacle is about to take place, and so therefore she's also the closest of the servants to the self-important Maat as she snaps her fingers. Ah, lovely. Pale eyes narrow only the merest fraction, before the woman turns for the table, busies herself with fetching a cup, and, after filling it, she heads towards the Al'Samar woman, extremely careful not to spill the steaming drink all over the place as she walks. Spilling is Bad.

Flanked by a pair of Varati Hounds and trailed by a handful of students and teachers who are all garbed in kaftans of varying hues, the Atlantean Seneschal of Delphi strolls beyond the gates of the embassy into its proper. Hands are folded behind his back, and Raijin's expression does not reveal much beyond curiosity. It's been a long while since he was last here.

Choosing to remain upon the outskirts of the gathering, the man extends a nod to his company as they head into deeper territory. Only one of the Varati Hounds remains at his side now.

Maat points to the ground beside her. "Right there," she says imperiously, voice snapping like a whip over Lailah. The golden eyes gleam, almost maliciously, but the Al'Samar woman does not ask anything else of the naraki for the moment.

Not even a smile is given in gratitude to the naraki who hands him a steaming cup of kaffe. Rashid's immense, dark hands close about it delicately, and the spicy aroma is sniffed before he deigns to take a sip. Refreshments now taken care of, the Baljekar man treads his way closer to the stage, and takes a seat down upon one of the already-spread rugs.

The gaudily-dressed little bald man with the ridiculous hat gets his kaffe, at last. He wraps his hands around the warm mug and takes a noisy sip, and finally his teeth stop chattering. Eyes a shade duller than bronze are captured by the arrival of the Queen-Maharani, and Vasuki watches her and her retinue ascend the dais. His expression reveals nothing.

With mug in hand, he moves toward the stage and settles down upon one of the pillows in front of it, where he could easily blend in to the rest of the audience if he happened to be wearing something that didn't clash quite so much. The Qadi of Messala could use some serious fashion tips.

Riva ignores the atmosphere around her to give a properly respectful nod to Queen Thalia. The child accompanying the Atlanteans is an unmistakable signal of her peaceful intentions, the number of Sentries only what is necessary and prudent. Though the child is silent for now, it is clear from the way he turns his head and gestures with his webbed fingers that he is quite interested in what is happening.

The Atlantean group settles into a position from which they can observe yet not intrude.

Thalia's obsequious secretary, so often seen following the Queen-Maharani when she travels through Haven for speech with other leaders, ascends the stage. Farzin Naser Mehrzad Khalida clears his throat, then importantly shoves out his chest and says in an unctuous sort of voice, "Welcome to the Storytelling Contest. Tonight, you will hear great tales from around the Varati Kingdom. Judge for yourself which Varati was gifted by Khalid Atar with the tongue of silver and reward them with gold.

"First, we have Nefer Maat Al'Samar." With that, he descends, leaving the platform bare for the first victim of the contest.

Lailah tracks the Queen over the courtyard with those tired eyes before she herself reaches Maat, bows her head further -- to hide a scowl, or just to show deference? Perhaps both -- bends down, and places the desired cup right where the woman wanted it. She's pretty proud of herself, really. No kicking, biting or verbally snapping at all.

Maat murmurs softly to Lailah, "Oh dear me. My turn already. Well, you had better take it back." Her eyes glitter as she stands, then looks down her massive height at Lailah's smaller form. "Tut tut. I suppose you'll have to bring me another cup when I'm done. Piping hot." With that, the Al'Samar woman turns away from Lailah and walks in her slow fashion to the top of the stage.

Starting already? At least he wasn't late for this, like he usually is for other events. Upon the murmured advice of his guard, Raijin plods carefully across the courtyard to find a rug. His bulkiness is carefully eased down onto the ground, grunts accentuating the popping of joints, whilst the Hound sharply beckons over one of the many naraki. The Seneschal's eyes busily roam over the crowd, lingering mostly upon Riva and her crowd.

There's a child in the audience who hasn't learned yet that children should be seen and not heard. "Is she telling a story?"

"Not yet," answers the veiled woman who holds the boy on her lap.

"What's it gonna be about?"

"Sshhh. You'll see."

Some more indulgent audience members glance over and smile; others scowl and hiss 'sshhhs' of their own. But the boy remains oblivious, and avidly watches the stage as he waits for the entertainment to begin.

Well, there's one perfectly good cup of kaffe completely wasted. It'll be all cold once the darned woman is done up on the stage... Oh she's going to take it back? Well, alright, then.

Pressing her lips tightly together beneath that veil of hers, Lailah bends again -- she had risen all the way of course, just for it to be all the more annoying -- and retrieves the cup, grasping perhaps a tad too tightly than needed about the delicate china. Absolutely no word is offered in reply, of course, but judging by her gaze at the back of Maat's retreating form, she's offering up a prayer that the woman will accidentally swallow her veil while performing.

Maat walks to the front and center of the stage. Raising her arms, she gestures upward. "In the days before the coming of man, Ashur Masad and his wife Ushas walked the land. The land was bountiful, and across its vast spaces, only animals roamed.

"In this time, it came upon Ashur the desire to give his wife a present. He looked about him at all the animals, and wherever his eye lay, he was not satisfied. So, he took the clay of the earth and shaped it into a form, but the form was incomplete as it was colorless and brown.

"So, he took the stars from the sky and spun them into a beautiful raiment. In this he dressed his new creature, but it was still lackluster.

"He took the wind of the heavens and gave his creature flight, so that it might soar over the land as well as walk upon it, but still his present was incomplete.

"So, he bent his finger forth and touched the creature with his own fire, giving it a spark of color and light." Though she is completely covered from head to toe, Maat's voice still carries past the thick veil about her face.

From where he is seated, Rashid listens to the tale with an impassive expression. Only his eyes hold the approval. Lifting the delicate cup to his lips yet again, he drinks more deeply and awaits his own turn.

Maat stretches a hand before her and extends a finger. "At Ashur's touch, life rippled through the creature. Its raiment of stars melted into the flesh, making it sparkle. Feathers sprouted in a glorious array of gold and red, and the creature leapt into the air to hang in the sky like a gem.

"Ashur looked his new creature and was satisfied. 'I will call you, Phoenix,' he said. This done, he presented the Phoenix to Ushas and she was pleased."

Maat makes flapping motions with her arms, looking sort of ridiculous. "Now, the Phoenix was young and he did not wish to remain in one place. So, Ushas gave him leave to explore.

"The Phoenix took to the air and soon came upon a herd of deer. Seeing them, curiosity came over him. He flew down and landed beside the deer who were amazed to see the blaze of color and light. In awe, they bowed before the Phoenix and gave him homage. The Phoenix was well pleased by this response and after a few questions to satisfy his curiosity, he once again took to the air."

Lailah turns, and, traipsing carefully between the sitting forms in the audience, she heads back to her place beside the table, staring down into the inky liquid within the cup she holds, her soft features a hard mask imitating that Varati stone around her remarkably well.

The little boy who'd been so outspoken before the performance has grown quiet, now. At least vocally. But he squirms on his mother's lap as he watches the former Shakir of Al'Samar onstage, his dark eyes wide and excited. When she flaps her arms, he giggles, pointing. "Look," he whispers to his mother, in that particular child's whisper that can carry across a whole audience. "She looks silly."

"Sshhh," his mother bids.

Sabirah folds her arms across her chest, burying her bare hands in the warmth of the crook of each elbow. Another Atarvani approaches her and there is a moment of whispering before the first shrugs and continues on, closer to the storyteller on stage. The priestess shifts her position from one foot to the other, but remains at home in the shadows.

Maat makes more flapping motions. "Soon, the Phoenix came upon a school of fish swimming in the sea. Down he dove to speak with the fish, who were taken aback by the glorious sight which floated above them. Thinking that the blaze of light and color was Ashur, they gave the Phoenix homage.

"Again and again, the Phoenix spied animals and they gave him homage, for Ashur had truly made the Phoenix magnificent. With each occurrence, the Phoenix became more and more convinced of his own grandeur and importance."

"Finally, the Phoenix returned to Ushas. Throwing his chest out, he said, 'Ushas, I demand that you set aside Ashur Masad and take me for your husband. All the animals bow to me, for I am great and wonderful. I can fly like the wind and I shed radiant light during both day and night.'" Maat struts around the stage like a peacock.

Vasuki watches the stage and sips from his kaffe, remaining as dispassionate as ever.

Riva keeps one hand lightly on Murdock's shoulder. He is glancing from person to person and occasionally pointing, not rudely, just to direct attention. When the story starts, he asks, "What's a Phoenix? Like Drusus, can it fly people round?"

But he is shushed again by Riva's tightening hand.

One of the Sentries edges away from the group and procures a little food that needs chewing for a goodly period of time to dispense to Murdock little by little when he breaks silence. Riva lets her glance rove round the area, pausing from time to time before coming back to rest on the storyteller.

Maat tries to take on a posture that suggests goodness and sanctity, failing miserably. "Ushas refused, for she was faithful and loyal. 'Ashur Masad created you and he is greater than you imagine.'

"'Nay,' said the cocky Phoenix. 'Ashur leaves at night, leaving the land in darkness, but I am always here. He must always take the same path, but I can choose my way. Certainly, you can see that I am more powerful than he.'

"Ushas shook her head. The Phoenix continued to declaim his greatness, growing more and more frustrated each time Ushas refused to set aside Ashur. 'Very well,' said the Phoenix finally, 'I will challenge him and prove that I am greater and more powerful.'"

All is quiet about the Seneschal, and his own eyes are riveted upon the veiled woman upon the stage. Despite the fact that the Varati Hound is now bearing hot, spicy food and drink, Raijin does not immediately notice his return. A thick finger rises to rub against the side of his nose, but he has nothing to say, nor does his companion. Both are too intent upon the story.

Maat makes flapping motions again. This appears to be her favorite gesture. "With this, the Phoenix flew off to find Ashur Masad. Ushas' mate listened to the Phoenix gravely and finally said, 'You may have your contest, Phoenix. If you win, you may take Ushas as your wife. Let us return, so she may witness.'

"Once they were before Ushas, Ashur said, 'Phoenix, you believe that your light is more powerful than mine. The contest is simple, I will touch you and if you survive, then are the more powerful creature and I will cede my place beside Ushas.'

"The Phoenix agreed readily, though Ushas only sadly shook her head. Ashur stretched forward his hand and touched the Phoenix. Where once the touch gave life, now it have heat more intense than anything the Phoenix had ever felt. Pain, never felt before by the vain creature, now filled the Phoenix, and he cried out in misery, 'Ashur, I concede, I am not greater than you.'

"Yet, the touch had occurred and could not be undone. The Phoenix burst into flame, his beauty growing even greater as he burned. Finally, where the Phoenix had stood, there was only a pile of ash."

Lailah flows to a halt by the table once again, taking up her post there; her expression has settled by now, lips softening up behind the golden gossamer, and subtly, she goes back to watching the assembled through her lashes. At Maat's take on goodness however, midnight features break into a smirk, fleeting and ghostly, but genuine and rather unpleasant all the same.

Thalia tips her head to one side, giving the sole appearance of listening intently and with great interest.

Maat puts both hands to the side of her veil, making a gesture of despair. "'Woe,' cried Ushas, 'my beautiful present is now dead.'

"Ashur smiled at his wife and said, 'Wait, my beloved. Have faith.'

"Ushas was faithful, and she waited as she was bid. Finally, from the ashes of the Phoenix, a truly ugly creature crawled forth. The creature was wrinkled, pink and without the beautiful plumage of the Phoenix. 'What is this?' asked Ushas."

Maat points to the ground before her. "Ashur smiled again. 'This is man.' He looked at the ugly creature. 'Here this, from this day forward, you are no longer the beautiful Phoenix, but the puling man. Because of your vanity and lust for power, you will cycle from birth to death until you can achieve unwavering faith and loyalty.

"If you stray from the path, then your next life will be filled with hardship. If you follow the path, you will be rewarded. When you finally find unwavering faith and loyalty in yourself, you will once again be the Phoenix, the most beautiful of all creatures.'

"Man looked at Ashur and was ashamed. 'Now I am weak and helpless, please aid me, Ashur Masad.'

"Ushas turned to her husband. 'Give him hope, my husband.'

"Ashur looked upon the beautiful face of his wife and could not deny her. 'Very well,' he said. 'In time, I will send upon you my own son, to lead you and guide you along the path that will return you to greatness. Obey him, worship him, have faith in him, for he will be like his parents, immortal and everlasting. You will know him by his fire and by the wings upon his back, but first, you must earn his presence.'

"Man bowed his head at the judgement of Ashur Masad and was content."

As Maat speaks of things burning and turning into ash, Lailah's smirk dies rather suddenly for some reason, and the color of her face drains quite acutely for a moment or two; one hand reaches out for the edge of the table to steady herself, but it lasts only moments, and soon the naraki straightens, takes up her former meek-mode posture with a certain amount of visible effort.

Maat turns her head, as if surveying the crowd. "The moral of this story is that you must always have faith and remain loyal to your God." With that, she gives a short nod to the audience, indicating that she is finished.

There is some applause, and a few rippling murmurs of agreement, and one or two voices call out, "The Neverending Flame will never die" -- possibly in response to some of the recent rumors.

The little boy who'd been so delighted by Maat's arm-flapping looks a trifle disappointed that he won't get to see any more, but his mother assures him that there will be other storytellers, and the child is mollified.

Farzin climbs back onto the stage. "Thank you, Imphada Al'Samar, for your excellent story and moral," he says, sounding rather insipid. He claps, then turns to the audience. "Next, we have Rashid Cheb Baljekar."

Vasuki neither claps nor murmurs his agreement to Maat's tale. He just watches, sips his kaffe, and waits.

At the story's conclusion, the Seneschal of Delphi glances about him. Is it proper to applaud? Or does one cheer and whistle? Raijin's own hands lift from his lap, and once the crowd around him reacts, he follows suit. His broad hands are clapped together for a brief time, but the motion ceases at the announcement of another. Now he allows himself to be briefly distracted, peering thoughtfully down at his companion's selection of food. Something spicy and covered in dark goop is sampled.

Maat gives Farzin an abbreviated bow when he claps, then slowly walks off the stage to her former position in the audience. Her golden eyes spear Lailah, but she does not say anything yet. Instead, she carefully seats herself and waits.

Now is his turn. The moment he has been preparing for since the announcement of the competition. Rashid Cheb Baljekar rises easily from his rug, leaving his cup in the capable hands of a nearby naraki. Without pomp or airs of pretension does he ascend the steps of the stage, his chiseled and stoic face soon turned to the crowd.

Murdock claps with the rest, playfully spreading his webbed fingers and cupping them so they pound together in an explosive sound only hands so cupped can make, the webbing amplifying it even louder -- like an air filled bag of paper being broken. "Is it over now, Riva? Is dat all? Dey talks a lot, but who be the winded son?" Maybe Murdock's attention was not as deep as it seemed.

Riva shushes the child once more and gives Maat a nod, recognizing the woman and indicating her appreciation of her ability.

A blacksmith's bellows filling with air; that is the impression given when Rashid takes a deep breath. His voice is booming and resonant, a rumbling bass that easily carries over the crowd and through the courtyard. His is not a story, per se, but a song.

"Let all that are to mirth inclined
Consider well and bear in mind
What good Ashur for us has done
In sending his beloved Son.
For to redeem our souls from thrall,
Khalid is the savior of us all."

Lailah doesn't clap, of course, nor do any of the other servants assembled; they simply go about their tasks just like they did the moment before, silent and solemn among the rest of the crowds.

The dark mongrel isn't looking Maat's way as she settles back onto that comfortable cushion of hers; perhaps she's forgotten about her. Instead, the slave is frowning down into the brown grass at her toes and doing a good job at chewing her lip into a bloodied pulp, should it go on much longer.

Without an accompanying instrument, the Baljekar bard continues. Not once is there hesitation or a lack of confidence, for this hymn is fueled by a fervor born of religious righteousness:

"This seventh day of January
Let not your soul grow weary.
For by Ushas, one spring morn
There was a bless'd messiah born.
For to redeem our souls from thrall,
Khalid is the savior of us all."

Thalia leans forward, her blue eyes sparkling as the bard bursts into song. Her lips, a rich red from the cold, curve upwards in a smile and she unconsciously begins to tap her foot in time with the music.

Amipal steps out of the embassy and joins you in the courtyard.

Chewing thoughtfully, Raijin shifts upon his rump on the rug. Blue eyes remain upon the Varati man on the stage, and his attention is drawn away only briefly with the motions of taking up a cup of kaffe for himself. Delphi's Seneschal is like most around him, a quiet observer and nothing more.

Maat raises her hand in the air and once again snaps her fingers. "Kaffe," she says. A woman used to being obeyed, she appears to consider Lailah to be a mobile piece of furniture, to be ordered about at Maat's pleasure.

Riva stiffens, her gill flaps opening and snapping shut while she unblinkingly stares at a particular point in the crowd; enough to know the person so watched recognizes her attention. Yet she lets her gaze drift before others can follow it to that person so singled out -- with perspectives of others, it is hard to tell who she might have been looking toward.

She looks down in time to shush the curious Murdock, who's standing beside her and speaks in quiet tones that only those nearby should hear. "He sings purty, but booms liken da waves crashin' on the cliff. Not my savior, why'd he sing dat? Awww, can't I say nuffin'?"

The rest of the Atlantean group simply watches in silence.

While the melody is not overly complicated, nor accompanied by graceful dancing, most might say it is a pleasant tune. Rashid's rumbling bass swells and ebbs appropriately, accenting those words which are deemed more important than others. At one point, his fist rises to lay over his heart, but other than this, he seems a motionless statue of granite.

"With thankful heart and joyful mind,
Varati men and women bind
Their loving hearts to Him, the one
Who is Ashur Masad's true Son.
For to redeem our souls from thrall,
Khalid is the savior of us all."

Is this one useless naraki or what? There are quite a few people out there in the sea of cushions that feel the need of attention besides the lovely Maat, but Lailah seems far too occupied by looking woeful and tired to really acknowledge them at the moment; luckily, her brethren are a bit more alert this evening, and reach them with the desired dishes and drinks before they really start whining.

The Al'Samarian's snapping of fingers appears to manage dragging Lailah out of her reverie though, and pale eyes blink at Maat for a moment, before the girl in question turns for the table once again, hesitating at that same, cold cup, but finally, with a sigh, pours up a fresh one and makes her way over, a second time.

Amipal slips through a space between the great embassy doors. He takes a moment to survey the gathering before working around its edge, towards the raised place where the Queen-Maharani is seated.

Asfoureh steps out into the courtyard from the temple of worship.

The song steadily grows in a crescendo, Rashid's voice easily riding each pitch and remaining in tune.

"So let us joyful noises make
For never shall the Flame forsake
Varati men, His chosen race.
Once more to his name be praise.
For to redeem our souls from thrall,
Khalid is the savior of us all."

The conclusion is simple, and in the silence after, the echo dies away. The bard then bows his head to the crowd. He is finished.

Maat claps briefly at the conclusion of the song, then she looks over at the approaching Lailah. She does not, this time, point to a place on the ground. "Have it here, naraki," she says instead, putting out the flat of her palm for the cup of liquid." Her implies that Lailah is moving at the pace of a retarded tortoise.

Amipal speaks softly with the black-clad Agni-Haidar standing nearest the Varati Queen's throne; the other man makes a few gestures in the direction of the crowd -- the Kaimakam answering with nods -- before stepping down from the shaped dais, leaving Amipal to take his place.

Thalia claps with great appreciation. Her alabaster pale hands flash back and forth rapidly, taking on a tinge of pink as the blood rushes to the chilled appendages.

Dammit, but will someone strangle that woman? Lailah's countenance hardens yet again at the comment, and she lifts her eyes to peer subtly around her, perhaps to see if someone has heard her wish and is coming to help her with it -- or perhaps seeing if anyone is looking, so she may do it herself.

No one seems to be throwing themselves at Maat's throat though, so the naraki simply pulls up at a halt, and, with a deep breath, as if to calm herself down so she won't, eh, accidentally spill the kaffe all over Maat's hand, she finally reaches out to place the cup in the waiting palm.

Asfoureh slips out of the temple with a whisper of silk against itself. One corner of the veil is adjusted as she arrives, and lets her hands fall idle again. Her attention drifts over those gathered.

Farzin climbs back onto the stage and approaches Rashid. "Thank you, Imphadi Baljekar. A lovely, wonderful song," he enthuses to the bard. He then turns to the audience. "Next, we have Vasuki Mehen Azhi-Dahaka ibn Messala."

Before he descends from the stage, a bow of his head is given to the Maharani herself. Rashid does not smile -- his associates wager that he's incapable of such a thing -- and he treads down the steps and back to his rug. A fresh cup of kaffe is offered to him, which is gratefully accepted.

As with the first storyteller, the second receives no show of appreciation from the crimson-robed woman hiding in the shadows. Her hood had dipped a couple of times during the song to agree with the poetic message, but Sabirah is not so vocal as to applaud.

Finished with his kaffe, Vasuki sets the mug down and rises fluidly from his pillow. He has a story to tell, oh yes. He moves toward the stage once Rashid has departed, and starts up the steps. But then... oh, dear.

It's every performer's nightmare. When Vasuki mounts the steps -- his violet-and-orange patterned jubbah fluttering around the hem of his lime-green silwar and the little ear-flaps on his hat bouncing -- he trips. It's not a minor stumble that one could conceal by jogging up the rest of the way -- it's an honest-to-goodness fall. Down he goes, sprawling on his belly with the breath knocked out of him.

Of course, he scrambles up immediately, brushing at his gaudy clothes and trying to regain his lost dignity, but the damage is done. There are titters and snickers from the audience -- even from the naraki. Many of them have borne the sharp side of Vasuki's tongue, and they're not sympathetic about watching the pompous little man embarrass himself publicly.

Farzin tries not to wince, at both the fall and the garish colors adorning the body of the Messala man. Rather than helping the Qadi rise, Farzin abandons the stage with alacrity after saying in a forced jovial tone, "Imphadi Azhi-Dahaka ibn Messala!" He dances off the stage with skittering feet while pointing at Vasuki.

Riva watches quietly, letting her polite indications of appreciation for the bard join the others. The cold seems quite comfortable to the Atlanteans who are dressed as if it were a midsummer's day.

Murdock stands with a similar regal stance as the Decemvir and mocks her, motion for motion, in near-synchronization then looks up and laughs at his own mischief. He is properly respectful of the colorfully-clad Varati, just a child as any other child. When the man falls, he slides free and generously tries to help him up, innocence and goodwill seeming to radiate from him.

One of the Sentries is a step behind him intent on retrieving him.

Maat waits for the cup to be rested upon her outstretched palm. Then she chirps at Lailah through her veil, "Oh, and a snack! Something chocolate." The order completed, she wraps her free hand around the cup and takes a sip of the kaffe. The motion easily allows her to hide any sort of amusement or disgust she finds with Vasuki's clothing and lack of agility.

Amipal, arms crossed for warmth under his sable haik, lifts a quiet eyebrow at the Messala man's little accident. This appears to be the extent of his interest in the mishap.

If Lailah wasn't so occupied by sending chill needles for Maat's form with her eyes through her lashes, she might have appreciated the stumble on the scene a bit off and even sniggered a little. She does not, however, simply straightens and backs away again, before turning rather abruptly and stalking, angrily, the rest of the way back to her place by one of the tables, viciously seeking 'something chocolate' with that pale gaze now. She's already beginning to hate this fun event.

At the conclusion of the bard's song, there is the usual brief round of applause from the Seneschal. Raijin's eyes widen with surprise at Vasuki's clumsy fall. How embarrassing. Not that the man himself particularly understands why. Why wouldn't anyone fall in this heavy gravity? It's only a shame they can't all live in the water where trips such as those would never happen.

Vasuki gathers the shreds of his dignity -- and his hat -- and sends his bronze-eyed gaze out over the audience, particularly toward Murdock, the young Atlantean lad who'd moved forward to help him. The Qadi's expression is cool, and he seems to have recovered from his humiliating fall.

He makes a comical figure, as he yanks his hat back into place upon his bald head and stands alone in the center of the stage in his outlandish garb. But there's a certain magnetism about him nonetheless -- maybe it's in that unflinching gaze. Without preamble, he starts.

"A long, long time ago," he orates in a smooth, mellifluous voice, "when this world was still new, there was a disagreement among the animals about which of them was the greatest and most glorious, and which of them deserved to be king. They argued and fought, clawed and screeched, tangled and tussled, but no decision could be made, for they all fancied themselves the best among the best."

The sniggers which had erupted from the crowd die in the silence which ensues with the beginning of Vasuki's tale. There is a shuffling as rugs and cushions are re-arranged for greater comfort. The members of the audience farther from the stage lean forward to listen intently.

Feeling the eyes of the audience upon him, Vasuki continues. "Only one of them was silent -- he had done nothing but watch all this time, and at last he spoke up in his sibilant voice, and the other animals turned to listen."

Here, he changes his voice for the character, dropping it to a low, whispering tone like the rustle of old parchment, which nonetheless carries to the furthest reaches of the throng. "'A contest,' he hissed. 'And I will prove that I am stronger, faster, and mightier than any of you.'"

"Well," Vasuki goes on in his normal tone. "The other animals all laughed, at first, at the narrow fellow who spoke. 'You? You, who crawl on your belly all day long would try to be king?' they jeered. The snake only watched them steadily with his glittering, golden eyes, and silently dared them to accept his challenge."

The Sentry guides Murdock back to his group, not really able to reprimand the child in good conscience for his concern for another and attempt to help. The Atlanteans are back to silently watching, though glances are exchanged from time to time with others of their kind, perhaps speaking with each other in their silent way.

"The lion was the first to step forward," Vasuki continues, and his slim frame crouches down, mimicking a sense of great girth and power, although the Qadi looks nothing like the stoic Agni-Haidar who gained their name from the king of beasts.

"Muscles rippled under his tawny hide, and he was so big that the snake was dwarfed by his size. 'You cannot best me,' the lion rumbled in his thunderous growl. 'I am the strongest of them all.'"

"'We will see,' hissed the snake, and the lion roared at the audacity of that little, slithering creature, and pounced upon him, ready to crush him beneath his claws." At this, Vasuki stamps one foots down on the stage, acting out the part of the lion, his fingers curled inward and a snarl decorating his uncharacteristically animated face.

Rashid Baljekar reclines upon his rug as well. Now that his own piece is over and done with, he figures he can afford to relax. A little. The kaffe is sipped more eagerly, but little more happens from the man.

Some of the younger members of the audience start in surprise as Vasuki stamps the stage. Older people appear to be enjoying Vasuki's tale, for all that the Qadi is rather painful on the eyes.

Amipal offers a faint, indulgent smile as the Qadi's tale veers, however allegorically, in the direction of his order. Perhaps he anticipates something of its future course.

Something that might fall under Maat's tastes is found eventually by the table; a sort of sweet bun, cut in two and filled with something brown and rather heavenly smelling. An empty plate is fetched as well, and, picking one of the baked lovelies up to place upon this, Lailah then glances around her, quickly, to both sides; yes, everyone seems to be looking at the garishly-clad Vasuki.

The chocolatey bun is then brought up beneath her veil, opened, and the girl.... spits... into it. Yes, really adorable. That done, the lid is back on, Lailah turns around, and pads back towards Maat, holding the plate out in front of her. She looks rather expectant. Mm, yummy pastry.

"But the snake was swift," the Qadi of Messala goes on. "As that mighty paw came down, he darted out of the way, and then promptly coiled up the lion's furry leg, winding tighter and tighter while the lion tried to dislodge him. He could not. For all the lion's strength, the snake's grip was stronger, and while the lion roared his rage, the snake bared his fangs and sank them deep into the lion's furry hide."

Gone is his clumsiness from earlier, and fluidly, Vasuki mimes the sinuous movements of a snake as he opens his mouth wide to simulate the snake biting the lion. Then he immediately switches roles, and with curled claws and a ferocious growl, he echoes the lion's death-scene, slumping over dramatically onto the stage.

Riva nods once, perusing the crowd with a sweep of her yellow-green gaze then looks toward Raijin briefly.

Murdock seems to have his attention split between the storytelling and watching one of the servants, tugging on the Sentry's tunic to silently indicate something he noticed, his nose wrinkling and mouth shaping an 'ugh' sound. Whatever goodies he has harvested from the table begin to fall from his cupped hand and a pocket in his loincloth to the ground with soft little thuds and plops.

The Seneschal is now busily munching on flatbread dipped in some creamy sauce, and briefly his own eyes of blue flicker towards Riva. Soon, however, Raijin returns to watching the stage and the gaudy man's antics.

Amipal's smile broadens a touch. A few of the other Lions present -- and there are several of them about -- are visibly, if silently, less impressed.

Maat is mean, perhaps even vicious, but she is not omniscient. So, when the plate is offered to her by Lailah, she takes it, not knowing the contamination which hides betwixt the bun. She deposits her empty kaffe cup on Lailah as if it were so much trash and Lailah was a dumpster. Not even looking at the naraki, she continues to listen to Vasuki's stories and takes a bite out of the spittle-infected chocolate pastry.

Asfoureh's eyebrows lift as she watches the performance, though she makes no comment.

"In moments," Vasuki narrates while slowly picking himself up from the stage, "the lion was dead, and the snake slithered free. 'Who is next to challenge me?' he hissed."

"The other animals were not so sure this time -- the lion had been strong and fierce, and now he lay dead."

The Qadi breaks off his narrative for a moment, and casts a fleeting glance toward the throne, where the Queen-Maharani sits. "But then the pretty white dove," he murmurs, " who was small and swift, spoke up and said, 'You cannot best me. I am the fastest of them all.'"

Thalia has the look of polite, intent interest on her face, though it appears slightly forced. Her mien appears to be the same, for the most part, as the dove is mentioned, but her blue eyes take on a color to match the sky, cold and icy.

Lailah could do a jig. As it is, she only smiles, rather sweetly, as she watches the sitting woman chew away from the bun a moment longer than really necessary. The smile broadens into a nasty little grin for the merest of moments, before she turns around, yet again, and makes her way over towards the table with that empty cup in one hand. Her revenge on Maat seems to have put her in a bit of better spirits, for she actually manages looking quite subservient and meek this time around.

Vasuki had spoken in a high-pitched, musical tone for the dove, but now his voice takes on that sibilant quality again. "'We will see,' hissed the snake, and the dove spread her wings and took to the air, for she was more clever than the lion, and would not get close enough to the snake to let him wind around her."

"While she flew and circled, watching the snake with her bright black eyes, he coiled and coiled, and then lay there quietly, and did nothing." Like the snake in his story, Vasuki crouches down on the stage, head lowered and his attitude seemingly one of submission.

"The other animals did not know what to make of this," he narrates. "Even when the dove swooped down, feinting this way and that, and pecking at him with her sharp beak, the snake did not move. Would he not fight? They began to cheer the dove, and she grew triumphant. Surely the snake was no match for her. She swooped again, vowing to finish him this time, but as she sped toward him..."

Abruptly, Vasuki leaps to his feet, his multi-colored garb flapping with the movement, and finishes, "....the snake suddenly sprung, like an arrow loosed from a bow, and his fangs sank into her breast."

"In seconds, she lay dead, and the snake watched the animals with his glittering eyes, and asked, 'Who is next?'"

Thalia does not appear to be enjoying Vasuki's story, given that her expression grows even stiffer and more wooden as he continues. Yet, she appears considerate enough to allow the Qadi to finish, rather than having him struck dead on the spot by an arrow as he has so pantomimed.

Vasuki seizes the audience with another bronze-eyed stare as he continues with the story. "The snake had killed the strongest and the swiftest, and the animals were wary. Most of them did not wish to meet his challenge, for they knew they had underestimated this narrow fellow who spoke in a hiss, but of them all, one was still unafraid."

Stooping to gather the corners of his violet-and-orange patterned jubbah in his fists, Vasuki spreads the garment out behind him in an approximation of wings. "'You cannot kill me,' said the fiery phoenix, as it arced its flaming wings across the sky, and the other creatures all bowed down in awe before its beauty and majesty. 'For I die only to live again, greater and more powerful than before.'"

The Qadi puffs out his chest, his attitude that of a proud, preening peacock. "And, to prove its words, the phoenix flared brighter and brighter, like to rival the very sun, and the animals all fled before its flames could reach them and burn them to ash."

Like most of those around him, Rashid is listening quietly with interest in his eyes. His cup, now empty of kaffe, is set aside. An offer for more is silently refused by a shake of his head.

After a moment of silence, Vasuki resumes, "All but for the snake. He remained where he was while his skin blackened and burned, and when the phoenix had finally immolated itself, leaving nothing but a shiny white egg in a patch of cinders, the animals who crept back thought the snake must surely be dead."

Maat continues to eat her tainted pastry even as her golden eyes narrow at the Qadi that dominates the stage. The lesser creature of the naraki is forgotten as the Al'Samar woman focuses on the storyteller from Messala.

Vasuki drops the corners of his jubbah, letting the gaudy garment flutter back into place, and his voice takes on a hushed quality with his next words.

"And yet... the snake moved. He undulated and writhed, and while the animals stared in shock, his blackened skin flaked away, leaving him whole and untouched beneath. 'Yes,' the snake hissed to the phoenix, which had just now started to hatch out of its egg, 'but so do I...'"

With a certain sense of self-satisfaction, Vasuki nears the close of his tale. "And with that, the snake pounced upon the phoenix egg and swallowed it whole, and that was the end of the majestic firebird."

Amipal seems rather less pleased with the snake's further adventures; his polite smile fades, and his dark eyes narrow in their consideration of the squat storyteller.

Riva's serene glance drifts from the storyteller to Thalia and back, giving the subtle impression of heightened alertness. All the Atlantean group is politely silent as they watch. None of them seem to be partaking of any of the food or drink offered, perhaps just not hungry or thirsting at present.

Asfoureh shifts her weight subtly, from foot to foot. Like others in the crowd, her eyes have narrowed in consideration of Vasuki and his tale.

Scooping a tray filled with spiced, hot wine up from the table now, Lailah seems to have regained enough spirits to cover her underlying gloomy and drained mood and actually head out there among the listeners to voluntarily serve them some refreshments. The minute naraki begins weaving her way through the crowds, stopping politely now and then to offer a willing hand to take hold of a cup, before moving on again.

The Qadi of Messala stands center-stage now, all pantomimes finished, his mien more sober as he concludes his story. "After that, the animals had no choice but to declare the snake king, and even to this very day, he wears a 'crown' on the back of his head, which you can see when he flares his hood wide."

The moral? "So it was that the lowliest of animals -- the one who crawled upon his belly -- became the greatest, which just proves that you should never underestimate those who appear weak and insignificant."

And with a simple bow, the flamboyantly-dressed Qadi of Messala finishes his tale.

Continued in the next log, titled, Trial by Fire  

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