Date: August 30, 2000 (Aether: January 7, 3907)
Place: Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Amipal, Asfoureh, Lailah, Mansur, Raijin, Rashid, Riva, Sabirah, Sumai, Thalia (II), Vasuki
Emits: Agni-Haidar (Amipal), Atarvani (Sabirah), Atlanteans (Riva), Delphic students (Raijin), Farzin (Thalia), General crowd (Khalid, Vasuki), Messala guards (Sumai), Rebel Atarvani (Mansur)
Scene: The storytelling festival erupts into violence after an Imam of the Atarvani challenges the Queen-Maharani's faith in their God.

While the attention of Atesh-Gah's patrons remains riveted upon the small stage where the Messala Qadi finishes his tale, an entourage of crimson and black enters through the embassy gates. Merciless, night-shrouded Agni-Haidar Janizars escort stone-faced Atarvani Akhund.

The Akhund themselves follow in the wake of an elderly Atarvani of no insignificant rank. He walks slowly and with a broken cadence, his body wasted and left rent by the passing of years. Still, Mansur hobbles towards the Maharani, face shrouded by a deep cowl.

If Thalia's expression was distant and polite, it has now fallen to chilly. She is openly showing her displeasure, but still, she maintained her hope against hope that Vasuki had followed the terms of the contest and had an ending that praises Khalid.

When the Qadi completes his tale without such an ending, the Queen rises from her throne and states simply, but with finality, "The story offering from Messala is disqualified on the grounds that it violates the contest rules."

A scowl darkens on the Shechah's lips, only faintly lit, thanks to the hood she still wears. The body beneath the robe of crimson shifts with discomfort as the story ends. Sabirah's eyes brush from the storyteller to the Maharani and then to the Agni-Haidar that are nearby, gauging their reaction to the story.

Since Raijin wasn't completely aware of the contest rules, he had begun the gesture of clapping. Fortunately, not once do his hands ring out, the motion interrupted by the Maharani's decree. Slightly confused, the Seneschal remains silent, though he leans closer to listen to a few murmurs from his Varati companion.

"Ahh, Imphada Queen-Maharani, my intention was only to show that sometimes those creatures that appear weak can in fact, be mighty. My most profuse apologies if my humble tale met with your displeasure." Vasuki is back into the role of sycophant and buffoon, and he bows several times in the direction of the throne, so much so that his cap tumbles off his head and he has to bend to retrieve it. The torchlight picks up the odd tattoo gleaming on the back of his skull.

Lailah has, admittedly, not been quite as submerged in the story as the rest of the people gathered here, but she does pick out bits and pieces of it, and at the ending, she actually halts her trek over the courtyard, to glance with surprise Vasuki's way. The faintest of smiles begins making its way onto her lips, before Thalia rises and, rather blatantly, shatters the fun. Oh well, that was just to be expected, wasn't it.

Farzin stomps onto the stage and points to the ground. "Off," he says imperiously to the Qadi. In a softer voice that mimics the hiss of the snake from the story, Farzin says, "You should be ashamed of yourself."

Thalia does not appear appeased by Vasuki's display of sychophantry. She merely looks coldly upon the Qadi, noting the odd tattoo, though the distance may prevent her from discerning the nature of the picture. So far, she has not noticed the cowled figure who is moving toward her.

Vasuki does a good job of seeming perplexed, and those bronze eyes widen at Farzin's decree. He bows to him, as well, backing up off the stage while he adjusts his hat on his head once more. He nearly trips, going down the steps, too, but luckily saves himself from another embarrassing fall.

When reaching the fore, the elderly Atarvani's hand reaches up to grasp the cowl that hides his features. Mansur pries it back, revealing an almost grandfatherly face, coarse and lined with age. Despite the burden of his years, the Imam wears an honest smile, if somewhat weak.

Lips part and his voice reaches out towards Thalia, croaking, "Pardon me, Maharani, I did not mean to arrive late, but it is a long walk from the Kingdom..." A pause and a weak chuckle follows, "...but I've heard of your storytelling contest and would like to recite something I discovered long ago in our libraries. What is the subject?"

Tense and silent is the Baljekar man. Rashid looks as if he expects something most grim and foul to erupt at any moment. He's no Agni-Haidar, but he's seen his share of fights. Dark eyes remain intently upon the Qadi, never straying.

Amipal shifts his attention -- slowly -- from the rather bold little Messala clansman to the procession making its way through the embassy gates; an expression that had been none of the most cheerful darkens further, and the soldier raises a hand to get the attention of his men. Frowning lips thin as the aged Atarvani speaks, despite his kindly demeanor.

Thalia wrenches her gaze away from Vasuki and looks down at the Imam before her. "The subject is the Varati nation, in particular the strength, wisdom and everlasting nature of the kingdom's leader, Khalid Atar."

Amid the Atlantean group, glances dart from one location in the crowd to another. While outwardly, the crowd seems quiet, strong emotions are felt, and such discord seems to have roused several of those.

The child is gathered into the group more protectively, almost as surrounded as the Decemvir, who makes an irritated gesture to create an opening through which she can view the others.

One sentry seems to be suggesting it is time to leave, head turning toward the gate as if measuring the distance there and just who must be passed to reach the aperture. Strong emotions of many others are not something one wishes to tolerate very long.

Murdock seems to think it is all a game, squatting to peek through gaps or standing on tiptoe. The only audible sound from the group is Murdock's giggle when the hat falls off the man bending over.

Lailah watches the brightly-clad man for a few moments as he trundles off the stage, but her attention is soon riveted away towards the cowled person and his comrades in front of the Queen. Curiosity, then. The naraki begins weaving her way closer to that spot with her tray, half-empty by now.

Asfoureh's attention, too, is drawn to the Atarvani who speaks. Her gaze drifts downward, over his robes, and travels up again, now that the man has pushed back his cowl. The glance toward the Agni-Haidar is instinctive, reflexive. Habit, perhaps, though her gaze settles on no one man in particular, but touches on them and moves on.

As attention gradually shifts from him to the elderly Atarvani who'd approached the Queen-Maharani, Vasuki meticulously adjusts the folds of his jubbah and tugs the ear-flaps of his hat down more securely over his ears. His eyes skim over the crowd, settling longest on the group near the throne.

Dark eyes glimmering with fiery flecks follow the procession toward the Maharani, and for the first time, Sabirah wears an expression that is something other than boredom or annoyance. Dusty fingers pull back her own hood so that nothing impairs her vision. The rest of the Atarvani have their attention fixed on the elderly Imam whose presence spurs more than a few whispers among the priests and priestesses of the Amir-al.

Mansur purses his lips in consideration and nods, his faint smile never waning. The aged voice croaks again, "Strange that you should choose such a topic... but very well."

He sighs and looks about the ground around him as if for a suitable place to rest. The entourage around him obstructs his view and he shoos the Janizars and Atarvani away from him like children. Leaning heavily on the staff he carries, Mansur lowers his frame slowly to the stone-cobbled courtyard.

When reaching it, he exhales a sigh of relief. "I appreciate you allowing me to rest, Maharani. I am not the young Priest I once was." Another chuckle escapes him. "Please allow me to face you rather than those assembled here. My story is not for them, but for you.."

A bit of the hostility that Thalia was feeling for Vasuki appears to have lingered. Thus, it is not with her usual kind and considerate self that Thalia replies. Instead, she says with a hint of asperity, "The stage faces me quite well. The rest of the audience will not be able to see you if you sit on the ground."

With those words, Farzin beckons Mansur. "Come to the stage, Imphadi."

Well, this has to be considered out of the ordinary. Raijin cannot hear all that is being said, but the obvious delay means that something is amiss. More murmurs are shared with the Varati Hound at his side, and then the Atlantean raises his bald head to sweep the crowds. Perhaps one of his students is proving to be a nuisance? But no, they all seem to be with their assigned teachers. A glance then goes to Riva.

Mansur rests the gnarled staff across his thin legs, then waves Farzin away. "I am quite content to sit here. Now then..." His voice trails off as if searching for his purpose here. When he speaks, his voice is still the same croaking one used to originally address the Maharani, but it now carries easily across the courtyard. One of the Imam's Akhund escorts now has his brows furrowed in concentration.

"Oh yes, a story. I cannot spin a tale as easily as those who have gone before me, but this tale has merit still if not expertly told." Mansur licks his parched lips. "When I was much younger..." he chuckles idly, "...not yet a full priest, I spent much time in our libraries with my brethren, poring over knowledge both new and ancient. I remember finding a scroll that was near destruction, so old was the parchment. Yet I could still read it. It recounted what a servant of Khalid had seen in Ushas-Gah when the boy Visir was slain."

Thalia looks stonily at Mansur. "Move to the stage, please." She says nothing more, but seems almost prepared to have her Agni-Haidar man-handle the Imam over, should he continue to be recalcitrant.

After tidying his garish garb, Vasuki seems drawn toward the current confrontation going on between the Maharani and the Imam. Curiously, the Qadi moves closer, and though he receives a few disapproving glares for his earlier tale, much of the audience's attention, like his, is focused on the aged Imam.

Mansur leans forward some, recounting with more ease the details of the tale. "Yes, what was the servant's name...?" His voice trails off uselessly, and finally he waves his hand in errant dismissal of the name that refuses to come to him. "It does not matter. She was just a servant, but she witnessed the last events of his life..."

He smiles more warmly at Thalia, yet ignores her request. "As you may not be aware of our history Maharani, this was a time when our God slept for many years, and the Clans were on the verge of seizing the throne in his absence. The Visir appointed to rule in the Amir-al's stead had died, and his son succeeded him.

"On this day, the Clans had annihilated the Agni-Haidar almost to a man, save only those who defended the boy-Visir in Ushas-Gah. The Clans finally managed to break through. They were led by Amun Arazon, who is said to have been fully twice the heigh of a normal man. He was more beautiful than any man living, and was the pride of his Clan, for he had never been defeated in combat. In his great hands he wielded a shield and an enormous war hammer..."

Thalia simply sits on her throne, looking faintly disgruntled at his recalcitrance, but she allows the Imam his assumption of her ignorance.

"When Amun Arazon stepped into the throne room of our God, he found the boy-Visir waiting, and also the Nayaka of the Agni-Haidar. The Nayaka was a small man from the very northern province. He had lived for a long time, and was thought to be a monster. His body was disfigured horribly, jaw smashed from some unnamed battle. He said few words, for they were often unintelligible.

"His body, too, had been ground by time, and he was awaiting the Amir-al to dispatch him so he could serve in his next lifetime. When he stood before Amun, clearly the Nayaka was no match for the Clansmen..."

Lailah continues to wander in the stage-throne area, but her attention is mostly on the old man sitting there, now; for the first time during the evening she's actually interested in what's being said, but that's more due to curiosity about the delay and suspicious murmuring that preceded it -- or perhaps whether Thalia is going to have the man hauled up on stage by her guards -- than what Mansur's story is about. At least for now.

A few of the Atarvani seem to find their Imam's behavior amusing, while others whisper and scowl at his disregard for the Maharani's wishes. Sabirah has regained her stony visage and watches the old man with slightly narrowed eyes. This man's arrival and the beginning of his story seems to have bought those in crimson to life, for he is the fist most have reacted to in any fashion.

Amipal listens to the tale in cool silence, arms crossed once more. Having been called to attention, the Agni-Haidar positioned around the Queen's dais divide their consideration between the reverend Imam and the Kaimakam; if they are ill at ease, they're doing a good job of covering the fact.

"But they fought. Both were wounded horribly, but Khalid's warrior was able to bring the giant to his knees and was ready to dispatch him. The Clansmen's guards, hundreds in number, crowded the throne room to watch the contest. When the boy Visir saw their number, he knew the Agni-Haidar had been exterminated. He wept and lost faith. He said, '...we are lost...'"

"These words distracted Khalid's warrior, and Amun surprised him, knocking him off balance. His hammer smashed upon the Nayaka's skull and sent the Agni-Haidar into his next life..."

While most are absorbed in the ongoing tale, the silent Atlantean group has repositioned itself somewhat. In deference to the Sentries' wishes, they are in a better position to make an efficient departure should they choose to do so. Murdock is dragging his steps, now listening engrossedly; this story seems to have a child in it, a boy, and if he has his way, he will not miss a word of it.

Riva continues to glance at Raijin from time to time, again polite enough to not disturb the storytelling.

Rashid does not stir upon his rug, arms folded across his chest. He himself can only barely hear what is being said, but he is simply not pleased. Or perhaps the scowl wrinkling his features is just his default expression.

How convenient that this aged Imam and his followers should show up just when Vasuki was risking potentially serious consequences for his story. With the way the Imam's tale is going, Vasuki's heretical fable may indeed be forgotten. The Qadi watches and listens avidly from some distance away, disinclined to move closer in case it returns the Agni-Haidars' and the Maharani's attention to him.

Mansur waves his hand in a forgetful gesture, adding in less interested tones, "...the boy Visir was ripped apart afterward, I believe. His limbs strewn throughout the city. It does not matter, in any case. He lost his faith and it brought about the destruction of those who served him."

The weathered face looks up at the Maharani, "How is your faith, Maharani?"

Asfoureh shakes her head, very slight movement side to side, and starts forward step by careful step, and moves toward the storytellers, and the stage.

+Look:
Asfoureh:	Tall and elegant. Well-trained. You expected a klutz?
Amipal:	Tall and trim, with chocolate skin and long, raven-black hair. Reserved.
Raijin:	Aging Atlantean man. Balding. Moustache. Wears a blue sarong.
Lailah:	Small, feral, energetic and quick. Obsidian skin, gravity-defying raven curls; eerily pale green eyes often set for Medusa-stare mode. Veiled and swathed in the colors of Clan Khalida.
Vasuki:	A dark little man with bronze eyes and a bald pate.
Sabirah:	Sharp-featured Varati woman wearing the crimson robes of the Atarvani.
Riva:	Average size lissom Atlantean female with green hair, golden toned skin and green eyes. Generally wears grey silk and on informal occasions does not wear crown and staff of law.
Thalia:	Whitening gold hair, blue-grey eyes, and snow white wings form the pertinent landmarks of the middle-aged Empyrean woman.

Thalia replies to Mansur in a voice filled with absolute certainty. "I have faith in my husband. I have faith that he will return, for he is the son of Ashur Masad, gifted with immortality. Those who are immortal, do not die. It is said that from time to time that he leaves his people, but in each instance, he has always returned. Life is a series of tests, Imam. To pass the test, one must have faith." She rises, wings rippling. "Test me, Imam, if you dare."

Mansur nods. "Very well..." He winces as he tries to untangle the legs beneath him. Using the wooden staff as if a crutch, he struggles to his feet, wobbling slightly. Almost exhausted by the effort, he leans on the staff. His voice attacks the Maharani, "Do you believe the Amir-al is a God. Is he your God?"

Upon seeing the Maharani rise and sensing the tension in the minds all around him, Raijin frowns slightly to himself. A glance goes soaring through the crowds to alight upon one of the teachers watching over a group of students -- an Adept Mystic. It is only a split-second later that yet another mentor is looking towards their Seneschal. And, as if as one, they begin to usher the students closer together. If something is going to happen, they too are ready to make an easier departure.

Hmm. This turned interesting all of a sudden. Lailah has stopped meandering, now, simply standing still beneath the podium where the Queen and all her guards and her visitor are placed, watching the spectacle with unblinking eyes.

There are ripples of surprise and unrest among the assembled throng. Some seem shocked at the Imam's audacity. Others, though, who were less eager to embrace an Empyrean as their Queen, lean forward and listen avidly for the Maharani's answer. Does she believe? How strong is her faith? Is she an infidel in their midst? One of the faithless kafir their honored Khalid fought during the war?

Thalia replies to Mansur, "I believe as the Varati believe, Imam. He is my husband, and my guide. My faith is in him, his immortality, and his heritage. And, yes his Godliness. I will follow him, for I am bound to him, more certainly and more securely than any other living at this time."

With the addition of the dais height, the Maharani is able to look down upon the Imam. "But, perhaps the question is better asked of you, Imam. Do you believe? Do you have faith that Khalid Atar will return? Or do you believe that he is dead and there is no one better suited to lead than yourself?"

Vasuki's eyes gleam with anticipation as he glances back and forth between the Maharani and the Imam. He's even forgotten to shiver in the frigid winter air.

Gasps rumbles through the priests, murmurs growing louder as an Imam is questioned by the Empyrean woman as to his faith. A few remain quiet, perhaps wary of this one who came from Masada in the first place. They remember that rebel Atarvani were the ones who destroyed the cavern, or so it's said. A few in red step forward, ready to back their Imam should the opportunity arise; other linger back, uncertain of this man's intentions.

Murdock, non-political as one would expect of a child, frowns and cuts to what, to him, is the heart of the matter. "They KILLED the kid? Riva, they killed a boy, that's wha' the man said, Why'd they do that? Why didn't they just not feed him any supper or make him do chores? They CUT him up? That's not a nice story, that's MEAN."

One of the Sentry's hands slides over the child's mouth in a physical gesture, telling him to shut up. Riva sternly warns. "Any more and they will take you back to the Korallion. Behave."

Any semblance of grandfatherly cheer is sapped from his face at her answer, and a gnarled finger does Mansur raise towards the Maharani. He waves warningly as one would do to a disobedient child. His voice croaks again, "Husband. Guide. A living being. To us, the Amir-al is none of these things. He is a God and nothing less. So should he be to the one who leads us. You want us to follow you, but how can we? He is not your God. You have no faith."

Dark, dusky fingers flex and tighten around empty air. Rashid's posture has not changed from earlier, and save for the occasional blink, he quite closely resembles a rock. Little reaches his ears, but the murmurs drifting towards him are heard. The Imam says the Maharani has no faith? How can this be permitted to continue? The man's own deep and rumbling bass joins the flood of mumbling around him.

Lailah doesn't really care what the heck Khalid is, at the moment, or who believes what. A furrow has worked onto her brow as the old man continues speaking -- accusing -- and her gaze rips off his form to swivel back and forth over the rest of the people around the Imam. It decides to settle a moment later, but funny enough, it's not upon Mansur, or even Thalia, but on the Agni-Haidar Kaimakam next to the Queen. Thin fingers clench the tray in their grip tighter, now, but the slave does not move.

Asfoureh stops, stepping no further into the crowd, rapt by the confrontation between Maharani and Imam.

Thalia looks calmly down at Mansur. "Those are your words, not mine. You can claim that I do not have faith. You can claim that he is not my God, but those are all your words, your interpretations. You have shut your ears and chosen not to listen to my answer. That is your choice. Khalid Atar will return and any who choose to rise against him will most surely suffer his wrath when he does.

"If you choose to set yourself against a God and his chosen wife, then that is your choice. If you fail this test, then you will have to redeem yourself in your next cycle of life. Again, that is your choice. I will not make it for you. I will stand here and believe in Khalid, but no matter what lies you choose to accuse me of, my faith in him will not change."

Vasuki's eyes, just slightly duller than bronze, remain riveted on the ensuing confrontation between the Queen-Maharani and the aged Imam. There is a test, to be sure, in the tension-filled encounter. Which of them will pass?

Mansur's face grows flushed with anger, and he seems on the verge of a vicious retort when a fit of coughing overcomes him, each one racking his body. At last, he recovers and continues more calmly, "You make a game of words and do not speak plainly. You have only to say that the Amir-al is your God, but you do not. Your faith in him as husband?"

He growls and waves his hand dismissively, "the Amir-al's concubines had more faith in him than you. You betray yourself now. You are nothing but a Kafir, an unbeliever. You are not one of us. None will follow you save the Agni-Haidar, and you sacrifice them on an alter of their own making. Leave us, or you will destroy us all."

More ripples of unrest among the gathering. Are people agreeing with the Imam, or indignant at his words? Or are they simply shocked at his audacity? Probably elements of all three. What promised to be a pleasant evening of light entertainment has turned out to be anything but.

Some of the Varati glance in alarm toward the Agni-Haidar, to see if the Lions of Fire will rise to defend the woman they've been sworn to protect. Yet this is no physical attack, but one aimed at her very faith. Few people seem to know just how to react.

Amipal interjects only a soft, "The last command I had from the lips of my dread lord, reverend Imam, was that I should -- at the price of my own life, the lives of my men -- protect the Amir-al's beloved bride. Call it a sacrifice. It is a holy one." Then, after a pause, "Try my faith in the fire you build for Thalia Khalida." His posture, his expression, do not change; he seems not to expect any reply. Still, he has spoken.

Thalia's placid calm is a direct counterpoint to Mansur's growing anger. "Again, your aged ears appear unable to hear my words. Very well, I shall speak as plainly as possible so that your feeble mind can grasp the difficult nature of my statements. Khalid is my God. You can continue to call me names, and insult me, but know that Khalid has decreed that insults to my honor and myself are punishable by death."

Riva dips her head in a brisk nod, and Murdock is summarily lifted and held by one of the larger guards, able to handle a larger sized child just entering the double digit years.

As for Murdock, there is indignation in his expression and in his voice as he protests. "I can walk. Put me down. I don't like it here, only... what do they mean? What is going to happen? Are they fighting?"

Such statements may or may not carry through the murmuring of the crowd. Riva, on the other hand, must think she must linger despite the roiling emotions buffeting the Atlanteans, attempting to figure out which way this matter might progress.

The old man growls, "You've have already shown yourself to be Kafir, now you shame yourself by lying. You do not believe..." He quivers with rage, his speech impaired by another fit of coughing, "By my hope of rebirth, I say you will destroy us!"

Without any semblance of warning, an enormous fireball, half again as tall as a man, appears before the Imam and blazes towards the throne whereupon the Maharani sits.

Even as it streaks toward Thalia, the Agni-Haidar around her begin exploding with a sickening bang, showering the assembled in blood and gore.

That's it. Delphic students and teachers, who had already been warned by their Seneschal to be ready, move to get out as soon as possible. It's only a shame there are no Varati fire-elementals in their numbers, for no doubt they'd wish to remain and test their mettle against the rogue Atarvani.

Raijin is surprisingly quick to get to his feet, a dark scowl on his face. He does not need to look to Riva and her Sentries to know they are doing likewise.

Asfoureh moves again, this time more quickly, toward the Imam at the front of the stage. While others shriek and some even flee the sight of the Agni-Haidar dying in such messy ways, Asfoureh swims, as it were, upstream.

People scream. The smell of burning flesh roils through the courtyard. One woman grabs her child and runs for the embassy. Others have similar ideas. Abruptly, with one hurl of a fireball, there's mass chaos.

And with that, Murdock and his guard are out of the gate, the child shrieking, "It landed on me! Get it off, get it OFF!"

The voice fades as he is borne out of the area quickly. The Atlantean group quickly follows, for this is no place for them to be, where it is raining sodden gobbets and choking one with the cloying scent of roast Varati.

Figures in crimson stream toward the stage as well. They will not be counted among the infidels who attacks Khalid's queen. No matter their personal feelings on the Empyrean woman, they would not risk being called before the Amir-al to explain why they did not rush to stop this disaster.

A few in the robes help the innocent away, either into the embassy, or into the temple, whichever is closer and away from the storm that has broken into a full fury around the Imam and the Maharani.

Rashid is up on his feet, not to flee, but to fight. How dare they... Having no weapon but his fists, his entire face composed in lines that speak more loudly of rage than any shouted words. He himself will die before being branded a coward or a rebel. There is not even a flinch as the man strides through sprayed gore to get closer to the stage.

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

Vasuki is as alarmed as anyone else by the sight of that fireball and the sudden violence by which Agni-Haidar meet their ends. He stumbles back, away from the conflagration, his bright garb no longer so bright amid the gore and blackened flesh raining down from the fireball's path.

The Hound at Raijin's side is quick to start moving through the crowds, giving aid to one of the teachers trying to push through the crowds to the gates. Students who cannot seem to navigate by themselves are hauled by the scruffs of their neck. But between two Hounds, several Adepts, and two of Riva's Sentries who come to aid, it is not long before all of the students are safely out of reach of the Atarvani.

Raijin lingers near the gates, counting up the heads as they file by him. Only after the last of his charges is gone does he himself begin to depart. Kaftan's hem flapping about his ankles, he casts one last look over his shoulder before disappearing out of sight.

Raijin and the others from Delphi pass between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah and return to the street.

Round eyes widen even further, and Lailah is quite, quite pale by now -- well, not pale, since she's rather dark to begin with, but her whole face has taken on a sickeningly grey cast. As fire begins to fly, and soldiers begin to... pop... she tears her eyes off Amipal, takes one step forward, lifts that tray in her hands and hurls it towards the gnarled old priest, cups of steaming liquid clattering in every direction. Right, that's really going to make matters better. But she's in shock here, see.

The Atarvani who entered the courtyard with the Imam now surround him with an eerie manner of patience, as if nothing out of the ordinary were occurring. They are varied in rank -- most Akhund, but some Nabi join their lesser brethren.

As the chaos erupts around them, they use their magics to defend the old Imam at their center. A tray hurled by some patron is incinerated instantly, erupting in a bright explosion.

He knew it might come to this, eventually. As the flame boils across the cold stone of the courtyard, Amipal steps smoothly before the Varati Queen's throne, takes the smaller Empyrean woman by the waist, and heaves her bodily, wings and all, from the dais. He is in the process of leaping free himself when the fire reduces the splendid seat to molten slag. Caught at the edge of the blast, he tumbles down the shaped rise, his sable haik alight.

Asfoureh continues on toward that circle of Atarvani. Her intent, for all that can be told by movement, is to reach just one of them, and to haul them out of that protective circle. To make a hole in the defenses.

Someone has the presence of mind to rush into the embassy and call for healers. Someone else races toward the stables where the dreaded wyverns are kept in order to grab buckets of water. Yet another level-headed type hastens toward the refreshment table, looking for anything that might help douse the flames.

But those who remain relatively calm and competent are few and far between -- the rest of the audience is screaming, running, wailing, and, in short, panicking.

Thalia expands her wings fully once she has been tossed off the dais. With a single upsweep, she flings herself into the sky, taking to the air with the grace and speed of a natural avian.

Gaining the balcony to her chambers, Thalia solves the issue of physical peril to her person by going inside the confines of Atesh-Gah through one of the balcony doors.

Unnoticed in the chaos, Vasuki slinks away, watching from a safer vantage point where he's in less danger of being crisped by flying fireballs. He does not panic, nor shake with fear. He simply withdraws. And watches.

Some of the Atarvani seem to have the same intentions as Asfoureh as they push their way through the fleeing crowds to do something that they had never expected to do in their lifetime; attack fellow priests.

Smaller fireballs, sent at close range, fly between those in red while others, Akhunds, draw their weapons. Sabirah scowls darkly as she makes a few steps to approach, but a rough-handed Akhund growls something at her and pushes her back. She bears no weapon to attack, nor does she possess a deadly magic. She has been reduced to helping get people away from the chaos and into the temple.

Well, that did much good. Lailah might just leap at one of those scary types around the Imam if her tray hadn't exploded so neatly. Flinging a hand up in front of her face, the girl backpedals, and lands promptly on her back in a tangle of bright cloth as bits of burning metal flies through the air around her and other panicking people, who now rush in all directions to get away.

The Agni-Haidar, to their credit, regroup quickly; the air is filled with the hum and whisper of crossbow bolts descending upon the Imam's party from the vicinity of the ruined throne, and from the walls above. Many erupt spectacularly into cinders, but quite a few find their marks, staggering and dropping the red-clad men. And it won't be long before the rest of the garrison is raised.

By the time Rashid has even gotten close to the stage, the Maharani is already gone. And having no magic himself, there is not much chance he would survive if attacked one of the Atarvani. So what is there for the man to do? Start herding people out and away to safety.

His deep and loud voice, which had previously been employed to sing, now barks at several of those who stare and scream to go into the embassy. Those who don't seem to hear him all too well get a push in the right direction.

The man who ran into the stable to get buckets of water returns now, running full-tilt, and bent over in an attempt to dodge flying fireballs and crossbow bolts. He casts about frantically, then races toward the nearest figure still on fire, which turns out to be Amipal. He upends both buckets over the Kaimakam before his act of bravery earns him a stray bolt in the shoulder.

Atarvani fall to the ground, charred bodies splaying across the finery laid out to accommodate those who came to hear stories. Screams still pierce the air as swords dance through the air, gleaming as the light bounces from their clean blades, then tainted a sickening crimson as an attack is made.

Sabirah glances over her shoulder at the fury in the courtyard as she hefts a small frightened child to her feet and carries her toward the temple door.

Another enormous fireball chases the Maharani as she flees toward the safety of the balcony. The moment she slips inside, the balcony is engulfed in flame and explodes. Stone shatters like glass, with rock showering those below. Some pieces fall to the courtyard cobblestones with a thunderous crash.

One of the Atarvani Akhund notices Asfoureh's charge. A wry smile blossoms on his face a moment before the cobbles beneath begins undulating violently, toppling everyone nearby.

The reply of the Agni-Haidar and of the random Atarvani priests in the audience finally begins to take its toll. Two priests are dropped to the stone courtyard floor, grasping at crossbow bolts lodged in their throat and face.

Another of the Imam's Atarvani is engulfed in flame. He screams a shrill cry before throwing himself to the ground and trying to put the flames out by any means necessary.

Deeper and deeper into the crowd does Rashid wade, trying to give some direction to those who are too panicked to think of what to do. Feeling the ground rumble beneath him, he nearly stumbles, but does not lose his footing.

A couple of children nearby, however, do fall. And not seeing the parents anywhere, the Baljekar bard does not think twice before scooping each one up under an arm, striding purposefully for the embassy.

Amipal rips his tattered, soaking cloak from his back, looking from soot-blackened features, through disheveled raven hair, at the scene in the courtyard. Starless eyes search for Thalia; finding her -- blessedly -- absent, the man rips his falcare from its scabbard and pelts across the stone, right into the midst of the Imam's complement and working towards the old man himself. His expression is a grim mask. The weapon whirls.

Lailah is still pale. And still lying on the ground. Pale eyes blink up into the air, contemplating the various fire-balls and crossbow bolts that zip passed; a moment or two later, the naraki sits up, staring almost drowsily around her at people running and screaming and burning. Fun fun. She begins rising, finally -- scrambling, without much grace to speak of, to set off trundling in some random direction without much real aim, yet at least, nearly falling over again several times as she goes along.

Asfoureh topples, the victim of the Akhund's magic. She, however, does not intend to stay on her back like an overturned tortoise. Indeed, she turns over onto her stomach again, twisting herself in her own silks, and flings a hand out toward him in a quick, violent movement.

Gradually, most of the non-combatants have either fled or been herded out of the courtyard by more level-headed participants. By now, the scene is utter disarray -- someone overturned the refreshment tables, the stage is burning where it got hit by a stray fireball, there are bodies -- blackened and charred, and some still thrashing -- littering the ground. For the most part, only the Agni-Haidar and split groups of Atarvani are left, fighting with weapons and magic alike.

Asfoureh's intended target only smiles and unleashes a vicious kick aimed at her head, but he himself soon falls victim to a fireball which engulfs him. He screams and stumbles over Asfoureh, his hands desperately trying to snuff the flames that consume his flesh.

Only two Atarvani remain to guard the Imam, who now furiously hammers Atesh-Gah with an infinite number of explosive bolts of fire that rip into the stone of the embassy. His lips are locked in a rabid rictus as he desperately tries to slay the Kafir Maharani who has managed to elude him.

Stepping from the entrance to the embassy, the great, glittering silver-and-navy clad Messala Warlord arrives on the scene, summoned by a shudra witnessing the events.

His guardsmen, ten at the time, step out with heavy crossbows and the great bear of a man -- Sumai, that is, says in his deep, rumbling voice, "Fire at will, hit the Atarvani rogues."

His men raise heavy crossbows and aim into the trio of Atarvani rogues. With a *thump*, the powerful draw of crossbows begins to hum into the Atarvani group. One man reloads the crossbow as another fires the huge mechanism.

Sumai, himself, begins to 'force' fire down and try to stunt the heat and flame with his own magic -- trying to shut down what priests he can and stem the flow of fireballs.

Lailah, not looking like much of a combatant herself, skirts a wild disarray and frayed and zinged in many places by the burning remains of the tray, is soon found by some other stray servants left on the scene; grabbed by both arms she is, and hauled along her fellow, rather hysterical, naraki as they stumble their way for the entranceway. Several wild glances are cast over the girl's shoulder as she's dragged along, back for the fray, but she soon vanishes into the dusky depths of the main keep alongside the others.

Farzin, looking rather worse for wear, finally crawls out from under the burning stage where he first scuttled when the combat began. Quivering, he scurries around the forward edge of Clan Messala and into the safe, protected confines of the embassy.

Amipal cuts a path to the center, wholly ignorant of wounds -- and wounds there must certainly be. Blood, his own and that of the Atarvani, spatters and darkens his blade, his clothing, trickles down the caked char on his cheek. Nearing, he levels his weapon at the reverend Imam, grating a heartfelt, "Leave off playing with buildings, old man. Try my faith once more. I will suck the marrow from your spine."

Asfoureh, beneath a burning man, would be foolish to do anything but push at him in an attempt to keep her own clothing from lighting, regardless of her hands.

The wall of crossbow bolts riddles the two remaining Atarvani priests, but fail to find the body of the Imam. The grizzled fire Magus turns at the sound of so many bolts whistling passed. Seeing the ranks of Messala, Mansur begins annihilating them.

The front ranks explode, their bodies cruelly ripped apart, splashing the stone cobble with gore. Behind, stone cobbles erupts in thunderous explosions, superheated to the point of bursting. It decimates the ranks further and adds to the carnage of the scene.

Vasuki is tucked away off in some remote corner of the courtyard, just watching the battle ensue. He makes no attempt to take part, though, really, what could the gaudily-dressed little bald man do? He is a Qadi, not a warrior. And perhaps he's paralyzed with fear, for how else to explain his disinclination to flee for safety?

The rogue Imam, so intent on destroying the Messala warriors, does not see or hear the Agni-Haidar Kaimakam behind him.

When the potent, aged Imam turns his attention to the Messala -- and particularly when he lights into them -- Amipal hesitates no longer. Stepping across the short remaining distance, thick with bodies, he draws back his weapon; midnight gaze riveted on its point of aim, teeth clenched, he brings the weapon around in a full-force, driving slash at the old man's neck.

The heavy crossbow bolts rain from the Messala ranks, each pair of men scatters in different directions, one man reloading and one man firing. A few of them are burned and fall, hurt badly or maybe dead, but several more bolts shoot toward the lone priest.

Sumai himself continues to try and blunt the stream of fire they cast, a bright, orange-red hue emanating from his eyes as he continues to use his powers to stunt the abilities that he can. He's no God-King, and plenty of fireballs still jump forth -- one bursts near to him charring enamel across the surface of his glittering silver armor.

Amipal's attack goes unnoticed as Mansur grinds in teeth and presses on with his decimation of the Messala ranks. The falcare finds its mark and cleaves the aged flesh neatly, cruelly tearing the flesh only where it exits the throat.

The Imam remains standing, still leaning on his staff. Only after a painful few seconds does the head finally topple from his neck and the body crumple to the ground.

When Mansur lies dead, a crossbow from a Messala warrior sinks into the lifeless body. Joining it is a small fireball, doing enough damage to light the corpse's robe on fire. More crossbow bolts whistle through the air where the rogue mage had just been standing.

As the crazed Imam is dropped to the ground, new Atarvani arrive from the temple, though with the ability to Heal the wounded who litter the courtyard, weakly crying out for help. A few curious onlookers peer out of the Temple doors as well, breathing sighs of relief that the carnage seems to be over.

When the man atop her has stopped moving, and is purely weight and no longer struggling, Asfoureh pushes again to roll him off and away so that she can untangle singed and ruin silk from around herself, and climb to her feet.

One of the airborne bolts finds Amipal's shoulder, spinning him to the cold ground. The Lion is clearly beyond such things, however, and without a sound -- doubtless working solely from reserves of adrenaline -- he staggers to his feet once more, snatching up the Imam's severed head.

"Come to Atesh-Gah!" he bellows to no one in particular, holding the grisly trophy aloft. "Come and see what waits for you here!" He won't be on his feet long.

His tabard blackened and his once glittering scarred from flame, the huge Messala warlord grabs the nearest soldier, shudra or Atarvani that can walk and says, "Fetch healers now. Good ones from my suite, or even that Khalida shudra." The mighty voice Sumai wields commands whomever he grabs.

By force of will, he extinguishes the flame set alight on his clothing, and olive-brown eyes survey the brief scene. When the Messala healers arrive, they go first to his guardsmen and then to him before aiding in anyone else.

Smoke rises into the cold winter sky from various points in the courtyard. Like funeral pyres, the blood and dying flames mix to create an atmosphere filled with sooty blackness. Above Atesh-Gah, the smoke curls, signifying for all of Haven the decimation and chaos which plagues the Varati people.

FIN  

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