Date: November 11, 1999
Place: Courtyard - Delphic Citadel - Haven
Cast: Aztlan, Dara, Eric, Fasad, Greycloud, Maya, Niamh, Nightmare, Okalani, Raijin, Ranjeet, Shahar, Starsong, Tekla, Vanora
Scene: The aether is fluctuating: magic is becoming more and more difficult to contain, and even those who have received years of training and are themselves teachers are not exempt from losing control. One evening, Delphi's courtyard is the site of a tragic end for a member of the Order's Estrella.

The rain pours down, relentless. Most would take shelter, but it seems the rain itself may have been what brought the Estrel from within the Tower. Soaked to the bone with her robes sodden and her hair plastered about her head and her face, Maya paces the courtyard followed by a host of firefly-like sparks and a ghostly entourage of mist-maidens spiraling up from the heated flagstones at her feet. She mutters to herself, stopping at moments to stare out through the gates or up at the tower itself and then begin again.

Out of the Infirmary and into the rain steps Starsong, her face pale and drawn, its lines intensified and emphasized tension. As the door closes behind her, she lets herself sag back against it, bowing her head to let the rain pour down onto her, dropping small pale circles onto the white of her kaftan, darkening her hair into wavy strings, and sliding in tearlike drops down her face. As she stands there, a bit of the tension seems to fade, easing the tight set of her shoulders, but her mouth is still pinched into a small, straight line, betraying the inward effort she is exerting.

Under the shelter of the Tower, a feralis looks at the courtyard. Actually, she doesn't look all the time, but rather appears at the doorway every now and then before vanishing once more. By all probability, she is searching for someone... possibly inside the tower. However, that seems to change the moment she sees the Estrel in the courtyard. Cold, green eyes narrow slightly, more at the rain than anything else, then the brown-clad Nightmare exits her shelter. The rain feels much irritating to her despite the kaftan, yet she makes her way slowly towards the... well, slightly odd Estrel. Naturally, this one would not dream of saying anything about the peculiar use of magic. If it's an Estrel, it should be all right. Reaching a relatively close distance of a few steps, the feralis nods with a slight cough to attract attention.

The air around Maya trembles with heat, no doubt another reflection of the power that causes the milky wisps of steam to rise from the cobbles and dance about the Varati woman in silent celebration. However, the woman herself seems hardly about to celebrate. Deep lines of worry mark her face, as do the dark shadows that ring each eye. Nightmare's cough, meant to catch attention instantly, hardly does so. Maya doesn't even start at the sound, as if she did not hear it... or as if she heard it along with another host of sounds inaudible to anyone else. She stares through the Sylvan girl for some time before bringing her gaze back to actually focus on Nightmare. Her whisper is harsh and hoarse, "What is it?" No pleasantries, just a demand for what brings this person before her to interrupt her own thoughts.

Starsong lifts a small, almost steady hand to push the wet hair and raindrops away from her eyes as she raises her head again, and takes a deep breath that straightens her shoulders and pulls her upright, away from the door. She glances around the courtyard with eyes, like those of so many others these days, that are shadowed with the dark circles of sleeplessness and stress, and dimmed with worry and preoccupation. As she takes in the number of people hurrying to and fro in the rain through the courtyard, she draws back a tiny bit, eyes flinching in apprehension... but she steels herself once more, and begins to splash softly down the steps.

Shahar, borne upon a palanquin carried by four naraki, enters from the Rialto.

Before she says a word, the feralis bows although that gets an unpleasant amount of water down her neck. "Forgive me for the liberty, Estrel," the Sylvan begins and it could be sensed even through her emotionless voice that this is regarded as a special case. Nightmare would hardly approach a Estrel just like that. Head rising slowly, she goes on. "No doubt you have heard the reports of... chaos in the library a while ago, Estrel," referring to the Sadam incident. "That is a crime in itself, especially since magic was abused... and one of you..." she stops. Hardly a good thing to say to the Varati -- that one of her race was involved. "This, however, is not the only incident apparently... there is something in the aether, or so I am led to believe by certain of the clairvoyants. There have been other incidents in the library, again dealing with abuses of magic. Could I ask, in such a case, Estrel, that the library be... closed. A sort of quarantine, if you will. Especially for the, no offense, elementalists of lower rank." No offense is meant. It's hard to believe that Nightmare would know the meaning of the word other than explained in a dictionary.

Like a small white-clad shadow, Starsong slips past Nightmare and Maya, bare feet making tiny splashing sounds on the rain-soaked stones of the courtyard. She keeps her head down, letting a string or two of her hair fall forward to cling to her face, and glances up only briefly to give the Estrel a nod that is respectful yet hurried, giving the others only a second's chance to see the changes that tension has made to her face -- the tight set of teeth on her bottom lip, the tiny furrows between her brows.

The presence of another when Nightmare is having a conversation is usually considered as nearly a crime, yet this day for some strange reason there are no signs she plans to waste any time with such minor matters. That is to be expected after all, this is 'her' library that is at stake here. The caducean is hardly noticed, if at all, while the feralis remains in her position, eyes looking straight forward which in this case seems to be a rather uninteresting section of the courtyard ground.

Maya seems unhappy to even be troubled by such a matter. She waves one hand, sparks dancing around the gesture. In fact, now that she has come to a halt, the sparks clothe her in an aura of golden light that fights against the downpour, constantly hissing and spitting. "Close it but for non-mages... and the Sibylla. We cannot afford for an accident to damage it. Let the mages send in servants to search."

The palanquin borne by four beefy Varati naraki is placed on the courtyard's ground between the six guards ringing it, and from within that sedan comes a stately woman of the majestic height and build so often seen in her people's kshatri caste. Shahar ignores the patter of rain, even as it promises ruination to her silks, and gazes impassively across the distance separating herself from those conversing.

Nightmare lifts her head slightly, but only so as to be able to nod properly. "Forgive my asking, Estrel Maya, but what about myself?" Here comes the tricky bit, naturally. "I've proven to all of the Estrella that I could restrain myself, despite my nature. In all my time in the citadel, I have used my gift only but half a dozen times, and always under the supervision of several respected. Could I ask to remain in the library as well? I will not cause any damage to any of the items there."

Clairvoyants: You see it like a shimmering curtain, sweeping across reality. From near to far, a brief flash of light surges past, bringing with it painful clarity of vision. Nerves stripped raw by the power, it lingers in fleeting bits of past visions and dreams...

Maya appears to loose her footing, stumbling slightly on the cobbles. She clutches at her belly, fingers knotting in the heavy cloth of her kaftan and a brief spasm of pain jumping over her features. The sparks around her leap into a flash of light and heat like a curtain of flame that abruptly subsides back into pinpricks of light swirling once more. She groans as she straightens and then fixes Nightmare with an angry look. Her reply is an angry hiss, composure long fled. "You presume to ask that all others be banned from the Library and yet ask for the privilege you want kept from others?"

At the entry of the palanquin and descent of its occupant, Starsong's steps slow, curiosity overcoming her withdrawn introversion for a moment as she turns to look with widening eyes towards the Varati woman. But then her attention whips towards Maya, a matching wince of pain crumpling her features as a small gasp escapes her. All energy turns, for a moment, to fighting her expression back to something approaching neutrality, and then she darts swiftly back towards Maya. "Estrel -- are you all right?" she gasps.

The air around the Estrel is almost uncomfortably warm. The water that falls to the cobbles steams and hisses, the ground actually dry at her feet.

Whatever Shahar intended to say and do is interrupted by whatever has skewed Maya's existence. Almost in tandem with the other Varati woman, the Pasha stumbles, a sharp inhalation of air preceding her grasping of the palanquin's side for support. The Agni-Haidar about her stiffen, vigilant for threats, while one of the Khalida guards offers his support at once. "No," she whispers to him, "no, leave me. It is nothing...." Eyes find Maya through the water of rain and pain-inspired tears, and for a moment the Lioness of Khalida looks ferocious indeed.

A slight silence after which Nightmare nods again. "Naturally, there is no place the Estrella cannot enter in the citadel, as well as all they choose -- the Seneschal, most of the respected... I was talking only about the students, Estrel." Green eyes look emotionlessly at Maya. "Indeed a privilege it is, but I have been taking care of minor matters in the library for some time." She stops, not wanting to sound too... too like herself, actually. The answer to the question is all that counts. Even the fact that the Estrel might be sick... or that strange things are happening around her, is of minor importance.

Starsong reaches a hand hesitantly towards Maya, looking up at her with wide, worried eyes. "Estrel, please, can I -- oh!" As a puff of steam rises from the soaked cuff of her kaftan, the girl pulls her hand back with a cry, half-pained and half-shocked, and her mouth stays open as she stares at the Estrel bewilderedly.

Niamh descends the steps of the seminary and joins those in the courtyard.

"Leave her," Shahar advises through gritted teeth as she asserts her will, considerable as it is, against what has just occurred. "She will be fine."

Maya stands sheathed in a cloud of sparks, each one feeding off the next and growing. The water at her feet... it almost seems to boil. It's certain that her clothing is rapidly drying and her hair starting to curl with the fury of the power that gathers around her. Droplets evaporate with a hiss as the come closer to her. Her sharp gaze goes white as she looks over to Shahar and the Estrel -- retreats, stumbling back several steps. "Don't..."

Shahar senses: Maya blazes in the Aether, irregular swirls of power circling around her furiously and tendrils reaching out in all directions without any sense of control.

Shahar's focus narrows on Maya, her jaw muscles tightening in the tension of the moment, her feet bearing her closer to the other woman. With the force of personality and will that is hers to command, Shahar says to Maya, "Do not do this; do not allow the aether to control you, Maya. Concentrate on yourself. Concentrate on your mastery of what you do. You are Varati. You are Estrel. You are above this."

Niamh appears in the doorway of the Seminary, frowning at the rain. By all the stars in the skies, must it rain again? He starts to scowl, but those gathered in the Courtyard catch his attention... especially the Estrel Maya as she seems surrounded by the sparks and steam. Ignoring the rain now, he steps forward quickly, "Estrel?" At the other voice he turns, eyes widening. "Shakir..." he makes a quick bow before turning back to his teacher. He takes another step towards her... wanting to help. She can't lose control... not like this!

Eric steps through Delphi's tall gates and enters from the Rialto.

The strange events cause Nightmare to straighten up and look at the Estrel intensely now. This is quite an interesting experience. Never before has she seen an Estrel have problems in magic. Apparently, everything is possible. However, since she isn't a healer, that hardly concerns her. "Estrel?" she asks, thought mostly out of some form of politeness, or rather following some etiquette she has read about somewhere. The fact that pouring rain could not wet the other's kaftan seems not to intimidate her at the least. Neither does the quantity of steam. It seems that even if the Estrel was to burst in flames and Nightmare catch fire the feralis would remain in her position. So, again it has something to do with the aether... Interesting.

From the gates walks Eric, cloaked, but recognizable. He walks toward the tower, not stopping unless someone decides to try and stop him.

Starsong's head whips back and forth from one Varati woman to the other as the color begins to drain from her face. "What -- are you sure -- are you all right -- what is it?" Her voice rises higher with each stammering word, and, helplessly, she extends her hand toward Maya again. Shahar's words, however, seem to have a strangely calming effect on her, and as her head turns slowly to look at the unfamiliar woman once more, a little of the frantic fear begins to leave her face, and slowly, she withdraws her hand to cover her mouth. Swallowing, she gives Shahar one last look, trusting now, and turns to watch Maya, as if her eyes could send the strength.

Such stoic interest on Nightmare's part is unfortunate, for the aura about the Estrel expands slowly. Hot enough to blister and burn, it boils the water from the cobbles in an expanding circle.

The Pasha speaks with a snapping tone, like the verbalization of a cracking whip. She is nothing if not faithful, and her faith includes one such as Maya. Sparing Niamh not even a glance, she continues speaking to Maya whilst keeping just outside that sizzling aura. "Maya, stop it. Do you hear me? You are making a disgrace of your people. This is not you. This is whatever is seizing the aether, twisting it. Do not let it twist you and consume you. Now listen to me and control it."

Eric heads through the arched doorway of the west tower.

Niamh has to step back, lest he get burned by the heat emanating from the Estrel. "No..." he denies, "It can't happen like this..." But what can he do, but stand and watch, and like the Pasha, try to get Maya to get her magic under control. So he adds his own words, "You are stronger than this, Estrel... Teacher. I know you are. This can be handled." He gives his deep, quiet voice the timbre of belief. He has every faith that the Estrel can overcome this. Or at least, he would like to.

A tiny cry escapes Starsong, and she darts back from the rapidly-heating stones. Confusion and fear rise to her face again, and for a moment, all she can do is stand and stare down at the clouds of steam puffing up from the cobbles.

Clairvoyants: From the distance, it starts. To you it rushes. A surge of light. Of power. Of burning. To touch it could be death. To see it is painful enough as it burns across your eyes. And then it is gone, leaving the Aether heaving slowly.

Remaining calm as always, and in such circumstances one could see what a curse for everyone this attitude of Nightmare's could be, the feralis begins to consider what could be done. "I have heard that in some cases, if an external shock is applied that might bring to inner stability?" Is that tested? Will it work? In any case, that is a suggestion and Nightmare would well admire the results... whatever they might be. She moves a hand forward to point to something and probably then action makes her back off a step. Her fingertip is well touched by the heat. "In the present circumstances, that could be a solution," she adds.

Maya falls to her knees with a cry as if struck by some invisible blow, the air igniting around her into dancing flames. She stares at Shahar, almost pleading. Unable to even speak for the struggle she is fighting within, she stretches out her hand towards Shahar in a mute plea for help.

Both hands cover Starsong's mouth now, stifling the frightened little cry that she cannot manage to hold back. Above the wall of crossed fingers, her green eyes stare in helpless horror at Maya.

Shahar falls back a step, blinking rapidly as she is assailed by things unseen... not unlike the others in the courtyard, most likely. Then, as the flames begin, Shahar grits her teeth, leans downward to scoop a handful of water from a collection of rain close by, and dashes it toward Maya's features. A second handful follows, then a third. Perhaps they might sizzle and vaporize, but she must try to end the flames and strike at Maya's mood.

Vanora descends the steps of the seminary and joins those in the courtyard.

Not knowing if the water will help, Niamh sets his jaw and tries to reach towards the flames with his own magic. Not to add to the fire, but to try and control it. To take some of the burden of its control from the Estrel. If he even can. But it's the only thing he can think of... and he very well could be consumed as well. If his magic will even respond today.

Droplets turn into gouts of steam that burst towards the sky, as dangerous or moreso than the flame itself -- for at least one might pass their hand safely through flame for an instant. Steam will cling and burn. Maya's eyes turn unseeing as she stares at Shahar and with a sudden deep breath, she screams, "No... behind you!" She looks not at the woman, but beyond her, seeing something... something. But with that little slip, the flames break free of what little control held them, turning blue with intensity and rising above her like a pillar.

Whatever may threaten Shahar is of no import to her: time to apply her own magic, as she may, to assert control over Maya's. "Maya," she whispers as her strength gathers, "concentrate. Concentrate..."

The appearance of flames is something that catches Nightmare unprepared. Very much like a fool, she has remained closest to the Estrel and the flames blind her for a while. However, her reflexes are quick enough so that she makes a step back as well as covers her face with her left Kaftan sleeve in time. A moment later, she takes something from her other sleeve -- a small wooden statue, no doubt not belonging to her, and throws it roughly at the Estrel's head. All theories must be tested firsthand, after all.

Wood is ash, and so to begins the fall of the Estrel's robes. The cloth blackens and stiffens under the heat first and then begins to char, falling in pieces from the woman's body. With a sudden flare, her hair is alight as well, turning Maya for an instant into a goddess of fire. And then the scream starts -- like the wail of the fire itself it is laced into the roar of its burning inextricably.

Niamh's own magic seems to do nothing, but he wasn't sure if it would. He had to try. As the flames rise above Maya, he staggers back to avoid being burned as well. "...Atar..." he whispers, his own magic failing when it was most needed. And so the prayers begin.

Vanora hurries outside, pushing her way out from the Seminary. Her lips part briefly at what greets her gaze, but the Atlantean priestess hesitates only a moment before moving forward at a trot, head turning this way and that as she searches for something... anything... which might help.

Higher, softer, melting into the fury of sound and flame comes another scream, from behind the muffling barrier of the hands that cover Starsong's mouth. Stumbling back, away from the pain, the healer falls to her knees, burying her face in her hands as she twists in empathy with Maya, curling in on herself in a vain, desperate attempt to shut out the world of pain around her.

The rage of the fire, as well as simple precaution, makes Nightmare effectively take another few steps backwards. Thankfully, in time not to get scorched. In appearance she might be as before, yet her mind is working at full speed. "If there is a shaper, throw something of stone at her.." she looks at the ground. "Or of metal at least..."

With a sound of protest, flagstones crack. The flames leap higher, igniting a beacon and turning the Tower beside them into a pillar of reflected light, shining in eerie glory. The growl becomes a roar and the figure of Maya disappears within the raging glow, turning into a mere silhouette slowly crumbling to the ground.

Announcement: Through the rain it is clearly visible as Delphi leaps into bright relief, illuminated by a massive pillar of flame...

Vanora comes to an abrupt halt, her own mind hammered by the emotions and pain which swirl around the courtyard. For an instant, her face turns upwards, into the pouring rain, and her features twist with pained indecision. Then, jaw clenching, she reaches out for the water which falls all around her, trying to use it somehow. Just skirting the very edge of what she can do with her ability, she strains for more, reaching, scrabbling....

Ranjeet steps through Delphi's tall gates and enters from the Rialto.

The prayers pause, mid-syllable as the fire roars and rages higher and the figure of the Estrel is all but lost within it. Closing his eyes, and with a deep breath, Niamh begins another set of prayers, knowing that the Estrel will be rewarded by Khalid Atar in her next life.

Dashing in to the courtyard, Ranjeet feels the flare of the flames and immediately brings his power to bear -- to tamp down on the uncontrollable elemental magic. His talent bucks and struggles beneath his control, as if a wild horse rather than the tamed creature it has been in the past. But his concentration and control are still masterful for his age and focusing on the pyre before him, Ranjeet sends out with all his strength his Clairvoyant aura -- a smothering black flame of counter-magic.

The flagstones! Nightmare narrows her eyes. Logically that could be the only way.. if only they could get one... and throw it at the Estrel in just enough time. "Help me get a slab," she says her voice with a hint of concern in it. The feralis looks at the ground again, yet then quickly makes another few steps back... just in case. Only then does she kneel on the ground. "I need a knife..." she shouts, hoping someone would comply.

What was once a kneeling woman is now hardly more than a huddled shadow and even that crumbles slowly. The flames themselves rage on for moments after until suddenly they wink out completely, leaving only shadowed after-images behind. When those finally clear, there is only a scorched mark on the stones in a pattern of starburst-black laced through with stressed cracks.

Crumpled on the ground, Starsong is nothing more than a small, shaking pile of soaked white cloth and dark strands of hair, face buried in her trembling arms. The rain pours down over her, tiny sparkles of reflected light dimming as the pyre flares, then burns itself out.

Raindrops fall. Where stones are scorched dry, now they hiss and smoke, veiling the spot where someone once stood. The aftermath is strangely peaceful.

Shahar's hands lower in a shuddering motion as disbelieve courses through her body. Pain of an altogether different nature assails her, and, with shoulders slack and head shaking, she whispers, "No... no...."

Tekla steps through Delphi's tall gates and enters from the Rialto.

The rain which pours around Vanora's form appears to waver for a moment, drawing in towards her translucent robes even as the flames fade away, but that is all she can manage. With a gasp, her body collapses to the ground, one clenched fist pounding the stone hard enough to break her slender hand. Frustration and pain radiate from her soaking body like the waves of heat which are still shimmering above the ruined stones nearby.

Dara rushes out of the Seminary, nearly stumbling over a stone bench. Her eyes are wide open, her gaze wide as she looks around the filled courtyard. Starsong being the first familiar face she spots, she raises her voice as much as possible, to call, "Starsong? What's happening here?"

Niamh looks up even as he can feel the fire's presence dissipate. The prayers fade from his tongue and he moves towards the digging Sylvan. "Enough. There's nothing to be done now." His voice is rough, as if parched by the smoke and heat. He then crouches beside Starsong, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Peace... it is over." He catches sight of the blackened stones and takes in a deep, slow breath.

Tekla comes through the gates, his body soaked with rain. he looks around in amazement, taking in the group gathered here.

Nightmare blinks. Certainly not something she had expected. "How interesting..." she couldn't keep herself from saying as she stands up, looking at the area which was only flames until now. Certainly an experience she would like repeated... although this time she would be prepared for it. So much could be learned.

Dark hair tangled, clothes in disarray, eyes wild and breathing fast, it is clear that Ranjeet ran as fast as he could from the moment he saw the flame blaze up into the sky. But in truth, he came because he had heard that his wife was here, and for no other reason. Drawing a hand through his slicked hair, Ranjeet crosses the courtyard, the black flame licking the aether about him dissipating as its need is snuffed out, self-immolating into nothingness. There is a soft, ragged sigh that escapes him, knowing not whom to mourn as he crosses over and draws his wife into his arms, eyes searching over her figure worriedly.

In the silence that falls, after the rush of heat and sound dies away, the small, muffled sound of Starsong's sobbing can be heard. Huddled on the cold stones, she can only lean towards Niamh, trembling wordlessly towards the only human contact she can feel.

Okalani emerges from the grand set of double doors leading into the citadel and joins those in the courtyard.

Niamh turns a dark glare to Nightmare, "Interesting, is it? I'm glad you can be so blasé about this." His voice drips scorn... and pain. His hand still rests lightly on Starsong's shoulder, oddly offering as much comfort as he can.

Eric comes out from the Provost's office.

Okalani rushes out of the tower, having been told something of disastrous proportions was happening outside.

Eric slips from his tower. He shows signs of having been recently in a fight, but that is all little to no concern right now. He moves immediately toward the commotion.

The scene is bizarre. Heat still radiates from the center of the courtyard where the stones are cracked and burned. The rain that falls there sizzles and evaporates into tendrils of mist that curl upwards through the droplets. There is the smell of flame, although how anything could burn in this weather is beyond normal comprehension.

Vanora is kneeling on the ground, a half dozen paces from Starsong and Niamh, cradling her right hand close to her chest. Head bowed, damp hair brushing the stones beneath her, the priestess trembles and rocks gently back and forth.

Not paying any attention to the recent remark, Nightmare looks at the black remains, probably wondering how much they will remain in the courtyard. However, she doesn't wonder for too long. In but a few moments, the feralis turns around and starts making her way towards the tower. She ignores entirely the scene as well as her slight burn. "By order of the Estrella Maya, the library is closed to all magic-users with the exception of the Estrella and those who they choose," she announces before entering the tower. What an emotionless creature indeed. She might as well add 'have a nice day,' yet she doesn't. No time for things like that.

Still curled into a little ball, Starsong inches towards Niamh, although her head remains down, her face hidden in her arms. Violent shivers run through her, and still, Starsong can do nothing but sob.

Nightmare vanishes into the tower.

"Vanora?" Okalani's usually soft voice is strangely loud as she nears the group, eyes looking at the scorched mark and shivering violently; something is definitely not right. Instantly, she calls for her priestess' attention, hoping that one will somehow be able to speak of what just happened.

Touching over her lightly to make sure that the singed clothes do not hint at worse injuries, Ranjeet's focus remains on Shahar ... for there is nothing to be done for the victim of this magical outburst. He touches her lightly, all the time murmuring softly to her, his hands gentle and soothing. Though he does not treat her in anyway condescendingly, he recognizes the shock and the whiplash that the event and her magic has had upon her, and his voice and touch is not unlike that of a horseman calming his injured and skittish mount, reassuring and constantly droning at Shahar softly. Only on occasion does his gaze leave her to scan those about them with a wary eye. No telling what other magics could flare up in the wake of this disaster.

Tekla looks around, and heads for the gates. He steps through them and enters the Rialto.

Niamh continues to glare after Nightmare, especially after that particular announcement. By what right does she have to declare that? His anger fades just as it began, for he would not wish a second pyre this day. Luckily, his own magic is staying oddly dampened this day. He keeps the contact with Starsong, looking back to her and then to Ranjeet and Shahar. "She will be rewarded..." he offers quietly, but with certainty.

Vanora's head lifts, slowly, in a series of trembling jerks. Blankly, she stares at Okalani for a long moment without recognition, before she tries to push herself onto her knees with a shuddering exhalation. Still keeping her right hand close to her chest, she says in an unsteady voice, "May Pasiphae have mercy on us all. Okalani... I need your help. Please." Clearly, she can rise no further than her knees.

Dara rushes to the center, to crouch besides Starsong. Her eyes are fixated on the scorch mark, yet she does not reach out to touch it. Instead, she offers her arms to the Sylvan healer for a hug. "Starsong?" she whispers, fear holding her voice, "Are you all right?"

Breathing is labored for Shahar as she stares at the scorched spot where Maya once stood. Disbelief transfixes her, as does horror: she cannot blink, cannot move, cannot close her mouth, still agape from the shock of her impotence. Yet the Pasha is no wilting flower, not even when she has just witnessed the immolation of one of the few people dear to her, one of the few she truly trusts. Eventually she does blink, eventually her back straightens, and eventually sheer force of will reclaims her self-possession. "I am all right, my husband," she hollowly reports to Ranjeet, though she still trembles like a leaf in cyclonic winds. "See to the others."

Eric walks over, calling a few Hounds with him. "Get the hurt into the Infirmary." He moves through, looking around, a scowl on his features.

Between Niamh and Dara, protected from the rain and the chaos now, Starsong's shuddering sobs begin, gradually, to subside. Still unable to speak, she burrows her head deeper into the shelter of her arms, her shoulders shaking under the sodden curtain of hair and kaftan that drapes over her.

Okalani kneels down, her arm reaching out for the older priestess' hand in an attempt to pull her up. Shivering, she watches those which have been burnt, turning blue eyes upon them all as she helps Vanora rise. "What in Pasiphae's name happened, Vanora?" She looks at the others, perhaps they could explain what happened. "An elemental? Who?" Eyes fall upon Niamh before she shakes her head.

Look to the others? Ranjeet's gaze shifts to those about him, but the Delphi are able to take care of their own. Well ... usually. Those who seem in particular shock seem to have someone tending to them. Wrapping a supportive arm about his wife's waist, Ranjeet replies, "You are my first priority, and you're shaking with shock and soaked through, not to mentioned burned. I'm taking you home ... you have a choice. You may walk with my support or I shall carry you." His voice might be determined, but it is also gentle, his gaze warm and worried. "Which shall it be, Shahar?"

Niamh stands, placing Starsong's care with Dara. His eyes brush the scorched, melted stones before returning Okalani's gaze. "Estrel Maya," he answers softly. He then shudders once, as if sloughing away his grief and shock. "Preparations should be made for the celebration." He glances to Ranjeet and Shahar, as if looking to them for confirmation.

Vanora leans on her High Priestess, drawing herself up with painful slowness. "It was difficult to see," she replies once she makes it to her feet. "Everything happened so quickly. But I believe it was the Estrella. The Varati." Her dripping hair swings as she shakes her head repeatedly. "I only caught a glimpse of her, so I could be wrong..." Her words are cut off by a sharp wince as she bumps her injured hand against the other woman.

The guards who had stood transfixed by the sedan as Maya was consumed now are bestirred from their horror by a strong sense of duty; the lead bearer of the palanquin approaches and bows low to Ranjeet. "Imphadi," he intones in a deep voice, "her palanquin is here. We may, if you desire, bear you both home." Home, where the lunacy may fade from reality to a nightmare not soon forgotten.

Belatedly, Ranjeet turns his gaze to Niamh, and for a moment a dark sadness comes over him, but it is difficult to say which statement brings this quiet horror to his eyes ... that notation of her afterlife reward, the name of who the poor victim was, or the mention of a celebration. "After this has passed," replies Ranjeet, "yes, we will raise a mound in her name and perform burial rites for Varati Estrel, Maya." his grip about his wife tightens as he nods to the guard. "That would be well ... my thanks," he replies softly, inclining his head to the guard in gratitude.

Dara's body shudders as Niamh declares the name, and she simply grasps Starsong's hand for support. Her body slumps down on the ground, but her face remains frozen, with blue strains of wet hair falling over it. The pale eyes never wander away from the blackened place where Maya stood.

Aztlan emerges from the grand set of double doors leading into the citadel and joins those in the courtyard.

Shahar has no words to say. Her thoughts know of the Amir-al's mercy, of Maya's certain placement in glory in the next life, but her heart aches. Ranjeet was right: shock consumes her, not entirely unlike the flames that engulfed one of Shahar's few friends, and while her dignity and willpower insist she remain steady on her feet, she leans against Ranjeet without remorse... and grief darkens her eyes.

Raijin descends the steps of the seminary and joins those in the courtyard.

Niamh's answer to the question is heard by the Atlantean Estrel and her mouth falls open as her gills suddenly blossom open and shut for various time, a soundless proof of her great shock for what happened with all this. Seeing, and feeling, how her touch hurts Vanora, Okalani places her fingers around a not so painfully-burned part of the woman's skin. "We need to bring all those injured to the infirmary..." her eyes fall upon a Varati novice who enters the courtyard, obviously not burned. "Boy, go and fetch all Caduceans, ask all other students in the tower to do the same."

As Niamh draws away, Starsong moves entirely into the circle of Dara's arms, and as if sobbing out the pain of others, she crumples against the Atlantean woman, the tight ball of arms and legs uncurling to bury her head against Dara as her arms wrap around her waist.

Ranjeet wastes no time, turning his wife gently to the proffered palanquin and settling her there before climbing on himself. The curtains are closed, to protect her from the cruel weather as well as cut off the sight of what was once her friend from her eyes. There is a soft rap upon the wood and with that the palanquin is raised and carried off and out of the Delphic Citadel without further ado or delay.

Attracted by the shockwaves radiating from an aetherial explosion signifying an act not unlike what just happened in the real world, Aztlan rushes from the Tower, eyes wide and disbelieving, glancing about frantically at the scene.

Nodding once, Niamh looks back to the scorched marks, then to his own hands which are quickly buried into the folds of his haik. Another slow, deep breath is taken before he turns back towards the Seminary. Maya's spirit is in the Amir-al's hands now. There is nothing more to be done here.

Shahar and Ranjeet, borne on the Pasha's palanquin, disappear through the tall set of gates and enter the Rialto.

Fasad nods and dashes inside to do as Okalani instructed.

Niamh enters the double doors that lead into the seminary.

Fasad vanishes into the tower.

Vanora says quietly, "I tried to help her. With my magic. But I could not do it." Her gaze is fixed on the stones underfoot, but as it lifts to Okalani's face, her tilted eyes fill with frustrated pain. "I was not strong enough." It is difficult to say what disturbs her more... Maya's death, or her own inability to prevent it.

"Starsong...?" comes a questioning whimper from Aztlan as he finally spies ground zero. "Who was it?" His eyes flick to Vanora, his fears escalating with each passing moment.

Fasad emerges from the grand set of double doors leading into the citadel and joins those in the courtyard.

Okalani suddenly turns her eyes towards Dara, still guiding the wounded priestess with her. "The Caduceans know more about herbal remedies and other medical treatments than anyone else in here, Dara. But I agree." She eyes the mark and shivers a moment before adding in a louder voice, "Unless there is a life at stake, it is best not to use Healing magic."

Dara pats gently on Starsong's hair, holding her tightly to her. While her own face shows the pain, she tries to offer the Sylvan some comfort. Only briefly, she looks seriously over to Okalani, strain showing on her lines as she makes telepathic contact to her.

Fasad returns moments later at a quick jog, having carried out Okalani's instructions.

Moving as fast as he is able to on land, Raijin bursts out of the Seminary, leaving behind a grey-clad Novice. The Seneschal's steps soon bring him to the midst of the courtyard, and there he skids to a halt. Breathless, he says nothing, but his expression hints that he's heard tidbits of what has just happened.

Oblivious to anything but the woman to whom she clings as if to a lifeline, Starsong shows no sign of having heard Aztlan's question, just continues to weep, almost silently now, into Dara's shoulder.

It is a measure of her distress that Vanora continues to speak aloud, unwilling or unable to open her mind to her fellow Atlanteans. "My hand," she mumbles. "I may have broken it. Oh, Pasiphae." The name of her goddess is imbued with the same despair which has etched itself into her angular features, sharp lines of suffering crossing her golden skin.

"Pasiphae's Waves cannot always be withheld from those she wishes to call to Her, Vanora." Okalani speaks in a soft, comforting tone, "No matter how much we try, it is just important that we never stop trying, and always seek to better our attempts." Her eyes briefly glance to Dara and she shakes her head in a soundless way of making clear that it is best not to use telepathy, especially not if one is capable of touching the minds of the land-dwellers. Vanora's words, however, draw the attention of the High Priestess to that of her subject and she frowns, watching the hand, "This has to be set... we had better get you inside." She frowns before speaking, "We will call Pasiphae, Vanora -- we need Her words with us."

Unable to reach an answer from the weeping Starsong, Aztlan turns his gaze rather to Dara, who may or may not see him also. "...Someone...?" he fearfully mutters. One does not need to be a telepath nor an Atlantean to see the worry in his features; worry and fear -- and indeed it is a rising tide of fear, for if fire elementalists (much less Estrels) are combusting in broad daylight, then gods know what is next.

Dara doesn't give up her closeness of Starsong, still keeping her in a tight hug and patting the back of her head, as her now stoic, wet face shifts to look up to Aztlan. "She was it," is her only whispered answer. "She must have been it herself."

Moving slowly forward now, Raijin approaches the horrific scorch mark upon the stones of the courtyard. There he kneels down, reaching out with fingers that have not ceased to drip water. His expression flickers from stoicism to pain, and for awhile he does nothing but stare down at the ground.

Vanora shakes her head, trying to draw away from Okalani. "No," she says firmly. "I will be fine. Surely there are others who need help more than I do." For the first time, she really notices Starsong, and her face crumples for a moment in sympathy for the Sylvan. But then her expression hardens, a refusal to give in to pain or grief. Though she can feel it all around her.

Starsong's hands tangle in and out of the wet fabric of Dara's robe, opening and closing in small helpless motions as she cries. The shaking of her shoulders has subsided now, and she draws in long, gasping, shuddering breaths. The storm of tears seems to be nearly over -- the girl's dark head turns every so slightly against Dara's shoulder, revealing her flushed face onto which the rain begins to fall once more, cooling the hot tears that continue to stream from her half-open eyes.

Not really receiving a satisfactory answer, Aztlan decides that it would be in everyone's best interest to drop the subject. He slowly descends the steps to the Tower, moving to Raijin's side. A gentle hand is pressed on the Seneschal's shoulder.

"If you wish, you are a Servant." Okalani answers in a soft voice, respecting the priestess' own choice to put herself aside in favor as others. For all her harsh manners, the Pasiphaean training did have its effects upon Vanora apparently. Her eyes, too, fall upon Starsong, and an expression of worry overtakes her, she doesn't yet let go of the water-elemental though, instead looking her in the eye. "Within the hour, you will have your hand treated so as to prevent infections. I will need you tomorrow." For what remains unsaid, but the priestess will probably know.

FIN  

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