Date: January 9, 1999 (Back-scene)
Place: Garden - Palladium - Haven
Cast: Ianthe, Xanthiel (I)
Scene: Two soldiers find themselves having a brief conversation about the war they fight against the Varati.

Garden - Palladium - Haven:
      Water droplets spray upward from a marble fountain, glinting like diamonds when the sunlight streams in and patterns the ground. A trellis overhead holds grapevines that shade the paths below, mingled with a wild tangle of rosebushes. In the warm months, they bloom in a riot of color; ranging from a red so deep it's almost black, to the purest white bud delicately laced with veins of pink. Petals are strewn over the walkways, and their scent perfumes the air with a heady aroma that is vaguely seductive.
      Warm sunlight or the cooler glow of the moon reflects off the marble columns supporting the various structures of the Palladium, yet it is easy to forget a world beyond this garden. A few stone benches provide 'places' where visitors may sit and converse, or simply absorb this rich tapestry of sight, smell, and sound.

The garden is an odd place for people in the cold of night, but it has a quiet solitude that can be welcoming. A pale-cloaked woman wanders through the atrium and out along the path, hooded head down to look at the wintergreen plants. Her breath puffs out in silvery clouds along behind her.

Though the chill of the winter may be omnipresent in the open garden, there are yet a few Empyreans who hang around. Amongst them in particular, is a man who sits at the edge of the fountain, his dead black cloak a foil against the white marble as he idly etches one pattern or another into the ice with the tip of a metal bolt.

Although she doesn't seem to be paying attention to much at all, the pale-cloaked woman's voice rings out quietly, "Tis a nice bolt. Crossbow, shaper-made steel?" The lilt at the end makes it into a question. After all, it is rather dark out.

Xanthiel looks up and around for a moment, before his eyes fall upon you. He really must have been preoccupied to have not noticed earlier... Nevertheless a faint smile crosses his lips as he flicks the bolt point up to reveal the deadly crossed barbs. "But of course, aren't all good war bolts?" There is a flicker of curiosity in his voice as he adds "Yet it takes a good eye to see that..." He drifts off, making it both statement and question in one.

Ianthe tilts her head back slightly, her features becoming barely visible in the shadow of her hood. "A practiced one. When your bow saves your life more times than you can count, you learn to appreciate the finer nuances of its existence." There is a slight, wry note to her voice, as if she finds her own statement amusing in a cynical way.

This statement receives a soft snort from the Praefect, and the murmured comment. "I could say much the same, though I must admit I am rather loathe to try this new bow out. As fine as it may be, which is fine indeed, I find I prefer my old one." He sounds more bored than worried, however.

Ianthe shrugs very lightly, the movement parting her cloak to hint at the dark, practical clothing she wears beneath. There is also the faintest glint of metal, familiar to a soldier's eyes. A pugio in her boot. "Bows come and go. It is the wielder that makes the difference for life or death. And in the end, none of it matters anyway." Fatalistic though they are, the words are delivered in a calm, simple manner. "The most important thing in battle is to have a reason to live. Otherwise, no bow or bolt will save you."

Xanthiel is bereft of his armor at the moment, but his travel-worn clothes are all black, and complemented by the special Empyreal cloak that hides bright white wings from being spotted while flying at night. A slightly wry look crosses his face, "I would say it is even more important to have a reason to win. Sometimes simply surviving is not enough. But then that is just me... I'm a dangerous person to talk to on such matters."

Tilting an eyebrow very slightly, Ianthe crooks a half-smile, "You're a dangerous person to talk to on such matters? My, what could you have done to earn such a dubious warning for innocent young things like me?" She lifts her hand and pushes back her hood, freeing snowy locks with a short shake of her head.

Xanthiel chuckles softly despite himself, for some reason your description of yourself as a 'innocent young thing' doesn't quite wash with him, considering some of the other things you've said so far. "I'm one of those subversives who think this whole war is stupidity. It's a matter of the Aegis being overly prideful, yet they don't need to get into the battles themselves. And pride doesn't quite work as a reason to win for the soldiers that are fighting."

Ianthe lets out a little snort of amusement. "Oh, is that all? You're hardly alone in those sentiments. Ask any Velite why he's bleeding his life out and you won't get much of an answer." She pauses, "Well, you wouldn't even if he wasn't dying. There's no point to this war except foolish pride. Whatever possessed the Acesian to take a blood army in after that woman of his, I'll never know. He must've had something of an idea of what might happen because of it." Rather matter of fact, isn't she, for one speaking sedition?

Xanthiel mmms, "Perhaps I'm not alone in those sentiments, but any Velite you may ask is not a Praefect and does not have a command of hundreds. And I have made it quite clear that the only thing keeping me from walking away from this whole stupid situation is the fact that I can't do that to the people who serve under me. They don't have time to get used to a new commander, and I won't abandon them." He shrugs eloquently, "The Aegis isn't terribly thrilled with that attitude."

Ianthe looks up at the stars for a moment. "The Aegis can go do something offensive to itself." She lets out a soft sigh, breath billowing in a cloud of steam. "Not that it matters, really. Unless the Guard stands in the breach and protects the Empyre, the Varati will run over us and smash us beneath their boots. No matter who started it, it's up to the soldiers to finish it. As usual." Her eyes search the heavens for a moment, seeking answers that aren't there. "Unless, of course, the Aegis decides to grovel at Atar's feet for mercy. And that will happen when the Atlanteans storm out of the ocean and start eating children."

A very dry laugh here, as Xanthiel arches an eyebrow. "The Aegis isn't already doing enough offensive things to themselves as it is?" He shakes his head slowly, however, at your assessment of the situation. "I don't think it is quite that bad, though they seem to think it is. But realistically, the Varati have to know that no matter what they do, they can't destroy the Empyre. We have Civitas Dei, which is almost untouchable, and if they tried to take the ground under it we could launch devastating attacks from it that are nearly undefendable against. Heck, a child could drop a small rock down and kill an unlucky Varati. If the Aegis didn't back them into a corner, they'd have just made a lot of noise and that would have been it, they can't afford this war any more than we can."

Ianthe speaks softly, the merest rise above a whisper. "I will never in all my days underestimate Atar, friend. Even if their soldiers are beaten down, even if every Varati spear falls aside in a cold hand... There is always Atar to make a reckoning." She smiles without joy or humor, tiredly. "If, of course, he decides the Empyre must be destroyed. And only the death of his people could cause that, I think. So. We will fight. Perhaps we will win. I rather hope so... Life is nice, compared to what little I know of the alternative." She lifts her hand, drawing her hood back up to hide her face in shadow. "It is time for me to go. Even I can't spend the entire night adrift on my own depressed musings." She smiles again, bowing her head politely. "It was an... interesting conversation. May Tyche favor you and your men. Good night."

Xanthiel closes his eyes momentarily before raising his hand to you in farewell. "Good night to you as well, Domina. You have given me more to think about, and for that I thank you. I think."

Ianthe replies as she turns around, cloak flaring about booted heels. "You are welcome, though I daresay I've infected you with my dark thoughts. Watch your back, Praefect. The Atar has wings and knows how to use them as well as you or I." Even as she is finishing her words she is passing away into the atrium, voice echoing slightly on the stone surface.

FIN  

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