Palisade and North - Haven
Some have likened the Varati home to a geode--rough and plain on the outside, while opulence and splendor lie within. Certainly the first part of that analogy is true. The only hint that these buildings house the more prominent members of Varati society are their size. Massive structures loom on either side of the street, crafted from brick, marble, granite, and even metal.
And here, also, is the grand embassy of the Varati. Only shaping magic could have created such a structure, for it gives the impression of having grown out of the earth itself. Like the others, its decoration is minimal, yet flowing curves and the use of obsidian and marble make such ornamentation unnecessary. Flanked by stone pillars, the entranceway is constantly guarded by sentinels who may as well be stone themselves, so humorless are they. Only guests of the kingdom and ambassadors from other realms may pass within.
A gate leads out of the city to a road that eventually winds into the distant, northern mountains, though few ever dare venture that far.
A shooting star climbs the heavens, swelling in size until it resembles a sapphiric moon. The crackling report of its tail softens bit by bit during its ascension as if being quieted by a greater hand, and it slows as it reaches the summit, its brilliance pulsing intensely. When the taut silence is ripe, the star does the unexpected. It implodes. A gentle cascade of thunder rumbles outward as the light collapses upon itself and dissolves into a thousand shimmering selves. Azure shivers and trembles in pieces, broken over the vast black scope of the sky like a dangling chandelier. Suspended for a fleeting moment, the incandescence tumbles all too soon to the earth, falling, falling in drops of blue fire to glitter chastely upon the horizon.
Oh yes, he is lost. And to think, he just /knew/ all the ins and outs of this city...or so the youth /thought/. Now he moves quickly, paranoid through the streets, his tunic's hood pulled over his head to mask the top of his face in hopes to conceal his identity. His gaze is wild and frightened, what will and wits he had left slowly slipping away as he passes building after building, nothing looking familar. And when he discovers this is a Varati country, his breath quickens as does his pace. Up until now the streets were fairly empty, helping him to be calm, but when he turns the corner and finds himself in this mass of humanity, Racoon all but backs up into a corner and starts swinging. Calm...be calm now, his heart tells him but his mind doesn't seem to be listening.
The throngs of Varati appear visually to grow thicker as the parade participants leave their organized formations and join the others in the street. Mouths agape with wonder or shouting words of well-wishing, men and women watch the symbols of fire which embody not only their culture but Dipavali as well.
The crowds are maddening and the youth takes cover by ducking in a filthy alley, crouching on the balls of his feet until the waves of Varati pass. His breath becomes shallow, his eyes flicking from face to face as Racoon wacthes and waits for it to be safe so he can find his way out of this horrid maze.
Amarista yawns slightly still in trance from the lights. The sight, too beautiful to believe affects Rista deeply. Perhaps she feels out of place, perhaps she just can't place herself in the crowd. Feelings overwhelm the young girl who wrinkles her nose uncomfortably. There is nothing more to do but leave. It was a brilliant enchanting sight but soon things are bound to return to its normal state which suggests to Rista that its time to head home, step back from this fairy tale world.
Leila tries, unobtrusively, to make her way from out of Atesh-Gah and into the street. After all, she is late but it is a little difficult to be unobtrusive when one is accompanied by a guardsman, this one, specifically, a Clan Messala guardsman. The sight of the shooting star, however, puts all such thoughts from her mind and she stares in wonder amidst the crowds.
Julian -- at least in guises he's not about to show to this sizeable horde of generally respectable people -- is often a creature of the night, well-accustomed to staying up until the strangest of hours. Not so, however, are his nephew and Mongrel wards. The Deus takes the time to murmur to Jenara and Moirae, comparing opinions on how long they should keep the youngsters out. And much to Roki's consternation, his uncle murmurs the word to him and his sister and little Momus that they will be departing once the fireworks are over. But not quite yet. As they wait, Julian does let the children play with the far smaller firecrackers, and the raven-haired, raven-winged Empyrean smiles more than once at the Varati that pass him and his family. If he's noting the occasional stare of awe his dark pinions are getting him, he's not letting on.
Even before the fireworks are concluded, some of the musicians in the parade strike up a tune and dancers begin whirling down the street. Legs and silks fly as drummers bang their sticks on a rhythm that fires the blood. The dancers, with graceful agility, flick firecrackers from their wrists as they twirl. The snaps and pops occur in time with the music and the pounding of their feet.
The hustle and bustle of the crowd following the parade, eager to join this festival event, the abrupt halts from a large number of people whenever one of the fireworks goes off, which happens quite often, all make it difficult for a young woman twirling about herself to stay in touch with her fellow harem girls who did join up with the parade. Thurayya's dancing to the rhythem of her clapping hands, made hollow whenever fingers playfully aim for the lights dancing above her head, is stopped once she realises her loss. Confused, a few steps are taken, against someone's unsuspecting back.
A rapid series of muffled reports signals another full-sky composition, the faintest of glowing lines ascending in formation into the velvety darkness. When the highest of the three reaches its apex, it bursts into silver-green spangles, like a river of stars that trail pale green fire. They cascade downward fluidly, painting a huge illuminated weeping willow tree in the night sky. The second explodes before the curliqued ends of the 'branches' have fully finished themselves. This one separates into multiple bursts, each one forming a delicate pink blossom that opens amongst the glittering foliage of the fiery tree. And before the effect completely fades, the third and final rocket divides into myriad, crackling and whistling silver 'birds' which dart here and there in the illusory tree. Slowly, the glow fades and the magical tree disappears, leaving the night sky once more a dark and empty canvas.
Niamh arrives from the south.
Niamh has arrived.
That last part was enough for the slender Racoon. As the loud noise errupts in the sky and the colors illuminate the inky black above him, he gives out a loud, screeching cry. He's on his feet in a moments time, bursting out of the alley way like the frightened beast he is. All he knows now is to run, as quickly and as fast as he can from this wretched place, even if this means going back the way he came. And that's just what he does, hurling himself through the crowds of people, running and knocking them down in his desperate attempt to find his way out of the ugly mass of humanity. The young, the old, it doesn't matter, he pushes through them all, his mind screaming one thing: danger.
Zahir watches the fireworks with a childlike and innocent awe, blinking with his little mouth gapping up in to the heavens. When they settle, he claps his small hgands together, laughing merrily and looking from his mommy to daddy. With a chuckle, Geridan leans down to Kerani, whispering in to her ear. With a soft smile and a glance down at her son she nods. It /is/ past his bedtime and he's had enough excitement for one day. The Rashid Representative, watching his wife leave, straightens himself, adjusting his cloak and his tunic, the golden phoenix emblem glittering in the lantern light. Nodding to himself when ready, fingertips once more start to delicately trace the lines of his elaborately carved hilt, his graceful stride carrying him off in to the crowds rather aimlessly.
While most of the bearers of the wyvern of Clan Khalida seem content to guard it and watch the festive display in the air, one of those bearers -- Mehul -- steps abruptly forward to seize the black-clad Faanshi by the hand and whirl her several steps away. The healer might be bold enough to sing in public, her generally acute shyness bolstered up by the encouragement of her companions, but it takes a streak of bravery she does not yet possess to actually join the dancing. Mehul, on the other hand, is not quite so hampered, for all that he arguably has even less experience with the culture of his own people than Faanshi -- at least if the lift of his dark chin and the way he studies the dancers is any indication. Along with the way he tugs at Faanshi's hands to get her to help him copy them.
Fenimos turning once more he looks at the crowd, his head shaking again. He turns and starts to walk away, he has no place here.....his place has been made for him by his masters and that is the Arena, he mutters softly as he walks and keeps his eyes downcast, "I wonder how they will top this show." His steady strides carry him through the crowd, the firecrackers exploding and twirling dances and just generally happy people are left soon behind as he heads into the night.
Fenimos passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to Atesh-Gah.
Fenimos has left.
Arms tired and despite the boyant effect of the revelling crowd, some of the lantern-bearers slip into Atesh-Gah with their burdens. Thalia gives the parade participants a smile as they walk past her. She looks at each lantern, made proudly and lovingly by the contestants. She announces to the crowd, though her words are swallowed in some respect by the firecrackers, the music and the fireworks, "All the lanterns will be displayed in Atesh-Gah's courtyard. Come vote on a winner." Still the democrat in an dictatorial theocracy, Thalia continues to encourage republican ideals the small ways that she can.
Racoon travels south toward the intersection of Fairway and North.
Racoon has left.
Hassan passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to Atesh-Gah.
Hassan has left.
Roxana had been standing, watching the fireworks in awe. She is still, in many ways, the girl who came to Haven not that long ago, and the fireworks are as nothing she has ever seen before. And then she is bumped, her lantern bouncing with the impact. The young woman turns to see who has bumped her, looking with a smile beneath her veil instead of the more expected frown. She sees Thurayya and opens her arms wide to give the other a hug; a Naraki takes the lantern and makes her way back with the other lantern-bearers to Atesh-Gah.
Amipal passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah and joins you on the street.
Amipal has arrived.
Oceanic blue eyes lower from the skies to roam over the bobbing heads of the multitude. Raijin frowns slightly to himself, one hand lifted to rub thoughtfully at his chin, and quiet remarks are made to the Hound who follows him about. Where could those students have all gone? Some, brightly garbed in their kaftans, are spotted in the thick of the crowds, playing with fireworks. Others are noted turning towards the Varati embassy to take a look at the lanterns on display. Thus assured of their safety, the large Seneschal likewise turns to approach Atesh-Gah.
The finale arrives with a series of muffled booms which leave the sky its original inky blackness. Time passes, seeming long without the ocular spectacle of light to dazzle the senses, but it is, in truth, only a few moments before the smooth velvet of the heavens is broken by a single burst of yellow light. Further explosions of yellow light create a line across the horizon, each hovering in the sky like a miniature sun. The fireworks create an outline, drawing the image of a lantern across the black palette. The picture collapses, twinkling down. In the process, the light shifts from yellow to orange, then finally to red before vanishing completely. This time, true silence and solitude is left behind. Now, only the moon and stars are in the sky.
Having blended in with the crowd, the Estrel bin Mazat steps forward a bit out of the way of some children who are having a race to see who will get to Atesh-Gah first. Bespectacled eyes scan the crowd...Majidah should be here someplace with the children, but he isn't too concerned...perhaps they are already inside? The fireworks are awfully loud...perhaps too loud for infant ears. As the final display commences, his eyes are drawn back up to the skies as he watches, like everyone else, in wonder.
Amipal approaches from the south, his nondescript brown cloak reflecting the riot of colors that make a false and momentary day above. The man's hood is raised, his features therefore indistinct, but his dark eyes are vivid.
At length, the awed stare of Lailah tears itself away from the bespangled skies, and her keen attention shifts from one to the other in the crowds, now truly alive; the same, faint grin the shudra wore when first entering from Atesh-Gah returns, and grows wider. A knot of children scamper past, carrying home-made, modest lanterns that twinkle merrily in tune with their own laughter, and this seems to also tease her into motion. The girl bends down to pick one of the unused firecrackers up from the ground, fingering the thing experimentally as she slowly begins moving along with the dancing crowds, without no real aim it would seem.
Thurayya's pupils, enlarged by the shock that she actually bumped into something, even if it's rather a common occurrence in such a joyous crowd, sparkle with relief when she is swept into a hug by none other than the Mahisi herself. "Aravi" the consort calls out, placing her arms around the other woman's back, something done as much for delight as for need of an anchor of some sorts. Her eyes follow the lantern and then move to the sky to watch the latest of the fireworks, "Beautiful" she sighs, deeply content.
Roxana says "Aravi!", hugging Thurayya tightly and beaming. "It is a beautiful thing, yes? Never have I seen the like!"
A most impressive display, indeed -- and one, Julian Nemeides tells himself, he's quite pleased he's thought to bring out his wards to see. Elette's little face is as somber as always, but the boys are shrieking delightedly, and the features of Moirae veritably glow with pleasure. At last, though, it is time for the Deus and his party to retreat back into the Empyrean quarter of the city and leave the Children of Fire to their party. Small boys and a small girl need their sleep, after all.
Thus does Julian oversee the carrying off of the little ones, with the help of his daughter and the redheaded Mongrel who accompanies them both. All three adults smile kindly at the chattering lads... and Julian makes a specific point of meeting the gazes of every Varati he passes, his fine-boned features deliberately open of expression, deliberately friendly. Let the fire-folk see that at least some Empyreans can be amiable, though it's a strange Empyrean indeed treating Mongrel and Empyrean children both as his own wards. Even as he and the rest of the representatives of his House make their way off out of the crowds, Julian also deliberately pretends to ignore the wide-eyed stares at his wings... while taking note of it for the future.
There are, it seems, _some_ advantages to being a darkling.
Soon enough, though, the Deus of Nemea and the women and children with him have vanished into the night.
Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, one that Raijin knows is spotted. A faintly pleased and polite smile is summoned when Niamh is noticed near the gates, and gently pushing his way through, he lifts his voice to call out, "Blessings of Pure Water, Estrel bin Mazat." The Hound who follows at his heels likewise nods to the Varati man, though he says nothing.
Niamh turns about as he hears his name, quite surprised to see the Seneschal there, "Namaste, Seneshal," did he actually offer that greeting to a non-Varati? It must be the first time! Perhaps it is the festive atmosphere that allows him to forget, "Did you enjoy the fireworks?" Please say that the Atlantean isn't going to talk about Delphi business...not this week. Like it or not, he's taking a vacation during Dipavali.
"Neither have I." Thurayya shouts, her loud tone stressing her excitement. An arm is entwined with one of the Mahisi's so they may actually meander, with some difficulties, along with the crowd instead of being crushed in each other's arms all the time. That'd be inappropriate, even at Dipavali. "But" she waves with one hand to the sky, "never have we celebrated this year before... or in the presence of our Mahram."
Faanshi, quite apparently, has been distracted -- and so the Voice to the Sylvans, giving a considering glance to Mehul and the maiden with whom he dances, turns to ask of the shudra and naraki with him that they help him carry the wyvern lantern back into Atesh-Gah. His bearing is as self-composed as that of any kshatri man, but still this particular kshatri seems to look with unusual easiness upon those of lesser caste with him -- and his tone holds rather more of request than it does of order. It is met with ready agreement, and with a count from the Voice, the wyvern is hefted aloft again to join the rest of the lanterns within the embassy courtyard.
Zahrah's gaze drifts from the sky to land on the dark Empyrean and those with him, resting there for a moment before she again lowers her lashes. The restless, excited women behind her are noted peripherally, and turning, she dismisses them with a graceful, if impatient, wave of one bronze-skinned hand. All but one promptly fade away into the crowd. The kshatri woman faintly narrows her eyes at the shudra who remains, but soon turns away, her body language conveying irritation.
Amipal weaves against the stream of revellers, dodging gaily-dyed silks and stepping round firecrackers with the gait of a man peculiarly immune to such outlandish joys. Indeed, his earthy garb is in marked contrast to the blaze of color that flashes about him. The soldier's gaze seeks the Maharani and her escort; having placed them, his pace slows to a wander.
The Seneschal doesn't seem too intent upon discussing Delphic business, for the Atlantean man replies, "Ah, yes. I was quite impressed." Raijin comes to a halt at a polite distance from the Varati, and he folds his hands behind his back. After hastily glancing towards the crowds again, eyes seeking out a select few students in particular, he looks back to Niamh. "I must also admit that the parade was enjoyable as well. Neither of these are exactly... common where I come from."
Lailah's firecracker isn't thrown to join those already filling the air with loud bangs and pops; as she moves along, deft fingers instead begin tearing the item open, to allow for a curious mind to see what's inside. Vividly dyed paper comes loose with satisfyingly destructive noises, and dark powder spills out over the woman's hands, then flows downward to dust the cobbles at her feet. How curious. She actually stops at this, forgetting about the singing and dancing around her.
As the sea of faces and strangers sweep around the Akhund, he stops to kneel in the street. Picking up some unspent firecrackers in his thick fist, he readjusts the traveling satchel sagging over his shoulder. A nearby dipa lamp provides the spark that brings the noisemakers to life. Tossing the fireworks to the gate of Atesh-Gah , the noise and bright lights chasing away the dark spirits, insuring another good year for it's residents.
The fire-staves of the warriors who dance their deadly dance for naught but show tonight are soon relit, spinning and twirling through the air once more in perpetual motion. Each man dances a different dance, somehow both with and against the others as two face off and mock-duel only to break and find new partners in their fiery art.
"I would think not," Niamh replies, actually chuckling. Who would have thought that the young Estrel could actually be...convivial? "How would the lights stay lit underwater?" Oh, he is so clever. The cleverness of him.
Was that supposed to be a joke? If it was, it seems to go right over Raijin's head. As he tilts his head at a slight angle, peering at the Estrel, the Seneschal remarks, "Actually, Estrel, it is not that difficult of a trick for an Elementalist such as myself to keep hold of a pocket of air within the water. And in there, fire may be lit." He begins to smile slightly, and he adds, "But an easier trick is to simply use the light of our lichens."
Roxana chuckles, "O, but this is a night I will remember for the whole of my life, Aravi! Shall we dance?" And so the woman, clad in Ushasti white as she rarely is, begins the steps to a well-known dance, a dance for festivals and feasts, a dance where the dancers link arms just as the two young women have already done. She beckons to another of the Concubines of Khalid Atar to join them, a woman whose distinctive veils she has seen in the crowds, and the girl runs over to join in.
And only belatedly, her hands still caught up by those of her big companion, does Faanshi realize that the wyvern-bearers have left without her. What she whispers to Mehul cannot be heard over the din of the still-exultant throng... but the dancing of the healer and the hunter eventually does slow down to a contented walk. And, hand in hand, the pair of them slip off towards the gates to follow the course their compatriots have taken, in a close -- at least for the two of them -- to a highly magical night.
Niamh claps the Atlantean Seneschal on the back, "Then I suggest you do that for one of -your- next festivals. I would imagine it would be a welcome addition. Too bad you couldn't do fireworks." Those have always been his favorite part of festivals...and now that he knows how they work he cannot wait to experiment. The Practice Room might be noisy in a few weeks.
Amipal slows to a halt, a lean island in a sea of merriment. Scarred hands lift to take down his hood, baring his narrow features to the weaving lantern-light. His attention shifts, seemingly at random, over the celebrants, pausing here and there for a moment's focus; at length the man allows himself a brief, almost fatherly smile, the ghost of a contented expression. His hands clasp at his back, gathering in folds of cloak.
Thalia acquires some of Khalid's largesse in copper coins. She tosses these out to the revelling crowd while continuing her conversation with the God-King.
How could one decline such an invitation? Especially with one's arms locked already as they have. Thurayya laughs and nods as her feet begin to tap on the cobble stones, a hand freeing the scarf which had been tucked into the broad belt around her waist, so it may be swayed above the crowds. The concubine snatches it from the consort's fingers however just when she joins into the dance by locking her arms with that of the Atarvani.
How the servants will love washing the scorch marks off the walls. Raijin is anticipating the complaints already. With a quiet grunt that betrays his surprise over Niamh's jovial behaviour, the Seneschal looks mildly contemplative, "Perhaps I might be able to take a select few under the water for awhile, during our next festival." As his eyes raise up towards Atesh-Gah, he reveals what is perhaps his true reason for coming to the festival. "No offense, Estrel," he begins, "but are fireworks and parades all you have to offer? Where's the curry?" Then his lips peel back in a grin to show his words were meant with good humour.
The laugh that the Estrel gives is surely just as strange as the humor he has evidenced thus far, "Of course, we must not overlook the important things." He then gestures for the Seneschal to follow him inside the Courtyard where the food is waiting. "Do you intend on bringing a fire-elementalist along with the fireworks? Or will you light them yourself?" That he would just love to see.
Zahrah prowls off restlessly from where she has stood all this time, the black-clad shudra determinedly shadowing her. That is, until the Maharani has the delicious and perfectly-timed idea of throwing coppers to the crowd. In the resulting surge and crush of people, Zahrah 'accidentally' gets separated from the other woman. /Now/ she smiles, and now her eyes dance with pleasure, as she weaves and darts through the milling people, seeking to increase the distance between her and her keeper. Fast, but not so fast that the eye is drawn to her. Gliding along in first one group and then another, she briefly curses the bright beadwork on her sari. If not for that, she could simply keep to the shadows and wait for the other woman to give up.
Leila smiles, genuinely delighting in the festivities like a kid at christmas, as she continues to stare about her in wonderment, bestowing a smile upon all who look her way including the Messala guardsman who remains close by. At the moment she is more than content to simply watch.
Kardis arrives from the south.
Kardis has arrived.
After a while of gawking at the destroyed firecracker, Lailah blinks a few times, lifts her gaze to her surroundings. Bodies are in motion all around her, obscuring her view; music fills the air, drowning out individual sounds, and after another moment, the shudra sets herself in motion anew, scanning the ground for more curious things as she goes along. This is forgotten as she spies familiar faces at the periphery of the festivities; lifting a hand and calling out, she runs, not towards faithful Varati, but to a group of rather grubby-looking mongrels, who look up, almost suspiciously at the girl, before recognition hits them.
Another Concubine links her arm into Roxana's, and the ribbon of the most blessed women in the Varati Kingdoms begins to move through the crowd, growing as more women join in to dance the well-known steps and sing the songs of joy, of peace, of light from within the darkness. The white-clad Ushasti dances next to the red-clad Atarvani, in a symbolism not lost on the Ushasti, whose eyes dance with good humour as the notion occurs to her.
With one last cast of her arm, Thalia scatters the final coins from her hand into the crowd. Putting her hand in the crook of Khalid's elbow, the two leaders of the Varati turn away from the celebration. Slowly and sedately, they stroll toward the gates of Atesh-Gah, heads still placed close and lips moving in constant conversation. Their words, be they frivolous or regarding state secrets, are drowned by the cries of the boisterous crowd. Wings of ebony and alabaster disappear in tandem from view, slipping unnoticed from the milieu.
The Seneschal's smile turns a touch wry as he replies, "Oh, I suppose we could try to light them ourselves. With flint and tinder." Let the Varati indulge in laughing at the mental images that come to mind - those of Atlanteans huddled in their little bubble, trying to light some fireworks with sodden sticks. Raijin chuckles beneath his breath and begins to meander towards Atesh-Gah, thoughts distracted with images of hot and spicy food.
Thalia passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to Atesh-Gah.
Thalia has left.
Khalid passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to Atesh-Gah.
Khalid has left.
Kardis travels south toward the intersection of Fairway and North.
Kardis has left.
Niamh walks with the Seneschal, indeed chuckling at the image, "I'll give you the fireworks and you can decide how to light them." Indeed, with the Atlanteans huddled in that bubble...there is sure to be some interesting explosions once the bubble is lit...or the firework released into the water. Pausing a moment to watch the dancing he then continues with Raijin inside, "I have not made my lamp yet," he rambles, "I was intending to do so with the twins." Even though they're only a month and days old, he wants them there to 'help'.
Amipal tracks Lailah through half-narrowed eyes; her usual explosion of color is *almost* apropos for this environment, but her running gait gets the soldier's attention. His thin-lipped smile fades, but the expression that replaces it is more one of bemusement than outright disapproval at the company she seems inclined to keep. After a moment's observation, his midnight gaze passes deliberately elsewhere.
"With your children?" Raijin queries, looking askance at the young Estrel. "Aren't they still only infants?" Now that's an amusing image... In fact, it's cute. Too cute. The Seneschal chuckles to himself as he is led along, the Hound following closely at the backs of the two Delphic mages. "Is it too late to make a lamp? I thought the judging was to take place today, but I could be mistaken," the Atlantean adds, likewise rambling.
This notion isn't lost on the Atarvani either and Thurayya turns her head to regard the Ushasti dancing by her side with a soft smile. Chocolate brown eyes flicker with amusement as she inclines her head towards the Mahisi in a silent gesture of shared humour. "It's His wish, Aravi... do not forget that!" she calls out, yet in a tone so soft that only the woman by her side may hear it. A yelp briefly interrupts the song coming from her lips when a particularly sharp turn is taken by the other women who attend to surround a few of the other celebrators still out in the street.
Loud-mouthed discussion erupts over in the mongrel corner, lost in the din of celebration; one lanky fellow extends arm and points to Lailah's garments with something that must be a witty comment, and laughter follows. The shudra doesn't seem overly amused, and her grin turns stiffer, but valiantly enough, she raises her own hands to gesture towards the gates of the Varati embassy. Seems she's trying to convince her friends of something or other.
Zahrah has made it as far as the line of dancers now, and again, the timing and actions of others are immediately utilized to suit her purposes. She joins in, effortlessly and gracefully, becoming lost in the company of so many other whirling and swaying women. Cloaked by their sheer numbers, she can finally /enjoy/ the night, unhindered by disapproving gazes and the certain knowledge that her every move is watched and judged. And reported.
Leilali arrives from the south.
Leilali has arrived.
"Quite so...but they shouldn't miss their first Dipavali," is Niamh's reply. "The lanterns to be judged are already made, but there is a chance to make others tomorrow. One can never have too much good luck, you know," the Hound is given a glance and invited inside as well. "You will have to try some of the stuffed grape leaves if you like the curry...a different taste, but you might like it."
The Varati people seem to be truly enjoying this night, dancing in the streets and generally making merry. A line of singing, dancing women has formed, and it weaves in and out of the rest of the crowd with sheer and completely unusual abandon. At the centre of the line, a white-clad woman and a red-clad woman dance arm-in-arm, the bond between them strengthening yet again in the celebration.
If it's edible, it's doubtful the Seneschal will object to it. The Atlantean man dips his head in a nod, and now the pleasant smile that was on his face begins to fade. He replies in a quieter tone of voice, "We'll certainly need as much luck as possible in the days to come, I imagine. The Provost has gone off to search for the body of Oracle Tritonides. Seems there was a shipwreck some days ago."
Cautiously invading the celebration, Leilali slips into the back of the crowd lining the sidewalk, and peers through a gap in two pairs of broad shoulders. With curiousity, the Atlantean makes her way nearer, watching the dancers especially carefully.
White-clad women, red-clad women, and a host of others, garbed in myriad colors... including black. Adorned black and unadorned, unrelieved, somber black. Amongst the snaking line, Zahrah sings and dances as well now, fiery eyes alight as she smiles beneath her veil. There'll be a price to pay for this. Might as well make it worth paying!
Amipal allows himself a moment or two to enjoy the dancers-- if 'enjoy' is really the right word for it. He is attentive, at any rate, and seemingly appreciative; his expression shifts ever so slightly with their sinuous movements, and his lips are faintly pursed with an aesthete's contemplation.
Lailah's task, whatever it may consist of, isn't going too well it seems, for snickers, the odd thoughtful frown, and then finally shakes of several shaggy heads are the reactions to her speech. More discussion. More hand waving. That same scrawny lad finally growls something that most likely is a curse; the dark shudra returns the favour, and the party splits up, with Lailah coming back the same way she came, stalking angrily, now. Her mongrel companions talk amongst themselves for a few moments, then slip into the crowds like shadows. Party-crazed Varati make good mugging victims, no doubt.
Niamh pauses on his way to the gates of the Embassy, turning to look at the Seneschal with confusion in his eyes, "What?" Surely he didn't hear that correctly...a shipwreck and the Oracle Tritonedes? Jana? "What is this?" The letter is probably on his desk gathering dust.
The Seneschal's steps come to a halt, and some dark, unnamed emotion lingers in his deep blue eyes. Raijin's voice is very quiet now, enough so that he can barely be heard over the joyous ululations and singing around him. "Word reached the Tower this morning that Oracle Tritonides has been lost at sea. Her ship, the Amarada, met with a storm just past the peninsula. The captain jumped overboard to save her, but..." Here the man pauses, letting the sentence trail off. But Empyreans aren't exactly known for their ability to swim. "The Provost has taken a leave of absence to find them, if they still live," he continues, expression stoic once more.
"A ship? The sea?" is repeated before Niamh shakes his head, "No..." He can't look at the Seneschal for a long moment but finally turns to him, a hand pressed to his brow. Can he trust the Atlantean? Atar, can he trust anyone at Delphi? He tries to remain stoic as well, but this is really freakish...and very frightening. "Seneshal..." he finally turns to the man, "I had a dream about the Oracle...and water...some weeks ago." Just a coincidence, right? Right?
Dancing and singing alongside a dozen other women, some of whom are her Aravi, others have joined simply to be a part of this aesthetically pleasing line of celebration, Thurayya moves throughout the plaza. Occasionally she shouts something to one of the others, interrupting the song, but mostly she merely enjoys the sights displayed because of this festival. Yet eventually even one of Khalid's consorts is forced to grow tired and hands release their grips on her sisters' wrists, offering both of them an apology, "I am not to fall asleep this evening." she reminds them gently, "Nor are you."
Roxana nods at the woman's reminder, drawing herself out of the line by the simple expedient of pulling back and linking the arms of the women on either side of her. One by one, the Harem detach themselves from the line, following the cue from Consort and Mahisi - the line, however, still dance on while the Harem turn towards Atesh-Gah and the food still within, for the most part untouched.
Zahrah, on the other hand, seems more than willing to dance until she drops. Or until all of the camouflaging women withdraw. That hardly seems likely, as even though some are leaving, others yet are joining in. Whirling and then slowly swaying, only to spin again, the dance goes on. The 'escaped' kshatri throws her head back and laughs with those beside her in the line.
Through it all, the Kshatri dance on, flame-ended staves a blur of light and motion.
Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned it, but it's too late now. Raijin's brow furrows as sympathy fills his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. Looking slightly curious at the mention of a dream, the Atlantean tilts his head and asks, "Did she tell you she was departing? Perhaps you were worried for her."
Leilali watches all of this in complete silence, green eyes rather large. The Atlantean woman abandons her spot to circle around the crowd as the dancers advance, stealing herself a better vantage point without too much difficulty.
Leila continues to watch the crowds about her in wonderment, until, at last, sighing softly, she beckons to the Clan Messala guardsman and the two depart, heading back the way they came, into Atesh-Gah.
Niamh isn't going to show that he's upset about this...that wouldn't be right. It would be blasphemous. "I didn't know she was going away...I didn't realize she was gone until you told me just now..." he has been so wrapped up in his children and getting ready for the Festival that he hasn't spent much time at Delphi, much less time with the Empyrean. Maybe he shouldn't have told Raijin...but that coincidence is just a bit much.
You pass between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to Atesh-Gah, and enter the famed embassy of the Varati people.
Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven
If indeed the Hebrew folk of lost Earth are correct in their legends, then this must be the legendary garden from which mankind was expelled. The flat expanse of the great courtyard of Atesh-Gah is covered in the most luxurious grass of bright emerald green, broken only by a cobblestone path for riding and walking to prevent wear upon the lawn. Rich copses of carefully tended wood grow by the walls, lovingly groomed flower gardens acting as a barrier of colour before the rising trees.
Perhaps even more relaxing than the sight of the yard are the sensations of it. The lovely scents of flower and tree; honey-suckle, apple blossom, peach, and jasmine; combine with the soft cushion of green grass to provide a sense of peace and harmony that defies the looming sand-hued walls of unbreakable stone. Not even the shadowed maw of the main gate, nor the blocky, unimpressive presence of the impenetrable main keep can overshadow the beauty of this place. Indeed, the stark contrast serves only to enhance it.
Thurayya passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to Atesh-Gah, and joins you in the courtyard.
Thurayya has arrived.
Thurayya ascends the stairs to Atesh-Gah's sturdy double doors, allowed past by the ever-present Agni-Haidar.
Thurayya has left.
Leila makes her way in, a Clan Messala guardsman following behind her, the quiet of the Courtyard a welcome contrast to the crowds outside.