Date: February 10 and 14, 2000
Place: Throne Room - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Gaelius, Khalid, Thalia
Scene: A warrior-bard tells a story to a King and Queen, of another king and his queen, who lived centuries ago, and whose love was strong enough to withstand any obstacle.

Khalid and Thalia are nearly alone in the throne room. The chill, empty space echoes with voices long gone -- the Agni-Haidar and Atarvani guards about the room all silent as usual. The Varati royalty appear to be waiting for someone -- likely the bard, Gaelius, whose skills will be tested today, to judge if he will be kept on retainer. Footsteps sound through the hallways, distinctly different than the heavier ones of the Varati people, along with the rustling of wings.

And Gaelius, the warrior-bard steps into the throne room. He's dressed in a simple toga, and rather than boots and greaves, there are laced sandals going up his calves. This Empyrean man has chosen to leave behind the warrior aspect of his being, although it can't be hidden, with the alert footsteps, the slightly wary glances of being in the midst of Atesh-Gah, the easy grace that he glides on the floors, each footstep calculated.

If the Agni-Haidar disdain Gaelius' presence in Atesh-Gah, they certainly don't make note of it. The Atarvani certainly don't care, for if the God-King has requested the audience, his will shall be carried out without fail. As Gaelius marches into the throne room, Khalid lowers his head just a notch in greeting. "Good morn, Bard Gaelius. Are you adequately prepared for your audience?" he inquires, Thalia smiling just a touch at his side.

The warrior-bard's wings rustle behind him, a contrast to the God-King's own darker ones, but decidedly matching Thalia's. As they're folded carefully behind him, he gives Khalid Atar a low, respectful bow, "Good morn, Amir-al." His voice is warm. "Indeed, my throat has been suitably watered down for my humble audience before you and your Queen. I can only hope to please you two, with my words." Rising up from the bow.

"Please, then... begin whenever you are ready," comments Thalia, her softer voice quite a strange counterpoint to Khalid's subsonic rumbling. Khalid nods, gesturing to a pair of Agni-Haidar, who promptly close the throne room's doors. After all, this is a private audience. The pair settles back into their respective chairs, Khalid's arms folding over his chest as he awaits whatever Gaelius has to offer.

A nod towards Thalia, from Gaelius, a warm smile directed her way, even as he takes in a deep breath. "Honored Amir-al, and Queen Maharani, I am going to tell a tale." Green eyes turn towards Khalid Atar, in a direct gaze. "I have wandered the lands for years, and have heard many tales, and songs, so that I might retell them to others. Whether this tale is truth or not, I do not know, but I can only hope that it will entertain, and provoke thought. I pray that I am able to tell the tale, with that talent and skill that it deserves." A pause, as Gaelius takes in a deep breath, wings rustling, as he readies himself.

Khalid and Thalia are silent and still; they are ready to hear any tale Gaelius might know -- chances are, Khalid has heard all of the classic tales. When one lives thousands of years, one must stay busy somehow. He cocks his head just slightly, fingers steepling at his chin in curiosity.

The bard's green gaze turns slightly distant, as if remembering an event long past. His voice shifts to an almost lyrical and smooth tone, superbly expressing every nuance of the words that he speaks. "Far back, far beyond any times that might be remembered, by anyone alive," a flicker of his gaze, slight amusement in his eyes, "save for the Amir-al himself, there was a man born of the Earth. It was said that he was one of the handsomest men around -- strong of features, definitely of warrior-blood. Surely, he was a great hero, for his story has lasted long enough that a humble bard like me could speak of him. He was Mazakhan al-Zakhar, and I have never seen any mortal that could match his reputed prowess as a warrior. It was said that he defeated so many enemies in battle, that his dark body was drenched with blood that flowed to the ground, giving life where he had taken it.

"He lived a long, and successful life, and died in a bed, his hand held by his beloved wife, who joined him in the afterlife, as is appropriate." A deep inhale, clearly stating that this is the introduction, and that he had only begun.

Khalid cannot help but smile a bit at the beginning of the tale, shifting on his throne to prop up his chin on one fist as he studies the bard. Curiosity is in his eyes, but he will not speak to interrupt the man. Al-Zakhar, eh? Maybe the God-King's heard this story -- but if so, he gives no hint.

Thalia, for her part, is rapt already. Tales of great Varati battle interest her just as much as any other tale.

A smile, green gaze owned by Gaelius carefully taking note of the reactions, as any bard worth his trade does. And in that exhaling of breath, more words come, smoothly and lyrically. "Zalya was the woman's name. Ever since she was a young girl, she had known Mazakhan al-Zakhar." His voice turns more solemn, sympathetic, "She had loved him from afar -- painfully so, and appropriately so -- for the people of the Neverending Fire. How could a girl not fall in love with Mazakhan? He was one of the shining examples of what Varati warriors strive to be. But, not only did she know Mazakhan as the greatest warrior of his time, but she also knew him as a mortal man, since childhood. But, still, she loved him, even if she had seen the flaws in him." A pause, "But she kept silent about this love, as befit her. She became a shechah, and an advisor in her Clan."

Another pause, breath taken, "The years passed by, as Mazakhan fought war after war for his Clan, and his people. And time after time, she had given him valuable insight and wisdom. It was said that Zalya was the subtle, guiding left hand, whereas Mazakhan was the clenched right hand of their Clan."

Gaelius certainly seems to have a reasonable grasp of Varati Clan society, doesn't he? Khalid nods a little as the bard spins his tale, tapping two fingers together in subtle thought. Would the Empyre be envious, if Gaelius was hired permanently to the God-King's court? And can he be trusted? He did lay down his warrior ways, though... which is something in his favor.

Oblivious to the thoughts of the God-King to whom he is telling his tale, Gaelius nods once again, breathing in air, and then breathing out the stream of words carefully pieced together, once again. "And eventually, Mazakhan defeated all of his opponents, and reigned supreme. Because Mazakhan reigned supreme, being the Warlord of his Clan, his Clan also reigned supreme. There were no more wars to fight, no more battles to fight, for that he had won them all. After years of war, he had finally found peace."

A reflective pause, "And thus, Mazakhan's thoughts turned to family. It was time for him to establish his lineage, so that his noble warrior blood would last through the times, bearing sons that would carry on his name, and serve the Amir-al." His green gaze flickers towards Khalid Atar's face. "But what woman would suit him, what woman would be worthy of bearing his children?" His lips quirk. "And, so, he went to the person that he had always went to for advice. The woman who loved him desperately, and silently, the shechah of the Clan, Zalya."

Another pause, "And with pain in her heart, she sent him into the lands to search for his bride. How could Mazakhan know that Zalya was the most suited to him? With her humility, and wisdom, she would have made the perfect wife for a Warlord. And not only was she wise, and humble, but she was the epitome of beauty and femininity."

The Empyrean's eyes shine, obvious admiration in them, before his lips quirk at the irony of it. "But how could Mazakhan know that, for that she had always been veiled and draped, her form hidden and protected from the lecherous and lascivious eyes, as befits a humble Varati maiden and shechah? So humble was she, that she would never presume to suggest herself to be wed as Mazakhan's wife."

"Mm, a shame," Khalid murmurs to himself, far too quiet for any but Thalia to hear; she smiles for the briefest of moments before returning her eyes and attention to the bard. And truly, it is a shame! For should not her mother have suggested her to the Warlord, or at least her superior in the Atarvani? Life is not always easy or simple for anyone, however.

Another inhale of breath, carefully measured, before Gaelius goes on with the tale. "And Mazakhan went out into the lands. He was the greatest warrior, and a leader of his Clan, the greatest Clan. Every father and brother entertained Mazakhan, in the hopes of joining and solidifying their ties. Oh, how Mazakhan was entertained and tempted. Lovely women -- some veiled, some unveiled to show beautiful faces. Some with clinging silks, that revealed their form for Mazakhan's eyes to go over. Clearly inappropriate, but they were desperate for Mazakhan's attentions. Mazakhan could have spent years doing this, and indeed, Mazakhan did spend years doing this. Why should he hurry with this most important decision, if matters back at home were in Zalya's competent and subtle hands? But he did not find any woman that matched him."

Breathing in and out, green eyes flickering at the scene change, "And Zalya indeed took care of the Clan, as well as she could, with her wisdom and humility. With her humility, she was able to see through pride, and to the truth itself. However, her heart ached, and she wept bittersweet tears, every time she read a letter in Mazakhan's flowing script, telling her of this and that. Yet, she persisted with her silent fortitude, as befit a woman of her station and nature. Alas, she was not a warrior with Mazakhan's instincts. And so she did not see the brewing trouble, as Mazakhan searched for a wife, courting unmarried women."

It's always been a bone of contention if Varati women are to wear veils and clothing that shows no shape, or it can be used deliberately to show shape. One thing is for certain -- more and more women are finding silks that show their bodies through the cloth, and Khalid isn't complaining. So maybe that says something about the true intent of the decree.

"Mazakhan had been too long away from the battlefield, leading his Clan to glory and honor. There were enemies of his Clan that forgot the true meaning of his wrath, and were no longer cowed, because memories fade. And on one fateful day, they attacked the Clan holdings." A deep breath, voice turning serious, and tinted with sadness, "The men fought bravely to defend their homes, but there was no Mazakhan to lead them. The blood spilled in the hallways, and Mazakhan's Clan lost the battle and war." A shake of the warrior-bard's head, braid swaying behind him, "And thus, Zalya was captured, condemned to be a shudra in the hands of the embittered enemy. What a fall!"

A deep inhale, exhale, and inhale, to allow the listeners to muse on this, before Gaelius breathes out his words again, "But Mazakhan was the true heart and soul of the Clan. When he heard the news, he was wroth." A pause, "And he was even more wroth, when he learned that Zalya had been captured." A bittersweet smile, "It's said that one does not realize how deeply one's emotions run, until the other is gone."

Thalia settles back in her seat, a furrow breaking the smooth line of her brow. She raises a hand and touches the red crescent of her lips with the tips of her shapely nails while she waits for Gaelius continue with the tale. Except for the line at her brow, her expression remains one of calm attentiveness and interest.

Hmm. Interesting -- a kidnapping always stirs up clan politics, since it's not a commonly accepted tenet. Such are the ways of the world, though, and Khalid's expression shows he is not unfamiliar with warfare that breaks the rules in private. Pursing his lips, his wings give a slight rustle to betray his thoughts. How shall the crisis be resolved?

"Oh, how he was wroth." The warrior-bard's voice echoes the emotion quietly, green eyes alighting upon the God-King and his Queen, watching their faces, before he takes in a deep breath. "And, so, he took his best men with him, to sneak into the stronghold of the rival Clan." His voice is hushed, "It was said that it was a night of terror for the other clan, silent intruders killing them as they slept. Revenge for the dishonor was exacted." Gaelius' chin lifts, "But the greatest revenge was when Mazakhan took the Clan Warlord's only son, taking him into possession. For that Zalya was indeed Mazakhan's most loved one, and thus he would take the son, where the Clan Warlord's hopes and future lay."

The corner of Thalia's lips twitch as if she does not like where the story is heading, but she remains silent, an attentive audience. Her eyes do not slide to her husband, but the hand which had once grasped his now returns from its wanderings on the arm of her chair. Again her hand clutches at Khalid's, white against dark brown, showing each fair knuckle as it rests in that of her husband's.

A trade, perhaps? Or was Zalya already dead by this point, or condemned to slavery? A pity this was before Khalid's arrival in a mortal body, else he might have taken an interested in the clan politics. Steepling his fingers, he stares over his nails down at Gaelius, watching the bard breathe and move, for the body writes as much of a story as the words. Taking Thalia's hand, he looks to her briefly and then turns back to Gaelius. Even gods need stories.

And how the warrior-bard sketches every emotion with flickers of expression, and posture, how he conveys the mood and impact. When Mazakhan is wroth, Gaelius' expression is wroth. When it turns somber, Gaelius' expression is quiet. And thus, his voice continues lyrically, "The Clan Warlord was confused when Mazakhan offered him back his own son for a mere woman, but he relented, along with an oath that no more battles would be waged against Mazakhan's clan." A smile, green eyes twinkling, "It was then that Mazakhan saw Zalya's face for the first time, for that her veils and silks had been torn in the kidnapping." A deep breath, his hands motioning. "It was said that it was the first time that Mazakhan was ever seen at a loss for words. Who could blame him, seeing how beautiful the woman that he loved was?"

His smile turns into a grin, "Well, of course they married. She bore him many sons and daughters, that continued the Clan's strength. With the wisdom of their mother, and the strength and talent of their father, they were good leaders. They were Mazakhan and Zalya combined." A bow of his head, "Zalya was devoted to Mazakhan, to the end. It was said that never did they depart each other's presence, after coming so close to losing each other."

A final, long exhale, "And thus, this humble tale is ended."

Khalid Atar, God-King of the Varati people and the very Dawn's Light on Aether, is silent for many moments after the tale is finished, eyes focusing on Gaelius. He studies the bard like a mongoose studies a snake -- sharp cocking head, flitting eyes and a composed, almost flippant visage. And then he begins to clap, the sound filling the throne room and warming the chill of the marble. "Excellently told, Dominus Gaelius, and a good choice, indeed. You must know your audience well, to choose such a story," he states, tone arch but pleased.

Thalia relaxes her grip on Khalid as the story appears to have a happy ending. She composes herself on the throne, settling her arms in a relaxed position, but remains silent as Khalid's commanding voice rings out across the chamber.

A deep bow towards Khalid Atar, the God-King of the Varati, as the Empyrean warrior-bard's green eyes flash. "This storyteller is glad that the Amir-al would take pleasure in this humble tale of Clan Al-Nizal, the children of Mazakhan and Zalya." A slow rise up from his bow, even as he breathes in and out slowly. Stories takes their toll on the teller, especially with such emotional impact, and such an august audience.

A light flares in Thalia's eyes and she leans over to murmur impishly to Khalid, "Perhaps, to see the extent of his talent, we should ask for him to set the tale to verse." Her words are not loud, spoken mostly for Khalid, but by the value of them carrying to Gaelius, it would seem that the queen is teasing.

"You have indeed done your traveling, dominus, and I commend you for that," Khalid states, words once again limned with the steel of a regal personage. He pauses momentarily, edging his ear closer to the Maharani. Her humor is infectious, it appears, for he smiles broadly upon straightening. "Do you think, good sir, that you could set the tale to verse, as well?" he inquires.

Brows furrow slightly. Ah, a challenge! A glance towards Thalia, green eyes seeming to share humor with her, before they flicker towards Khalid Atar. A low bow again, as Gaelius grins. "It would be a challenge, and I would relish such a challenge. Whether such a humble attempt would please this audience, Amir-Al, is the real question." His voice is respectful, but hardly obsequious.

"Bard Gaelius, I shall allow you to remain with our people so that you may learn more tales to tell -- and should you successfully transcribe said epic into a poem, I shall keep you on retainer for as long as you wish," Khalid intones, the very subsonics of the statement having an air of finality to them. Whoever said the God-King didn't know how to be generous? After all... look at his servants! More wealthy than most Aegian servants, to be sure.

Thalia adds, her voice a sweet counterpoint to the regal command of Khalid's, "Verse and song. Those are the true symbols and weapons of a bard, to create a song whose tune must be sung as it wrings notes as if from the very air."

A slow nod of the warrior-bard's head, even as he rises from his bow, his voice quietly coming, "Merely being able to perform before an audience again, such as you, Khalid Atar, and Thalia Tritonides Khalida, and knowing that you are pleased, is quite a reward." A smile towards Thalia, "I shall endeavor to do my best, and hope that my best is enough to entertain, imphada." And now he stands, to see what Khalid Atar wills of him.

Nodding in acceptance of Gaelius' words, and apparently pleased by them, Khalid taps two fingers together with the same strange, odd grin he has a habit of wearing these days. "Very well, then," he states, and pulls a small black metal tube from his pocket, no bigger than a finger. He tosses it to Gaelius, and says, "Inside is a writ which grants you free passage to Atesh-Gah and the public areas of all nearby varas. Wear it, and none shall harm you -- that is the metal that marks my safeguard. Any who trifle with you, trifle with my will."

Thalia runs her hand over the arm of her husband's, the smile of her face that of intense satisfaction. She looks over at Khalid and her smile grows fond. When her head returns to regard Gaelius, the regal serenity of her station has regained ascendance, but a smile still graces her fair face, now one of welcome.

A deft motion of Gaelius' hand catching the tube tossed him, a curious glance down towards it, before he nods, carefully tucking it into his belt. "I am grateful, Amir-al, for the opportunity to learn more." A smile, "Does the Amir-al or the Queen Maharani wish anything else from this Empyrean, whether as Gaelius, or as Hesperos Tritonides?" A glance towards Khalid at the first naming of himself, and then a glance towards Thalia, at the second name. Perhaps Thalia would like a message to family?

"For myself, nothing," Khalid responds, a wave of his hand dismissing any notion that he has a need which goes unsated. After all... does the Emperor go unsatisfied in any desire? And Khalid Atar has a sparser style sense than most Emperors. Leaning back, he, too, looks to Thalia -- after all, she deserves whatever she wishes, being Maharani.

Thalia says, her voice resonating with a great depth of calm satisfaction that cannot be counterfeited, "I do not have any needs at the moment, but if you remain with the Varati, then I assure you that when future needs make themselves known, you and I shall speak, dominus." At the conclusion of her speech, another fond smile is given to her husband.

A bow of Gaelius's head, "Then, I shall take my leave of you, and offer my humble thanks for allowing me to perform before you." A quick grin, with green flashing eyes, before he turns, his footsteps taking him out of the throne room with the efficiency of an old soldier turned traveler-bard.

FIN �

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