Date: January 12, 1999
Place: Varati Camp - Callisar's Eyrie
Cast: Khalid, Thalia
Scene: Taken prisoner when Callisar's Eyrie fell into Varati hands, Thalia Tritonides is invited to be Khalid Atar's "guest."

It has been a whirlwind journey -- the last several days, in fact, have been out of a dream. Or nightmare. First the invasion of Callisar's Eyrie. Then the message that Khalid Atar would be arriving to take you as his personal 'guest' during the war. None of it seemed real, not even when the black and silver death guard, the dreaded Agni-Haidar themselves, made their presence known in advance of the arrival of their liege and God. And then he came, atop a beast that looked more like a 'dragon' of legend than anything else. Khalid Atar, the God-King of the Varati. He said nothing, as your wings were restrained and you were forced onto the wyvern queen that is his steed.

It has been nearly one day since you began the journey and finally it appears to be coming to an end. Or perhaps it is only truly starting. Huge, powerful wings beat furiously as the wyvern queen, the greatest of all the Queens set aside for Khalid Atar alone, begins her slow descent toward the grand army assembled below. Wind rushes up against your face and makes chaos out of your beautiful, long blonde tresses. Your companion has yet to say a single word to you.

What is it like ... to watch your home taken in violence? These are sad times, times which stab at one's soul. Soldiers she had seen about the Eyrie just the other day are now dead, eyes lifeless after falling in a vain attempt to preserve the sanctity within the walls. And her daughter, what of her? A mother's heart is filled with a torturous mix of hope and worry -- did she make it out? She can only pray that the lares will keep her safe. Please, let her be safe. So, yes, the past few days have been a whirlwind. Everything she has known and loved ... changed. Walking midst the rubble, through the aftermath so scattered like the forgotten playthings of a child, she stopped to look out over the valley. Future is such a fickle thing; how foolish to become settled with what is familiar.

You came for her. She does not know why. The idea of you is frightening, such a mystery swathed in legend and graced with fear. Quietly, she went with the Agni-Haidar; quietly she went with you. The woman seems perfectly content to share the silence you've imbued the situation with, tending to the calling of thoughts within. It is nice to be in the air again, though. A tilt of her chin and eyes closing to bring lashes down against fair skin, she enjoys the caress of the wind's fingers against her face. Such purity.

With a snarl of protest, the wyvern queen makes her landing; a surprisingly graceful landing for such a monster of a beast. She is unbelievably huge and powerful, and it is painfully obvious that there is only one man who is her master. Who could ever master her. Broad, muscular legs bend somewhat as the queen lowers herself a bit, making it easier for her riders to depart. Dropping the reins of his mount, Khalid propels himself off with a single flap of his beautiful, ebon wings. Black boots hit hard rock with a slight crunch as he finds firm ground, before the God-King of the Varati offers you his outstretched, glove-covered hand. No words, not yet. He has yet to even truly look upon you.

Beautiful wings indeed. Thalia's mind trips momentarily to her other daughter as your feathered limbs eclipse the sun and a faint smile graces her lips. A heartbeat and she returns to the present. One hand goes to her chimere, slender fingers grabbing a light hold on the silks, and the other slides into your own. There is a moment's hesitation, though, time imprisoned within the blink of an eye where fear rules. She's wary with you, in her own quiet way, acting much as a person would around a strange animal. Uncertain whether or not it will bite. That brief pause fades off and the contact is made, her grip at first a whisper and then gaining strength as she slides off the beast. Eyes of blue-grey roam up your form, questions playing with the controlled emotions reflected within their depths.

It is a large hill that the queen chose to land upon. Not too far away is what appears to be Khalid's command tent. It is guarded by a thick knot of those black and silver-clad Agni-Haidar, though none approach. They must already have their orders, for they disturb neither the recently-arrived pair, nor the wyvern queen. The queen herself seems content to bask in the infrequent rays of light that peek out from behind the clouds on this cold, winter day. She stretches her glorious wings, preening a bit, while her graceful, long neck rolls as if to relieve itself of some tension.

For a moment, Khalid's gloved fingers grip your own hand tightly as he guides you off of the scaled mount. And then, with only a second's hesitation, he releases his hold on you. Turning away, so that those mighty black wings are all that you may see of him, he strides towards the edge of the hill. "Come," he instructs in a voice that is quiet, yet commanding. The first word to break his vow of silence. Still, still, he will not truly gaze upon you.

And what will those eyes see when you finally choose to turn them to her? It is a moment that she is content to have put off for now -- to be weighed within the gaze of a God. As you speak, there is a faint stiffening of her form translated by the tightening of her shoulders. Only one word ... but it is the first. Strength and power whispered to the breeze. Drawing a soft breath, she nods, although could she really oppose your command? It is always good to at least go through the motions of free will. The hand that rests within the folds of her chimere stays there, pulling up the skirts slightly so that she will not sully the silks very much when she makes her way up the hill.

Standing atop the hill, Khalid has full view of the massive army assembled below. And it is truly a 'grand army.' Over one hundred thousand troops appear to be milling amongst one another from the various and assorted Varati Major and Minor Clans, mixed in with the robed Atarvani and the black and silver armored Agni-Haidar. Wyverns tromp along within the camp, kept far away from the less spectacular steeds brought along for the campaign.

"The eyes." Those words are spoken after several minutes of silence. "You have her eyes. They were lovely eyes. I remember those eyes, most of all." The words are spoken softly, as if tasting some bittersweet memory. The God-King of the Varati will not turn around. He speaks to the air before him, or the army below him. But not to you. Yet, those words are meant for you alone. "Are you like her? Do you share her soul, too?"

Thalia's fingers loosen, the woman releasing her grip on her chimere. The silks sigh about her legs, dancing with the breeze that sweeps over the two of you, and she settles in by your side. Her gaze of pale blue-grey roams out across the troops below, a sight which causes a faint crease to dot across her brow -- worry. There are so many of them ... too many. Flashes of memory bring up the images of Callisar's, that frightful night which is forever burned into her soul. So much death; do her people stand a chance? Eyes which had closed briefly open up once more, the woman twisting just enough to peer across her shoulder at you. Their King. Their God. You hold the fate of her world in your hands and she must pause to wonder: do you care? As the thought strikes her, your words meet her senses and shake her from her musings. Delicate eyebrows lift up as she cocks her head slightly to one side; her pause stretches out over a moment before her answer is given. Soft. Like the lull of a whispered song brushing against your ear. "I can only hope that I carry some of her good sense and wisdom in my heart." She knows of whom you are speaking. Damaris.

"Then why are you here with me? Why are you not in Haven or Civitas Dei, leading House Tritonis?" Though Khalid has yet to raise his voice, he has no need. His accusations cut through the air, like a whip, snapping against you with all the underlying anger, fury, disappointment... and perhaps, perhaps sadness. He will not look upon you. Why? Why does he offer you nothing more than a profile of his handsome, dusky, fierce features? Dark blue eyes stare off into the horizon as he murmurs, "Why, Thalia Tritonides, have you let this come to pass?" Frigid winter winds assault his form and play havoc with long, soft black hair. His wings flap again, once, twice, and a third time in agitation.

Thalia frowns slightly, pulling the wrap about her shoulders in more tightly. "Why have I let this come to pass?" she echoes, surprise registered in her tone. "Do not fault me for being able to recognize my weaknesses. I have not the bearing nor mind for politics to run the House. Even if the option were mine, I would not be so foolish as to make my kin and people suffer my leadership." Her pulls her eyes off you, returning her gaze to the troops below, and shakes her head. "You have the power and greatness that no one else could ever hope of knowing. And you choose this. All this blood, all this death. Generations from now, will anyone aside from you remember why?" She is agitated as well, instinctively moving to snap out her wings. However, they are bound and the motion hurts her, a wince surfacing in her expression. It does serve to temper her, though, and her shoulders relax as a sigh drifts off her lips. "How did we get here?" So soft, no more than a whisper to be pulled away by the wind.

"I chose this? Do you really think so?" Regret and disappointment color Khalid's every word as silky, black lashes veil those fierce, ever-so-emotional blue eyes. Still, his gaze is locked onto the horizon as he searches for something. "Do you think, after I sat with the Emperor Justinius to sign a peace treaty that would have changed the course of history, I would want this? And do you think, after having known your cousin, I would want this? What do I see when I look across your beautiful lands, Thalia Tritonides? I see a million reflections of Damaris." His long, jet-black mane whips across his face as those furious winds toss both feather and hair.

The woman at your side glances back at you with a blink -- she had heard the rumors, even tucked away at Callisar's as she was. The favor Damaris held with you. Still, your words surprise her a bit, spoken almost in ... the sad tones of a lover. However, that couldn't have been the case, and she dismisses the thought almost as quickly as it murmured to her. "Then why did you invade us?" In the game of guilt and blame, her mind is clouded with the images of her home. Destroyed and stained with death. To get technical, it was the Varati who declared war. It was the Varati that pressed into Empyreal lands. Thalia shifts slightly, a soft turn of her feet to bring her around to face you. You might not look at her, but she will look at you. Those gentle eyes of hers touch over your features, journeying over your form to settle on the profile of your face. "We are two very different races, neither understanding the other very much." Accusations have left her tone, abandoning her to the task of trying to make sense of all this. Seeking sanity in a mad world. "We judge each other's actions in respect to our own culture instead of taking it in the context of where it came from. Until we can transcend ourselves, rise above the pettiness that breeds misunderstanding, we will forever be destined to war. We will be the destruction of each other."

"You do not see it, do you? No, I suppose you could not. Or maybe you will not, Thalia of a House beloved to me." Khalid's expression is brutally grim, tragic in its pain and conflict. Full, shining blue eyes swirl with powerful, moving emotions that boil just below the surface of his rigid demeanor. "Does a war need to be declared to be a war, Thalia? Does a reason given mean it is a real reason? Do the puppets need strings to be puppets?" Slowly, almost methodically, he removes his long, smooth riding gloves, so as to tuck them into his sash. Beside another sash that is held close to his body. A woman's sash. "I see the reasons for this war with a clarity and insight that only a hundred centuries of existence could bring about. Those who play in shadows and write the scripts have manipulated your Empyre into testing the strengths of my kingdom. And its resolve. Could we not answer your invasion with an invasion of our own, once our requests for reparations were denied? Would not the shadowy lords smell the weakness on our breath, like the vulture senses the approaching death of the wounded prey? We do not answer the attack with war and then we are attacked again. Once more, we ask for peace and are denied. And once again, as we do nothing, we are attacked. And again. And again." He speaks with such fervor and conviction that there is no doubt he truly believes what he says. "Until we are no more than bleached bones in the desert sands or beaten slaves in the darkest of mines. I will not see my people become this. I will never see my people become this. I will be like death itself upon the Empyreal host, as tears of regret are shed from my blue eyes, before I allow these events to transpire, Thalia Tritonides. And that is why I ask you why you let little girls rule your House, when the mantle of Damaris must be taken upon by someone who will make peace."

"Damaris chose Kalypso to succeed her. Do you question her judgment simply because you cannot remember what it is like to be young?" Quiet words, gentle and patient of tone, and then she calls to you softly. "Look at me." She's turned out her hands, palms facing up for you to see. They are unlike those of most noblewomen for, although they are composed of fine lines and slender, tapered fingers, they bear calluses. "Do not fault me for not being something I was never meant to be. With these hands I have raised two daughters, guided them through life the best way I know how. I am no leader, but I do what I can by instilling the values I cherish within the hearts of my children. That is the role I play; that is the role I was meant for. I recognize this, just as Damaris did. She chose her successor for a reason and I have all the confidence in the world that she will grow into the strong woman and leader that my cousin was. Do not dishonor her memory by dismissing Kalypso with so little thought." Her voice has remained calm through all this, much like a comforting mother soothing an angry child. Thalia laces her fingers together, dropping her hands down against herself as her eyes continue to roam over your face. "As far as this war is concerned, I cannot really make a valued assessment when I have not been privy to the details of what has gone on. I would hope that my leaders would have done all that they could to prevent this conflict. However, fingering the blame at this point does not really help the situation at all, for I am sure both our people each carry part of the responsibility." She shrugs faintly, looking vaguely lost as she shakes her head. "What do we do now?"

Your words are ignored, at first, but like a siren's song, they beckon Khalid toward your lovely, white winged form. And finally, finally, those fiery blue orbs that have seen the destruction of cities and the death of millions, regard you in all your splendor. For despite your chains and bindings, you are still a woman of House Tritonis and a sight to behold. And after considering your hands for a moment, he raises his own right one towards your face. Gently, he cups your cheek as deft fingers explore the lines of your face. "You are like her in so many ways," he whispers to himself, his words stolen on the winds. "You have much faith in this Kalypso. I cannot be so sure. She is young. And Damaris would have prevented this war. She would have seen it for what it truly was. Kalypso needs to grow, and quickly. She needs to break the webs that already begin to entrap her young soul. That choke the truth from her." A pause, then he says quietly, "I did not know that she was Damaris' chosen successor. If that is true, I will give her time. But time is precious and we have little of it." With his hand still on your cheek and with his wings spread out in an impressive display of midnight black plumage, he murmurs, "In days not so long past, I spoke to a lady of your race who was older and wiser than you, Thalia Tritonides. I said to her thus: 'Flames will run across the countryside. The flames of war and hatred and pain. And my people will die. By the hundreds. The thousands. When will your people learn?'" Blue eyes, shadowed by thick, lush lashes meet your own grey ones in a shared gaze. "And she said to me: 'I do not know, Imphadi. Perhaps you will have to kill us all.'" His sadness is profound as he whispers, "Let this not be so, Thalia Tritonides."

A quick draw of breath as your hand comes near, held prisoner within her lungs as she awaits the brush of your fingers. Grey eyes flicker over to take in your hand as it alights upon her cheek and then they shift back to your face, wide as they behold you. Amazing, really. How can a hand that has delivered so many souls to Death be so gentle? Thalia watches your mouth as you speak, lips stroking over words as they rise off your tongue, as she stands in the shadow of your magnificent wings. Quiet, so quiet -- she does not interrupt your discourse, letting the whispers float over the small distance between the two of you. When you are done, there is silence. What can she say to that? She peers into the depths of your gaze, lost in the sadness there. "I..." she murmurs under the breath which is finally released. "...will do all that I can." Another long pause as she stretches through the eternity that swathes you. "Promise you will do the same?"

"In all the world, for all that I wish for and desire most, there is no promise that I have made that I would hold higher than this one, Thalia Tritonides. You have my word." He is so very close, so very close to you. Fire incarnate, immortality in flesh and blood. The God-King of the Varati. Khalid Atar. He stands before you, his hands on your face, his wings hung in the air in all their regal glory. "You have my word," he swears, echoing his statement as if to make it reality. "Let the world not burn down around us, cousin of my heart." Slender, strong hands drop away from your face and he turns from you. "Write to your daughters. I will see that they receive the letters. Read only by me to ensure you do not betray my faith in you." And as his black wings open up again, to catch the winds, he says quietly, "I leave you now, to let you ponder this day. And so that I may as well, for if we talk more, I will drown in my melancholic thoughts. Good eve, Thalia Tritonides." No more is said as huge, powerful wings beat furiously, lifting that ageless immortal into the cold, winter sky.

FIN

[ Home | News | Staff | Players | Links | Gallery | Library | Updates | Mail ]
[ Connect to the Game ]