The Faithful Gather to Pray

["Felizia al-Bahir" <felizia@angelfire.com>]

1/29/2002
Logfile from Dune-Felizia
Where the Great Houses vie for power in the Padishah Imperium....

Baths -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain)(#1071Rnt)

        Rose marble walls enfold this large chamber in the warm peaceful feeling
of security and tradition. Several tiled pools of varying size are spaced
throughout the baths, and the green tiled floors, heated from beneath, afford a
warm surface for bare feet to walk on. The north wall is covered in tall arched
windows, that flood the baths with light, which casts an enchanting glow that
glints and dances off of the delicate marble surfaces. Several warmed marble
slabs that rest on ornately carved legs line one wall, masseuses standing at the
ready to attend the needs of the bathers. White clad slaves line the walls, arms
laden with baskets of thick towels, exotic oils, and various other bath
necessities. The mingling scent of fragrant spiced oils wafts through the steamy
air, evoking a feeling of exoticness, as if this place is somehow removed from
the modern times surrounding it.

Players:

 Muradin                                            Bedwyr

Exits:

 Wide Archway <W> leads to Gallery of Bronzes -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain)

Bedwyr is prostrated infront of the longest cistern, stripped to the waist with
a white cloth in hand - as he scrubs his pale skin red with the water he
whispers his prayers. The sound of his voice echoes through the vacant hall.
"Blessed be Allah..." he finishes his body of verse.

Muradin walks into the baths, handing his upper vestments to the slaves, which
take them, and usher themselves to the outskirts of the chamber. He steps into
the water, slowly, taking another of the white clothes, proffered to him, and
begining to do the same, praying, while washing. His technique resembles that of
the priest, indeed, he seems, pleased to see such a perfectly pious man, joining
him for a change.

Constantina walks in from Gallery of Bronzes through the Wide Archway.
Constantina has arrived.

Amara walks in from Gallery of Bronzes through the Wide Archway.
Amara has arrived.

Through the archway, the strawberry-haired maiden Felizia slowly walks, a pair
of slaves trailing along at her heels bearing her own bathing needs. A
simply-cut robe hands from her shoulders, the dark brocade giving her skin an
even fairer cast. The sight of both Muradin, and the old man, gives her a pause,
the new presence surprising to her. Especially one so obviously devout.

Bedwyr rings the white cloth in his old wrinkled hands causing the water to
splash across the tiles - running along the grouting into the drains nearby. He
soaks up another towel with water from the basins and wipes it over his sunken
chest, "The Beneficent, the Merciful. - Master of the Day of Judgment. - Thee do
we serve and Thee do we beseech for help. - Keep us on the right path." Again,
it is the reflection of his words across the many tiled surfaces of the vast
vacant chamber that that rings above the arrival of new footsteps.

Muradin smiles again, following the words of this man, words that are all too
familiar, and perhaps, the voice itself, is familiar as well. He echoes the same
words, speaking almost in unison, as if he has led prayer a few times in his
life, just as he washes himself, with the same motions as the House Astrologer.

Amara enters through the archway, following behind, but not entering with,
Felizia. She is dressed simply, foregoing the robes of state to make herself
clean before attending prayer. Her eyes, in motion as always, take in the
presence of the men of the House, and a new face...whom, it has been whispered,
is the new astrologer.

Bedwyr uses his longer towel to whip quickly the fresh water from the pools
across his back - a spray of water angles off the towel and arcs through the air
shimmering as diamonds. The towel smacks hard against the wrinkled skin below
the spill of old white hair and draws off slowly leaving soft uncalloused flesh
pink with disress,"Keep us on the right path. - The path of those upon whom Thou
hast bestowed favors. Not of those upon whom Thy wrath is brought down, nor of
those who go astray." The towel is rung over the tile and the process repeated,
the water drizzling in rivoulettes over the curved rise of the old man arthritic
spine.

Constantina follows Felizia into the baths, trailing a distance behind her
slaves with her chin elevated just enough to let any viewers know that she is no
part of the maiden's retinue. Holding her skirts carefully above the damp floor,
she looks over the many sweating half-dressed men in the room with no little
disinterest, seeming to find more revelry in the scene than reverence.

Her momentary surprise wears off, and Felizia pads around to the other side of
the lattice-work, shedding the robe covering her white chemise. Carefully, she
steps into a pool, though curiosity draws her closer to the screened side of the
area, and she peers through to the other side while following the prescribed
motions herself. Though, her actions mainly involve quietly murmured prayer and
bathing.

Muradin follows the actions of the clerical astrologer, knowing exactly the form
of worship he has chosen for this prayer service. He seems not to note Felizia,
or the other women, lost in the moment of the prayer, of the words, and the
quiet sounds of the water.

Amara steps down into the water, a servant girl trailing behind her. The girl
pauses to hand her Lady's robes and towels to one of the slaves lining the
walls. Amara studies the priest from lowered eyelids, raising water to cleanse
her arms and face as she murmurs the ritual words.

The water passing through the old man's brows drizzles over the milky white blur
of his eyes. Twitching reflexively at sounds disconnected from sights his mouth
now purses as he wrings out his towel again and sets it aside. In his white
skirts and bare back move slowly over the now damp tile to a bench which is
covered with a precisely folded over-robe of spun silk, "blessed be Allah," he
sighs. Bedwyr's elbows pop as he contorts them into the form of the robe and
with a heavy old body, the old creature settles down to the bench with short
tired breaths letting his lids close over blind eyes.

Muradin finishes, a short while after Bedwyr, and moves to meet the slave
bearing his vest, sliding his arms into it, letting the water drip from his arms
and back, air-drying. He sits next to the astrologer, looking over at him, with
a pleased smile.

Bedwyr reaches sideways from his bench to pat at Murdin's leg - even with his
eyes open he misses by a few inches, reorients and finally finds the young man's
knee. He pats and smiles,"It is good to witness the faith has not died in all
but and old man's heart..." he pats again and then leans back against a mosaic
done within the wall.

Constantina has disconnected.

Felizia completes her own part of the ritual, emerging from the pool to be
wrapped in a large bathing sheet. Behind another screen she goes, and, with the
assistance of slaves strips out of her clinging wet chemise and a clean, dry one
is tugged on over her head. Garbed again in the loose robe, she steps out and
towards the archway, a slave scurrying along by her side to try and fuss the wet
ends of her hair.

Muradin smiles at the older cleric, nodding his head, "I have always held true
to Allah...and his ways. Your wisdom is quite welcome here, as are your
traditions. It is good to see another who values faith as much as I."

Bedwyr trails his fingers through the thick of his beard and speaks with an old
man's voice - raspy and soft but one that begs to be heard. The sound of it
carries over the movement of the pious and water alike, "And certainly We have
made the Quran easy for remembrance, but is there anyone who will mind? Ad
treated the truth as a lie, so how great was My punishment and My warning,Surely
We sent on them a tornado in a day of bitter ill-luck Tearing men away as if
they were the trunks of palm-trees torn up.How great was then My punishment and
My warning!

Bedwyr sighs and nods,"I spoke these words to a man who would have been a Baron
but was know as Bull...a leader in the eyes of Allah...and he had my eyes for
it...what peace your faith brings to me."

Amara listens with half an ear to the religious stylings of the two men, her
hands still cupping water and raising it to her face. At length, she moves
towards the edge of the pool, her servant rushing to her side to wrap her in
warm, dry bathing sheets and escorting her behind a screen for a change of
attire. Emerging minutes later in dry clothing, she pads on bare feet towards
the astrologer.

Bedwyr pats Muradin's knee again - remembering the placement if not seeing
it,"What peace."

Muradin turns, resting a hand on the old man's "Allah rewards the faithful after
their passing Master, you of all people should know, and rest peacefully in
that." He turns, noting the presence of Felizia and Amara, offering the first a
slight smile, the second, a curious, and surprised look, for being among the
'devout'

Felizia's footsteps slow, as the man's voice reaches her ears. Lingering, she
pauses near where he sits by Muradin, an eyebrow raised inquisitively as she
listens. Even one foot remains nearly lifted from the floor, the pose very like
a young deer that has caught something on the wind and freezes to ponder it
further.

Amara glances sideways at Felizia, the merest flick of her eyes, before she
inclines her head to Muradin. There are protocols to be observated, after all.
She turns then to dip her head towards the astrologer, waiting for a pause in
the conversation to properly greet this new member of the court.

Bedwyr's head turns up at a slight angle - his nostrils flaring,"There is no
fear in the paradise that awaits...but never should we forget that this world
too is Allah's kingdom...and that it too requires worship. It too requires
care," the old man sighs, his dead milky gaze turning towards Felizia - pouring
over her without seeing her, "It too requires caution in our handlings and
mishandlings of its affairs. Caution is the first footstep of wisdom."

She's been spotted, and, seeing that Muradin's eyes have at least passed over
her, brief as it was, Felizia dips into a low bow for both of the men. Her
fingertips touch her forehead, as she murmurs very softly, "Master Muradin...
Most enlightened One, welcome."

Muradin smiles, gesturing towards Bedwyr, "Ladies...allow me to introduce my
father's new Court Astrologer...Master Bedwyr Eban'Allauh." His gaze does indeed
linger upon Felizia's for a time, although what it contains, is difficult to
tell.

Amara chides herself inwardly for her lack of attentiveness. Here she is,
nodding towards a man who cannot see her... But the man's voice was rather
entrancing; she suddenly realizes that she wasn't /looking/, but /hearing/.
"Master Bedwyr," she says softly, aware of the propensity for echoes in the
baths, "be most welcome. I am the Lady Amara Bajazet."

Bedwyr's eyes stare where Felizia was - not following her as she falls in
prostration. His brow furrows in obvious confusion,"Master to none but titles,"
Bedwyr says as he pushes up with his hands upon the bench, struggling to his
feet at the word 'ladies'. "Please...we are all equal here in the
baths...sit..." His hand turns to motion to the line of benches set against the
walls. Then, almost as an afterthought, the old man turns his head halfway to
Muradin,"That is...if the prince would have these most pious women at his
side..."

Muradin raises an eyebrow, that will go unnoticed by the man, but is clearly
visible by the two Ladies, "Thank you Master, but this 'prince' as you put it,
must attend to other duties within the house as well. I have dual roles, that of
man of Allah, and man of the House." He turns to Felizia and Amara, "Please,
enjoy the counsel of the good Master, I think he will do quite nicely in the
coming months." He turns, and smiles a bit...awkwardly perhaps, at Felizia,
before making his way out.

Bedwyr bows at his waist, his brow rolled in confusion at the sudden depature of
Muradin, but a smile is still there pulled tight over his pale lips,"Surely
those who guard shall be in gardens and rivers,In the seat of honor with a most
Powerful King." The bow that the old man gives is sounded by his spine popping
in the effort,"Go will Allah master Muradin."

Felizia favors Muradin with a nod before he leaves, her toffee eyes coming to
rest on the old astrologer once more. She doesn't move to the bench, though,
murmuring instead, "I am afraid my own time is also limited, Wise One. But if I
may, I will stay a few moments longer.."

Amara watches silently as Muradin depars, an almost imperceptable dip of her
head marking his passing. She turns her attention back to the astrologer, but
does not speak.

Settling back onto his bench, Bedwyr inhales with fatigue,"I hold no title or
rank Lady Felizia," the old man says with patience overcoming his lack of
breath,"It is you who must decided on your comings and goings, as is your right
in ladyship if I am not mistaken." He chuckles at this, perhaps a private musing
of his own.

"But come," Bedwyr says, turning his catarct smothered eyes over where Amara yet
stands,"Let us hear of what burdens the house of Bajazet...I've only just come
from a great distance...tidings do no travel as far as I have come. What of our
great house and its holdings? Are we yet enemies with the Harkonen?"

Amara begins a nod, but checks herself before doing so. "We are," she replies.
"The wheels of bureaucracy turn slowly; there has been no trial date set for the
Proces Verbal." She finds this a peculiar question for a man of scripture to
ask, but...the order is known for being...eclectic. She glances briefly at
Felizia again as she speaks to the old man, a slight crease forming between her
brows.

Felizia remains silent, seeing that the man addresses Amara now. She looks to
the woman, her head tilted as she listens to her response.

Shaheena walks in from Gallery of Bronzes through the Wide Archway.
Shaheena has arrived.

Bedwyr looks up to Felizia, the dull lustre of his eyes pulling nothing in with
their oiled disease,"And what do you say of this, Proces Verbal...will anything
of value come of it...or is it merely a legal segue between open conflicts?"

Felizia lifts a shoulder in a habitual gesture. "I do not know, to be truthful,
Wise One. Perhaps you might tell us what is written in the stars? Perhaps you
might give us, and our beloved Sultan, guidance on the matter?"

Shaheena enters, happily concealed in a robe of heavy black silk.

Amara checks the smile that threatens to spread across her face. Indeed! Is no
the astrologer meant to provide answers? Well done, girl. Amara's eyes reflect
some of her mirth, but this, of course, cannot be seen by their subject. She
continues to stand in respectful silence, awaiting the astrologer's answer.

Bedwyr has a good laugh over this,"The stars say much, but only when we have
direction for our questions." He jovality and words cascade about the room
dancing off the tiled walls. "And I am not so blind as to think that the long
ears and wits of women have been diminished..." he laughs softly again. "It is
the men who wage war and the women who must find peace in the ashes...as it is,
so has it been for the long memories of time. If I am to indeed consult the
sultan that I must know what ashes we sift through...no need to be," and here he
offers a toothy smile between the women,"blind in my work."

Shaheena slips demurely into a pool, clad in a fairly modest swimsuit. She seems
rather thoughtful and abstracted, though she casts a vague, amiable smile at the
others present.

Felizia's smile remains small, her question having been what she thought was a
serious one, though it brought levity. "Ahh... so that is how it works," she
says quietly. "We are unaccustomed to having an astrologer among us, wise one,"
she murmurs, bowing again - to him, to Shaheena, and to Amara. "My lady," she
speaks again, still favoring the Lady Bajazet with her bow, "...if I may? I am
expected elsewhere in a few moments..."

Amara finds her own reactions running contrary to that of the astrologer. As he
laughs, she sobers, recognizing the truth of women 'sifting through the ashes'.
Though, in her mind, the ashes are of the dead, and not due to war. She nods
absently to Felizia's request, sending another perplexed glance her way before
responding, "Of course, Madame."

Bedwyr sighs as he leans back,"And so the circles of women remain unbroken,"
says a drained old man with his sunken chest propped up by the bench and wall.
"With the stars as my eyes, how could it have been otherwise." The old man's
swolen arthritic hands comb through his beard in thought,"Does he think that no
one sees him? Have We not given him two eyes, And a tongue and two lips, And
pointed out to him the two conspicuous ways? But he would not attempt the uphill
road." Bedwyr touches his solarplexus, his lips and then his forehead,"I
appologize to the lady if I do not stand...peace be Allah."

Felizia bows once more, quietly taking her leave, and her expression lapsing to
one of deep thought. Already, the man has brought more to her mind than anyone,
and for one unaccustomed to such complexities, it weights heavily on her. The
solitude of a quiet corner of the Seraglio, or, the gardens seems in order...

You walk through the Wide Archway.





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