[flashback] pillars of power.

[Izdihar]

Note for the ModeratorsThis thread's intent is to successfully depict the construction of Izdihar's present operation and to earn XPs and lore where appropriate. pillars of power grave this on your memory: a world is supported by four things. the learning of the wise, the justice of the great the prayers of the righteous, and the valor of the brave but all of these things are as nothing without a ruler who knows the art of ruling - frank herbert - 1st of Spring, 502 AV The villa of the House of the West Winds was lit up like carnival. Jewel toned glass encased thick candlesticks and hung from the limbs of fruit bearing trees. Winter was dead at the feet of spring, bleeding new life into the waking earth; and that life was busy, soaking through the soil, tangling with roots and clambering it's way up stalks and stems and trunks to shove nature's first green in fragile hues of gold throughout the farming lands. The farming lands, of course, were owned in vast majority by the House of the West Winds and this cradle hour of seasons renewed the promise of their continued power. For centuries the family had celebrated the first of spring, idle in their worship of actual, divine entities but steadfast and ever faithful in their prayers to almighty gold. When Dirames had reigned at the head of the house and his mystical, Gilded wife had delivered him his firstborn in the form of twins, the day of their birth had seemed to magically align with the winds of the world. Spring's welcome party had become melded with the birthday celebrations of his heir and his daughter, and so the twins with their oasis eyes and golden smiles had been lauded along with the most hope filled season. That had changed, of course, after the disgrace which had created a temporary but massively disruptive vacancy on the throne of Eyktol and ultimately deposed Dirames from his position of power. The twins, while still celebrated by their family, were not so loudly sung or so richly gifted once they were no longer the assumptive heirs of the West Winds. Music pervaded the sultry night, mingling with the dull roar of laughter and conversation and the crackle of brilliant bonfires lit to fight the remains of winter's chill. The symphony of celebration floated through the cozy dim, whispering wishful lullabies to all of Ahnatep as, to be certain, nearly all of Ahnatep was in attendance, toasting spring and currying favors, backstabbing and biting with debonair smiles and doing, really, what they all did best: play the game of power. Though the Pressorah herself was not in attendance, too many years had passed and too much ambition and greed bred into the sensuous limbs of Eypharians for high society to disdain the house. The disgrace had not been forgotten, but it had long since faded and been contained, shrunk by the new house head's elaborate stratagems. One of the people to whom the disgrace had shrunk, whose angelic, glittering face was nonetheless a dark reminder, was presently seated before Mersaba's desk. An image of Eypharian beauty, his cousin's daughter was possessed of delicate stature and a fragile seeming. Sweet smiles often adorned diamond stained lips and the artful drapery of silks and gold, the drips of gemstones and the fresh scent of orange blossoms created an image more than worthy of the house's nobility. She perched on the edge of her chair, spine straight and heavy tumbles of chestnut hair twined with embroidered ribbons to spill into the folds of the crushable, brightly colored shawl loosely wrapped about her shoulders. For the past five years, Mersaba had been attempting to betroth Izdihar, daughter of Dirames, grand-daughter of Sceptor Yafeu, and sister of Ibrahim. Yet, much to his dismay, the girl had somehow, time and again, managed to deftly allude every politically advantageous match Mersaba had attempted. He had eventually been forced to accept the fact that she was unwilling to settle. Of course she was unwilling to settle, his pride had a habit of reminding him, was she not a daughter of the West Winds? But all but, perhaps, two of the matches could truly be considered "settling" for a cousin to the primary power vein of the house. Still, she had thwarted him, it becoming a game they played; and if nothing else he had to admire her tenacity. "Izzy," he greeted, using her pet name, and pressed dry lips to the smooth cheek she offered him. He was pleased to see an element of irony enter the curve of her cherubic smile. He never greeted her so warmly. "Uncle," she replied in a soft, musical voice, returning the backwards favor of cozy titles. "Isn't the night lovely? I daresay that everyone is thoroughly enjoying your party." "I fear my son is not," Mersaba lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, the wide, glittering windowpanes overlooking the orchards reflecting back his shadow. Many other heads of the house had sat in that very spot, reclining backwards with indolent grace. "He isn't?" A concerned pout took Izdihar's lips. "Whyever not?" Mersaba observed her skeptically, bronzed fingers forming a steeple as four of his elbows came to rest on the arms of his chair. "You haven't heard of Akil's indiscretion? Here I thought you took an inordinate interest in the affairs of my children." "Inordinate, uncle?" She blinked slowly, khol lined eyes wide as the skies. "They are my family. One cannot be over-interested in their family's welfare. I was terribly concerned when I heard Akil's perfectly understandable error had made the rumor mill. I hope he isn't too upset." "Mishandling monies while being caught dallying with the wife of a third ranked Hawk is not an understandable error." "I hear she is very beautiful," Izdihar smiled coaxingly. "And think, at least it wasn't the wife of a first ranked hawk." Reluctantly, he laughed. The sound filled the roam like hot wind. It died, however, swift as an ember in the wind, leaving him staring hard at Izdihar. "An unwise dalliance is something I believe of Akil, but he swears his handling of the monies in that matter was solid. He's never faltered with finances before, Izdihar." She gazed back at him with unflinching innocence, eyes seeming deep as the waters surrounding the Pressorah's palace, and murmured, "I'm very sorry he has disappointed you, uncle." Mersaba frowned into those clear, almost hypnotic eyes, youthful and shadowless as this first day of spring they were upon. Was she or was she not behind the public revelation of his eldest son's flawed judgement? And if she was, was he supposed to be furious or proud? A daughter of his house, she was, but a very troublesome daughter at that. If she had only consented to marry one of the men he had chosen for her. Only she had not and he was curious enough to not yet force the issue. Changing the subject, he pulled out a drawer of his desk, removing a small stack of official papers. "I have decided to make a gift of land to your brother and yourself for this, your nineteenth birthday." "Is it our birthday? I'd almost forgotten." "Don't pout. There's still a party." Izdihar offered a brilliant smile. "I'd meant no such thing, uncle. I'm sure we are unworthy of your generosity. Land? Truly? Whatever we will do with land? Or is it that you wish for us to set up household outside the villa?" "Oh, I imagine you might find somewhat to do with this bit of land, Izzy," he sighed, a cat's smile playing at his mouth as he slid the papers across the broad expanse of his desk towards her. He watched as she leaned forward, the soft tinkle of her bracelet sweetening the air as she reached for the documents. She was, he decided, remarkably restrained. "Ah, excellent," she exclaimed after a minute spent perusing the papers. Fingertips whispered over the land description and not even a hint of amusement colored her voice. It ought, really, as this admittedly small tract of land had essentially been commandeered by the twins over three months previous. Mersaba's informants had alerted him to the fact that through an intricate series of bribes, threat, bargains and clandestine deals, his cousin's children had obtained a highly advantageous relationship with the crofters presently occupying the land. If his guesses were correct, within a month gloam flowers would be springing from those former vegetable and herb gardens in intoxicating abundance. "Oh, uncle. You're awfully kind," Izdihar danced to her feet, spinning around the desk that had once belonged to her father to lay a sugary kiss to Mersaba's cheek. "Ibrahim will be so excited. I'm sure he'll have all sorts of ideas of what to do with the land. How do apricots sound?" "Wonderful," he fondly patted her cheek. "Just be careful of worms. Horrible this year, all the signs say." "We will! I'm off to tell Ibrahim right now," she glowed down at him, the documents carefully gripped in one hand. Their eyes met through that glow and one side of his mouth curved up, filled with shadows. He wondered if Izdihar's lazy brother would so much as give a damn. Probably not. Strangeling young man, was Ibrahim; but in the end, it was his sister with her angelic mien who was, by far, the most interesting. Of course, that just meant she was dangerous. Well, she had Mersaba's blessing now. He was looking forward to finding out just exactly what she was going to do with it. "Have fun," he idly dismissed her. She whirled in a flurry of silk, spiriting from the room. Light as air. Light as smoke. Like as dusking dreams.

[Izdihar]

I do not know what manner of thing she is. none of us do. - peter s. beagle - 20th of Autumn, 502 AV The field was flush with gloam flowers. Their spiraling colors winked at the sky in shades of purple and red, glowing bright as jewels, heady as promises in the lowering twilight. The hour left the world in a queer quality of light, sharp as a diamond yet blurred at the edges. Through this murderous haze, Ibrahim of the Westwinds walked, burnished skin set off by the parchment color of silk and the deep bark hue of leather. A lean hipped grace brought him to a halt just behind his sister, his shadow spilling over her and winking the diamonds in her hairnet into a silence where they waited to glitter again. "It's ready to harvest," Izdihar spoke, unmoving as she gazed upon the land for which she had spent the majority of her maturity begging, borrowing and back-stabbing to acquire. It sprawled before her now in representation of every long night she had toiled over business plans, every hour she had sweat wishes into waking. It was beautiful to her eyes, this hard won beginning upon a path back to what she had felt lost in her childhood. The land might have been in Ibrahim's name rather than her own, but that was how she wanted it for the time being. It was a safety measure because until she had collected a large sum of power, she had to horde what crumbs of it she managed to pick up along the way. It was far, far too soon to take the risk of staining her reputation with the intoxicating dusk of the mirage business. While not illegal, it was yet frowned upon in the highly echelons of the society to which she had been born; and only those with a great deal of wealth, lineage and power were capable of rising above it. She had the lineage, but the rest she was still striving for. Silence settled, hardly stirred by the cry of a wheeling crow in the darkening sky; and in it Izdihar's smile melted. Her chin brushed the delicate rise of her shoulder as she twisted, peering up at the achingly familiar face of her brother. It was her face made masculine, wide set, clear eyes set in noble bones and depicting an almost innocence with the suggestion of dimples. At the moment, Ibrahim's mouth was unsmiling, khol lined eyes narrowed past her, on the crawling, green shadows beginning to spread out from the edges of the fields. "What is it?" She demanded, a woman not afraid of heresies, deceptively fragile hands smoothing skirts down across the narrow slopes of her hips. Surfacing now from the tangle of her dreams, she sensed her brother's gloom even as it reflected that gathering around them. "Ibri?" "It's Donkor," Ibrahim sighed, naming the mirage dealer whom Izdihar had spent the whole summer season courting. Not in person, of course, but court him she had all the same. She had built up her brother's reputation, placing him on the underworld board sketched up like a front man, an idle, indolent noble with all of the right connections but none of the brains or ambition to truly know how to use them well. All of Ahnatep's shadier inhabitants were now successfully under the belief that Ibrahim of the West Winds was dabbling above his head, playing puppet to an operator who was very likely in possession of an arrangement with Ibrahim's own house. Nobody thought that operator was Ibrahim's delicate socialite of a sister. A scowl found his face as he looked down at Izdihar. She said nothing, merely regarded him in expectant quiet. "He changed his mind," Ibrahim said finally. "I beg your pardon?" Izdihar blinked oasis eyes terribly slowly and with a rustle of silk turned completely around in order to face him. "He changed his mind, Izzy," Ibrahim repeated. "I don't know why. He just did. This afternoon, when he was supposed to meet me to finalize the deal and I was going to give him the time frame you gave me. He sent a note instead. Here --" He thrust out a scrap of paper. Izdihar plucked up the note, smoothing it out with moth wing fingertips, and read the cursory lines. Situation's changed. I regret that we are unable to do business at this time. Maybe next year. "Bullshit," Izdihar declared, the note crumpling in her fist. Ibrahim watched, holding himself still while the night crept closer and closer, twining about their ankles and throwing shade into the hollows of cheeks, the sockets of gold dusted eyes. At length, he shrugged. "Bullshit," Izdihar repeated. "It's Kneph. He's trying to corner us out and now he's got our dealer on a string." "We can find another dealer, Izzy," Ibrahim suggested a bit flatly. "No, we can't. You don't understand. If Kneph has gotten to Donkor, then he's already at least half way to any other viable options we have. Without a buyer with an established network, our harvest is going to rot. Next yield? Maybe we can piece together a trafficking network of our own by then, but in the meantime all of this --" Six arms flung out, gold and lapis bracelet clattering like windchimes, to indicate the fields of gloam flowers they stood amidst. "Is garbage. Is nothing. We might be able to piece out bits here and there, but not nearly enough to regain our investment. This -- This --" She breathed in, words stuttering as her mind whirled. Here they were, tinkering on the brink of ruin again. Izdihar was not so foolish as to think this would be easy, that there would not be trials and hang ups, but she had finally begun to breathe easier. Now this. "Kneph doesn't want anyone encroaching on his business, Izzy," Ibrahim murmured, a figure growing colder as the night around them did. "You'll figure something out," an ironic scythe of a smile as he shifted closer, catching two of her hands in his larger ones, bringing them to his mouth for a kiss. "You always do." "No," she murmured, watching her twin's head bow over her hands, feeling ice slick the lining of her stomach. She recognized the gleam in his eyes. "No. If Kneph is the problem, then Kneph needs to be taken care of." Ibrahim laughed, an abrupt, startling sound that clamored against the air, possessed of a darker music than his sisters. "And how to do propose to 'take care of' Kneph re Corzik? If you were Mersaba, perhaps, or the Giver.." He trailed off, softly mocking. "This Giver has been giving our dear house's head considerable problems since she showed up last spring." "How do know it's a girl? Strikes me as a man, Izzy." "I don't. I also don't care. Right now, it's Kneph I'm concerned with." Izdihar tugged her hands free of her brother's clutching, stepping back to spin away. Ibrahim realized then that she was barefoot, her sandals likely left at the road's curve. "Don't worry," she called over her shoulder to him, a smile sparking once more in her words as she walked through the flowers, through her dreams. "I always think of something." That was exactly what had him worried. A frustrated growl escaped him as he watched her dance, light as mist, bare arms whirling, hips tilting; and before he could lose his sister to the night, he jogged after her, sailor to siren. In the end, however, they were both young gods of Eyktol, bred to chase and lure the winds themselves. - - - 23rd of Autumn, 502 AV Kneph re Corzik died well. The mongrel's blood dripped carnelian bright off the distal half of his murderer's scimitar, caught momentarily in the shattering swing of an oil lamp's light. The dark carriage clattered onward in the pitted street beyond the window, passing through the pale marble ruins and sand-thick alleys of this lower piece of glorious Ahnatep. The murderer released a fistful of the oiled cloth and the window covering tumbled back down, closing the room off from the remains of the world once more. He turned, a small cloth tugged from a slit in obsidian leather with one hand to use to wipe the blood clean from his blade. Oil well eyes peered at the room's inhabitants over the sword. "We have an arrangement then?" The murderer spoke, concluding what he had begun upon intruding on this clandestine meeting. Before him were a good half of the top operatives and dealers once on Kneph's pay roll. The reed-thin Jimjaw smirked, rubbing at his scruff of a beard, and lifted bony shoulders in a shrug. "Better petchin' deal than ought Kneph tried to bugger us with ever," another, portly mixed blood opined. The murderer glanced down at the cooling corpse, reared back, and kicked the dead over onto it's back. Intestines, tangled and no longer pulsing, ruptured in an odor that threatened to wilt the painted flowers on the wall, spilled over the floor. One of the more finely dressed attendants, hailing from higher circles of class than the Benshira dog or the even the wastrel outlander, gagged softly. "Yeah," the murderer agreed, "It's better. You'll like working for us," his lancing smile was practically audible. "Golden tongues get cut out," Jimjaw pointed out. "So do split ones," was the immediate retort. "But higher percentages make even offal-blooded smell like flowers. Neh?" "Neh," came the agreeable response. Izdihar of the Westwinds agent walked out of the crumbling building victorious. His mistress had been right, and for it her holdings had just doubled. In this world, a person often got what they paid for, and in Ahnatep, blood was as precious as gold.

[Colombina]

While her family’s hired hand was wiping his blade clean, Izdihar was finishing a long stroke of kohl across her lashline. Both were artists in their own ways, knowing well the value of maintaining a faithful weapon. Spying an eyelash on her cheek Izdihar leaned into her mother’s mirrored vanity, to gently flick it away. As usual, her focus was entirely on herself. “There is a Benshiran saying…” A voice bloomed in the room, coming from the doorway. Aunt Esi was leaning against the doorpost, stretching her feline figure. She swayed as she walked, the tight wrapping of her linen stola forcing grace into her step. She stood behind Izdihar, looking at her niece in the mirror. Her gaze was long and searching, as if she was scrying beyond the girl’s reflection. Esi reached past, sliding a gold comb off the table. “If you plant za,” She slid the comb into Izdihar’s hair, smooth as a knife through flesh. “You will reap Hikza.” Esi turned her niece’s head with her fingertips, using physical control to remind Izdihar she was still a young fish in a sea of sharks. The woman then delivered a stinging slap to Izdihar’s cheek. Esi’s eyes brightened with hot disappointment. She loved her niece, enough to correct her foolishness. “House agents are not for your use. No matter how many veils you think are between your face and theirs. It is Mersaba that directs their feet.” Esi stood straight, becoming a vase like silhouette once again. She held her hand up, demanding silence. “Sunematra gains more favor than you daily because she respects this house. She does not see it like a carcass to pillage or a knife to wield. The house has eyes, Izi. You are a fool to think you are the cleverest one here and behave as such.” Her Aunt ran her hands down her thighs, adjusting her stola against her skin. “Do you understand me Izdihar? These things are not yours to use. You may have a dressing maid, an attendant for your meals, but you do not have the luxury of these agents.” Esi paused briefly before using her last stiletto. “Dimourla failed because she had more ambition than wisdom. Do not make the same mistake.”

[Izdihar]

it is not light that we need, but fire it is not the gentle shower, but thunder we need the storm, the whirlwind, the earthquake - f. douglass - Izdihar held the eyes of her aunt in the mirror, six small hands crumbling into an elegant fold in her lap. Esi did not know her nearly as well as she believed, thinking that Izdihar's focus was primarily upon herself. The smile that had sparked in welcome faded like an ember in sand, leaving cool eyes steady and something tight constricting in her chest. She fought very hard not to allow her inner turmoil to be visible. Esi, after all, was one of the very people who had taught her that such was fallacy. Her cheek burned from the slap, a sharp reminder that even those who claimed to love her thought the worst, assumed the worst, and acted upon it in regards to her. It had her drawing a breath in through her nose, willing herself to maintain her composure. A large part of her wanted to weep into her aunt's lap, to be held by those smooth, warm arms and be a young girl, frightened and confused; but Izdihar had learned long ago that was not a wise course. "Sunematra does her part well, but she is also coward," she spoke at last, words thin but steady. "And Dimourla forgot that she was part of the very house to which she was so loyal and, in doing so, allowed others, even her brother, my father, gods keep him, to forget. You think I do not love my family, that their welfare, their future, their fortune, is not foremost in my mind. You think I treat this house like a corpse to be picked over." Anger wafted like birdsong through her words, hints and wisps that were plenty in their many-layered language. "Aunt, what have I done to cause you to think so poorly of me? My ambitious are the ambitions of the West, to strengthen us, to advance us. I am not the cleverest. I am not the wisest. But perhaps I might be counted amongst the most courageous because at least I dare to do something rather than waste in the shadow of a dead disgrace!" Silk spilled as she swept to her feet, diminutive, frustrated, and sad. So, terribly sad. It was visible for these borrowed moments, sad and afraid, a thing glimpsed behind a painted face, a socialite's mask, a businesswoman's veil. What was she afraid of? "Or is that the preference of my family? For me to marry some unworthy sod they wish me to and laugh and dance my way through the painted party games, leaving everything else up to the wits and wiles of others? The blood of this house gave me a brain and now does not want me to use it?"

[Colombina]

Esi folded one pair of hands in front of her, pressing her lips together as she bore Izdihar's tantrum. When she answered, her voice was calmer than her niece's, almost a hum. "Even now, you speak to me with pride, telling me versions of our house's history. You were but a child, I was a woman when these stories unfolded, seeing more than what you fathomed." An ember in Esi's eyes, told Izdihar to tread carefully. Her memory held more than scenes she had personally witnessed. The goddess had tuned the woman's ear to things yet unknown. The Eypharian noble found a sofa and began to preen, dividing her hair to braid it. "There is much about your cousin," a loose term, "You do not know. Sunematra is not a coward," she smirked, "Far from it. The girl can tame her will." She withdrew another proverb from her quiver, "A woman without self-control is like a glorious city with no walls." Esi's eyes lifted to Izdihar's, "Why am I angry, though? Because I see recklessness that troubles me, some of it from you." Her Aunt flourished one of her arms, flashing the familiar floral gnosis of Avalis. Her lilies were colored in indigo and scarlet, a fitting tribute to the depth of her passions. "There is more smoldering in this house than you perceive. You step into water unaware of how far the ripples reach. Please one and you anger another." Esi finished one braid and moved absently to another cord of hair. "And you will be wed, Izdihar, at some point or another. Unless you are deemed too ugly." Her aunt gave a wry tilt to her mouth. "Wearing a ring does not rob your wits. If you gain a worthy man it only increases your influence." Softening her tone, Esi patted the seat of the sofa beside her. "Come sit, Izzy. You thrash over the wrong things." The seer Eypharian let warmth reach her star-colored eyes as she continued. "I will arrange your hair, just like the old days."