Castle D'Image MUSH Roleplay Log
Khalid na Abbas, Ambassador From Tolmas is Presented to the Court

Log date: 2/3/99

Throne Room
As you enter the Throne Room of the D'Image Castle, your eyes are drawn immediately to the magnificent throne, raised on a dais at the far end of the room. The D'Image Family coat of arms, passed down to the King through the centuries, occupies a place of honor above the royal throne. The rest of the throne room is simply yet elegantly appointed in deepest shades of royal blue and purple, in stark contrast to the pure white marble of the floors and walls. The domed marble ceiling echoes, even when empty, with the voices of the King and those who have come to obtain an audience.
A curtained archway leads to the anteroom, while a large pair of wood and brass doors leads to the Grand Hall. A smaller pair of carved wooden doors leads to the royal quarters. A spiral staircase in the southwest corner leads up to the balcony above.

The herald calls out loudly, "The next petitioner before the King, Ambassador Khalid na abbas of Tolmas."

Khalid steps forward promptly as his name is read, his confident gaze taking in the king, his Court, and countless pairs of eyes examining his entourage. Without the hesitation that he surely feels he steps before the dais, fluidly dropping to one knee, head bowed in respect. "Your majesty, I bring honors and felicitations from my Shataan, the Great and Noble Malin of Tolmas. He congratulates you on your recent prodigious ascension to kingliness and sends his fervent hopes for a long and peaceful reign. He is chagrinned that he could not come for your coronation, but has sent me with many gifts in hopes that you will forgive his absence."

[Khalid's Description]
Khalid is not a physically imposing person, yet his body language and mannerisms bespeak a carefully cultivated and controlled character. At five foot 10 inches, he is average height for men in his homeland. Wavy sable hair and cinnamon brown eyes emphasize the heritage evident in his ginger skin. Expressive brows and a wide mouth are quick to reveal his annoyance or mirth -- when he allows them to show. His clean shaven jaw sports a pale thin scar just under the left side.
Practical to the core, Khalid uses his hands to emphasize his words, but wastes no effort in his fluid, concise gestures. Long, neat fingers draw attention to important points as they are illustrated in the air before him. Although it is difficult to ascertain through the loose clothing he favors, his garments move with the suggestion of a well-muscled torso. About him floats the scent of cloves and cardamom, a reminder of his homeland.

King Bradley watches the Ambassador approach, curiousity written clearly on his features. He listens quietly to the speech, smiling. "Ambassador," he greets the man warmly. "We would express our gratitude at your felicitations and congratulations. We quite understand that ofttimes travel is difficult from your region and hold nothing against you. Indeed, it is our utmost pleasure to have a representative from Tolmas amongst us again and we are most honored to receive such gifts as you bear. First, allow us to bid you welcome to D'Image."

Khalid deepens his bow, "I am most humbled by your words, Majesty, and only hope that I may serve you and my countrymen with honor and wisdom in this important role." He rises gracefully and steps to the side, beckoning to the anteroom door for the four bare-chested, toffee-skinned men waiting just outside.

King Bradley inclines his head. "I have no doubt that the reputation of courtesy and wisdom that Tolmas has long enjoyed will be continued in your presence here, Ambassador Khalid." He then glances from Khalid to the entrance to the throne room, lifting a brow, and says, "Do let us see these splendours that you have brought to place before us."

Florencia bestows a look that doesn't lack for appreciation on the newest arrivals.

Maxwell watches the procession impassively.

The four members of Khalid's honorguard step in, bare chest muscles well-oiled and glistening. Their loose trousers are slit up the sides in desert-fashion, silk edges fluttering as they walk. They are laden with four matching coffers, open for inspection. Khalid gestures to the first two coffers, "These two contain what our people consider "gold" -- spices from the rich coastal plains near my home in Tolmas: Cardamom, Cloves, Nutmeg and Pepper." The containers are heaped full -- several years supply of the pungent spices, one might guess.

The fragrances from all four coffers gradually fill the hall, pleasant to a Tolman nose, but perhaps a little overwhelming here. Stepping toward the third and fourth coffers, full of what may look like dried leaves collected from an autumn grove,, Khalid explains "These are teas made from the same spices plus the aromatic black and green teas that grow near the mountains. They have been our most demanded export for several years now. I hope you enjoy them." He steps away, letting the guards move forward to place the coffers on the edge of the dais. Khalid glances toward the anteroom, where apparently more gifts wait.

Marguerite tilts her head slightly, watching.

Prince Gareth looks interested as the different scents reach him. He glances at Bradley, already picking and choosing what he wants to go through.

Ogden looks visibly impressed by the procession, inhaling the strong aroma flooding the air and nodding once in silent approval.

Cammy starts coughing and puts a handkerchief to her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

Siobhan is caught by the teas, curiosity writ large on her face.

Khalid addresses the King and court likewise, warming to his role as conductor, "You may be familiar with the famous breed of horses raised by our nomadic desert people. They live upon the land in one of the harshest climates in the known world. In spite of the hardships they have brought out of such grueling conditions an equine breed with spirit, endurance and intelligence that has rarely been matched.

Khalid claps his hands once sharply.

Prince Gareth's gaze shifts to Cammy, concern reflected in his eyes.

Marguerite glances at Cammy in startled concern.

Yasmi steps through the curtain from the anteroom.
Yasmi has arrived.

[Yasmi's Description]
Yasmi (yas-MEE) al Daltana bint Alyana al Azazzi is a handsome woman with cat-like features and skin the color of mahogany. Emphasized by her dark slashing brows, large almond-shaped amber eyes seem to hide a banked fire. Her critical gaze assesses the world with the same careful scrutiny she uses on horseflesh. People fall into two categories: those worth taming and those worth nothing at all. Almost hidden under a long scarf wrapped about her head, her long ebony hair is woven into scores of tiny braids. Each braid is adorned with colorful glass beads that click together softly as she walks.
Yasmi has the self-possessed stride of a woman that is used to a life of difficulty. She is unconscious of the supple strength and grace revealed by her brief, yet practical clothing. Around her upper torso, she wears a sleeveless short white shirt of cotton that clings to her body and ends just below her breasts. Cinched tightly at the ankles and waist, she wears long loose pants slit from ankle to thigh allowing for freedom of movement. A fine gold chain linking a ring in her left nostril to a ring in her left ear completes the picture and emphasizes her exotic appearance. About all of this she wears a billowing scarlet robe and scarf that can be wrapped tightly about her body as protection from the harsh desert winds

Six dappled gray horses are led into the throne room by a small, exotic woman. She calls out sharp commands in an unfamiliar tongue and the horses immediately respond. Their heads toss and their harnesses chime as the sleek beauties form a ring around the woman, cantering and snorting as they are displayed for the King's approval.

Maxwell straightens, motioning for his guards to watch for any difficulties that might arise with horses in the throne room. He looks to have expected this.

Jaxen's eyes grow wide. Unable to contain himself, he shouts, "Mama! Look at the horses!"

King Bradley regards the riches presented him with a deep smile, but as the horses enter, his entire face lights up. He watches them move through their antics, fingers tightening on the arms of the throne as he leans forward slightly. Completely forgetting the fact that horses in the throne room is not the usual practice. "Ambassador Khalid," he breathes, grinning. "You honor us beyond words. They are exquisite." He rises and steps down from the dais to look at the magnificent creatures closer.

Yasmi pauses briefly to genuflect before the king. She then calls out another terse command and the horses halt their prancing and stare intently at their mistress.

Maxwell follows his King, keeping a close eye out for any trouble from the spirited team.

Khalid answers humbly, "They are but a small token of the honor we take in renewing diplomatic ties with your Court and country, Majesty."

Cammy smiles wanly as her son babbles on in an excited whisper about the horses.

Marguerite blinks several times, watching in surprise.

Maxwell lifts a brow, his gaze moving to Yasmi then back to the horses. He nods, more to himself than her. Still, he keeps close to his king's back.

King Bradley makes a low sound of delight before turning to ask Yasmi, "Trained for both war and processional?"

Yasmi bows low, "Of course Sire, they are trained to meet all needs of their most illustrious master.

Prince Gareth examines the horses from his place by the throne, his own interest obvious in the fine animals presented.

Khalid elaborates, "There are four mares and two geldings. The nomadic tribes keep the breeding rights to themselves, therefore would part with no stallions, I am sorry to say."

King Bradley nods to Khalid, his smile growing. "As usual, the generosity and grandiose gestures of Tolmas are the trademark of their civility and the qualities of a trusted ally." He nods to Yasmi's words. "Splendid, absolutely splendid." His gaze moves over the horses again before he adds, "I am certain that we will have to enlarge the stables shortly to accommodate such a beautiful set of horses, stallions or no."

Yasmi makes a small gesture and the horses begin to follow her out they way they came. The sound of shod hoofs rings sharply against the stone floor and fades into the distance.

Yasmi steps through the curtain into the antechamber.
Yasmi has left.

Florencia releases a breath once the beasts are gone.

Siobhan watches the horses leave the throne room, shaking her head slightly in disbelief and amazement.

Khalid allows himself he tiniest of satisfied smiles as the horses retreat. He now resumes addressing the King and Court, waiting until the crowd is silent before speaking again.

King Bradley watches the horses leave the throne room, for a moment looking as if he would go after them. Once they depart, though, he turns and ascends to the throne once more, watching Ambassador Khalid.

Siobhan whispers to Marguerite.

Maxwell returns to his place behind the throne.

"The final gift I bring requires a brief explanation." Khalid begins, gesturing openly with both hands. "In the city of Martagina, our capital and my home, there is a very specialized school, called Baheer il Mahsheed. It's reputation is ambiguous; considered nefarious by some, illustrious by others. Nonetheless, among my people is one of the highest honors to be selected to study at this academy. Once every few years, the Masters of this small school receive supplicants wishing to attend. They choose only a very few -- always less than a score -- to enter. The tenure of the students varies upon their individual aptitudes, but one may be assured that a student does not graduate until they have mastered all aspects of their art. The graduates are called Mahsheeds.

King Bradley blinks, intrigued by Ambassador Khalid's words. "Go on," he says, leaning forward again, thoughtful and attentive.

Prince Gareth listens to the amabassador, his own expression that of curiousity.

Khalid continues, "It was the wish of our wise and revered Shataan that I bring to you a Mahseed to serve you in pleasure and companionship." Turning toward the door again, he claps his hands once sharply.

Litter steps through the curtain from the anteroom.

Two more bare-chested, toffee-skinned guardsmen come in from the anteroom, bearing between them a curtained litter.

King Bradley's attention goes to the doors and he looks at the litter as it is carried in. A brow lifts and he rests an elbow on one arm of the throne, propping his chin in a palm for a moment. Before he remembers his manners.

Khalid steps up to the litter and holds open the curtain.

Florencia draws in her left cheek. Hands clasped before her, she alternates looking between the litter and the King.

Marguerite watches in bewilderment.

The diaphanous veils of the litter tremble briefly before swelling outward on one side as a phantom hand presses upon the gossamer walls, allowing the imprint of slender fingers to just be seen against the folds in a tantalizing greeting. A faint, melodic tinkling of jewelry beckons from within.

Passing against the fabric with an audible caress of skin upon silk, the handprint disappears and the taut material floats back into place.

Prince Gareth gives the litter an intent look, cocking his head to the side to get a better view. His jaw just... drops.

As the material parts in a hushed whisper of fabric across skin, one slender leg slowly emerges, foot bare, toes pointed.

Maxwell remains impassive, this too not surprising him.

Cammy stares.

King Bradley's jaw doesn't fall open, but it looks as if it could. He opens his mouth to say something, then loses his words. Completely.

Marguerite suddenly turns pink and looks down at her lap.

Silver anklets tremble and murmur with the subtle motion as the slender foot finds the floor. Presently, a second leg, barely clad in the misty trappings of diaphanous silk, joins the first.

Prince Gareth finally manages to rearrange his expression, murmuring something beneath his breath.

Prince Gareth mutters to himself, "Never... this..."

Slowly, with feline grace, a scantily clad form emerges from the darkness of the litter, a hand led by the wrist as it gracefully arcs above her head.

Safira has arrived.

[Safira's Description]
At 17, Safira is a rare daughter of the desert. Slender and willowy, she moves with a demure grace, each action a ballerina's reflection, each step measured for perfection. Byzantine eyes of a brilliant cobalt promise intelligence and mystery, the exotic hue of her gaze a striking contrast to her dusky skin and the heavy curtain of darkness that serves as lashes. When she speaks, it is with a voice trained to rival that of a nightingale, the accented syllables pronounced with precision and sirenic melody.
Her long, lustrous hair, the color of burnished obsidian, is drawn away from her face and woven into a sophisticated braid. Like a scrap of evening mist, an azure gossamer veil etched in silver drapes the dark plait and settles about her features in a delicate play against her breath, affording little obscurity. Her lithe form is swathed in the same blue material, the layered cloth artfully arranged to conceal her breasts and hips but thinning to the sheer whisper of a summer sky as it clings to her legs and belly. A silver band encircles her upper arm and supple silver anklets adorn her feet. Perhaps beneath the thin fabric, one can glimpse the spiralling design of a vine cloaked in tiny flowers as it climbs its way up from her ankle, stealing along her thigh, and disappearing within the shadows of her clothing.

King Bradley straightens on the throne, taking a deep breath and letting both of his hands rest over the arms of the chair as if it is holding him up.

Siobhan murmurs audibly, "Well I'll be damned."

Marguerite steals a glance upward, and quickly looks down again.

King Bradley's gaze flies to Ambassador Khalid, then back to the /woman/.

Prince Gareth doesn't take his eyes of the woman.

The veiled walls of the litter cling to Safira's shoulders and back briefly as she steps away from the silken sanctuary, before slipping away. Her dark eyes immediately seek the king and she moves forward, hips swaying with subdued invitation, a demure and beckoning smile curving her lips.

Khalid inclines his head to the King, taking a step away from Safira, "May I present the Lady Safira to Your Majesty."

Jaxen pipes up, "Mama, how come that lady rided in a box with curtains?"

A slow sort of flush threatens King Bradley's cheeks and he inhales sharply though his expression remains elsewise calm, his gaze moving over the woman presented him. He takes the time to swallow once before he replies solemnly in a tone which is /almost/ normal, "We are-- it is our pleasure to welcome you to D'Image, Lady Safira." He hesitates for a moment, then rises and takes the few steps down from the dais to stand before her and the Ambassador.

Jaxen's voice returns Gareth to a semblance of manners and he stops staring at Safira. His gaze shifts to Bradley, one brow lifting.

Safira lifts a hand to heart and then bows her head, youthful excitement dancing in the cobalt depths of her eyes before she casts them downward respectfully. "Your Majesty," she greets with soft, passionate conviction, "It is my greatest honor to stand before you, my new sayid."

Maxwell follows his King.

Cammy murmurs, "I think it's time for bed, boy. Come along." She rises and looks toward the King for permission.

Ogden's brows crank way up at the display.

Marguerite glances up again through her lashes, her expression very prim.

Siobhan looks at the young woman speculatively.

Florencia smiles rather pleasantly, actually. A barely-clad child-woman. Fancy that.

King Bradley regains his composure and smiles to the woman, but he does glance away, looking perhaps to Florencia. He sees Cammy and nods to her before looking back at the arrival. "I am not familiar with this word, sayid. It... does not mean master?" He quirks a brow at Ambassador Khalid.

Cammy curtsies, then trundles her son off to bed quickly. As they leave, Jaxen can be heard saying, "But Mama, how come ....?

Jaxen steps through the carved doors to the royal foyer.
Jaxen has left.
Cammy walks out with Jaxen.
Cammy has left.

Florencia makes a slight, approving nod as the question is asked.

Prince Gareth has managed to school his features to veil whatever thoughts on this /gift/ he might have.

Khalid extends an open palm as he explains, "Yes, it means Master, but it is a term of servitude, not of slavery. If you accept this gift, which I hope you will, I transfer Safira to your protection -- for she in turn has chosen to enter your household as a devoted.... entertainer at the request of our Shataan.

Poised with shoulders back, dark head bowed, the veil covering her face flutters softly against her breath as she speaks, her accent warming the words. "May I speak, Majesty?"

Prince Gareth eyes Safira then Khalid mouthing silently, /entertainer?/

King Bradley weighs the words carefully, probably the word /entertainer/ most of all, before he looks to Lady Safira at her words. "You are welcome to," he says smoothly.

Florencia's eyes narrow, slightly, but the smile doesn't waver at all.

Marguerite coughs suddenly.

Siobhan turns toward Marguerite.

Safira finally lifts her dark gaze to the King, inhaling in soft surprise as she finally drinks in the very sight of him. "I am Masheed. I have been instructed and taught all the arts of entertainment and pleasure." She lifts her slender fingers to her brow, her braclets jingling melodically with the motion, " I come to you of free will and mind..." With a demure enthusiasm barely held in check, she adds, "And I hope that I can please you and yours in every way."

Siobhan raises an eyebrow. You and .yours.? She barely suppresses a chuckle.

Marguerite whispers to Siobhan.

Ogden's lips thin as he listens to the words, wisely managing to school his features.

King Bradley glances once in the direction of the sound of Marguerite's cough quickly before looking back at the woman. "Ah..." He swallows before replying in a bit of a rush, "Yes, you are most welcome here and..." He stumbles before continuing. "And I am certain that you will please... that is, I am certain that you will find D'Image a pleasant home." He takes a deep breath. Are King's supposed to blush like this?

Khalid surreptitiously watches the reactions around the room.

A woman's soft chuckle seeps from the anteroom.

Siobhan glances toward the anteroom. What now, pray tell?

Safira's features light up at the King's decision and she arcs a bare arm over her head and gracefully executes a flourishing bow. "You honor me, Majesty. I am grateful you find me pleasing and I promise that your decision will never be regrettable."

Khalid glances over shoulder toward the doorway, recognizing Yasmi's laughter.

Claudia steps through the curtain from the anteroom.
Claudia has arrived.

King Bradley clears his throat and straightens a bit. "Nay, Lady Safira, you honor me." He doesn't even address the issue of regret. "Ambassador Khalid," he says formally, "You have brought many splendid and wondrous things for us. We are most certainly honored by your presentations, and..." he tries to finish the statement, looking at the Ambassador, not Safira. "And once more, it is our pleasure to welcome you to our lands."

Khalid drops to his knee again, ending as he began. There is audible relief in his voice as he answers, "I will have your thanks conveyed to our revered Shataan, and to my father, who enjoyed greatly his time in the diplomatic service of D'Image. I am humbled to take up his duties, for I am not experienced in the ways of your culture or politics, but will try to learn quickly." He touches fingertips to forehead, chin and heart in salutation.

Prince Gareth lifts his eyes to the balcony, his lips tightening with sorrow.

Claudia makes a her way into the throne room, hesitation to her step. She stops, upon seeing the group gathered and she hovers near the doorway, hoping not to interrupt what is so obviously an important moment.

Safira also drops to one knee, echoing Khalid's actions with her own, her fingers whispering against her brow, chin and then across the thin material over her heart.

King Bradley smiles at Khalid, perhaps a touch of similar relief visible. "I am certain that you will serve well in this position, Ambassador Khalid. Come, and we will enjoy the fine foods that the castle chefs have prepared for us together, and speak further." He looks up and says in a slightly louder voice, "Let us move on to the reception!"

Prince Gareth steps off the dais to join his brother.

Safira glances at Khalid from beneath sooty lashes before lifting her gaze to the King. "Sayid, if it pleases you, shall I meet you in your quarters?"

Thak descends the spiral staircase that leads up to the spectator's balcony.
Thak has arrived.

Siobhan rises, murmuring to Marguirite, "I think I'll have that brandy now."

Thak bounds down the stairs. Someone said the magic words.

King Bradley replies to Safira, "I will... have a servant escort you to quarters for the night."

Even as King Bradley says this, servants bustle in setting up the buffet and loading it down with trays of drink and finger delicacies.

Those waiting in the balcony start coming down to join the party.

Back to Khalid's page