Tepet Nishal hesitated a moment to adjust his fingers on the keys of his flute, but instead of the expected soft, dulcet tone, the instrument let out a piercing shriek. Wincing, Nishal lowered the instrument and glanced at his mother. Tepet Tulia dropped her book to her lap with a huff. “He told me you were improving. That will never do in good company. Start again.” With a slight nod of his tiny raven head, Nishal did what he was told, bringing the flute back to his lips in shaky hands. A tremulous breath brought a quavering sound, at first, but after a moment, he fell into the gentle, soothing tune. He could almost forget why his stomach felt queasy, until a woman's agonized scream cut through the house. The sound was followed by another shriek of the flute.

Tulia's eyes flitted toward the door of the sitting room, but she made no move her lithe but rounding frame from the pile of silk pillows she rested on. She seemed to Nishal, however, more like a board trying to lounge. “Again, Nishal, and louder.” He did as asked, though his mouth was suddenly very dry. He tried to push breath through the instrument, and succeeded in making more shrieks and squawks than anything else. Every few moments or so, another scream punctuated the tortured sound of the flute. Tulia tried to appear unaffected, though even child Nishal could see through the effort.

Finally, the screams became constant, and Nishal gave up his musical trials. He put the flute down on its stand and fixed his mother with a grave look. “What's going on? Is that Lada screaming?” Nishal liked the slave woman. She was always nice to him and sneaked him treats when no one was watching.

“That is none of your business, child,” Tulia snapped. “Concentrate on your studies and stop asking questions.”

“He's six, and certainly in possession of his hearing. And, by no account is he stupid.” Helidah appeared in the door, linen sleeves rolled far up her arms and splattered with something Nishal thought looked like blood. The elderly tutor seemed far out of her element, and her gray hair was wild with loose strands. Nishal found a smile for her, even if she was being impertinent with her belated, “my lady.”

Tulia did not respond further than another huff, but turned an eagle's gaze on her six-year-old son. “None of your business, and certainly nothing to speak of. Not even to your father.” She didn't say more, but Nishal could hear the threat of horrible punishments in her voice if he even thought of disobeying. He merely nodded in assent, tongue feeling too thick for speech. Tulia absently ran a hand over her swelling belly and barked, “Now, go, study. Let me talk to Helidah alone.” Nishal bolted from the room.

A few steps out, he halted as the words drifting from behind him took actual form in his ears. “…care how you do it, but it must be done before my husband returns.” His mother.

“But…” Helidah did not continue. Nishal could only imagine the look his mother gave the mortal tutor for daring to question her betters. “It will be done.”

“And do not tell me…” Nishal did not listen further. Instead, he quietly padded down the arched hallway, soft-soled shoes making little noise on the marble floor. He paused at the study room, but did not enter. Looking around to make certain his mother and Helidah were nowhere to be seen, he continued down the hall and turned at the cross hallway toward the servants quarters, though he had long been forbidden to go down there. He knew everyone else had been sent away for a few days or were with his father.

It didn't take long to find the right direction, though each wooden door along the plain hall looked like the next. Nishal merely followed the sound of crying. It sounded like a baby, and when he opened the third door on the left, he found just that.

The tiny room was wrecked. Bloody towels and bowls of water sat haphazardly around. The slave Lada sat propped on a straw-filled mattress. Every stray strand of her gold streaked brown hair was plastered with sweat. Even the pair of braids she wore on each side of her head hung limp. A bundle wrapped in brown linen sat cradled in her arms, the source of the cries. “Are…are you all right, Lada?”

Lada seemed to notice Nishal for the first time, blinking her red-rimmed blue eyes at him. “You should not be here, Nishal.” Her barbarian accent was thick today, giving a strange lilt to his name. “Do not let that kle'chat find you.” Nishal didn't understand the word, but he understood the meaning. He nodded and turned.

Before he could leave, Lada stopped him with his name. The boy turned slowly back, cocking his head to one side. She was adjusting the bundle in her arms, speaking as she did. “I do not think you will not see me again, little one,” Lada spoke softly. “May I ask a favor?”

Nishal swallowed back the stinging of tears now. “Yes.”

“Two. Remember that you rest in my soul, even if I am carried on the wind to the next life. I no longer care if I am not to say such things.” She delicately pulled the wrappings from around the baby's head.

“I won't forget you ever, Lada.” He sniffled, and she gave him a soft smile.

“The other is this.” She held the baby up so Nishal could see it. He could only see the tiny, wrinkled head poking out of the linen, a thick thatch of raven hair sticking straight up. “Remember what you see here, even if you cannot speak of it. Now go.” He started to say something else to the slave woman, but she would hear nothing. “Go.”

The force of the word sent Nishal scurrying, running back down the hallways as fast as his little feet could carry him. He was breathless when he hit his study room. Grabbing one of his books from a shelf, he threw himself down on a pile of pillows in the corner. Just in time, as he heard the music room door slam shut and footsteps in the hall. He opened the book, in case one of them poked their head in, but saw none of it. He forced himself to shove back the strange puzzle of the day so that he wouldn't cry. He couldn't let Tulia or Helidah catch him in tears.

Part One: The Last Days of Innocent Schemes

Usually, in the free hours, students split off or mingled, fought or loved. Some studied. Some moved toward devotions. But this day most, especially the elder students who at least had an inkling of goings on, found reason to congregate in the courtyards, along with no few teachers. The air buzzed softly with faint whispers, light breeze carrying wisps of rumor, some outrageous, some official, and even a few close to the truth. Everyone wondered what 'sudden business' would have their guest weapons teacher leaving so quickly and quietly so close to the end of term. One student did not wonder, sitting with his lean frame propped against a wall. Crystalline blue eyes watched over the book he pretended to read to hide his grimly satisfied little smile.

“Isn't he a cousin through your mother, Nishal?” An airy voice approached from beside the lithe boy, speaking without preamble.

Nishal dropped the pretense of reading by shutting the book and laying it aside. He grunted a laugh. “Not that he would recognize even if it were more than a distant relation, Layli.” Frowning, he watched the figure across the courtyard head toward the gates. Even from where Nishal sat, he could see the signs shouting for all of Creation to know the man was Dragon Blooded.

“Still, it was a cruel thing to do.” Nishal felt her sit down next to him, her hip against his.

“What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”

“Maybe because he failed you in the last major exam?” Layli didn't wait for an answer. “I'm not sure that warrants ruining a life. Really, Nishal. One of these days someone is going to figure out where these nasty little rumors originate.”

Rolling his eyes, Nishal shot back defensively, “I do not use that tactic that often.” The distant figure disappeared into the gate. “Only when there is enough to validate, and I know action will be taken.” He looked over at his old friend finally. Layli blinked pale blue eyes rapidly, a visual of realization dawning in deep within her pale haired head.

“You mean it's true? About him and the boys?”

Smirking, Nishal answered sardonically, “Why do you think he failed me?”

Layli scowled slightly. “I take it you refused, then.” Her voice was edged with a hint of anger, which meant she was truly mad, eyes flashing in the direction the former teacher had disappeared.

Sighing deeply, Nishal scrubbed a hand through his shoulder length black hair. For anyone but Layli, he would leave it at that. Instead, he began, “Three days before the exam, he made an offer of extra lessons. No one thought I needed them, but since everyone knows I'm destined to be Legion fodder…” He trailed as she nodded once. Being a son of two military lines did have certain expectations, no matter what said son wanted. But Layli knew all about that bitterness, and Nishal felt no need to dwell there. “Anyway, I went to meet him at the appointed time, and after a very twisted and one sided discussion of certain aspects of philosophy, it became very apparent that his chosen weapon for the evening was not one often used on a battlefield. When I refused, he threatened failure. I honestly didn't think he'd have the absolute gall to do that, given who my father is.” He looked off toward the gates again.

“But that's just it, isn't it?” Layli almost sounded rhetorical as she pieced things together.

“Yes. I made some delicate inquiries after. From what I can gather, he didn't take this position to teach weapons so much as prey on those of us not fortunate enough to be…blessed, but have a great deal to lose.” Nishal grunted softly. “I was one of the older ones. His mistake. If he had only just asked…he certainly isn't a bad looking man. Oh the irony.”

“And the school decided to risk getting rid of him rather than have a score of angry parents.” He could almost feel her arch a brow. “I suppose his exams will be…adjusted.” He answered her with a grin. They sat in silence for a time before she said, softly, “You really should be careful, Nishal. I would hate for anything to happen to you.”

“They believe they cannot be touched, that they can do anything they choose, no matter what the Order teaches. Sometimes they must be reminded that we cannot simply be abused or ignored, and we must take on that ourselves.” Nishal pulled his legs to his chin and rested his head on them, looking at Layli again. She fixed him with a small smirk, 'absently' playing with a lock of pale hair that was already taking on a bluish tint. “No offense.”

“None taken. I know twisting philosophy for one's own ends when I hear it. I certainly do not ignore you.” Her eyes took on a mischievous glint. “Though I make no promises about abuse.” She snaked a hand over and pinched him lightly, well out of sight of anyone.

Nishal laughed. “Why are you still friends with me, anyway?”

“Because I choose to be.” Layli stuck her tongue out at him, a hint of old days when they were still equals.

They sat in silence again, comfortable, Nishal feeling warm and good. In a short time, they would have to go their separate ways again, Ledaal Layli disappearing into a world Nishal would probably be lucky to ever touch. But for now, all was well. Or would have been save for the young girl that came skipping along. The tiny girl had the same dark hair as he, the same lean bone structure. She had not had enough time to start taking on any sort of aspects. The smile vanished from Nishal's face and quickly replaced with the best false one he could muster. “Hello, Timri.”

“There you are! Mother wrote.” Timri bubbled. “She sent along a couple of things.” The child handed over a small box of some sort of sweets, the token gift to Nishal that Tulia always sent for appearances. His smile became more forced as his sister kept speaking. “She says that she and Father are coming to the end of year recitals. Isn't that wonderful?”

“Splendid,” Nishal answered, a lot more dryly than intended.

Eyes widening into a disgustingly cute plea, Timri stated, “You will play. The sunset swan song. It's my absolute favorite.”

It took every speck of Nishal's resolve not to grimace, keeping his smile pasted on. “Of course.” He bowed his head. Timri squealed and bounded off like some puppy.

Layli had been silent the whole time. Now she spoke, pale eyebrow arched high. “You were saying?”

Nishal sucked his teeth and swore softly. “Yes, well, there's ideals and then there's practicality. That one I have to be nice to so that she might be willing to throw me a few scraps from her table if I reach dotage, or risk being cut off by Mother dear. So I'll play that bloody awful song.” He opened the box of sweets and took one, offering silently to Layli.

Taking one of the sugary sweets, Layli smirked. “And anything else she wants?” Nishal merely snorted, popping the candy into his mouth.

A gong sounded. The courtyard quickly started clearing. Nishal and Layli, in contrast, slowly dragged themselves up and started walking toward the hall for afternoon meal. They would have to sit at two different tables, of course. Before they reached the doors, Layli leaned close and whispered, “Can you get out tonight?”

“Of course.” His mood improved a bit.

“Meet me on the roof of the House of Knowledge at midnight.” She flashed him a small grin. “I have a present for you.”

The rest of the day went quickly until Nishal found himself in bed, blanket tucked up to his chin and stomach doing flips. It took an agonizing length of time before the rest of his housemates were asleep, before it was close enough to time to rise and creep quietly toward the 'pot room. After a short stop to relieve himself, Nishal slipped out a 'secret' door. Everyone knew about it, even the teachers, but they pretended they didn't. Most of the time, the teachers turned a blind eye to small amounts of rule breaking, so long as one wasn't stupid enough to get caught at it. Therefore, Nishal took a very circuitous route through passages, hallways, windows. The hardest part was the courtyard, as the guards kept a close watch, but moonless shadows hid him from their eyes. At almost exactly midnight, Nishal found himself on the roof of one of the classroom buildings.

Layli was already there and he took a moment to watch her. She stood silhouetted against the stars, lit softly by a few errant candles from not too distant windows. The breeze caught her hair and lifted it, made her dress dance around her legs. Nishal swallowed his heart and cleared his throat.

They didn't exchange a single word. Days upon days of public restraint drove them straight into each other's arms, releasing flurries of pent up kisses. No thoughts intruded on Nishal, just a single-minded drive toward pleasure, hands instinctively finding the right places.

Layli clasped a hand on his wrist before Nishal got her dress to the top of her thigh. “Wait,” she whispered. For a moment, a small panic gripped him, the little part of him that every day expected her to spurn him. They had been friends since the first day of school, lovers since they were old enough to discover such things, but there was the little nagging fear that one day she'd realize he wasn't good enough for her, planted on the day she Exalted. However, the tiny smile on her face quickly smashed his fears almost as soon as the thoughts entered. Layli beckoned with a finger while guiding him with the hand she held. Nearby, she had placed out a blanket with a small bottle and two glasses. Letting go, Layli dropped gracefully to the blanket and motioned for Nishal to do the same. Doing so, he watched her curiously, tucking his legs up underneath himself. Delicate, pale fingers disappeared into a pocket and her smile widened as she pulled out a small wax pouch and held it up between them. “One benefit of Grandfather being Cynis,” she began conversationally, “is that he has some absolutely wicked ideas about how one should relieve stress before last exams.”

Nishal said nothing, just returned her smile and waited expectantly. This wasn't the first time Layli's grandfather had sent special treats, and they were always far, far better than anything Tulia ever sent. Layli picked up the bottle and poured a bit of red liquid into each of the cups. “You'll like this, I think. The best effects are achieved with wine. Getting the wine was the hard part.” Fine powder followed the liquid, then she picked up both cups and held one out for Nishal. He took it and clinked his together with hers before drinking. “Now, take off your clothes and lay back.”

She didn't have to say it twice. In a very short amount of time, Nishal was naked and sprawled on his back on the blanket. He got the idea that she was waiting. She lay beside him without touching him. Nishal closed his eyes. After a time, he became aware that he could feel the soft breeze on every tiny hair on his arms, then every part of his body. The stone of the roof fell away, and then he was floating. His limbs filled with warmth. And then she was there, touching him, over him. Each caress went to the edge of pain, though her weight seemed nothing. Nishal was nothing but a coiled ball of pleasure, and he found himself with a mouth full of blanket to keep from announcing their illicit meeting to the entire school.

Both were breathless when she left him, each mirroring each other in lying sprawled and panting. Nishal still had the floating feeling, but the sensitivity left him by increments. “Well?” He heard Layli ask playfully.

“I think I may be in love with your grandfather.” Layli giggled at him. Suddenly, Nishal had to get off the blanket, stumbling to his knees and making it only a marginally acceptable distance before emptying his stomach of every meal he'd ever eaten in his life. “Of course,” he cracked weakly when his stomach settled, “the comedown is a wicked bitch.” He turned and tried to smile at Layli, barely able to keep himself upright for the dizziness. Cramps settled into his shoulders.

No smile ghosted Layli's face. Instead, her brow furrowed deeply and she smoothly made her way to him. “That was just Heaven Dust. It shouldn't do that, even to…you.” She planted a hand on his forehead, then felt the rest of his face. “You're burning up! I thought you felt a bit warm earlier…were you sick earlier?”

“A little queasy.” Nishal let her brace him back to the blanket and help him with his clothing. He couldn't keep hold of much of anything. “But I didn't think anything of it.”

Layli felt his face again, alarm apparent in her voice. “We've got to find you some help. Come on.”

He shook his head and immediately regretted the move, as it took several heartbeats for the world to stop moving. “We'll get in trouble.”

Taking him by his shoulders, Layli looked him straight in the face. “Either you're going to be spending the last few weeks of school in a new dormitory or you're very ill. Which ever, you need help now.” Concern was etched in her face, and that was enough for him to acquiesce to her.

They went the straight way down thorough the empty classroom building. Nishal was finding it hard to walk and had to stop every once in a while. Each pause seemed to bring a hint of panic to the usually unreadable face of the young woman. During one, he whispered, “You really do love me, don't you. I love you too.”

She kissed his cheek and dragged him on. After a short eternity, they were found. Shouts made their way through Nishal's addled brain, something about being in trouble, and Layli explaining. It seemed to be taking a long time. And then there was pain, as if something grabbed the left side of his body and wrenched it. Vaguely through the haze, he sensed he was falling, every muscle in his body joining the others in contracting and releasing. A metallic taste filled his mouth. More shouting preceded unfamiliar hands on his body right before darkness fell.

Synopsis: The Circle departs Sijan posthaste with what remains of their research materials. This implies that they must next travel to Rathess … source of the Magog Locus they apparently recovered in Great Forks. The name Anthant is also uncovered … the same one allegedly behind the Great Forks incident?

Start Date: 20 Descending Air

Before getting very far, however, they encounter another air boat … the Haslanti vessel that Albrecht spotted and briefly thought was his own (back in Session 7).

Ultimately, the Circle is caught in battle with a third airship. One of significantly advanced design and obviously potent armament. Captained by Albrecht's mutinous former mate, Greuber!

After escaping, the Circle continues on toward Rathess…

End Date: 21 Descending Air

End of Act II

Obsidian Requiem is now officially on hiatus, as of Friday.

The logs for the last three sessions are partially complete, but I don't know when I'll have a chance to finish them. Hopefully soon.

Friday after next is the chargen session for Delphinium and Larkspur.