To the Rhythm of Escape and Gold

[Cira]

[glow=red,2,300]This thread matches up with the “Disaster Strikes” and “A Bitter and Battered Cira Returns” thread on Phoenix Guild (http://guildofphoenix.proboards21.com/index.cgi) and overlaps with “On the Way to Avalon” [/glow]

Thanks to Theoren, Cira was alive. It was his sacrifice that had gotten her the elixir of life that had partially returned her strength and it was her own salve that had kept her wounds clean and given her battered flesh a chance to heal. Despite the slow return of her body, some injuries ran far below the surface and some wounds no elixir can heal. The abuses that Cira had long suffered under Keaira had turned the naïve desert girl into a calculating, smoldering rat. But the loss of her eye had been a difficult blow to her mental stability. She had long been unhealthy but now she saw herself as deformed. There was no chance she would ever become the warrior that her father had once hoped she would. Nightmares became almost a nightly occurrence and day by day she became harder, more dangerous and desperate. She could almost feel herself rotting from the inside, filling with putrid rage beneath her continuingly servile shell. There were only two options that remained to her in this state of constant physical and mental agony. She could either kill herself (it would be easy enough to hang herself by her own collar in the privacy of her sleeping cell) or she could escape. Escape. The word was constantly singing in the back of her mind. It was the rhythm to which she scrubbed the floors, cooked the meals and took every limping step.

It was only when she was stealing that Escape was vanquished from her mind, when all her concentration was on gold. Together this made the heart beat of her waking life

Escape
and gold…
Escape
and gold…
Escape
and gold…<br>
But even as her will to break out crystallized and her strategizing became more daring and violent, Theoren disappeared. There was no one else in the Phoenix Guild that she would deal with; believing that bringing more people into her life would only bring on another disaster like that with Yullen. She saw the woman on occasion, another conquered slave under her mistress. She no longer knew whether Yullen had betrayed her or the other way around, nor did she care. Like so many other new slaves, Cira let them fend for themselves. Their death only made it more likely that she would live to see another day. Another gold… perhaps escape.

When Theoren’s death had trickled down to her ears, her pockets were already full with a night of hard labor. She had not had the strength for tears for months and only felt another organ within her withered body begin to rot away. The new pain was barely noticeable against the darkness of the old. He had abandoned her, flitted off to hell where he had belonged all along. God damn the Phoenix Guild. God damn him. May he one day understand how he had left her to flounder. Along with his death came a death to hope. From then on, there was just gold… gold… gold… waiting for the moment when an escape would once more be given to her by the heavens above.

She barely waited more than a week or two.

If there was no honor among thieves then there was down right treachery among slaves. Though Cira was greatly reduced by constant starvation and torture, she had managed to hold her position as one of the strongest and most deadly of Keaira’s slaves. Out of the eye sight of their mistress, the pecking order was brutal. It was not uncommon for a new slave, too timid to exert their strength to die of starvation while their bolder comrade ate their rations. Cira had quickened the demise of many a young man or woman to last a little longer. Compared to this, manipulation Aerillia into her bargaining chip was nothing.

[Cira]

Though Aerillia had not seen a soul as she was escorted through the castle, it did not mean that they were not their. Shrinking back from their Mistress’ presence, the slaves were like bees in a hive, always present and always working. And while Keaira had not made much of the similarity between Aerillia’s features and Cira’s, the others had speculated that the two were sisters and a few delusional wretches had wondered what Cira was doing in such fine clothes. News traveled quickly, even among those bound to silence. Though she was due to spend a she next day and a half stealing, Cira made her way through the endless labyrinth towards the torture room where she knew Keaira and the Desert Slave would be. Despite all her psychosis, she could always depend on this predictability. In halls that were meant to echo screams, all Cira heard was gold and Escape.

"I am 25, mistress!” Even though she had arrived quickly after the capture, there was already pain evident in the new slave’s voice. This confession was punctuated by the familiar melody of whip snaps, making Cira’s skin sting in sympathy. "Ysaena! I am Ysaena mistress!"

There was only one Ysaena in Ayenee just as there was only Doane. Aerillia, the woman that had once done her the favor of beating her, the closest link to her desert past was now her sister in slavery. The rage bubbled up within, as she imagined how Keaira could pit them against each other. It would be like Yullen all over again. She would kill Aerillia the minute they were alone together. It would not be suspect for a new slave to die so quickly. The minutes past and in her head, the cry for gold grew louder. The longer she waited, the less time there was to meet her quota. She would need to work herself to exhaustion to make up for the time that she spent here, soaking up the screams, but the sing-song call for Escape kept her grounded.

"I was on my way to Avalon, Mistress. The men were my…The men were my guard... The Queen is High Queen of Ulster… She is known to many...many countries and Kingdoms mistress. I am known to her as her friend and a Priestess of Avalon."

There it was. A way out! This Queen of Ulster was power to attach herself to in the gaping absence of Theoren. A smile spread across her disfigured features making it seem more gnarled than usual. Tonight she would not only go thieving, she would go thieving abroad. Beneath her quick footsteps, only one word could be heard

Escape, Escape, Escape.

[Cira]

“I am here to see the High Queen of Ulster. You much take me to her immediately.”<br>
It was after midnight and Cira had walked all night to arrive at the gate of the castle in Emain Macha. Despite the many “riches” that Keaira had bestowed upon her over the years, she was a bedraggled mess. Her clothes, earned off the back of another slave, They had once been a white tunic and loose pants but the white was lost beneath layers of stains, dirt, grime and splatters of blood, not to mention the odor. Out of kindness to others she had covered her sunken eye socket by wrapping a rag around her head. The rest of her face was hidden beneath a deteriorating veil. At best she appeared to be a miserable beggar, at worse… something hell itself would spit out in distaste.

“The Queen is resting. She will see no one.” The guard did not approach the young woman hiding beneath the rags. Working he grave yard shift often meant dealing with the many disheveled and freakish to sought audience with the Queen, hoping that she would solve their woes or remove the pink elephants that followed them in their dreams. He found that it was best to be kind and frank, give them little hope so they would not return, and pay them no unnecessary unkindness since life had already paid them far too much.

“I have a message for her. You must wake her immediately.” Cira responded strongly. For one who was so used to being given orders, she took on the role amazingly easily when outside her Mistress’ gaze. She stood tall, despite the fact that her posture was weak from one too many beatings. There would be no turning her away without serious manhandling.

“If you give me the message, I will pass it on to the Queen’s advisors first thing in the morning and it will be dealt with as seen fit. The Queen cannot be disturbed for any reason.” He would not be intimidated by this pitiable girl. The likelihood that she had anything of value to tell the Queen was exceptionally small. All he could hope would be to satisfy her and send her away. Perhaps with a bit of the sandwich he kept for his break time.

“My message is for the ears of the High Queen of Ulster and only hers. It is the Priestess of Avalon’s life that hangs in the balance, the Ysaena woman.” She paused for a moment, trying to conjure up the name that she had heard so long ago. “I believe the High Queen would wish to have Aerillia back alive.” Had she said ‘open sesame’ the gates would not have opened any faster for her. He was under strict orders that any news of Aerillia was to be brought to her attention immediately. No one in the public knew of her kidnapping. Even her escorts had been sworn to secrecy to prevent false ransoms.

Cira entered the castle behind the guard. The amount of riches that lined the hallways far outnumbered those that even Keaira seemed to posses. A single artifact, slipped so easily beneath the folds of her costume would surely please her mistress for more than a week to come. A glorious week when Cira could leave the realm and fulfill only her own simple pleasures: the stars, the warmth of a fire, sleep. It was by the strongest of self restraint that she held her arms close to her side. The whole way, the guard was talking, briefing her on the proper decorum for addressing the Queen. Had her matters been less urgent she would have been bathed, her clothes changed before being granted audience. These words fell on deaf ears as Cira focused inwards on what to say. She was playing a game of puppetry with players far too large for her to control. She would need to speak carefully if she were to have any hope of success. A single slip and the plan would be worthless. She would strangle Aerillia for the disappointment of it all. The throne room was dimply lit with the torches that burned all night long. The guard looked back at the strange messenger uncertainly. “You are to stay here and touch nothing. The Queen will be with you shortly.” He then hurried out of the room, knowing that the sooner he had passed on the message to wake the Queen, the sooner he could return and see what mischief Cira could have done upon the throne room. His fears were misplaced though, all her mischief she planned to execute in the presence of the Queen herself. For now she merely knelt on the plush rug, her head bowed so low that it brushed against the fibers as she waited to greet her new mistress.

[Kahlan Lothair]

Kahlan was to be found outside on a balcony overlooking the sea beyond the walls of the castle. Dark clouds coalesced on the horizon like the thick paste a painter might use to smear across his canvas. It was early yet for the rains of spring and yet the scent of fresh water tickled Kahlan's senses. A flash of blue light and the spider-like tentacles of electricity snaking across the sky in the distance proved her assumptions. Rain was coming, and coming with a diligent purpose.

With her back to the set of open double doors, Kahlan was oblivious to the first sound of a voice calling her name. As the call became persistant, like the nagging buzz of a bee, the High Queen turns to find the source with a slightly puzzled look on her face.

"M'lady, I apologize for disturbing your--" and yet the guard could not say 'rest' for Kahlan was obviously not resting in any typical sense. "...thoughts. There is someone here to see you. A young girl that says she has information about Aerillia and you made it clear to seek you out should any such lead come forth." The guard began to fidget as Kahlan eyed him closely, still trying to comprehend what she was being told. The tall blonde noticed this moments later and diverted her gaze to the flash of purple and blue light in the distance before pondering how to answer.

Kahlan was a striking figure to behold with her long loose curls of molten gold hair and peculiar eyes that fluctuated between shades of green, blue, and grey. Tonight was no exception as the noblewoman stared into oblivion with a nonchalant attitude about her. Long legs were hidden underneath a pair of black colored breeches while her upper body boasted an offwhite shirt covered by a topaz shaded bodice. It was practical attire but not exactly what someone might picture the ruler of Ulster wearing. Kahlan's voice, soft now after a long day, sounds like the peal of a small bell ringing in a confusing thick fog.

"I will see this informer personally, thank you for bringing this to my attention." Pushing away from the balcony railing Kahlan watched as the guard melted back into the inky darkness before she herself accepted the shroud. Bare feet gratefully accepted the presence of thick carpeting as a persistent chill often inhabited the Castle well into the early months of spring.

The persistent cackle of thunder ricocheted off of the inner stone walls of what was thought to be an unimpregnable fortress in Emain Macha. The sound filtered down to Kahlan in whispered rush as the woman took to the stairs and hallways leading to the Throne Room where she was to meet this 'Informer'. It was like some dischordant music to the Queen, a fortelling of electric proportions, or so a fortune teller might conjure to coerce a few copper out of your pouch.

In a matter of minutes Kahlan was at the backdoor to the Throne Room without so much as a sweat breaking across her brow, but then again a sweet chill permeated the air. Winter still wanted to lay its icy fingers into Ulster's hindquarters, but Spring was fast approaching as the sound of thunder rumbling punctuated Kahlan's thoughts. Taking a short pause to straighten her appearance, Kahlan finally opens the door (which to her ears sounded all to much like diamond grating against glass) and steps inside. The door shuts behind her and a gust blows her hair forward over her shoulders.

Bare feet made soft patting noises as silence slowly chased the pale Queen with fervent need to swallow her movements while she surveyed the scene. Finally Kahlan speaks to the small malnourished form that looked more crumpled against the floor than bowed. "I understand you have information about Aerillia Khisu?" It was a question and a demand spoken by a woman that was not only used to being answered but by and far not afraid of what might be thrown at her.

[CrimsonWinds]

Haunted....You're so beautiful Rilith, Such a figure of beauty, such a trophy, let me touch, Let me feel..let me have you..."

A hand outreached for nothingness, eyes of slumber took most of the day for the light did nothing but annoy and frustrate those who cannot stand it for too long. Voices in the deep....Song of agony, spinning and turning, twisting and burning, scourching and bleeding, draining and refilling in his mind, then that hand, so dark and yet so beautiful. So entising and yet so dangerous. " Sleep my pet, You are mine now." A chuckle was heard in the forest, bouncing off the evergreen grass and the strong trees of old, filling the dark forestry with an evil wind, that would remain as a chill to the bones.

" Morrigan. Morrigan.." Another strong voice would reply. " Morrigan, Lady of my heart, destroying of my dreams.....My Morrigan." The voice was stronger then as the chuckle grew into a laughter, silent then, but just as deadly as a rose, cliffing the very end of a neck, letting the thorn pass through flesh and being, piercing blood and soul alike.

Rilith woke up, sweat dripping down his face as he looked around, the very ideals of what NimRuin seemed to face, Morrigan was doing to him, and although he was a Drow, he was frieghtened somewhat. He was to serve her, to be her puppet for as long as he lived in Ulster. However, he would serve to the purpose of his High Queen, in which really Morrigan doth feared, for it was in Kahlan's power that this Celtic land be held up. Without her will and her life, the very Celtic border would crumble, leaving the gods of the Irish at wars with all others, So in face they needed her more then they wanted to realize.

The chuckling left the forest as he moved, his cape just drawing back as it unfolded, the wind lifting it up and smoothing out the very rinkles it had. " Had fun as usual Morrigan, My goddess." He said softly as he could feel the touch of her breath upon his neck, his ebony neck. He only smiled as he walked, using his rather dark staff as a walking tool for the first few yards. After such an igination to see if he could keep his bones in working order for he was young and old at the same time, he just bounced, his legs strengthing as he looked up, feeling a soft breeze. He relaxed as he felt the very tensions of his dreams, his mind just fall into order. " Aww so beautiful. My queen is out this morning and night it seems."

With that he turned around, his hand just moving over ot his staff as he stood there, staring into the abyss awaiting something. He merely just smiled as he bowed lowly. He could then feel breathing upon his neck as he looked up, a black stallion waiting there, eyes of feriousity just staring into his face, as he bowed lowly. " Dark Horse, Take me to thy kingdom, and bear me away so i may furfill my duties this Morn'in". With his words, so sweet and soft, it soothed the horse as it was indeed a very orignal temptation spell, and it obviously worked for his mind just blurred as the horse ran, the very vibrations of the hooves meeting the ground was harsh enough for his bones to feel. One step, two step, the horse would give a small sound. Three step, it would tighten, the fourth step, everything around him blurred as the horse seemed to jump into the very wind, allowing it to carry him, a teleportation method.

Against after the fourth step did he see the very blurr of reality moving around him as he viewed the gates of Ulster, again blur for the horse gave a stronger speed, and moved outside of the gate, then yet again, his frame inside of the castle. He drew off the horses back as he smiled. " Rest now my friend, for you time has only begun." He said wisely as he turned around, twisting and turning, his morbid body just fell into the shadows, his cape falling behind him as he moved like a shadow, a wratih of the night, not seeking to kill, but seeking for knowledge.

Entering the inner palace he looked around, lavender eyes just piercing all objects around him as he smelt the air. " A touch of everlasting beauty. and where is she." he said as she waited into the throne room, being proper about it as he wished to talk with Kahlan, but he sensed a bit of anxious behavior, a bit of joy and fear. He turned around he stood in the shadow of the throne room, his staff just hiding his form as he listened, but always did that lavender eyes glow in the dark as he waited, listening as the winds themselve spoke tales of truth.

[Cira]

In the dim light of the abandoned throne room, Cira knelt in silence, her eyes shut somewhere between sleep and meditation. She would need all her capabilities, all her faculties and the fate of the stars above to survive this night and those soon to come. She had jumped into a serpent’s nest on the singular theory that it would be less venomous than the one she had jumped out of. She knew nothing of the High Queen of Ulster other than the connecting with Aerillia and the obvious power and wealth displayed by the castle and the lands of Ulster. It was possible that for her impertinence of coming here, and for the impertinence that she was about to show, she would soon be dead. Once such possibility would have warded her off, but the friendly warmth and comfort of death no longer frightened her as it once did.

The sound of the grand door opening and closing roused her from her thoughts though she did not move. It was best to be too formal, too subservient than to be too brash. Never lifting her eyes about Kahlan’s knees, she spoke softly though loud enough to easily be heard.

“High Queen of Ulster, I have come here at great risk to my own worthless life to bring you news of the woman once called Aerillia Khisu. I have no permission from my mistress to be here. I beg of you that I may speak freely, though I am not worthy of your presence.”<br>
Keaira would have beat her senseless for daring to make such assumptions of her freedom to address a free person let alone one of power, but despite her submissive demeanor, Cira was here to make deals and for this she would need to speak on some sort of even terms.

Assuming she was granted freedom to speak, she rose up to sit back on her heels, keeping her eyes lowered in deference to the queen. “I have seen Aerillia. She is alive, though she has been captured by my mistress.” She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she had already given out more information than she should have. She let the pause last long enough just to draw her in then added softly. “Please High Queen, I fear I have made a great mistake by coming here. I am granted the rare privilege to leave my mistress’ realm to earn her money. I shall lose a hand if I return to her without the three hundred and fifty gold pieces she expects. Already I have spent so much time coming here.” It was obvious what she wanted: payment for the information she had to offer. To Kahlan this might seem like pittance for news of her dear friend but it was fifty gold pieces more than Keaira would ever expect from her. If the plan were to go sour, at least cira would have made enough money to buy herself salves for her wounds and scraps of meat if she ever dared. Her heart beat hard within her chest as she waited for the verdict. If Kahlan turned her down she would apologize profusely for wasting her time and leave. Perhaps an artifact on her way out of the castle could save the evening.

[CrimsonWinds]

: His lavender eyes closed as he listened, hearing the dying breath of wind just cast from the very heavens as it flowed downwards, brushing aside a piece of his snow white hair. His ebony complexion mixed well in the shadows as he remembered the time of the Drow.

Where the Matrons forged a Drow army and attacked the dwarves, in their conquest to leave the Underground caverns. The drow were feirce and very very subtle in their attacks, their front lines actually breaking into the very foundations of the outside world, but the only set back was the Drow's worst realization. They could not cast magic in the sun, so to their own demise the dwarves and human's casted the night Drow back into the abyss where they dwelled. He had been one of those drow, a high general of command during the army, for he was the first to see the sun and feel its affects, but cleverly he slipped back into the underworld saving his hide and a few others that he could bear.

However since he had been the male who was in charge he was beaten for his inability to lead a successful expedition, but he didn't care, the very stell that met his flesh only healed once he was let go for his magic was stronger then most of the wizards, saved one, a boy who he had been playing with since he was a child. " NimRuin." He said softly as that name fell from his tongue, slipping into nothingness. His mind focused again as his pointed ear just twitched, picking up sounds of a woman, he did not recognize. He listened as Drow held the best sense of hearing.

He merely walked int he shadows as he stopped, letting the guards pass by, having his cloaked cape upon his shoulders, so he could hide. It was best not to scare the guards for they were always so dramatic. Standing in the corner he could see his queen, his friend, the only women, who could be just a year or so older then him, stand there like a mountain who could not be moved. Leaning against the wall he watched over this girl, acknowledging her frame and face as he nodded his head, a gesture of a bow that could not be seen. " Even servants are royalty for they are what the land is based on." He said to himself as he watched, his form lurking in the shadows with a smile.

[Kahlan Lothair]

Quietly the tall blonde matriarch took a seat on an ornately carved chair. If danger were ever present in the Kingdom it harbored itself in her and yet Kahlan appeared aloof--distant. If one were to come onto this situation without further knowing anything about Kahlan's nature they would assume she was a heartless, emotionless, cold Queen.

Ah, but what a mistake that would be to make! Quick eyes scan the young girl over before the slender form of the Queen bends at the waist. Planting her elbows on her knees and resting her head in her hands, Kahlan looked more like a wolf ready to pounce. Light from a myriad of torches flared for the briefest of moments as Kahlan spoke, slowly at first.

"You know of an Aerillia Khisu, or rather have found one in the clutches of your mistress." It was a statement, not a question. Kahlan looks Cira over with a calculating set of strangely emotionless grey eyes. It was as if the woman's countenance had changed in the matter of moments since her arrival. Truth be told, many had come to her with false leads and she was not about to be fooled again. "Tell me what this woman looks like. Tell me the color of her eyes, her skin, and her hair." Narrowing her eyes slightly, Kahlan's form is cast over with a silvery blue as a streak of lightning brightens the night sky beside her in the window. It was close, the storm, and yet the clap of thunder that ensues does not give the woman cause to blink her eyes.

Aerillia once spoke briefly of a young girl. The girl she had helped to stave off the beatings from a mistress. The Desert Rose had not given many details other than the girl was of a fiesty nature and a sworn enemy of her tribe. Kahlan, her eyes finally appearing to clear through clouds, rivets her piercing gaze on Cira. "Tell me her tribe. If you are whom I think you may be, then I will give you a quarter of what you ask for the information you have to give. If I deem it worthy you will be given the rest. If I do not find it suitable information for the price you will be escorted out of Ulster and given back to your mistress."

Rain began to fall outside as Kahlan finished her ultimatum. The gentle plinking of rain against glass soon became nails being driven by some unseen force. In the back of her mind she was aware of another presence in the room but she didnt find it a threat to her or her informer so she let it be. Kahlan's ultimatum would be hard to forego as she obviously meant what she said though the Queen was not as cruel as she seemed to be now.

Leaning back to rest against her high backed chair Kahlan watched Cira with interest to see if she would comply with what had been offered. A lazy strand of molten gold hair spirals down to brush against her left cheek as she watches, intrigued by her guest and the bandages about her head. She had obviously been beaten into submission many times and this gave Kahlan pause to wonder just what type of Mistress the girl had.

"Your name too child." Had anyone the knowledge of just who Kahlan was, or rather what she was, they would not fuss with her naming even the oldest among her a 'child'.

[Cira]

She never saw her calculating eyes, her tumbling blond hair or her stern look. Her eyes instead focused no higher than Kahlan’s feet as she considered only the tone of her voice. This told her enough to know that she was walking the edge of a dagger. Cira listened carefully to the instructions. She knew well the value of listening to orders and following them to the point. Kahlan’s distrust was not unexpected but it was disappointing. She had hoped to come in, make her deal and leave as quickly as possible. The risk of something going wrong was great if she could not inspire some sort of trust, some sort of pity. Most terrifying though, was this thought of being ‘escorted’ back to Keaira. Instinctually she seemed to flinch, her muscles tightening beneath her clothes.

Despite this miserable ultimatum, she hesitated, thinking through her words out carefully. After a moment of silence, Cira raised one hand from the floor and pulled the tattered veil from her face. The rag she wore more because her anonymity was like a security blanket to her, but she knew to show her face was to possibly gain trust. She looked up just enough to give Kahlan a good view of her face. There was a resemblance between the two women, the same skin, darkened by the sun, the same dark hair and dark eyes. Like Aerillia, Cira appeared to be a stranger in this light skinned land. As much as they were similar, the differences were equally as obvious. Where Aerillia was darker, Cira appeared sallow, her cheeks sunken in and cheek bones pronounced by undernourishment. Though both their hair was a deep black, Cira’s greasy locks hung thin and limp about her.

There were of course, other differences too obvious to be mentioned. There was the eye that appeared bandaged though, in truth, no eye existed at all and there were the tattoos, a beautiful pattern of design wrapping from her forehead, up along her scalp, down the nape of her neck and continuing below her collar. Cira never thought to hide where she had altered the tattoo only a couple of months ago, turning a set of markings that wrapped from behind her ear to the top of her spine into a phoenix, a hidden tribal version of Theoren’s tattoo. This rag doll, sniveling before her, trading information for a few hands of gold was a Phoenix Guild thief though she had given up on the guild when Theoren died.



“High Queen, she is a desert woman, like me. Her skin is similar color, though hers is slightly darker. Her hair too is black like mine. I fear I do not know the color of her eyes.” This was not difficult to believe since the girl had yet to hold eye contact. “She is Ysaena, the desert tribe to the south of the Doane people, less of strong warriors but controlling good land, at last I knew.” This was one of the few times she had said the name of the tribe without spitting but she held back, her voice soft and monotone. “We had met once before. I recognized her voice through the screams.” There was no emotion, even in this last sentence, nor should there be any doubt that Aerillia was indeed being tortured. Though the worse of her markings were still covered, there was no part of her body that did not contain some scar from Keaira.

“My name is--” For a moment she hesitated, seeming to find this to be the most difficult knowledge to give up. “was Cira, High Queen, though I no longer own my name as I no longer own my freedom. I beg you, High Queen of Ulster, if you are displeased with what I have told you, at least to me the kindness of granting me no escort. I do not wish to be to die this evening.”<br>
With this, she grew silent once more, her head dropping. Though she did not believe in god, she prayed that somehow Kahlan would be satisfied so that she could move on to her proposition. Never once as she answered these questions did she notice the stranger in the darkness nor would she have acknowledged him without the Queen’s permission.

[CrimsonWinds]

: Whispers of the wind just struck his face as he watched on, his eyes closed as his mind drew out the figures, feeling the heart beat of each, feeling how steady it was. He remembered when he confronted human's he had to kill, his walk in the dark just would make their heart rate quicken. They say you can judge a man's character like that, however Cira, the woman who spoke, seemed to have a very calm but in the same time, a rush to leave attitude. As if it was a trap, a desperation move to gain something so much more.

His eyes would open as he showed a deep set of lavender tilt, his patience just wearing thin as he could feel a heart beat, quickly just rising, his own keeping it slow deathly steady pace. A smile touched his face as he stayed in the shadows, concealing his form, and letting no one know, except for the High queen, where he was. He casted his right hand upwards, a soft tune left his lips as a cloak would fall over his form, drawing the light away from his body, leaving his form in a clear substance, to where he could not be seen. Invisibility some would call such a skill, but it was so much more if he were to expalin the theory. Standing there he just stared at Cira, his form quiet as a tiger stalking his prey. " So sweet words, and yet i sense trickery, however the queen will decide. He trusted her deeply.

[Kahlan Lothair]

Slowly, methodically, Kahlan rose from her hand carved throne with her eyes on Cira. Thunder clapped noisily, as if to clue her in to some unwholesome event. Taking the few short steps to Cira, Kahlan knew the girl had spoken truth. Aerillia was in obvious trouble by the looks of the girl before her now. Stopping before Cira the High Queen gazes down into her one good eye.

She looked almost exactly like Aerillia save she was pitifully thin and paler. No doubt this was from her prolonged captivity. Raising a hand to touch her bottom lip in thought, Kahlan looked more like a mercenary than any sort of High Born official. Steel colored eyes soon clouded over in thought as Cira's details spilled unbidden into the night's tumultuous air. Moving to the left a touch, to stand in the fractured light of a window, Kahlan's image blots out the harsh light so as to see the extent of the girl's damage.

"Your mistress has done this to you?" For the first time since opting to see Cira, Kahlan's face forms a light grimace. Pain was something not entirely alien to the woman and yet, seeing the girl's form bowed down before her was enough to make her ponder just what horrible things had thus far happened to Aerillia. "Cira is it? Cira..." The High Queen tasted the name, became familiar with its sound, and then tucked the information away somewhere in her mind for further reference.

"You shall have your wish." Turning as if to dismiss Cira entirely, Kahlan motions into the shadows where she had heard Rillith speak much by default rather than actually trying. "Rillith, will you wake the treasurer please? Morrigan will more than understand the task, I assure you." There was a smile, hidden somewhere on the young woman's full lips at the mention of Morrigan. The Goddess of Battle in the lands thought forsaken by God. A light chuckle burbles forth before Kahlan can check it and then she turns back to Cira. Forgotten, Forsaken, by Him? Kahlan wasnt exactly sure if He existed any longer. Truth be told, her falling was an event in and of itself but it was so long ago--

Her thoughts become mangled like weak metal in fire and she is soon forced to bring her memories and thoughts to the forefront. She had to tell herself that it didnt matter what was happening Above or Below. Planting a lightly amused smile on her lips, Kahlan sits on a step before Cira.

"You must be the girl that Aerillia aided then. She spoke highly of you and told me that you were a strong Doane." Kahlan implemented the girl's word for her tribe into the memory. Aerillia had not spoken of the girl's tribe but had assured Kahlan that she had never encountered such a strong young girl from her Desert home. "She mentioned briefly that you had been to the Phoenix Tavern." This was not a question but yet another statement, and Kahlan lifted a brow in interest toward Cira. She would pass the time that it took Rillith to bring the Treasurer out of a deep sleep questioning Cira on just what she knew about the Guild and if she knew their leader had passed on.

[Willow]

Willow grew weary, having to chase after her mother, like some farm-child begging to be recognized for their handiwork. “Where is she? Who has stolen her away from me?” The guards understood the princess had a temper, a temper that could mean their life, should she complain in details to her mother. “The queen is with the council, my princess. We will escort you to the premises promptly.” Willow stood her ground. Her jaw tightened with spoiled anxiety. Willow’s trek had cost her a visit from the guards. She welcomed the two with an overbearing sight of pure mockery and disdain. Who were these common workers, to be pointing her in right path? Their mannerism, their stance, the very stench of their over-worked bodies caused a wave of sickness. “I will not be drug around the grounds, by over-sized boars. I will see to her myself.” A jerk of her skirt brushing past armor, and she was homebound by her mother’s confident speech.

Her mood had changed dramatically. She hadn’t even hit the mark of her teen years. The girl was only eight years old and already she was learning how to make quick demands of her people. Voices coiled around one another, falling against her mother’s good sense. A voice called for attention, not yet waiting to be announced properly. She had reached the limit of patience, a sour voice spoke, breaking all means of a relaxing meeting with the queen.

“Mother, I asked for you. Did you not hear me calling? I wanted to walk in the gardens. The nanny bores me. She only talks of troubling times….” Her eyes snared the visitors, trapping them in a private box of thorns-no escape. Willow silently wanted to torture each one for interrupting her moment with the queen. She had caught only some of the banter being played by political voices. One of them had been tortured, by someone or something. Obviously, they had not been tortured enough, or they would have known not to interrupt her. Her brazen eyes continued to glare, melting against them like hot oil, crucifying them within her mind.

[Cira]

She had thought they were alone as she prostrated herself before the Queen. The presence of a voice on her side sent a shiver down her spine. Her warrior instincts, once so attuned to such creatures of the dark that she had killed a man in three quick stabs on a moonless night when only twelve. He had not even had time to scream before the mortal blow was struck. Starvation and deprivation had dulled these skills and she was now only listened for the sound of her mistress’ footprints approaching. That was all that was necessary to survive anymore. Still, Crimson’s words were enough to awaken the killer instinct in her once more. She was certain that the Queen could choose to have whomever she liked in the throne room but how dare this stranger speak ill of her! If he was deeply aware, he would no doubt sense how her body tightened and heartbeat quickened. A part of her wished to pounce from the floor and strangle him for even making such a suggestion of trickery. Luckily, she had had such inclinations beaten well in submission and she did not even offer a flinch. He was both right and wrong. She had come here to play trickery, to make secret deals and to form bonds of betrayal, but never would she consider betraying the High Queen, nor had she uttered a single un-truth. It was only her mistress whom she plotted ill against, the woman who had done her nothing but harm.

Luckily, before her mouth could open in denial, Kahlan rose from her seat and began her questioning once more. Cira nodded her head “Yes, High Queen. She took my eye and marked me with scars. The tattoos are my own doing.” She felt it somehow necessary to add this point. Though she was deeply proud of these tribal markings, she was also deeply self-conscious that there was no one in Ulster who had anything similar. The looks that she received here and in Ayenee were those of one who was mutilated, not decorated And just as Aerillia had always considered herself a dark woman in a sea of the pale skinned, so too was Cira, drowning in a sea of the clear skinned. She did not wish to give Keaira credit for the designs that had been done, nor be pitied for them.

With increasing bravery, Cira decided to hammer in the point she had come here to make. “These are two years of scars, maybe a little more, High Queen of Ulster. On the first night I was whipped bloody and the skin of my stomach was seared off with hot coals. My mistress rarely chooses the same torture twice, but I am certain that Aerillia was taken too many hours ago to return unharmed.”<br>
After driving in another nail about the imminent danger that Aerillia was in, it was more frustrating still that Kahlan seemed ready to dismiss her, to send her away with a pocket full of coins and not another thought. Had this been all she wanted, she could have saved herself the long walk to Ulster and the equally long walk back. It drove her crazy to see how slowly the mind of those in power worked. Cira only thought in two modes anymore. Either there was dangerous scheming and impulsive acts such as joining the Phoenixes, asking Aerillia to beat her and later demanding audience with an unknown queen, or she simply did not think at all, following commands without even sifting them through to see if they were logical. If her mistress said ‘jump’, she would never dream of asking ‘how high’? What did Kahlan want from her if not knowledge about her friend? Why was she so stuck on these insignificant questions about herself instead of moving on to the real meat of this conversation?

To drive this point home can the comment about the Phoenix Tavern. How much did the Queen know and was not telling? It struck her like being prodded in fresh wound. The Phoenix Tavern was not a place she had yet to leave behind. Despite her almost complete refusal to speak a word to anyone there, her little closet space still served as the safe for all her belongings of which she was not allowed to own. Her urge was to reach up, move the fallen veil back into place and arrange the fabric to hide the phoenix tattoo that wrapped from behind her ear down to her collar bone. Still, self control triumphed and all she belied was a small twitch. Any other movement, she feared, would bring more attention than already had. In her small time on the very edges of the guild, she was still uncertain of the relation between the Guild and the Kingdom of Ulster. “Yes, I saw her there.” She kept her statement vague. The fact that she visited the most rotten holes in the wall in her search for gold could serve as a fair cover if Kahlan turned out to be less than fond of the guild.

Once more she tried to steer the conversation away from herself and towards the matter for which she had come, damming the difficulty of speaking meekly the entire time. If Kahlan were merely some other slave who had stepped out of place, Cira could have laid things straight in no more than twenty words. Instead she ended up tip-toeing around with formal titles and apologetic phrases. “High Queen, I do not mean to speak out of place, but my time away from my mistress is limited. I believe that Aerillia is smart enough and strong enough that she will still be alive when I return to my mistress’ realm but many slaves die from the injuries of the first night’s torture, and the shock. Many more will not see the end of the month. Her wounds will fester and rot if the hunger and lack of sleep are not enough.”<br>
It was these last words ‘fester and rot’ that were merely drowned out by the entrance of the sniveling brat of a princess. Once more, the urge to throttle rose up in Cira’s breast only to be carefully subdued. Had Willow been raised among the Doane as Cira, she would have been spanked severely with a sheathed machete for such insolence. How satisfying it would be to see the girl unable to sit for a week or two. Though she was careful to keep her gaze politely below Kahlan’s, her fell squarely on young Willow. For a moment the two met in battle, Willow’s prickly gaze, and Cira’s singular hollow, hostile eye. The fight was unfair. No hand had ever been lifted in anger against the spoiled girl and Cira quickly surrendered, as she had been conditioned to do so. Once more, her stare was lowered completely back to the floor. Her speech and proposal were once more lost as her jaw tightened beneath the jabber of the little girl. It was enough to make her wonder what she had gotten into. How could a woman supposedly rule a kingdom so well and rule over her own child so poorly?

[CrimsonWinds]

His eyes just seemed to shift from his rather exclusive dream he had as he shook his head, his right hand just resting upon his forehead to keep his thoughts clear. As Morrigan let go of her hold upon him, he merely just focused his mind, his eyes just straightening upon the form of Kahlan as he blinked, the darkness being undone. He cursed to himself as Morrigan disrupted his mind, bringing down the cloak he set up for himself. He merely just stepped into the light as it seemed to make a small sizzle upon his Ebony skin. " Yes my queen. I shall Summon all you ask for." He said softly as he bowed, his eyes just staring upon Cira with a smile. He slowly just disappeared into the castle, his steps not being heard, as he moved fast, and silently. He walked up the stair, leading to the side of the castle, in which the treasurer was.

As he ascended the stairs, he comtemplated why Morrigan was making it so difficult for him. He sighed as he narrowed his eyes coming to a large steel door in which the treasurer resides. His hand just knocked upon the door, as the loud sound of his hand just echoed down the hall. Slowly a few minutes went bye as the door opened, his voice just speaking softly. " Treasurer, Our Lordess Queen Kahlan, requests your presence." He said softly as he waited, looking at the man who sat calculated several things. Slowly he would look at Rilith with a disgusted look.

Rilith was taken back bye this as his eye slowly sharpened, looking for something. " Ahh, My lord Teasurer. My people have dishonored your family. I understand such anger and I am sorry for the Sins of my Kin." He said softly as he turnt around. " Follow me Treasurer, for you are needed. " He said softly as he brought the man out into the courtyard to meet Queen Kahlan. Slowly he bowed at the queen as he presented the confused Treasurer, his mind just completely confused with this drow, that he almost forgot to bow.

[Kahlan Lothair]

So Cira knew of the Guild. A smile lightens the corners of had seemed a brooding mask over the Queen's features. Hawkish eyes settled on their quarry once more before continuing on. "Then you met Theoren Roullier once or twice? He and I were the greatest of friends." Kahlan had noticed the twitch, the chink in the girl's proverbial armor, and knew that her questions were aimed at softened areas.

"So what do you want--" But Kahlan's words are cut short by her daughter's entrance. "Mother, I asked for you. Did you not hear me calling? I wanted to walk in the gardens. The nanny bores me. She only talks of troubling times..." The voice that could launch a thousand orders! Amused greatly by her daughter's seeming intrusion Kahlan motions for the girl and before she can comply entirely to Kahlan's whim, Kahlan draws her into a hug.

"Time enough for that later, Aria." Kahlan's voice was not firm but indeed the only thing that her daughter wished for in most cases. Willow hungered for the attention of her mother and couldnt stand to share her. Unfortunately being as high born as she was, Willow could do nothing but share her mother. "Quiet now darling while mum discusses. This young lady knows where your Aunt Aerillia is. I know how much you love her." The statement was all encompassing as Kahlan wrapped a slender arm around the shoulders of her daughter. Musing about what she was going to say, Kahlan runs her fingers through Willow's curled brownish gold hair.

"What is it that you want in return, besides the money Cira?" Kahlan watched the girl closely and nodded to Rillith and Jorgen the Treasurer as they entered. Motioning for all but Cira to be silent, Kahlan watched her carefully. At the entrance of Willow into the fray, one might think that Kahlan had lost control of the situation, but in reality Kahlan rarely lost command of an audience.

As if suddenly remembering something, Kahlan reaches around behind her and sifts through some things in a nearby bag that she had obviously left near the throne earlier. Producing a gift wrapped in cloth, Kahlan hands it to Willow, whispering "You're favorite and just as Uncle Theo used to bring you." Smiling bemusedly at her daughter once again, the High Queen rises to her feet after tousling her little girls hair.

As Kahlan moved the light from nearby torches plays over the silken topaz bodice in a fashion that prompted shadows to chase themselves over her torso. As Cira contemplated the right wording to her answer, Kahlan stepped over to Jorgen and pulled him aside.

"I would like to pay this girl 380 gold pieces, 180 silver pieces, and 200 copper." The price asked by Cira was far less indeed than what Kahlan was going to offer. Though there would be a catch to the amount that was given and when she directed Cira as to how much she would be given, she would then give her the catch. Jorgen blinked dark round eyes and nodded before bowing low. "As you wish M'lady. I will have it before she leaves the castle." And with that the man was gone and Kahlan nodded her thanks to Rillith.

"Well Cira? What demands do you have of me other than money?" Turning to face the girl again, Kahlan with her bare feet and nonchalant attitude, it was obvious that Kahlan was no normal mortal. Indeed it was very obvious that Kahlan might not be mortal at all.

Outside the storm raged with a ferocity that bent rain drops into needles and warped trees into unnatural shapes. As the intervals between the flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder increased, Kahlan pondered what someone might think of such an 'omen'.