Cira
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Posts: 12
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Post by Cira on Apr 21, 2005 15:43:13 GMT -5
“Yes” her answer came softly, “I did know Theoren.” The subject of his death was still raw to her. It had been a betrayal, she felt, of the deal he had once made to help her be freed. A great part of her wished nothing more than to forget him completely along with the whole Phoenix Guild. They had been nothing more than a dangerous waste of her time.
She watched as Kahlan crooned over her brat of a daughter, her ears pricking at the phrase ‘Uncle Theo’. Was it possible that this was the sister of Theoren? It hit her as amazingly fitting that she should be the one to take on Theoren’s ‘debt’ to her. Perhaps the stars still played in her favor. Having the floor cleared for her to speak, she began to spell out her proposition. As she spoke, her words came with increasing confidence. Beneath this timid shell, there was a strong, aggressive, intelligent, young woman waiting to break free.
“High Queen, as I have told you, Aerillia is now a slave. She has been tortured and, like me, she will be tortured again and again. If she survives she will be put to work until the time comes that she does die. Every slave who was in my mistress’ service when I was bought two years ago is dead. Most of those who where bought six months ago or even a month ago, are dead. I tell you this only so you may realize I have learned how to survive within her realm while all others have not. I also know how rare it is that a slave, who is taken, ever sees any freedom other than their own mortality. The few whom we hear of going free were those with powerful friends who came to their rescue or ransom. I believe that Aerillia has a great chance of seeing the sun one day again with you as her ally, that is, if she lives to see that day. This is what I pledge to you, though I may appear to be nothing as I kneel on your floor, I will keep Aerillia alive for you. In return, I would hope you would remember this kindness. When she is freed, you would demand to take me as well.”<br> Cira swallowed hard. This was, perhaps, the longest speech she had ever given. It sounded, perhaps, a bit rehearsed but the girl’s words felt both sincere and convincing. After a moment of quiet she added slightly more softly.
“High Queen, if you would do this for me, I would be eternally in your service, and eternally yours.”<br> These were heavy words coming from the mouth of a girl soon to see her eighteenth birthday. She had lived over two years in hell, and now, in her only effort to gain freedom, she was willing to bond herself once more into a lifetime of servitude.
She allowed the weight of her words to fall heavily in the silence. She had little doubt that Kahlan would accept her offer. There would be little to no reason to turn it down, for there was no way that the Queen would ever be forced to keep her word. Cira would be easily used up and thrown away if she so pleased. Still, there were no bargaining chips that Cira could ever hope to hold in her current position, so she would simply have to rely on trust. Still, Kahlan continued to be a source of surprise to her as she asked the teasurer to bring out almost double what she had asked for. Her generosity obviously was a source of confusion to the slave-girl.
“High Queen, you are too kind. You must understand. The money I asked from was simply to appease my mistress for my absence here. The extra coins, I would keep for myself, perhaps unable to even use. I would wish to pay you back someday, when I am able.”<br> It was possible that the pittance of payment that she requested was nothing to Kahlan, but to Cira it was a huge sum. It would be protection one day, if she could not meet her quota. It could buy her more healing salve, a scrap of food, or something else Keaira had strictly forbidden. Still, she worried what she would owe the Queen for this seemingly enormous gift.
“You must understand that even if I wanted, I could not safely lead you to Aerillia. I am certain that some time soon, I will be asked to return here and offer a ransom note, for my mistress often uses me as a messenger. On that day, I hope to bring you news that may be useful to you, as well as a report of Miss Aerillia’s safety. Whether or not you accept my offer, I must beg your permission to go. My mistress will expect me to return soon, and I will be punished for tardiness.”<br>
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Post by Willow on Apr 22, 2005 14:38:10 GMT -5
She listened for her nickname, the one that only her mother could call her by…“Mother, is this the wench that has my aunty?” Willow had freed herself from her mother’s grasp, overtaken by the circumstance at hand. Who did these people think they were? Nobody stole anything from her mother. She spoke to the woman known as ‘Cira’ now. “Do you know who I am? You should fear me.” Her voice sounded of a small child, but it was in the manner of an adult making a clear threat. “You will die. All of your people will die when we find them.” The young girl caught the tortured and imprisoned life behind those ignited eyes that struck out at her. She wandered to her, closely and with absolute arrogance. The child then bent to the woman's level, which was a rare sight indeed. Willow wasn't one to do such a thing, but this woman interested her greatly. Her hand cupped her chin, which leveled each others gaze. Her ears caught the speech on which she spoke of being their slave. “What use would you be?” Her eyes then turned back to the queen, her beloved mother. From her once placid tone she held a spark of interest in her new speech and the sound of a devoted daughter. “Mother, can I keep her? Her tales are much more interesting than nannies.”
Willow’s course had changed for the worse. She no longer wished to leave the castle walls. This was her protection against people like Cira. To her, people were mere ‘things’. Things used by the court and politics on neighboring countries. She had never ventured outside of the walls to understand what her kingdom truly was. Since her uncles passing, she had turned into a literal tyrant. She failed to understand death and the ways of people. Willow still failed to grasp why people killed, tortured, enslaved others. However, she was growing used to the idea by hearing the constant gossip in her quarters. Was this sort of thing expected of her as well?
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Post by CrimsonWinds on Apr 26, 2005 19:08:10 GMT -5
His eye stared at one figure, the very brink of her presence seemed to make his form go into a trance, a very low balance of movement as he felt the winds pick up. He turned his head upwards, coils of cloth that wrapped around his light armored body just fell upon the ground as he held onto his staff as if it was his last hope of living, but that was just an illusion, for he was much younger then he looked. He sniffed, the very tip of the fresh air just made his mouth water but there was something else, coming. A very harsh rain, he could feel the earth talking of a sudden break in the wind currents.
He turned towards Kahlan staring at her child. " Such a bright one you have there My Noblest Queen, for she has your intelligence, and bluntness, and because of that she would not make a good Negotiator." He said as he gave a low chuckle glancing back at the fleeing treasurer. " Such beauty." He said softly as he looked out over the courtyard, being how it was very much high above ground. " It's going to be cold tonight. Morrigan is in a saucy mood, and that is affected others." He said in just a quiet voice as he looked back at Cira, with dark eyes.
" Who is this Aerilla?" He said softly as his dark form just seemed to shimmer a bit, but stopped as he stepped from the corner of the courtyard,drawing his eyes from the outside and back into the shadow. " This woman is who? This woman is what?" He said softly as he walked over to Kahlan, looking down at her daughter. He then bent down as he slowly stared into her eyes. " You knew a kin of mine, NimRuin. He misses you lovely Willow, for you were like his sister in many ways. But something is coming I cannot precieve, so best take care Princess, for you are the future." He said as he looked up at Kahlan and stood silent again, paying his respects to her presence as he slowly spoke a silent prayer to Morrigan, His Celtic goddess.
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Post by Kahlan Lothair on Apr 28, 2005 21:04:41 GMT -5
Kahlan's face was void of emotion as Cira related the news. Inside, though, all was in turmoil. How could Aerillia have been caught so easily? She was an expert fighter and weilded her ability in both steel and air exceptionally well. The only hint of emotion are a few dark clouds over Kahlan's eyes hinting at the storm brewing beneath the calm countenance.
Before the Queen could speak further to Cira, Willow chimed in. Watching the girl with quiet contemplation, Kahlan firmly grabs the girl by her hand and pulls her back from Cira. "Willow, do not speak to guests in our home in such a manner." Kahlan's voice was level and obviously it was not the first time she had spoken out against her daughter. Woe be it for anyone else to think to do the same. Now it was time for Kahlan's gaze to fall back to Cira. Ah, what eyes could become in a matter of minutes! Darkened eyes stare at Cira, masking some bitter hatred deep inside for what the girl has described to her.
"I apologize on behalf of my daughter. She has yet to learn tact." Making sure that Willow knows she is to quiet down Kahlan answers one of Willow's questions. "This is Cira. Cira is here to help us get your Aunty Aerillia back. She does not want to hurt her, only help her. It would do well if you treated her with some respect my child."
With an arm around her daughter Kahlan watches as Rillith makes his approach before she continues speaking to Cira. "About the money. I have two conditions. The first condition is that you keep what you can for yourself somewhere safe. The second is that you become loyal to me. Loyalty to me will bring you a safe haven the likes of which you havent seen in many a year." It was a promise and with that promise Kahlan rose up from where she was seated and offered Cira her hand as an official bargain. "Know that I never retract on my word, Cira. I know that you are a proud young lady with much to think about, but what say you Cira? Will you pledge loyalty to me?"
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Cira
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Posts: 12
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Post by Cira on Apr 28, 2005 22:08:12 GMT -5
Cira’s voice came soft in response to Willow’s questions. There was a coldness to her voice a growing anger that seemed to crack at the edges of the tone. She was on the edge of breaking down under the stress of too many people, too many questions, too much stimuli beyond her usual patterns of obey, escape and gold. “I know you are the princess. I know I will die and all my people will die. As will Aerillia and every other face you know. Everyone dies, little princess, no matter how rich their bloodline is. All that matters is how you go.” Cira had little tact in the proper way to deal with children. She herself had been raised to be a warrior, not a nanny.
It was Willow’s hand on her chin that seemed to flip a switch inside Cira’s brain. For two years she had been conditioned to respond to physical contact. Any touch, whether it be a hand on her shoulder, a stroke through her greasy hair, or the first violent punch was always a precursor to greater pain. There was no contact that did not cause her body to tense, hairs to stand on end and stomach to clench. The hand of the small child was no different. With the speed of a fighter her hands came up, one hand grasping Willows wrist and the other, palm open hovering in the air. For a split second it looks as though Cira was going to strike the girl and send her sprawling across the room, before she even realized what she had done. But her hand stayed and slowly, with infinite gentleness, she pried the girl’s hand from her chin. A sick shudder ran through her body as she responds in a voice that was cracked and husky “All my tales are of troubling times, princess. I wish those nightmares on no one, not even you.”
As though she were her saving grace, Kahlan pulled the child away from her. Cira had saved herself, no doubt, by retaining enough state-of-mind not to strike the girl. While Kahlan the Queen might understand the stress that Cira was under and the cruelty of her position, it was unlikely that Kahlan the Mother could forgive the stranger who slapped her daughter. She barely heard Kahlan’s reprimand as she obviously fought to control her body and mind. Her heart was thumping all the way up in her ears which caused the room to spin slightly. It was not unusual for one so undernourished and after a few moments of simple breathing she was able to concentrate again.
The terms of agreement: had they been any more generous, Cira might have feared that they were all a lie. Slowly she rose from the ground, feeling to momentary light headedness that was always present. Standing so close to Kahlan, it was suddenly obvious how short she was, tiny enough to be blown by the wind it seemed. But her voice seemed to have recovered its strength. She nodded her head and offered her hand. “I have a safe spot, in the Phoenix Rising where I keep what I can save.” Despite the weakness of her body, her grip was amazingly strong. “To you, High Queen of Ulster, I offer my loyalty and pledge my word. Though it is a word that I fear has grown weak both my screams and my silence.” Pulling her hand back she reached to her side and pulled out a small, dagger. Her actions were slow and deliberate to ensure that they were not confused for an attack. With skill that spoke to years of training with the small blade, she made a cut on the palm of her left hand, just deep enough to seep blood curved to follow the base of her thumb. A year and a half ago, she had marked her thigh with a K and blood bound herself to her Mistress. Now, in secret hopes to counter-act that sacrifice for ‘freedom’ she bled the U of Ulster. “The only other thing I own is the blood that still runs within my veins, and this too, I offer to you.” The blood was bright red, thin and ran easily even from the thin cut as she held the hand out once more for the queen to take.
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Post by Kahlan Lothair on Apr 29, 2005 20:22:32 GMT -5
Kahlan watched as Cira sliced her hand open with ease. To any other it would be an unsettling sight, but Kahlan knew how to reciprocate. How to spread a blanket of trust around such a intimate show of blind faith.
She too had been faithful once. Blind but faithful. Watching the years of hardship and pain, toil and undue strife in Cira's eyes, Kahlan wonders if the girl is any less different than she herself. Ah, but that had been long ago.
The blood that fled the wound, glistened in both the firelight (Which suddenly seemed to spew more light) and the full moon (now made visible sporadically through thick plumes of cloud). The storm had broken over their heads as the heated discussions went on oblivious to even the most tenacious strike of lightning. To Kahlan, the blood seemed a red ruby seeking the light, seeking the chance to be desired and loved for who it was, not what it could do. In so many ways, the blood of Cira matched the girl herself.
With movements as swift as a falcon's own, Kahlan draws a dagger from behind her back. It looks simple enough, but on the hilt the emblem of Ulster is emblazoned, burned deep into the wooden handle. It was obvious that the knife was old and yet even more obvious and somewhat disturbing that Kahlan's handling of the blade was exquisite.
In much the same fashion that Cira had exhibited, Kahlan touched the knife to the flesh of her palm and let the edge bite deep. With the skill so fluently exhibited in her handling of the knife, Kahlan carves a symbol in her hand, coaxing her own blood to the surface. For the briefest of moments the blood almost seems to shimmer and look almost...silver? Ah but that was just the light playing tricks! Even as the silvery hue of the blood appeared, it quickly returned to a dark crimson hue. The blood in the High Queen's palm seeps free of its self inflicted wound, seeking purchase, seeking acknowledgement. The archaic symbol is soon magnified by the thick edging of blood. In contrast to Cira's U, Kahlan's symbol is smaller but produces blood a little faster. Against the pale flesh of the Queen, the crimson blood looks foreign, like an added attribute to what had once been a pristine landscape.
Holding out her hand to Cira finally, Kahlan clasps the girls bloodied hand in her own. A blood pact had begun between them and Kahlan offers the girl a light smile before speaking further. "Cira, I offer you my protection and all safety that you may glean from me. Your mistress will know nothing of the pact, for as I seal your hand, all traces will fade with it. My blood is virtually undetectable even by those that lust for it. It is...different if you must know." A smile lights Kahlan's features as she squeezes Cira's hand tight with her own.
Between their clasped hands the mingling of their blood begins to drip. The first drop splashes between them on the cold stone floor and the sound of it richocheted in Kahlan's mind. The second drop mingled with the first, stirring their blood further as the pool grew between them. Kahlan waited for the third drop, anticipated its landing, and watched its descent with an ease that denied her station. Everything about Kahlan was different, as if her mold had been hammered out of a different set altogether. Yet then, she wasnt mortal either. As the third drop of blood falls to the floor and mixes with the others which are beginning to coagulate on the cold floor, Kahlan looks up from the small puddle of blood between Cira and herself and reliquishes her grasp on the girl.
"The deed is done. This blood will remain in this spot for three days and three nights. The bond that you have so willingly created and I reciprocated, has been made in the light of a full moon. It is a strong bond and will allow me to keep you safe. You will be allowed to go as soon as I heal your hand personally and you are given something to eat. I assume you will want to eat on your way back so I will not try to keep you any longer than you wish to stay. Come with me and we will heal your hand." Kahlan produces a white cloth from one of her pockets and wraps her hand in it, first pressing the blood of the symbol to the cloth and then wrapping it with expert care, as if she might have bandaged herself many times. To Cira she offers another white cloth to wipe her hand on and so her blood does not drip elsewhere, as if such a thing may disturb a sacred ritual that had just passed.
On the move now, Kahlan appears strong and lithe, a woman defying the ages. Long loose curls of gold pierced with red dangle over her shoulders, mingling with the white and blue of her upper torso. Her hair is in fact so long that it brushes about midway down the bum of her breeches. Normally held up, the loosened locks have a dizzying effect on those that have known Kahlan less intimately than say her daughter or a select few close friends. Though, her hawkish eyes hold far more sway with the crowd than mere hair might.
Would Cira wonder at what type of creature Kahlan might be? Would she regret making a pact with something like Kahlan when she found out, if she ever found out? Long black lashes flutter momentarily before Kahlan halts near a set of heavy oak doors. Pushing one open she motions for Cira to enter first. The aroma that wafts out is sumptuous, indicating that they have arrived at a side door to the Kitches. "I can patch you up inside as you are given provisions. No fuss, I insist that you are taken care of. You will be given enough food for your journey to the Phoenix Rising where you can stow what you want to keep."
Abruptly it was the end of Kahlan's discussion as she leads the girl around mountains of dishes, pots needing scrubbing, and other paraphernalia found in a kitchen. Several cooks were hard at work preparing the next day's breakfast and one in particular catches Kahlan's eye. "Sera, we will be basking in the glow of your hearth fire for a little while." Kahlan said to an elderly woman whom only nods her head before gazing at Cira. "Get her enough provisions for a journey to Ayenee City and some non perishable things that she may keep. Candied and preserved things preferrably, things that will sit well untouched for many days. While I patch her hand, give her a small loaf of the honey bread you have sitting out."
Complying with the Queen's wishes, no sooner had Kahlan found a clear spot to sit them both down, had Sera produced a warm loaf of the mouth watering bread. "Eat Cira, you will need your strength for a journey home. I can see by the look of your body that you are not used to much food. This is why I have asked that Sera give you bread. Taste it, I think you will be pleasantly surprised."
Not waiting for Cira's acknowledgement, Kahlan holds a hand out for Cira's sliced palm. "It is the only way to keep your mistress from knowing Cira."
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Cira
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Post by Cira on May 2, 2005 19:47:54 GMT -5
Cira gripped Kahlan’s hand tightly, acknowledging her vow with her own “With this blood pact I offer you my loyalty, though I may now appear torn by two masters, my Mistress I serve falsely. To you I offer unwavering allegiance.” There was no moment of hesitation in offering this pledge. Kahlan wondered if she would regret mixing blood with such an unknown woman, a woman who might not even be completely human, but she greatly overestimated Cira’s place in life. Cira had mixed blood with the devil and suffered the many consequences of hell. There was no way that Kahlan could be worse than Keaira, and when Cira began to calculate that her body would only survive maybe six more months, there was no time to find anyone better.
She nodded as her eyes fell to the splatters of blood on the floor. How many drops had she spilled over these past two years? How many more would she need to spill to gain her freedom? She wrapped the hand with the clean white cloth, her free hand hesitating to admire its bright white softness. It was a shame to ruin something so beautiful with blood. Even this bandage was far more than her Mistress would ever allow.
She kept up with Kahlan easily enough. Like so often in these times of transition, her mind simply turned off, allowing her to float through the moments and conserve what strength she had. It was only when she took a seat at the fire that were singular eye regained its brilliant inner fire as she listened to Kahlan give orders to the kitchen made.
As she sat by the fire, allowing the warm glow to thaw her seemingly old bones and spoke quietly “I must eat very little. Even though you are generous, if I were to return with my stomach bulging, my Mistress would know. If I was punished and my body wretched I would no doubt lose my right to leave her realm. Her rules are strict to keep us lower than animals.” She paused a moment then realized, without though she had sat down at Kahlan’s side, taking a chair where she ought to have knelt on the floor. “Even in sitting here I have disobeyed her.”<br> She took the bread and nibbled at it, enjoying the dense, sweetened bread. Though her portion was not large, she barely finished a third of it before she set it aside. It was through self control that she had managed to survive breaking the rules so often. Her body must remain taught and undernourished if she were to ever have a chance to make it out to see Kahlan again.
“I would greatly appreciate you healing my hand but I pray, all the other wounds, the ‘artwork’ of my mistress must remain for her pleasure.” These last words were said dripping with malice. How much anger and hatred was built up beneath the sad, docile shell. How far could she really be pushed before she cracked? It would only be a matter of time, just like the failing of her strength or her courage. It was this race against time that had driven Cira to do the incredible and would no doubt drive her to do it again.
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Post by CrimsonWinds on May 2, 2005 21:45:40 GMT -5
He had nothing to do, nothing to say for a while as he watched the two women in silence. He had always valued the female portion of life more then his own sex, just becuase they were far more intelligent. Though there were women who were rash and bold, but most of the time, those ladies were raised by men, and not taught the gracefullness and elegance in which a lady must maintain when in a high place of royalty.
A sigh would leave his lips as he shook his head, watching the two women just make a blood mark with his hand. He scoffed as he drew back his form, his beautiful features hidden within the vast darkness of his hood and cloak. " A bond with grace and beauty is really quite wrong." He said softly as he drew his form back, digging a bit into his forefinger nail. He would then just turn away and slowly reapproach the darkness saying nothing more. " Blood? So disgusting." He said softly as he leaned against the back wall of the palace, staring into the darkness. " And to think, Morrigan." He said softly to himself. " I must watch M'Lady Kahlan make a bond with a slave? A slave in which we don't know is false or truth, fraud or innocent."
Shaking his head he turned around, and placed his right hand under his chin, having his right forefinger just tap gently agains this chin, his soft lavender eyes staring at Willow. " And of this girl Morrigan? What does the celtic Gods plan for her? What is her future?" He said softly as he leaned his head back, watching with a bit of amusement. Slowly he drew up his long black staff, the tip of it seemed to glint in the sunlight, as if it was a blade, but he revealed nothing, forever keeping his peace in the house of Kahlan. He heard a soft chuckle in the wind as whispering was emitted into his ear, a voice he could not remember, but a voice he could never forget either. It was a woman's voice, full of mystery and arrogance, grace and lithe in tone. She spoke......
" I understand My goddess." He said softly as he lowered his head, diverting his eyes downwards, as he slowly waited for the meeting to conclude. " I shall follow little Cira and see where she flows and if her heart beats remains steady for i sense a lack of trust, but I am a Drow Morrigan. Lack of Trust comes to us like our mothers do." He said softly as he slowly melted into the shadow, watching over them, being he was merely speaking in his head.
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Post by Kahlan Lothair on May 5, 2005 11:08:28 GMT -5
Over a shoulder the dawn stains the sky with its indulgent pinks and sultry promises. Kahlan's eyes stray to Cira as she nibbles at the bread that was brought to her. Kahlan's heart went out to the young girl for several reasons but she bent to the task at hand.
"As you wish child. Only the knife wound it is." Picking up Cira's hand, Kahlan turns it to rest palm up in her left hand. Slowly unwrapping the would-be handkerchief bandage the Queen surveys the damage with an appraising eye. The girl had made a clean cut despite her malnourished body and terror induced shakes and pangs. In one smooth motion Kahlan leans down to Cira's hand as she lifts it so as not to lean all the way down.
Trailing two fingers lightly along the outside edges of the wound Kahlan mumbles something strange, almost archaic. Stemming the flow of pain from the knife wound, Kahlan feeds it a soothing warmth as she begins the proceedure.
Burying her concious nature beneath a well tended mantle of memory and knowledge the strange golden haired Queen draws on her inner power of healing. It wouldnt take very long to heal such a minor wound, and the loss of blood was minimal so time would not have to be spent regenerating all of the tediously small details. The only visible indicator that she has even begun the process is a heavy sigh and a slight shudder barely visible in her shoulders and not felt in her hands.
Kahlan began with the lower layer of muscle and skin tissue, binding them as swiftly as a surgeon with a skilled hand and a needle. As layer upon layer began to seal and the blood safely sealed beneath the skin, Kahlan soon begins on the skin tissue. Careful not to leave a trademark of talent or the scent and taste of her skill, Kahlan weaves an intricate web of deceit over the healing wound as she binds it together, sealing the trust pact inside.
Should the mistress attempt to persue some vendetta in the venue of the pact between Kahlan and Cira-- she would be met with a most unwholesome surprise. The trail would never cease to end, the clue would be ever evasive. The years on the Isle of Mystic Avalon had finally come to a pinnacle of use, though mayhap not the climax of their usefulness. The intricate weaving spell was one to lose its persuer as they became more tightly entangled in its web while encouraging them further and further into its black hearted maw. Kahlan had learned the spell, shortly before leaving Avalon, from the High Priestess at the time. It was intended to give Kahlan an edge that the Priestess thought a newly crowned Queen might need, but she did not know all about Kahlan that she had thought. A light smile forms on her lips as she continues to finish the weaving of the spell, mouthing the words needed here and there, and finally drawing the wound fully closed.
Thirty minutes had transpired, an added fifteen for the addition of the spell and the placement of a trigger. Kahlan lifted her head from its downcast position and presented Cira with her hand. "Here you are my dear." Kahlan's voice seems a little thick, and the power roiling around in her eyes for the briefest of moments is all the story anyone could possibly ever want--with even a little fear perhaps. "I wove a special and intricate spell into the healing of your hand." The Queen spoke as if what she had done was nothing but a trivial thing.
"It is a spell to throw your mistress off when she inquires about your delay. You have but to speak the word 'Mistress' which will trigger the spell to waken. It is a spell of intricate design, but should she attempt to unravel the secret it holds, she will soon become lost. The more she tries to uncover the secret between us, the more ensnared in the web she will become. If she manages to trace a hint of magic and abolish it, she will start a chain of events that will ensnare her further into the web. It is a weave of half truths and deceptions." Looking into Cira's eyes Kahlan offers the girl a smile. "Do not be afraid of what she might do Cira. She will not be able to break its hold over her unless she stops persuing the issue altogether. The spell, however, is designed to entice her futher into its darkness and endear her to its heart. From what I understand it is nothing short of what she deserves. It will not kill her however. It will befuddle her quite a bit though."
The smile on Kahlan's full lips was nothing short of a miracle with a touch of madness. Daring to play a game with fire near the Firebearer meant that a conflagration would ensue. It was the timing and the planning that was to be worried over, for the fire would come.
The wolf would make sure of it.
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Post by CrimsonWinds on May 5, 2005 15:47:47 GMT -5
~ Staring into the east he slowly just watched the winds flows that way. " That is where i am to go." He said softly as he turned his head, slowly drifting away from Kahlan. He however was very anxious to follow Cira, and to see where she was going, and how he could help, but certain laws of intelligence talked him out of it. However, still was he rethinking it. He did not trust Cira, for he dealt with Slaves before, and they flow where they can benefit the most. He did not know of Kahlan's expierence with such things, but knowing her, even if she knew nothing about it, she probably would claim she dealt with them anyways, a way for her to show face.
A chuckle left his lips as he knew this to be all too true, and however he may look at it, she was the same. Softly he took one more look of Kahlan's daughter and slowly bent down, next to her and poked her in the nose. " Sweet Princess, whenever you may need my assistance, touch this neckalace and speak my name. Though I do not know you as NimRuin did, I take it up myself to watch over thee. " He said softly as the darkness seemed to set in, turning around his lavender eyes. He slowly pressed the neckalace upon her little palms, as the silver cut of the main thread, seemed to shine and glimmer in the light. At the end of the chain however, a vast symbol was set, lace in silver and a shade of clear crystal the intricate seemed to be in the shape of a rose, the pedals of them. However, the neckalace had a very distinguished ability. It glows red whenever a person who means to do her harm approaches or is in the vincinity. Slowly he looked up at Kahlan and bowed as he slid away, his lavender eyes jsut watching the queen, as he slowly disappeared into the shadows, a black myst of smoke rising where his body once stood.
He reappeared outside of the walls of Ulster in a cloud of smoke, his hand and body resting upon his staff for comfort. A sigh left his lips as he slowly walked from the castle, heading towards the east. He rode no house, and wore no shoes, for he was a Drow and although a house would be nice, he did not have one. Though he needed shoes, he was then again, a Drow and such paddings made his feet safe from sharp edges. So he traveled to the east, Towards Dun Caric..........
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Cira
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Post by Cira on May 15, 2005 18:05:31 GMT -5
Cira took back her hand, rubbing her fingers over the unmarred flesh in awe. Perhaps one day she would learn to heal through magic. As of this point, her skills were kept mostly to manipulation of gold but she knew deep down that her talents reached far beyond this, if only given the opportunity. She listened carefully to Kahlan's description, never quite able to grasp their implications but nodding anyway. She hoped that they would never come to the point where she would need to worry about Keaira tracking their bond. If it came down to it, Keaira could probably just cut off Cira's hand and the poor girl would spill everything. It was best that Keaira never found out until Cira had her moment to escape.
Despite this difference in ideas, she reliped softly "Thank you, High Queen. I hope one day to repay your kindness in full, but for today I fear I must return. The sun has already broken the horizon." With Kahlan's approval she rose, giving anoher nod in defference. It was strange how natural it became to act like a free woman, standing instead of kneeling, excusing herself instead of being ordered from the room. From the kitchen maid, she accepted the heavy bag of of jarred preserves and dried goods. It would be more food than she would normally dare to sneak in a year, a veritable feast of temptations she must somehow resist. What would Adonis think when she entered with almost more than her little closet space could hold? It would please him, she knew, though, these days, she was as mute to him as he was in return.
With an about face and not another word, Cira turned and made her way from the castle. The castle that seemed so forboding during the storm was now warm and soft with rugs and rich colors. Exiting the building, the early morning sun hit her with surprising brightness. The gardens that had seemed so dangerous in the night before now glittered in the thin light. She struck out through the city as the merchants were still setting up their wares. Though they rattled their boxes of jewelry and showed off their bright fruits and vegetables like shades of jewels, she did not stop at their stalls or even take her eyes from the road before her. Through a lack of noticing others, she garunteed that she herself was rarely noticed beneath her neatly arranged veil and rags. At the edge of town she found a cart, leaving for Ayenee filled with grain for the market. The farmer warily accepted three gold pieces to ride in the bag in a sea of grains that she sunk into like sand. In the rocking of the cart on the dirt road and the smell of sweet earth she fell fast asleep. In a fleeting moment of peace, she was free from the troubles of the world. But before the sun hit its highest point the farmer had reached her stop and she stepped back into the hell that God had provided her.
With her goods stored at the Phoenix Rising, there was nothing to do but return home, stripped of her clothes, her weapon, her pride and with no sign of her treachery she entered the lion’s lair, baring only the offering of 315 gold, surpassing her quota to please her unsatiable expectant mistress.
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