Thwarted Attempts (Elias)

[Shiress]

As soon as Elias had laid the boy down, Shiress was by his side, calming and reassuring him. She had gained his trust quickly, then promptly ruined it when she accidentally brushed a hand against the bolt. He wouldn't let her touch him after that and commenced to flinging his rage, and anything in arms reach, at Elias. In the middle of one of his rage empowered tosses, Shiress was able to slip a hand beneath Zeb, feeling for the head of the bolt, either protruding against his skin, or from it. She didn't feel anything. The bolt had not gone all the way through the small torso. This could be a good thing, or bad, she wasnt sure. Not knowing how long the bolt was made it difficult to deduce. However, the hand that emerged from beneath the writhing boy was covered in his blood and the more the boy moved, the more he bled.

Ripping away part of the hem of her skirt, Shiress forced her way past Zeb's flailing limbs and positioned the fabric around the shaft just where it exited the wound. She pressed down hard, causing the boy to pause his tantrum long enough to yelp in pain. "Ahhhh, you bitch!" he screamed, hands attempting to get at Shiress. But, Shiress had positioned herself in a way that made the boys attempt vain.

"Stop it, you stupid boy!" She screamed back, "I have to put pressure to stop the bleeding. The more you move the more you will bleed. You're going to kill yourself!" Surprisingly, the boy stilled, glaring at her. "Petch you!" he hissed, finally, then turning his attention back to his mentor added, "and petch you! I'll kill you!"

All she could do was beg the boy to be still, to calm down, just wait until he wore himself out. In the end, blood loss prevailed, claiming the teen's consciousness. Now, time was of the essence -that arrow needed to come out quickly and the bleeding needed to be stopped, if Zeb was going to live.

At some point during the unexpected trip through the canals, Shiress' own bleeding had subsided to a trickle, leaving one side of her head and shoulder stained crimson. Her hair, matted and tangled, clung to the dried blood on her face. She looked deplorable and at no other time was she more aware of her hideous appearance then she was as her green gaze took in the barely covered form of the woman he spoke to. The woman was alluring, even to her. The way she spoke with such confidence, the way she held herself, the way she met the cold, blue gaze...

Ebonstryfe?!

Shiress' face spun so quickly to Elias that the world spun. She gaped, open mouthed, at the man in horror. An Ebonstryfe soldier? Him! The slave didn't know much about the notorious group of fighters, but what she did know Sayana had told her, just before warning her to stay clear of their path. And now she had..she was..with a wave of nausea, the world spun again. Elias was a...

Clamping her mouth shut, she chewed on that bit of horror, as she trailed the Ebonstryfe soldier inside.

Having never been in a brothel, Shiress didn't know what to expect, but she didn't think it would have been what greeted her. Numerous scented candles flickered around the interior room, making it smell of cinnamon and cherries. The ladies of the house were all comely, if not down right beautiful, and smiled politely as they passed by, as if a bloodied trio was something the house received on a daily basis. For some reason, this concerned the slave to no end. Where in Rhysol's hell had the black clad mystery brought her?

Wrapped up completely within the man's concealed and unknown intentions for his trip to the market -at this point it had become obvious that it was not for his supper- it didn't surprise Shiress when he turned down the Madam's offer. Looking up, she just missed the man's glance, and she was thankful that she had, because the look of fear on her face was one she didn't want him to see.

Shiress had become entangled, even used as a pawn, in something that warranted Elias's death, and she had thwarted the attempt. She was witness, to what she didn't rightly know, but if the arm of The Black Sun was anything like the rumors...sometimes witness's died. And now, Zeb's life, a boy for whom the soldier obviously cared for, was in her hand's. Shiress swallowed hard, forcing the Ebonstrye, assassins, and fear from her thoughts, and followed Elias into the room.

[Shiress]

The small room smelled of perfume, and something else. A window, veiled by a thin, transparent curtain, allowed enough light for Shiress to take in the room with a quick glance. There was a canopy bed, its laces tied back to four tall posts, a bedside table and lamp, and a fireplace. At the foot of the bed, there was a fur rug. Shiress frowned at the rug, then at the bed. Turning in a circle, she saw a small table and two chairs beneath the window. She crossed the room and shoved back the chairs. "Here," she said, glancing to Elias, "lay him here, on the table."

As the man's heavy steps filled the room, Shiress turned, working to bring down the curtain, allowing for more light. Behind her, she heard more foot steps, and a feminine voice. She turned to see a young, dark haired woman enter the room, one arm wrapped around a large wicker basket and an iron cauldron dangled from the fingers of the other. Her slender, petite form, just as scantily clad as the Madam's, crossed the dark, wooden planks, gracefully.

"I have supplies for ya, Sir." She said, addressing Elias. "Name's Ella and I was told to see to n'thing ya mighten need." The girl smiled, not shyly, at the black clad warrior, before kneeling to hang the pot above a cold hearth.

Beside the table, Shiress worked to remove the shirt from the boy's prone body. Patience wearing thin, she gave up on any attempt at gentleness and ripped the torn, bloodstained fabric free. Shiress paused, studying the shaft of the bolt embedded in the boys side. It had hit the boy at an angel, as if the teen had began to turn away from flying projectile, hitting him just below the rib cage, at about a man's hand width from his navel. She had only seen this type of wound once and it hadn't been by an crossbow, it had been a wooden fishing spear that a Zeltivan fisherman had impaled himself on. She struggled to remember how her mother had treated the fisherman, but the familiar confusion and jumbled awareness of Sayana's craft always rode the coattails of any memory of home. She squeezed her eyes shut, straining to pull the memory to the forefront.

"It's got to come out." she mumbled, eyes opening. Looking around, the pretty woman had left, leaving in her wake a fire and the beginnings of boiling water. She found Elias and swallowed. "I have to pull it out. I know he's not conscious" she glanced to Zeb, then back to Elias, fear, concern, and desperation mingling to twist the expression on her face to something near panic, "but I'm going to need you to hold him down anyway."

Shiress guided the man's hands to the boy's shoulder with a nod, and when he was positioned, she caught his gaze. As always, it was cold, hard, and completely unreadable. Her mouth opened as if to speak, to ask some foolish question like 'are you going to kill me' or 'are you going to hand me over to your Ebonstryfe buddies', which would be just has good as killing her, but she thought better of it.

Instead she positioned herself beside Zeb, placing one hand on the boy's stomach, just above the bolt, as the fingers of the other hand wrapped deftly around the metal shaft. "OK." she said, giving Elias a shaky bob of the head. Pulling in a breath, she pulled.

Nothing. The arrow didn't so much as move.

She pulled again, slightly harder, but the arrow remained where it had embedded itself. In bone. The arrow had embedded itself in the boys rib, Shiress realized, which could be a good thing; if it was in his rib, it hadn't made it to his lung. Shiress pulled again, this time harder still.

Too hard.

The metal slid from the boys body with a sickening sound, followed a tick later by a cascade of bright blood. "No.." she said, shock lowering her voice to a near growl, "No, no, no..!" Shiress flung the projectile aside, grabbing for the the remnants of the boys shirt. She pressed it against the river of blood flowing from the boy's side. "Please, no, Zeb, dont do this." Looking at the boy's face, her eyes filled with tears, before lifting to look at Elias. She shook her head with a wordless apology.

[Elias Caldera]

The air hung heavy with the scent of cheap incense and sweat. It was an intoxicating aroma Elias had grown accustomed to after so long a time spent in the familiar haze. Too long, he reminded himself, realizing how much he had missed it now that he was back again.

The House of Pleasures had been an oasis in the early days after his release, a welcome refuge of sin and debauchery he had grown more and more familiar with than even his own empty home. Here, he had found peace from the expectations placed on his shoulders both by himself, and those who sought to control him. The brothel had become an oasis from the city and all her troubles, and from the very beginning, standing there at the water’s edge with hand outstretched, had been Lexa.

She was always there to help ease the burdens that weighed so heavily upon mind and soul alike, and as it had turned out, such was her mission. One assigned by her Black Sun handlers who had tasked the prostitute with watching and studying a broken Elias during his new found freedom. He would have been a fool to think otherwise, yet despite this, she’d ensnared him in her charm and beauty none the less. Like an open faucet, he spilled his secrets to her amidst their embrace night after night, knowing full well the next morning the agents of the church could come bursting through the door to drag him right back to the cell he’d only just escaped. That day had never come though, and while the two of them never spoke openly about it, the mage knew full well how much he owed the whore for her unexplained discretion. Part of him liked to think that while he had been falling for her, she’d been doing the same for him.

Perhaps it was his charm, or more likely it was her pity for the wretched thing that came crawling into her arms seeking succor and affection purchased by the bell. Either way, being the fool that he was, part of him still hoped that was the case.

That was why he had chosen the brothel as their escape. This place he knew like the back of his hand, and should trouble arise once more, what better a stage for a showdown than one where you knew the terrain. That was apprentice level knowledge, not to mention the alternatives were far less enticing. To have brought them to the hospital would have been too conspicuous for his plans, and to have taken them to his home would have simply invited a trouble down upon his doorstep that the soldier refused to even consider with his kin present in the city. Neither his brothers in black nor Alija could find themselves involved in this. This was his plan -his mess to clean up, and his alone.

That… and should things truly take a turn for the worst despite the slave’s feverish struggle to save the scamp’s life, at least he wouldn’t have to wander far to find himself a drink.

Unfortunately, the thought of drowning his worries away was enough to immediately set the stryfer’s tongue into a desperate and parched state, one that needed to be rectified post haste if he was to keep his wits about him. To his delight, he discovered the girl from earlier -Ella, if he recalled correctly- had left a little something in the box of supplies she’d delivered. He had curtly shooed her from the room before her curious eyes could have seen more than she needed to, but now he wished he had kissed the little harlot for her gift. It was probably Lexa’s doing truth be told, but any excuse… Regardless, he reminded himself to take it easy on her later when the time came to deal with any loose ends. Elias may have trusted Lexa to keep his secrets, but that was as far as such a courtesy extended. No one else had earned such a pardon, which made everyone else a liability that needed to be dealt with, one way or another.

The sobering fact had the swordsman turning his cold gaze on the slave next.

With a kind restless resolve he had only seen before in warrior’s upon the field of battle, Shiress was diligent -if not desperate- in her attempt to help Zeb. Why, he still couldn’t understand fully, though he had known medics and healers in the past who had shown such a passion for their bloody buisness. And bloody it was. With her chestnut hair a sticky, matted mess upon her brow, and her hands as red as the rum Elias had swiped from the supplies, she worked to pull free the bolt from the lad’s side, even going so far as to elicit the Ebonstryfer’s help in the process. “You’ve done this before?” He began, or at least he would have, had not a fountain of fresh horror come gushing out of Zeb the moment the fool slave ripped free the metal from his side.

Awestruck and dazed, he turned to the emerald eyed nurse for guidance on what to do next. She returned a gaze as confused and dismayed as his. He could taste the fear and desperation in her now more so than ever. It was not an exaggeration to say so however, thanks to his skill in the art of Auristics, he’d been bathed in her dread and apprehension since the moment she’d laid her head against him in the boat, weeping and broken by the life her blade had taken. Things particularly poignant and ‘pungent’ like that came to him naturally, without any concentrated effort, and her emotions had been like a distant inferno whose heat reached him even through a winter’s storm. Now that flame raged out of control, and it sparked in Elias a response he hadn’t expected.

“Don’t just stand there, woman. Do something! Save him!” He snarled through the crimson rain.

This was her fault for giving him hope that Zeb would actually survive. Now, if she thought he would allow her to fail after inspiring such an uncomfortable feeling in him, she was sorely mistaken.

Elias

[Shiress]

Shiress had petched up and she knew it. She had pulled that bolt out way too fast and now the poor boy's life was spilling from his limp body, staining the small, wooden table he laid upon. And it was all her fault.

Thoughts and memory fled. Knowledge fled. The moment the cascade of blood began the slave's mind went blank, fear and panic wiping it clean as a dry cloth through spilled water. The panic that filled the void was not only because the boy's life was leaking away beneath her hands, but also because, in that very moment, she had no damned idea what to do.

It. Just. Wasn't. There.

The knowledge and skill was gone. Had it ever even been there to begin with? She quite nearly screamed as the panic rose within her. Why couldn't she remember? Shiress knew she had been there as her mother dealt with like bloody situations, but she couldn't recall them. Like standing on the other side of a curtain, she knew the teachings from her mother were there, just on the other side, but hidden to her. Why? She couldn't think straight. The welling panic and desperation was consuming her...if only Sayana was here, if only she could run into the arms of her loving Mistress everything would...

Elias's voice cut through the dismay like a sharp blade through soft flesh. The slave's body jerked with a start, despite the fact she was looking at the man when he shouted the words. She gaped at him, mouth working, head shaking for a long moment, before finally managing, "I..I cant remember what to do," her gaze trailed away, becoming vacant, "I know what to do, but I.."

Blinking, she looked back to the boy fading away beneath her hands. He was so young, just a boy. Tears ran free from her eyes as she forced them closed. Then it hit her like a bolder and when her eyes opened again there was new determination creasing them.

She knew exactly what to do.

"Give me your hands." she ordered, new found resilience making her voice steady and confident. As soon as the soldier was within arms reach, Shiress reached out, taking his arm and pulled him the rest of the way. "Here," she said, smoothly plucking the glove from his hand, before placing it on top of her own still holding firm pressure on the bleeding wound. "Press down hard." she said, sliding her hand free. "harder, you wont hurt him." she added, placing a bloody hand on his back with gentle pressure, indicating for him to use muscle and body weight.

Turning, Shiress hiked up the hem of her skirt, a near scandalous amount, fumbling with the hilt of a dagger sheathed around her thigh. Slipping it free, heart pounding, she came to her knees in front of the fireplace and placed the metal blade in the flames, careful not to dirty it. For the several ticks it took for the metal to heat, Shiress gathered cloth, a needle, thread, and a bit of courage from the basket. In the fire, the tip of the dagger had just began to show a pinkish glow. Not wanting it glowing red hot -she wanted to sear the boys skin, not cook it-, she pulled it from the fire and returned to the boys side.

Placing the collected supplies down, she replaced her hand on the make-shift tourniquet. "OK, hold him down again," she said, her voice a bit less steady. "this is going to hurt." Her eyes were on the young boys face, but her words were directed to the scarred man holding onto his shoulders. With one hand holding pressure against the boys side, and the other hand, once trembling, now shaking visibly, holding the blade, Shiress steadied herself and removed her hand. As soon as the pressure released from the wound, blood surged free. With a breath, Shiress lowered the hot edge of the blade, pressing it against the flow of blood.

Zeb screamed, his back coming off the table in an arch, before going limp once more.

The smell of hot blood and burning flesh hit the slave in the face. She turned away with a gag, coughing. Turning back, she laid the blade back against the boy's flesh, and, again turned her face away from the stench, coughing. When she turned back this time, a hesitant smile began to form across her lips. The cascade of the boys life blood had slowed to a steady oozing "It worked.." she said, stunned. Glancing up, she met Elias's gaze, eyes wide. "it worked!" she said again, this time with more confidence.

[Elias Caldera]

Elias couldn’t help but grin.

As he stared in equal parts bewilderment and wonder at the bloodied healer, he found himself stunned into silence, and the unsure smile was all he could muster at that point. Shiress seemed just as shocked by her own actions as the stryfer was, and her trepidation, mixed with the tendril of blood trickling down her forehead and the red hot blade in her shaky grip left the man a bit unsure as to whether he should be thanking her for her quick thinking, or running from the room before she decided he was next. “It worked.” He agreed with a nervous chuckle after a moment’s hesitation.

His gaze drifted to the boy laying on the table.

He was only assuming of course. The charred smell and viscera that now practically coated the brothel room were nothing new to the soldier, he’d seen and even caused such nightmarish scenes plenty of times in the past. What he wasn’t familiar with however, was the work of those who patched up men like him after they were done getting cut up, beat up, and all the other usual fun pass times warriors chose to indulge in. He had never shown an interest in the healing arts, nor had healing itself ever been that great of a concern truth be told. In a place as serene and perfect as Ravok, there was a motto that many here knew by heart; “Rhysol provides.” Elias was no stranger to his fair share of bumps and bruises, but he’d never wanted for the attention of medics or doctors in the past. It wasn’t until his exile had he been forced to learn the hard way such things were not a given outside of the Defiler’s paradise. A troubling realization that became a dire problem for Elias after the events of the great djed storm had left him near crippled from his injuries in the aftermath. He’d spent months recovering in a bed, drowning in his own sick and sweat when he could have been rejuvenated within weeks had he been back in Ravok.

It seemed ironic in a sense to put it like that. He’d only been caught in the storm’s wrath because of his exile, but if it hadn’t been for all those seasons spent recovering, and all that time to let his mind wander, Elias doubt he would have ever found the nerve or inspiration to plot his eventual return to the home in the north he’d so taken for granted.

Maybe ironic wasn’t quite the right word for it…

“Will he survive?” The mage found himself muttering as he studied the strikingly pale young man upon the impromptu operating table. The swordsman had rarely ever seen the little punk so weak and frail looking before, let alone this quiet. He suspected that might have been the blood loss doing them all a favor, but the truth was he didn’t want to boy to die, nor could he even bring himself to make jest of it anymore. Not just because it would have thrown a wrench into his plans, but because Elias had to admit he'd grown fond of the little bastard since he had ‘taken him under his wing,’ for a lack of a better term. There were better terms of course, many of which Zeb would not hesitate to bring up if given half the chance. ‘Blackmailed. Intimidated. Forced against their will’ were just to name a few, but it had been ‘press ganged’ that was his least favorite. Reminded him a bit too much of the sailors in Zeltiva for his liking. Regardless, the moment Zeb and his gang of twerps fell under the Caldera’s sway, he knew he was going to like the boy. Zeb had never run, never let his fear overwhelm him, never shrunk from a fight or turned away from a foe, even in the face of of a monster like Elias.

To a certain degree, the mage appreciated that kind of strength and resolve, in whatever form it took, and Zeb had impressed. It was why they were in the market that day. To put the finishing touches on their little ‘alliance’ that only a foolhardy idiot like Zeb could make work. It was a plan months in the making that would have died on that canal had Shiress not been there to save him…

Save them both

The magnitude of the debt he owed this slave now dawned on Elias with a blinding eminence. She had saved his petching life… What had possessed her to do such a stupid thing like that in the first place?

With a start, the Ravokian realized he had been staring at the woman the entire time his thoughts had drifted. Caught in those endless emerald tides looking back at him, he had to shake him himself free of his stupor. “You’re leaking, slave.” He said, a hint of frustration and almost accusation in his tone as he turned away and stormed off towards one of the dressers at the other end of the room. It was as if he blamed her for trapping him in such an embarrassing daze to begin with. A silly notion, but it was growing more and more maddeningly difficult to not act the fool when that woman was looking at him with those eyes. He had needed a distraction desperately, and luckily he had found one in her injury. Shiress was still bleeding, her efforts to save the boy no doubt the cause for her wounds agitation, and now that tendril on her forehead he had noticed earlier had slowly turned into a steady stream.

He began rummaging around the chest of drawers, looking for something he knew for certain no self respecting whore -or any woman for that matter- could go without -Aha there! A moment later and he returned to the Zeltivan healer with his prize; a handheld mirror, ornately designed and gaudily decorated. She would need to see what was going on if he was to have any chance of helping.

“Sit.” He instructed more coldly than he had intended, before moving over to the supplies and claiming them as his own. Zeb may have been out of the worst of it, but even a novice like Elias knew he still wasn’t free of his troubles quite yet. Some wounds could kill in five minutes just as potently as those that could kill in five days. He wanted to make sure neither kind had its chance, but he couldn’t if his healer was the next one of them to keel over, pale and shivering like the boy.

Waiting impatiently to acquiesce to his sudden demand, cold blue eyes would take their time studying the slave and the laceration she had suffered in the line of his defense. It still boggled the stryfer's mind as to what her motivations could have possibly been, but he intended to find out one way or another.

With a grimace that was difficult to hide even for Elias, he slowly, delicately pushed aside the matted mess of sticky red hair that clung to the woman's scalp. He didn't want to hurt her anymore than he already had, yet still he hissed at the sight of the wound beneath the canopy of tousled auburn. Probably not the most inspiring thing a doctor could do, but unfortunately for the slave, his hands were not meant for mending. If Shiress had been a working girl here at the House of Pleasures, and that assassin's blade had dipped been any lower, they'd have tossed her ass out on the streets just as thoughtlessly as they would the morning's chamber pot. Or perhaps worse yet, condemn her to the cellars and broom closets where many a girl whose once pretty face had taken one too many scars for men's liking tended to wind up.

Looming over the slender creature, the Caldera's meticulous scrutiny ended abruptly when he realized the state of his gloves. Stained and bloody, he tossed them aside without a second thought. With pale hands now freed and ready for the work, he slid a tender finger across her cheek to push aside that last pesky strands of hairs that framed the beauty beneath.

“You will tell me why...” His voice was a course whisper as he stared down at her, leaving the question unfinished yet plain as day. "But first, you will show me how to make this right. Guide my hands, they are yours."

[Shiress]

The smile that crept across the slaves face couldn't be helped; the obvious concern and caring for this boy that crossed the veteran's scared visage as he looked upon the prone form, warmed Shiress' heart. In that moment, she knew that this Ebonstryfe Soldier had a heart, no matter how hardened and cold it seemed -it was still there.

"I think he will," she began, but faltered, adding, "I don't think he will die from the arrow wound, save a bad infection." she amended quickly. "The bolt hit his rib and that gives me hope that it missed his lung." Shiress drew in a tired breath, absently running the tip of a finger along the boy's ebony cheek. "Blood loss is what worries me." Eyes lifting, she met an unwavering azure gaze, "If he lives through the night, I think he'll survive." she said, but the stare coming from the black clad man froze any other explanation that the slave might offer.

Shiress fell silent, unable to break free from the intense blue eyes staring into her green. The silence emanating from the girl was one of trepidation. What was he thinking? Never before had she met a gaze so unreadable as from Elias's cobalt blue eyes. Such pain resided there, such distance, such disconnection, but yet...

Elias spoke angrily, turning away. Shiress let out a breath she had known she had been holding. Why must he call her slave? Because she was a slave, but coming from him...oddly, it was mortifying.

Swiping a self-conscious hand across her eye, heart pounding, Shiress grabbed some towels, a bandage, and strips of linen from the basket, pulled a basin of water from atop the hearth, and turned to Zeb. With the water she cleaned the wound, wiping away the blackened, scorched blood, and flesh, careful, if not fearful, to leave the collected blood in place. The area had all but stopped bleeding, leaving a thick clot where once a bright cascade ran free. Around the wound itself was red, very angry, and would leave a hell of a scar, but Shiress felt sure that the teen would likely appreciate that. Well after the pain subsided, of course.

Shiress gently pressed the folded bandage against the boy's side, and with a confidence she didn't know belong to her, wrapped the strips of linen around Zeb's torso, tying it off tightly with three deft knots. Straightening, she turned to face the approaching man in black, her mouth opening, hand raising -palm out, to protest, as was her way. Shiress hated for anyone to see her in pain or in need. Funny how things work out for the slave girl.

"Sit." He ordered.

Shiress sat.

Shaking hands entwined in her lap as she felt suddenly scared and quite vulnerable. The man demanded obedience, without having to say a word. So when he did speak something close to a demand, she found herself more than willing to obey. But, surprisingly, Shiress found herself calming, and becoming a bit warm, beneath the hardened warrior's gentle touch. Again, she found herself wondering who exactly this man was, and found she was questioning the disheartening rumors she had heard about the Ebonstryfe.

Foolish slave.

"Have you.." she cleared her throat...and mind, "have you ever sewn anything? Seen someone else sew?" she asked, reaching for the mirror. Holding it up, Shiress grimaced. The opening in her scalp, just above her ear, was gaping and deep and about the length of a woman's small finger. A wave of nausea rolled through her belly. This was going to hurt. She swallowed hard, pausing a tick before speaking again.

"It doesn't have to be pretty," she said, pulling a thick threaded needle already prepared from the basket -who were these whores- "The skin on your scalp is pretty tight, so you are going to have to," she swallowed again, "pull the skin together." she pulled in an audibly shaky breath, "You'll push the needle in about half a fingernail's length from the cut, go under, and up the other side. Then, you'll tie the thread off near the bottom, as close to the cut as possible. Then, just keep looping it through and pull the skin together, and tie it off at the other end." When she held the needle up for the soldier to take she hoped he didn't see how badly she was shaking.

"Wait!" she said abruptly. Reaching down, she scooped the bottle of rum from the floor and took a long..very long.. pull.

"OK" she breathed.

Beautiful Boxcode Credit: Rohka

[Elias Caldera]

‘Sew’ she says…

Elias stared at the needle in his pinched grip, studying the thing as if it were a mathematics problem his instructors had just thrown up on the board for him to complete in front of the whole class. Why was he so damn nervous? He’d seen blood before, this was hardly anything new to the veteran warrior, and yet for some reason, the prospect of getting any closer to Shiress’s relatively minor laceration made him hesitate like a mewling apprentice faced with true combat for the first time. By now the answer was obvious of course, he’d been coming to grips with it ever since the boat ride leading here; this is my fault. He was to blame for all of it, which more often than not was not a factor that weighed heavy on the conscious of a man like Elias Caldera these days, but the manner in which the hypnotist had stolen the girls will and thrown her headlong into the maelstrom of his wicked machinations, only for her to return such a heinous act by doing what she had…

Guilt was a strange thing to feel so fresh upon his heart. The mage had always assumed the regrets of his wretched past would be the last vestiges of such an emotion he’d ever bother indulging again. It seemed fate had a different plan however, and it involved forcing him into a wrestling match with his own bloody sense of right and wrong. It was absurdity to say the least, but it was also reality, and there seemed to be no escaping it now.


He looked at Zeb, lying there on the table with his chest still rising and falling to a steady, if not troublingly weak rhythm. The sight of the boy still breathing should have calmed him, he knew. The kid had a chance now, the slave had timidly assured him as much, and while it wasn’t perfect, and far from what Elias had wanted, but it would have to do.

Gingerly taking hold of the area around the laceration as instructed by his soon to be tipsy patient, the Ravokian had to wonder if this was some kind of hypnotic assault on his mind on her part. Now that would be ironic. After what he had done, it would certainly be poetic if nothing else. The sorcerer knew full well if he so wished it, he could just as easily infiltrate her mind once more and force the answers from her. It would be child’s play to dominate her thoughts yet again, but that boulder resting against his chest every time he looked into her eyes only doubled in size with each dark thought that goaded him towards such sinister designs. Why? He found himself asking once more. What was really stopping him? Was it her beauty? There was no denying the girl had a look about her that surely would have had any sailor back in Zeltiva hooting and hollering given the right wink here, or cheeky smile there. It was same allure that had no doubt drawn the slaver’s collar to her slender neck and seen her dragged from her home abroad to the most radiant city upon the lake. Only the very best ever made it to Ravok afterall, even if they arrived in chains.

With all the care and concentration he could muster, Elias slid the needle in as had been patiently explained. Though dubious and slow at first, he eventually began his task of mending the flesh as best as his steady hands could manage. He pined for the bottle of rum in the slave’s grasp, cursing and commending her in equal parts for her choice to snatch it before he had a chance to, but he knew full well the girl would need it more than her doctor did.

As he worked, his musings continued uninterrupted.

If not her grace, perhaps it was her quaint, almost rustic charm then? It was there, though brief and frequently marred by the insane events surrounding their meeting, it had not been lost on the young man during their time together. It was a characteristic that made her easy enough to single out as a foreigner amidst the rabble. Such traits in a person did not belong in a city like this. It would only serve to get you killed… or worse.

Bah! All this speculation was only proving useful in explaining what a good woman she seemed to be, and more practically, what a superb slave she would make, but none of it had provided an answer to the real questions. “What you did back at the market,” the Caldera began suddenly, his voice low and rumbling as his thoughts divided themselves unevenly between his important work and his words “the way you threw yourself into danger to help me… It makes me wonder why someone would do that for another.” The needle passed through the skin again, its pace quickening ever so slightly as the hands guiding it grew more and more confident in their stride. “It makes me wonder what kind of person you are. I know you didn’t do it out of patriotic fervor. I could feel your fear and surprise when you learned I was with the Ebonstryfe earlier.” His expression did not change as the needle delved once more beneath the skin. While not everything came to him with his passive abilities in the auristic art as they currently were, but powerful emotions, like the ones Shiress had given off in palpable waves when he’d been arguing with Lexa, were well within his realm of comprehension, even if he didn’t fully intend them to be.

“I would know who you are, slave. I would know everything of the woman who was brave enough to not only stand between an assassin and his target, but also rescue the life of my ward in the aftermath.” He went on, pulling taught the final length of stitching before tying it off. It seemed sloppy somehow, despite the immense amount of meticulous focus he’d placed into the task. He was concerned he’d made the spacing too wide between each stitch, but in his mind, the fewer times he had to poke her with that needle, the better. Thankfully, the soldier had enough practice and wherewithal to hide his anxiety by now, and made an effort not to let it show as he took the slave’s hand in his own and raised the mirror closer for inspection. When she was finished and satisfied, Elias hand guided the mirror once more, this time away from the wound, and instead unto the face of Zeltivan woman staring back at her. A single, blue eye peered around its gaudy, golden edge, gazing deep into the familiar visage copied upon the reflection. A casual hand fell upon her fair cheek and gently guided the slave's attention into the reflection should her emerald orbs begin to wander elsewhere. It seemed appropriate she was looking at herself when he asked his final question.

“Who are you, Shiress?”

[Shiress]

The first prick of the needle had the slave wincing, the second had tears streaming down her cheeks, as she chugged the rum again. The third had her teeth clinched so hard she thought they'd crack. Then, she was coming to, aroused by a male voice. It took a tick for her head to clear enough to remember Elias and fully hear his words. Then, as understanding dawned, she immediately adopted a hesitant silence, rum bottle tilted to her lips again, as she listened. Clearly, the slaves attempt to ignore the question earlier was in vain.

Shiress wasn't completely sure she knew why she had done what she had, herself. Thinking back on it, it seemed more like an instinct, rather than a choice. Bad guy tries to hurt good guy; there was no choice really. What revealed itself to Shiress, in this moment of reflection, was she had not known if Elias was the good guy or the bad. She still didn't. The attempt to take Elias's life could have been brought on by an enraged father, seeking retribution for a raped daughter, for all she knew. Shiress wondered, then, if it had been Elias that had produced a weapon with intentions to kill someone, would she have done the same? Would she have thrown herself at the Ebonstryfe soldier, and yelled out a warning for his intended target? She didn't know. If she knew then what she knows now would she still have thwarted the attempt on Elias's life?

She would.

Shiress chided herself inwardly; was she truly so quick to trust anyone who cared, or not, enough to carry on a conversation with her? Beneath the hardened warriors hands, the slave squirmed in her chair, uneasy; she didn't think she was going to be able to answer this man's question. So, she hit the rum one last time.

Thankfully, she thought she wouldn't have to as Elias had fell silent and raised the mirror for her inspection. Shiress bent her head slightly, probing gently at Elias's work. "That's really good," she said, surprised at the slight slur to her words, "maybe you missed your calling, Dr. Elias." But, the weak attempt at humor was lost on the man, or he just chose to ignore it. Instead, he tilted the mirror and that one blue eye locked onto her green. The same question that was asked of her, reverberated in her mind for him, but his answer, however, would not be deterred this time.

Shiress silently stared at the slave looking back at her for a long time.

She saw the slave, but felt the woman. Saw the despair, but felt the hope. Saw the pain, but felt the comfort. But, which was she -which of these feelings were her true self? Was she the slave in the mirror, or the woman holding the mirror? Was she a Zeltivan, or the property of another? There was not a single person here, Shiress felt this, just as she felt Elias's hand on her face. A sudden heaviness in her head nearly pitched her forward out of the chair. A confusion of thoughts and realities coalesced into one knowing. She was divided. She was owned.

Shiress was a lie.

"I am Sayana's slave" she replied, her words resonating with a near trans-like tone, as if she was answering a question she had asked herself. "I am just a slave." she repeated, more coherently, hands and eyes falling away from the mirror. "I don't know why I did it" she added, folding blood stained hands in her lap "a given opportunity to stop something bad, and do something good? To make a choice for myself for once, maybe?" she sighed heavily "I don't know, but I do know I don't regret it, and I know if I had it to do over again I would do it." she dared a glance upward to Elias and managed a crimson girdled smile. "I don't think I wanted to see you or Zeb get hurt." she shrugged "There's just something about that kid.." she let the words trail off, because what she said, and what she wanted to say, were two different things.

There's just something about you, Elias, she thought

Just then, the door to the room opened. Shiress' head swung up to see the madam of the house slip through the doorway. The slave immediately found something very interesting about the floor to look at. Just seeing the beautiful Lexa gave the slave an instant inferiority complex, and her current state of dishevelment only heightened the feeling.

The bronze skinned beauty stood in the doorway, hands propped on curvaceous hips, a knowing gaze taking in the room in one emerald sweep. "Ella," she called -gods, even her voice was beautiful- "Grab Rose and Gwen, fill a tub, and bring towels, vanilla soap, and a brush. Ask Rose for a dress, they're about the same size." Lexa's slippered feet crossed the room soundlessly, creased eyes taking in Zeb, the crimson stained table, floor, and the slave in turn, before alighting on Elias. "I should quadruple that fee" she growled. "Lily, bring a mop and bucket" Glancing down to Shiress, she added, "Give those to Caldera. I'll clean this one up." Pursing glossed lips, the woman brushed jeweled bedecked hair from her shoulders,and pulled the slave to her feet. "Get up girl, lets get you cleaned up."

Upon standing, Shiress tottered, dangerously, grabbing onto the woman's forearms. "I'm sorry," apologized Shiress, "I'm a bit dizzy." Lexa shifted her weight, darting a vexed glare at the Ebonstryfe soldier. "Yes, well, you smell like a barmaid, dear." The slave rolled her head around, looking at the woman, but remained silent, the word 'barmaid' causing a wave of emotion to run through her.

I used to be a barmaid, Shiress reflected, inwardly.

Behind the madam, the tub arrived, brimming with warm water and Lexa wasted no time. Shiress, attention slowed by alcohol, hadn't noticed that the woman's long, slender fingers had her blouse undone and around her elbows. Shiress slapped her arms across her chest, putting her back between her virtue and Elias. "I'm not...we aren't..." stammered Shiress, but Lexa interrupted with a noisy sigh. "Oh for Rhysol's sake!" she swore, grabbing Shiress by the elbow to lead the struggling slave behind a changing curtain. Thankfully the tub was there, too.

"Clean the boy up, Caldera, and in bed and off my table."

Deft hands undressed Shiress and helped her into the bath. Shiress groaned in pleasure as her sore muscles sank down into the warm water. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes to the spinning room, as Lexa began to, gently, wash the red, sticky tangle of hair.

"I think she's asleep" Ella whispered. "Did you see?
The poor girl is covered in scars!" Lexa grimaced "I saw." she replied, flatly. "Scars tell a story" continued Lexa, "and this slaves story is a long and hard one, it appears." The madam shook her gaze free, glancing to Ella "Finish bathing her and help her dress." she added, slipping around the curtain and out of view.

"Caldera.." she called

Ella leaned over Shiress and gently rubbed a fingertip along her cheek. "Let's get you clean before this water gets cold, yes?" Shiress smiled, opening her eyes. "I'm not asleep, just didn't realize how good a bath could feel." Ella dipped the soap into the water and began gliding it across Shiress' back, as Shiress worked the blood from her hands. A sudden awkwardness overcame the slave, remembering what this woman's profession was, and she tensed with the girl's touch. But Ella, humming a soft tune as her soapy hands slid across Shiress' back, had a way about her; her touch was gentle and soft, and the slave found herself easing beneath it.

That was, until the girl's hands slid around her bare shoulders and Shiress saw she held no wash cloth. The slaves eyes grew larger and rounder as Ella stepped behind her and slid her hands around her shoulders and down onto her chest. The girl had to feel the heart pounding beneath her soapy touch. Ella, however, had not missed a beat, leaning forward, she hummed close to Shiress' ear as the palms of her hands slid across the tips of her breasts, onto her belly, and lower. The breath caught in the slaves throat at Ella's probing touch, but then her hands were retreating, reaching her breast again, this time pausing a tick too long, and squeezing a bit too hard, for it not to be deliberate. Shiress could almost hear the prostitute's smile resonating somewhere in that tune. This girl knew exactly what she was doing to her and the awkwardness that it created, and she was reveling in it. Enjoying it!

The cooling bathwater suddenly felt very good on the slaves warming skin.

When Ella's hands threatened to descend once again, Shiress pulled herself from the bathwater as quickly, and with as much dignity, as she could muster. "I think" she began, then cleared her throat, "I think I'm clean enough, thank you." Ella grinned, her dark eyes alight with mischief. Shiress found she couldn't help but return the beautiful, young woman's grin as she began to towel herself off.

The dress, borrowed from Rose, fit well enough, if not a bit snug. The blue kirtle, sewn over a white shift, fit tight through to the hips, then hung loose from a draping belt around Shiress' waste. A rather deep plunging neckline had the slave constantly tugging, but to no result. "I dont think." Shiress turned to face Ella, a look of confusion twisting her damp face. "I dont think the dress fits," Shiress wiggled, pulling at the neckline. Ella laughed, loud and long. Taking a step forward, the whore plunged a hand down the front of the dress, grabbed Shiress' breast and hiked it up, and then done the same to the other one. Shiress looked down in horror, feeling only half dressed. "It's supposed to be so.. she motioned vaguely with her hands, then sighed, resigned "low?" Again, Ella only gave that sweet, not so innocent smile.

When Shiress turned for the girl to brush her hair, she managed to push a bit of her -dignity- back down into the dress.

Lexa was stepping toward the door to the room as Shiress stepped out from behind the curtain, her dark hair lay in damp ringlets across her shoulders and swayed and curled down the length of her back. Ella, giving Shiress a knowing squeeze to her shoulders in passing, followed Lexa through the doorway, pulling the door shut behind her. "Well," she said, after a moment of silence, tucking a wet ringlet behind an ear, "I feel better and look a might better, I've no doubt." Absently tugging at the neckline of her dress, again, Shiress pulled the chair around that she had so bravely sat in as Elias sutured her head, and gestured for the man to sit. "Now, I think its your turn."

[Elias Caldera]

“…Lexa.” Elias muttered coldly as he set aside his sword. He’d ripped it free of its sheath and pointed it at the door when the thing had burst open so suddenly, fully expecting a second round with whoever or whatever had failed to finish the job at the market earlier. Instead he had found the queen whore and her gaggle of lackeys rushing in like the dawn’s tide, and by look in Lexa’s painted eyes as she strolled across the room and began taking charge, the soldier had to wonder if he would have been better off facing the assassins instead.

“What part of privacy-” He began, but his agitated growl was stalled halfway out his throat by a stern, uncompromising tone he was all too familiar with. “Shush!” Was all the dark skinned vixen deigned to greet him with as she swiftly went about her business. He might as well have been part of the furniture or one of risqué pictures hanging off the wall for all the care or concern she showed for his presence in the room after that. This damnable woman! he angrily fumed, but before he had chance to fully grasp what nefarious designs she had in store, Shiress -the poor girl- was expertly disrobed, thoroughly mortified, and promptly whisked away behind a newly erected divide to only god knows what terrible fate Lexa had in mind for her on the other side. Stunned into silence, the Caldera found his curiosity more than just a little piqued when the collection of women all disappeared behind the partition, transforming themselves into a veritable gallery of salacious shadows taunting him from the other side. Things only got stranger still when the moaning began a few ticks later.

Admittedly, it took a moment to collect himself, but it wasn’t long before his depraved mind was formulating some vague excuse that could give him reason to cross that division that now tantalizingly divided the room in two. Shiress was, in a sense, his responsibility now after all. I mean, I do owe her for everything she did. I couldn’t just abandon the poor lass to those animals. Perhaps I’ll just take a peek… to make sure she’s… alright… Before the mage could take his first shameless step forward however, his burgeoning audacity was cut short by a mop and bucket abruptly being shoved into his arms. “Lexa says these are for you, mister.” The petite girl chimed as she coyly smiled up at him.

Armed with his new arsenal of tools and a deadpan and hastily darkening expression, Elias simply glared at the smirking prostitute. With a squeak, she fled from the room and into the arms of her giggling cohorts waiting just outside. They squealed and pranced about like little girls, whispering their whispers and gossiping their gossip, but in the instant that followed, the door to the brothel’s bedroom slammed shut in their faces with an unexplained ferocity, as if a stray gust of wind -one just as annoyed and fed up as Elias- had caught the thing and smashed it closed. The crash caused all but Lexa to react in surprise, the veteran harlot all too familiar with her favorite customer’s wild and magical outbursts to be shocked by them anymore. A fact that only served to frustrate the reimancer who had conjured the wind even further.

Without a word, he tossed aside the cleaning supplies and stormed off to more important matters.

“That girl is in trouble, Elias.” Lexa stated coolly a while later as she rounded the divide and walked over to where the pale man was now hovering over Zeb. He had been tending to the boy as best he could in their absence, trying to clean the red splotches away just as he had seen Shiress do and all the while reminding himself that he was doing so because he wanted to, and definitely not because he’d be instructed to by a very scary woman. “How much did you overhear?” He demanded, his voice low as he worked absentmindedly. Lexa had interrupted much with her unannounced and unwelcome invasion, including the short amount time Elias had to make sense of what the slave had so candidly revealed to him.

There was a great deal that needed to be unraveled and made sense of, first and foremost the revelation that Sayana was involved in all this somehow. The Eypharians association seemed too treacherously convenient to be chalked up to simple coincidence. Yet for one reason or another, the Ravokian couldn’t bring himself to believe Shiress was truly involved in any of the despicable and utterly plausible conspiracies his mind had been wracked with the moment she’d uttered her master’s name.

By then however Lexa had already saddled up next to him, trying to find a place on the table to lean against while she extolled whatever nugget of sagely wisdom the whore had been preparing up until now. When she found none that wouldn’t leave her fine silken dress bloodied and stained, she opted to instead cross her arms in that vexingly telling way that let him know he was in trouble. “I’m not some snooping mother-in-law come to pilfer your secrets.” She snapped, her southern born accent flaring ever so slightly in the wake of her indignation. It was a harsh and guttural thing she disguised well beneath her finely honed Ravokian veneer, but Elias had known the woman long enough to recognize her tells. She only let slip her homeland’s influence upon her tongue when she was truly angry, excited… or worried. “I don’t know what the two of you discussed, but I know she’s in trouble because I know you.”

The rag faltered in its run across the boy’s ghostly skin. It resumed a moment later with greater intensity as the swordsman ground his teeth. “And what is it exactly you suspect I’ll do to her then?” His gaze never left the boy as he spoke, but his work on Zeb was more an afterthought as both his focus and his annoyance settled on Lexa anew. He didn’t appreciate what she was insinuating, not that it had ever bothered him before. This time was different though, and he could almost feel her condemning gaze slowly fall upon Zeb’s broken form before them.

“The same thing you do to everyone, my sweet.”

He had known that answer had been coming, he’d seen its begrudging approach from a mile away, and yet when the words hit him, they still did so like daggers against his chest. “I’ve seen a lot of people come and go from this place over the years Elias, and I’ve learned to read all manner of bad and broken in them. The way they walk, the way they talk, I’ve seen it all and no one’s perfect," she took a shallow, thoughtful breath and continued "but in that girl back there I see something I haven’t laid eyes on in this city for a very long time. Something that tells me she’s has no business being in a place like this -with people like us. She's different, I think. She’s-”

“Good…” Elias whispered, the shadow of his brow masking his tired eyes. “She’s good.”

He turned on Lexa then, with all the swiftness and ferocity of a man brought to the precipice of his patience, yet when cool amber eyes locked with that of his icy blues, there was no rage or anger burning behind them, merely an unspoken expectancy in his forlorn gaze pleading for help. She was right, damn her, but she was right, and more than anything else, the whore’s truth troubled the pale killer the most. He’d studied every single word the slave had uttered during her confession, her aura unfolding before the aurist who eagerly plucked and played with every dancing hue that flowed from the Zeltivan heroine’s quivering form. Her truths were made evident, her hesitations highlighted, but her lies… her lies never once entered the fray. Like a book, all that was Shiress had been laid bare before the Caldera, and in her stark and somber revelation the swordsman had found none of the familiar hints of deception or betrayal he’d been expecting… been hoping for.

In his own sick and poisoned way, Elias realized he would have preferred to discover all this was but a duplicitous ruse. Trickery and deceit were what he knew best, what he'd been born to epitomize. To be faced then with such sincerity and… virtue in a single, uncorrupted soul. It left even a man as proud as he desperate for answers and guidance.

Both came with the graceful and warm touch of a reassuring hand rested upon his own. “You’ve made enough enemies and mistakes for a lifetime already, Elias. Maybe its time to try something new for a change?” She glanced at the other side of the room where the sounds of splashing and giddy, raunchy laughter were reaching their crescendo. “Something better, hmm?”

The young man didn’t answer, he couldn’t even if he tried, but Lexa placed a tender, definitive kiss upon his brow never the less before taking her leave, her elegant exit followed quickly by what remained of her entourage. It wasn’t long after when Shiress too followed suit and reemerged from her haven, practically reborn. "You look as grand as the Voice herself." Elias found himself muttering through a weak smile. He wasn't sure why he had decided to say something so outrageously daft, save except that it might be the truth. Like an Ethaefal remade by the rising sun, Shiress had returned a new woman, her hair a wet and clinging tangle upon her fair and glistening skin, her eyes beaming with new found confidence and vigor. She seemed better now for some reason, most definitely stronger than the bloodied, shivering bundle of nerves he had unfortunately come to associate her with. Yet trying to find the right word to sum up her radiant return felt mindnumbingly impossible, but all his thoughts kept coming back to a single choice as he looked upon her.

"Beautiful."

His smile deepened. Yah, that'll do.

His stupid grin floundered into a confused frown a moment later however, when Shiress motioned for him to sit and be tended to. "What?" He asked distractedly. The slave then gestured to his neck, and when the swordsman's hand instinctively went to touch it, he noticed for the first time he'd been hurt. It seemed no one had come out of that attempt on his life unscathed, though considering who the target had been, the divvying up of damage felt particularly lopsided. "Oh." He said with a tinge of noticeable indifference. His first instinct would have been to wave away her concern as unnecessary, but as his attention struggled more and more to stray away from the... amenities provided by her latest choice of dress, he immediately thought better of staving off her offer to get closer together. "Not here." He said however, turning back to Zeb and picking up the hapless fool before placing him on the bed nearby. Unbeknownst to Elias, he'd unintentionally tossed his rag upon the boy's face during his heated exchange with Lexa. With an embarrassed frown, he hastily snatched it up and made sure the pickpocket was comfortable before returning his focus on the slave girl who'd saved his life. He motioned for her to follow as the two exited the room, Elias locking it behind them before opening the door to another directly across the hall.

Like a mirror image of the hostel they'd just come from, save for the gaudy tint of gold on all the sheets and drapes, the room was empty and welcoming. "I believe you." He finally stated after a while of surveying and searching the place from top to bottom. He wasn't sure what to expect seeing as the room was clearly devoid of life, but he felt it necessary to play up his part as the ever vigilant warden. "About what you spoke of earlier; that drive to help to which you surrendered yourself to in the moment. I believe you. Though I will admit, all this concern for Zeb leaves me feeling rather... envious." With his back to her, the impish grin that split his lip was hidden, though he doubted she wouldn't pick up on the teasing tone of his words.

With a sound and sudden snap, Elias illuminated the dreary darkness that ruled the unused room and cracked open the sole window facing out across the city. The resplendence of Ravok in twilight greeted its natural born son with a mesmerizing view he'd seen a thousand times before and knew full well he'd never grow tired of even if he was to see it a thousand times again. As he stared out across the sprawling city coming to its tepid end, his hands set to work unfastening something on his person. "Where anyone else would have let fear dominate their actions, you refused its hold upon you, and because of that, I am alive. Zeb is alive."

As he turned away from the window and back to the girl whose praises he now sang, their came a quieted clatter on the ground around him as leather, cloth and steel all fell away in unison from his torso, unleashing his pale and powerful frame amidst a silhouette of the dusk's waning hues of purples and orange. Despite the shadows cast upon his face, his frigid gaze stood out as plain as day, and the look they held smoldered with a strange and dangerous intensity as it fell upon Shiress. "The boy will survive, I know it, but he deserves his rest while time permits," the scarred soldier went on, taking a daring step closer, "so now you and I, good doctor, finally have our chance to be alone."

[Shiress]

Beautiful? Shiress scoffed inwardly, not easily accepting the man's complement. Slaves aren't beautiful. Slaves have scars and burns and brands, and, more recently, bruises and gashes. Shiress imagined that someone who had just saved your life would be 'beautiful' to anyone.

Still musing bitterly to herself, the slave failed to notice that Elias was leaving the room. Snatching up the basket of supplies and a skin, that she hoped was full of water, she followed the man out into the hallway, chewing her bottom lip as one door was locked and the other opened. Locked? Was Elias worried that the threat still loomed? Shiress glanced down the hall and back, nervously, before scooting into the room.

The chamber was dark, obliging the slave to remain by the doorway while Elias strolled the room. Was he looking for a hidden assassin? Shiress surreptitiously sidestepped herself away from the open door, looking at it as if it would swing to and take her head off. When the mans deep voice penetrated the ominous silence, the girl nearly jumped from her skin and it took a chime for what he said to register.

"Envious?" Shiress laughed, watching the man's lien silhouette against the window as light finally flooded the room. She watched him in his silence, as he observed the city beyond the window. Who was he? Who was Elias Caldera? She had told him of herself when asked, but he had not offered anything about himself, nor why assassins had come for him. An Ebonstryfe soldier and a mage -a knowledgeable range of a teaspoon, dipped from the mind of Lake Ravok, but neither of those facts he had told her; one being overheard, the other being witnessed, but Shiress had no right to ask and she knew it. Even if he would divulge anything if prompted, the slave wasn't sure she wanted to know -if it was safe to know.

Shiress turned and closed the door just as Elias spoke. Turning back, she answered "I freed myself of fear's talons a long time ago" she stated proudly, then froze. If seeing a shirtless -and very muscular- Elias wasn't enough of a shock, the azure glare radiating off the soldier went well beyond it, snatching the slaves response and turning it into a cesspool of hypocrisy and lies. Fear welled up so quickly in Shiress' chest that she thought she'd never breath again.

Over the course of the several bells she had been in the company of Elias Caldera, she had never known this visage, this look, from him. The slave thought she could see intimidation in that acute stare and maybe..could that be desire? Elias took a step forward and with everything she was, everything she has become, gone through, and survived, Shiress forced down the fear with a controlled intake of breath. She broke free of the cold, blue eyes and let her own eyes trail down Elias's bare form.

The slowly ascending eyebrow and slight smile of appreciation were not feigned.

Turning before the man could see the bright red settling into her cheeks, Shiress pulled out a chair and motioned him to sit. Once seated, Shiress gently probed the area around the cut with her fingertip, but her eyes, however, were following a scar encircling Elias's neck and then strayed to a mark -tattoo?- on his shoulder, her finger absently leaving the wound to trace the intriguing links of the mark. Suddenly, the man's strong arms pulled her down to his lap, his explanation lost to her, for her attention, nor eyes, never strayed from scrutiny of his scars.

They were so much like her own.

The marks on his neck, his shoulders, his chest -they captured her, enslaved her, with their hidden story. Green eyes trailed every line, every indention, every imperfection of the man's skin, before lifting to find his blue gaze. Those eyes...the vibrant blue of them; the starburst of lighter blue bursting out from the center to touch the darker color encircling the dominant, cobalt blue. In those eyes Shiress saw past the mystery, saw beyond the killer, and past the soldier, and the mage, past all the secret pain. In that moment, Shiress could see only the survivor...the protector, and a mirror image of her own, deepening desire.

She kissed him.

Her lips pressed hard to his, her tongue flicking out to dart across the surface of his, requesting, wanting, demanding entrance, slim fingers pressing hard into the taut muscles of his chest.... Beneath her own heaving chest pounded a heart in fervent prayer that she saw true beyond this scarred warriors surface. Pulling slightly back, the slave released two warm, quickened breaths against Elias's lips, before a carnal whisper escaped her own...

"Would you have me, Elias?"