Path Of Vengeance-Dark Beginnings

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Wreath.of.Geistmane, May 12, 2013.

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  1. IT had been days since she woke up, delirious and in pain in the unfamiliar bedroom. Wreath ahd been accustomed to strange surroundings as her lifestyle demanded, but this was different… she had a higher cause for being here than she would have thought. Days ago, months now it seemed, she had been minding her own business in the tavern, getting as drunken and lively as anybody else in the place and having a good, quiet time. But then there was a fight… then there was fire… then there was pain, and blackness.
    Her body lay broken and bleeding in the alleyway. She could feel cold air on her ribcage… her RRIBCAGE, not her pert breasts or supply tanned skin. There wasn’t much left of her right side. She saw her hand twitching five feet away, the smear of blood leading from what would surely soon be her own ruined corpse. Wreath was a thief by trade, and death was coming to steal her. She saw his shadow edge across the sky, heard the creak of old bones smiling.
    “Do you want to die?” Asked a voice.
    “No.” she said, more with her mind burning its final thoughts than with her mouth. She coughed, tasted blood and felt something spill over her like tar, it stopped the pain instantly. More like it stopped EVERYTHING. When she had awoken a few days ago, there was heaviness in her abdomen, she would have asked questions had she seen anyone, but she was only awake for a few minutes at a time, and when she was, nobody was around. A simple tin plate with bread and potato soup a little too salty for her taste was on the table, she would eat a few bites of bread, a spoonful of soup, and pass out, sometimes holding the spoon, and always with a dull twitch coming from her body.
    Three days. It had only been three days. She could smell the ocean, its salty breeze wafting up to her. She figured she was in a fortress or a hotel of some kind with it’s stone walls and high windows. Today she would STAY awake.she didn’t.
    -------------
    On day four, Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked out the window to see a full moon lazing upwards at her fromt eh window. That’s how she knew it had been Four days. The moon was four days from beign full the night she went into the tavern. She sat up, feeling that same dull weight in her stomach…maybe they had put her entrails back inside her the wrogn way? She sighed and pulled the covers back, pulling up her shirt thinking she’d see a scar. There was none. There was however, a round soft lump where a trim tummy had once been, and as she poked at the weight, she felt somethgin shift inside, not like somethgin alive squirming, but like she had touched something solid inside her and her poke had moved it within. It was a discomforting feeling to say the least.
    Wreath shook her head a little and cleared her throat of four days of snoreing flem, swallowing uncomfortably, she shifted and sat with her feet on the wood floor, looking for her soup. There was none, and in it’s place was a tall beer stein with it’s lid down. She grinned and opened it. Cold water with crushed mint and a lemon wedge.
    “Where did they get le-“she paused and stood up, still holding the stein. She walked slowly towards the window and looked out upon the ocean facing fortress and the busy dock below feeding four galleon’s with crates of produce. The scent of citrus wafted up to her and she put her hand on the windowframe.
    “Well I’ll be Damned.” The Thief grinned, taking a LONG drag of the sweet, tangy cool water.

    She had no idea how perfect the statement was…

     
  2. Within any decent thief lays the potential for a phenominal assassin. That precise statement had been a mantra of Nedra's former mentor. Right next to Never hesitate for death, and NEVER GET CAUGHT!! But that's exactly what happened the moment she chose her first high profile target - she was caught, and imprisoned. That was over five weeks ago. The Man whose head she marked for death had decided she would serve as one of His slaves, just as anyone who had trusted or betrayed Him did. Every day she signed up for a job, did it, and went back to her cell. They weren't allowed on or near the ships, even when they moved crates of imports from the shore to the doors of the store rooms. Every day she ate something similar - bread and soup and water - wondering where any of those fruits and vegetables she hauled were being served. From what she gathered her meals were much more meager than anyone who had, say stolen from The Man, since she had tried to kill Him. Even the brutes who claimed to have been bested by Him in some bar tousle or street duel ate better than she. She, who had become comfortably in-tune with the uncertain and unknown of living mostly moment by moment, was now trapped in rigid structure and monotony. It ate at her every day...until she popped.
    Just the other morning she had attempted escape, only to be caught once more. She made it as far as the opposite shore, knee deep in the sea before she was lasso'd (nearly drowned) and dragged across the quarter mile of beach. Forced to her feet, she was made to walk and run and trip behind the horses of His men. By the time they brought her back, someone had been put in her cell and her new room was a downgrade. Sand exploded from her clothing when they threw her to the dirt floor, making mud upon her soggy shoes and leggings. It dusted her typically sleek black hair, in addition to the leaves and twigs wrapped up in her locks. She spat at the buff man who had tossed her like some waify garbage, and he responded with a backhand that knocked her unconscious.
    Night had fallen by the time she awoke and, once she had stretched out the kinks in her muscles and pops in her joints, she took note of the absence of dinner. Or water.. Or a bed... Pacing the room slowly - four steps back, three across - the woman took a few deep breaths and began untangling her hair the best she could. With one of the twigs, she drew in the dirt. Random numbers and letters and symbols eventually became crude line renderings of trees, sunshine, and eventually food. Without a response from her gut, she looked out the window and rubbed her sore face. An eye and part of her cheek had swollen where that bloated guard had struck her, making her face throb as her hazel eyes settled on a nearly full moon, turning from blue in the shadows to green in the moonlight.

    She spat on her finger to mark the first night of her stay in her new cell.

    At the third mark she awoke from meditation-induced sleep to the pangs of hunger. Her stomach knotted, gurgled and growled, as she surpressed a moan. Vocalization would be a confession, that they had control of her and could bring her to pleading. She sat in the dust, reserving what little strength she had, and wondered if this was their means of killing escapees. Scenes of men killed on site flickered through her mind, of those who had tried to walk or run out in front of guards. Hers had been planned at least somewhat, and so she presumed her punishment was lengthy due to premeditation. But she remained skeptical, and oh so hungry. No sooner had her stomach quietted than she heard someone delivering meals. Hers was the last keep, and every collection of footsteps and tin-on-wood made her salivate. When her door finally opened she looked up, not to a meal but to a grin.
    "Oh sweetheart, you didn't have to paint your face for me! You know how whorish you look in it." The muscle man was back, and making cracks at her bruising eye socket. "Never you mind dearie, you'll get cleaned up before dinner with boss man." It had been a few days before she'd been tossed over his shoulder, and she hadn't grown anymore fond of the experience. But weakened by hunger, she couldn't resist (though every nerve wanted to) as she hung limp over the large man's arm.
    The room he locked her in next held a tub, a fireplace warming the last of the water, and three handmaidens who immediately disrobed her. One dropped Nedra's clothing in a steaming basin of bubbles, setting to work by gently scrubbing the cloth. Another wrapped her in a towel, while the last set to the task of her poufed and knotted mane. As luxurious as this should have felt, the woman had trouble licking her lips and attempting to croak a request.
    "Water?" Was her near-groan of a third attempt at speaking, but the woman that had covered her dirty body hurried to comply. Since she curtsied as she handed the cup to the woman, Nedra did her best to muster a single nod in thanks.
    Before long she was brushed and pre-rinsed of excess filth, then finally submerged in the most satisfying soak of her memory. The women washed her hair and put a salve around her eye; it stank of familiar ingredients known to lessen swelling and soothe superficial tissues. Its cooling tingle brought a complementary relaxation to the bath, her clothes between the window's breeze and the fire's warmth to dry. After her fourth glass of cool water, Nedra stepped from the bath to use the nearest bedpan. The water was cooling anyhow, so the maids set to drying her body and hair, and cleaning her face of the oily paste.
    Getting dressed once more, she found her things had been mended as well as soaked in fragrant lavender. Standing just a touch straighter, she pushed passed the nagging vulnerability felt with the absence of her leather belts and weaponry. And after slipping into her newly-shined leather boots, she hoped The Man had a damn good memory.

    ~~{@ Attempted Murder @}~~

    Palpable night air enveloped the small assassin as the rose fell into a pool of her instructor's blood. It streamed from his nose, dripping on the flower and the floor, slick beneath the woman's hand. The inhaled poison had set on too fast, too thoroughly and...completely. A vial from her waist held the antidote and - one, two, three - drops in his mouth should have sufficed. But his heartbeat had seized, stopped, and his last breath escaped his lips as they formed the word, "love."

    The greatest assassin and finest man she had ever known had died, nonetheless in her place.

    This memory was fresh in her mind as his eyes were burned behind her own, constantly reminding Nedra of the dreams she would never have - the future that had escaped her. The fault and blame that was hers alone...

    So many months she had spent, just to enter the circles she might hear His name in, on the off-chance someone wanted Him dead as desperately as she. Of course, there was. For a time after the death of her only friend in the world, Nedra had sworn off their profession until her path could cross His, and took work as a housemaid. During that time she learned not only how to hide and access weaponry beneath a skirt, but that His late wife had suspicions. She was under the impression He intended to have Her killed, had intercepted a letter intended for a bounty hunter...and she had a mind to pull it off first. That night, it was all too easy to find a reason to visit the lady's chambers, and to admit the truer reason.
    Once she had the information she needed, and had promised the woman her come-uppance...Nedra struck. Leaving a rose upon the woman's chest, she slipped out the servant's quarters and into the night.

    @}~~ Dinner for Two ~~{@

    The dark wooden table was laden with an elaborate spread of fruits, vegetables, and various meats. Soups and gravies filled spouted mugs, and fragrant wines sat in chilled pitchers. The plates, platters and forks: all silver. A plush chair sat at the head of the table and where food didn't take up space, the surface was sprinkled with scarlet roses. Where food did reside, roses were worked into the ensemble. Stems tucked in the legs of a turkey, full blossoms were floating in a punch bowl, buds poking from between hunks of cheese and atop mounds of olives. Once she was sat and poured a glass of wine, she realized it had been distilled from roses.
    "Please," His voice filled the small room, standing Nedra's hair on end. "Help yourself. You'll need your strength." Every rose her eye caught added to the woman's paranoia, wondering if he'd poisoned everything, if it hurt to die...but she knew for certain the wife's death had haunted Him as much as Sebastian's had haunted her. Deeply she drank from her goblet, snatching greens and biting into whole vegetables. The tomato's juice gushed down her chin, gooey like the blood of a human heart. The lamb rib was warm in her hands and her mouth, pumping red blood cells into her aching body.
    A few mouthfuls later, she slowed down and wiped her face on a sturdy cloth napkin. He had been watching and waiting patiently from His place across the room; there was business to discuss, but it wasn't going anywhere. Once she had eaten enough to regain color in her face, The Man began the proposal that would hopefully alleviate both of their bounties and burdens.

    The Agreement:
    Make the delivery, earn her freedom...or her casket.
     
  3. The smell of fragrant roast meat and simmerign vegetables hit her nose wafting up from places unknown in the building complex. Wreath looked down over the sunsetting shore as the men milling about slowed their progress and stopped alltogether. the ship woudl sail in the morning it seemed. The Thief was feeling the twitch of hunger again, and uncertain as to why she was still feeling so strange, she walked along the wall with her hand pressed against the stone and mortar towards the bed where she sat oncemore on the soft cotton sheets. the decadent fluff of the goosedown mattress was more than she was accustomed to from old taverns and low end inns. it was exilerating actually to feel if for a moment that she was a countess in waiting. the entertaining thought slipped her mind instantly as she heard footsteps outside the door. The wieght in her stomach twitched like the reaction of bare skin to cold water and she gripped her abdomen in confusion as the feeling filled her core. The door opened.

    "Sleeping bea'ee Foinly awaike eh?"" Came teh sloppy accent of a large, well-dresssed thug. he had more weapons on him than Wreath had ever seen, and her instincts emmediately kicked in, everythign abotu her wreeking of defensiveness.

    "Who are you?... where am i?..." she said slowly with a bit of malice in her voice from the way that man was looking at her... like he wanted somethign more than to look.

    "Don't you fret 'bout that little miss... you gots ya'self bigger problems." he said thickly and took a step back, lettign a shaky maid through. she had a large stack of clothes and a traveling cloak. there was also bits of clanky metal armor ontop. shoulder pauldrons, legging sabatons, heavy fingerless gauntlets and a chainmail shirt.

    "you expect me to wear this?!" she blinked. " It weighs half as much as I DO!" she yelled at the man, the weight inside of her reminding her oncemore that she was in over her head...and then she remembered...


    'do you want to die?...'

    Wreath stopped and stared at the floor dully, her eyes going unfocused.

    "wewl... loik eyes said, lovey... you gots ya'self bigger problems... put it on. you've got a LONG night ahead a yahs..." he chuckled, and left. ANother maid came in with a traveling pack, loaded down with supplies. Wreath whimpered a little and took off her nightgown, setting out to put on the strange clothes.
     
  4. Second chances are always a blessing, and Nedra knew she had no other options even if she did despise The Man. Even so, the favor he asked seemed alarmingly little in exchange for her actions. She'd personally delivered roses "in sympathy" of his wife's death, laiden with poisons he shouldn't have been so immune to. But he'd survived and remembered, that much was clear. And if escorting a young woman to some twisted friend of his was her chance to clean her name, she'd take it...even warily.

    Presently He snapped His fingers, calling attention of his guard. He gave quiet directions to have this woman brought to the table.

    "She should be here shortly. You might actually like her, she's quite the...firey soul, if you will." Nedra remained poker-faced and was still eating, though much more slowly.

    "How will we get there?" Was her evenly-voiced question. Nobody would put their remote islands in the path of conquering. He was no exception.

    "Well, I'll explain that when our other guest arrives. What I want to vocalize to you is this; you are mine and you will BE mine until this is said and done. Is that understood?" Not once did He raise His voice to aggressive levels, which made it that much more intimidating.

    "Okay." Was her quiet reply. She didn't expect much less and she'd listen to most any dribble as long as she stuffed her face. She did wonder though, what it was about this other woman that made her worthy of an escort.

    "What is it..." the words were difficult, "why me?" As close as bounties were to errands, Nedra had become accustomed to her jobs ending in bloody silence. She wasn't sure what skills would be so benefitial to Him.

    "Ah...once more, we must await our other party guest." At that he smiled, drinking deeply from his own goblet and awaiting the new entrance.
     
  5. the sound of clinking chainmail and labored steps came through the hallway several paces before Wreath did. laden in the heavy armor and travel cloak, hood up over her hair and sweating a bit from the walk from the east tower, she looked around the room, one eye covered by her hair and looking rather wide-eyed with the one that could see. She was motioned to sit down, and did so.

    The shock of remembering she ahad made a deal with evil incarnate was still upon her and she looked as Much uneasy as a child being traded off to a blacksmith for their first day of apprenticeship. Wreath turned only slightly to look at Nedra, then back at the big man at the head of the table, gulpign slightly, she wriggled under the cloak, her gauntleted hands moveing to clasp over her belly as she attempted to hide from the world, her head down a bit, concealing her face from the room.

    She looked unassumeing enough, her thieves air gone entirely. she seemeda timid child, mute maybe...
     
  6. At her entrance and gaze, Nedra nodded in greeting. While confused at her obviously bulky attire, she allowed Him the monologue. The Man, from His place at the table, smiled almost hospitably and finally took a bit of the food from the table. Though this didn't entirely set her at ease, Nedra took it as a sign she actually wasn't being poisoned and relaxed slightly. Once He had wiped His face elegantly with His napkin, he demanded introductions.

    "I am Lord Roland. Lady Nedra sits opposite me, and joining us is Lady Wreath. As I was just explaining to Nedra, she will be escorting you to another location. Now, I cannot compromise the locale of this fortress and as such will have you blindfolded and bound and put upon a ship. Should you refuse to comply, you may be drugged or otherwise sedated to ensure your senses are impaired." At this Nedra's memory reurned to her journey here. She'd been knocked unconscious before being placed on the boat, and hadn't enjoyed the experience. For all she knew, she was either off the coast of her homeland or across the world.

    "Once you've reached your destination, more of my guards will accompany you as far as the castle that is your destination. Once there you are to follow instructions and finally, once you have completed all tasks, the Lord of that manor will be notifying me of the delivery and any mishaps." He paused only to motion to Wreath that the spread was for the taking.

    "Wreath, please help yourself. Where was I...? Oh yes, Wreath, the terms of your freedom lay with the other Lord. And for Nedra, your safe arrival is the key to hers. Any questions?"

    Nedra merely nibbled a roll and observed the new woman, searhing for the qualities that might be so desired by these Lordships. She hoped it wasn't anything lewd, and waited to gauge Wreath's responses.
     
  7. Somethign feral had been rumbleing within Wreath as she watched the pompous man talk.. well, to be fair she wasn't watching him. She waswatching the food, rather a very lovely looking crown of lamb ribs. She didn;t wait for more than half a second at his invitation for her to dig in. she grabbed the rack, and with the gluttonous rage of a starved wolf she ripped meat from bone with reckless abandone, chewing loudly.

    Whatever they had done to here, it was a sure sign it was working, and Wreath was too involved int he food to care. the taste was nothing extra-ordinary... At first.

    Moment by moment every smell and taste and feelign in life was more and more exhilirateing! simple flavors she ahd tasted before now had a whole new scope. she was certains he could lick the FLOOR and it woudl have a new flavor she'd never experienced before. the world suddenly became a buffet of sensation. She came to her seconds half a minute later.

    Before he had finished hsi speech, the crown was gone, nothign but white bones layign there, and a large lump in her stomach that wriggled as she burped.

    "The.. Other lord?" she blinked, not thinking much (or thinkign straight for that matter). she still must have seemed a feral child to Nedra.
     
  8. Initially Nedra saw the woman's hunger as understandable, as there was no way of knowing how long she had been here or whether she'd been fed. But upon closer observation, she didn't appear emaciated, just...ravenous. Nedra wondered how many words flew straight through Wreath's head, taking a bite of pomegranite and considering Lord Roland's requests. She let him answer Wreath's question before continuing.

    "The other Lord, yes. He has more experience with handling someone of your calibur, Wreath. Here, I have many trade operations that could be deterred by any...mishaps, which might occur as you...mature." He was still being quite vague, and it put Nedra off her meal.

    "Your Lordship," she began. "What is it about Wreath that this other man desires? What has she done to become your prisoner?" Looking over to Wreath, still consumed by food, she contemplated what could possibly benefit men of higher standing. Table manners certainly were not on that list.

    "Well, Nedra...that is the part that is none of your business, and with any luck on your part will not even be a worry. It is something inside of Wreath that will grow and likely be harnessed by this man of power. Likely, even if it did appear before you, it would be something foreign and unknown to you. So...best not to fret, eh?" Though he began with a stern voice, the edge of malice was quietly glazed with polite etiquette once more. Nedra knew better than to press the matter, as the ache in her feet craved another run as far away from this place as they could take her.

    "When do we leave then?" Was her reply.

    "As soon as Wreath has had her fill, you will be detained and led aboard the awaiting ship. And Nedra, do be careful."
     
  9. Wreath tried to concentrate on allt he information as she introduced a rather large potroast and it's accompanying garnish to her stomach. She burped gently and continued chewing as she heard them talking. "Can i take a snack with me?' she said simply, looking to Roland with a big grin.

    "Does this Man have as luscious an estate as you?" she asked then, grabbing a baked potato and eatign it like it was a bit of bread, eatign it in damn near two bites, barely chewing. She smacked her jaws a bit and looked To Nedra, A moment of lost apathy touched upon her face, like her mind was trying to remove itself from the equation.


    Roland cleared his throat and shook his head gently. "Those are exactly the Trade you would damage." he said simply, signaling the guards to take them tot eh docks.

    Roland looked To Nedra as she was ushered away, "Take care of yourself, littel spy... I will SO miss your expertise." he grinned with that air of cautious pomposity and betterness that noble men with money thought they could afford to use.

    Wreath stole a handful of bread and pastries, an apple in her mouth as they where hurried off, her armor clinking heavily as she waddled. more for tha rmor than the food she as carrying in her hands or her gut.
     
  10. Even without a struggle this time, being bound and blinded was a discomforting experience. When the muscle bound manservant shoved a burlap sack over Nedra's head, it took her a full minute to steady her breathing and heart rate. Standing straight, she heard the sounds of Wreath's foodstuffs dropping to thr ground and the woman's grunts in complaint. Nedra restrained a smile, both from the food-loving sight of Wreath in oversized armor and from a memory. This is exactly how Sebastian had bound her in order to heighten her other senses as well as to teach her to overcome panic in helplessness. In other situations, she might have used the noise to judge proximity and take out at least two of them...but her heart stopped fluttering over her past excursions for the seriousness at hand. They were being "escorted" rather sloppily across the beach, the sound of waves lapping at the body of a wooden craft.

    "Stop," came the order the instant her feet smooshed wet sand, the clunking sound of Wreath's armor rattling to a stop beside her. At length she wondered how much of the journey would be on foot, and how many times this racket might endanger them. Though she couldn't know it, the noise would be the least of her problems.

    They were lead aboard steadily, brought to a larger shared room then sat upon their beds, and finally instructed to remain quiet. Thus they stayed, restrained for the first full day of travel.
     
  11. A few hours into the boat takeing off harbor Wreath let out a slow moan and coudl be heard flopping onto her side on the bed. Another low grumble came from her, but this time her stomach, like a hungry bears gut reeling at it's own emptiness.

    "Fuck offin those crumbly toothed candy mouthed shit-bags." she said. the first sign of ACTUAL intellect the girl had shown so far. "Next time i see him I'm gonna bite his fecking nose off." she hissed, another grumble from her stomach, the clinking of wriggleing armor, and she was silent again.

    Wreath was in a reasonabe amount of pain. not dagger-in-our-side kind of pain, but she'd never been this hungry in her life, never felt this uncomfortable in all her stake outs and thieveing expeditions into ancient ruins. then it dawned upon her... it had taken almost a full day of coherent thought.... but it dawned upon her. Her hunger wasn't natural. neither was the feelign inside her body. hell, her RAGE wasn't even hers.

    what was happening to her?
     
  12. The womens' bounds were loosed once more when their dinners were brought to them, door locked again as they ate. Nedra had never seen someone so consistently ravenous, nor as openly complaintive of it amongst her fellow prisoners under Lord Roland. As it was, she offered half of her rationed meat to Wreath and attempted conversation.

    "Wreath is it? Interesting name. D'you know how you got it?" Watching the mouthfuls and her neck muscles struggle to swallow half-chewed lumps of food had Nedra taking smaller bites of her own, tricking her brain into feeling full despite sharing her protein.

    She presumed Wreath may have been uneducated, with her accent and mannerisms reflecting such. But she seemed so restless, even more so than any drunk Nedra had seen awake in a cell. There was an inexplicable narrow-mindedness over the need to eat that Nedra hoped conversation might dampen.
     
  13. Wreath made no thanks for the food, and she was unable to speak until she had finished her portion. she layed it down, burped ito her hand, swore, and kicked the metallic platter across the room. she leaend back against teh wall on her bed, one leg up, the other strewn forward at a comfortable angle. The Thief set her arm upon her knee and the other on the chainmail on her stomach. she felt Fuller, but not full. she ventured she'd probably start to feel sick if she kept eatign like this, she coudl feel the lump of half-digested food sittign in her stomach, rounding out her usually thin abdomen.

    "The Wreath of Geists is a legend where i come from. An ancient relic that was supposed to be used by the A line of Persian Kings to disappear into the shadows of their palaces, and escape should assasin, or any other peril threaten them." She recounted the story with a hollow voice, flexing her hand beneath the metallic gauntlets.

    "I Venture I've stolen about four hundred and a half Of the most precious Items Royals keep in their palaces. Never been seen by a single guard. Only had to kill three men the whole time." she grinned at this, smirking At Nedra.

    "SO they call ME the Wreath. And sucha name suits me just fine, Id rather forget my life before the cloak and dagger. nnn." she held her stomach tighter as that damn felign of discomfort hit her, and she looked a little sick for a moment. she shook it off and leaned her head on the wall, breathing a bit heavy.

    "I know who you are though. I've heard your name whispered in Taverns a few times. DIsappeared about half a year ago. I know a few old farts will have won a bet or two once you get me To the castle." she chuckled at that. a sarcastic blurt of air.

    Wreath still had no idea how deep she was into the Dark contract she had entered. the armor weighed her down heavily, ruining whatever skills she could use to help herself out of this situation. The dull ache in her belly for more persisted, but she tried to quell it with conversation.
     
  14. Nedra wasn't too surprised to hear as much as she did, but was glad for a vague reason behind their pairing - and a distraction from feeling isolated.

    "That's actually...fairly logical, and I heard a touch about those missing objects. Never imagined I meet the thief." She said with a small bitter smile.

    "Of course I never imagined being a slave of my targets, either." Admitting it wasn't an entirely shameful experience. Some were squeemish of murder, and though she had never grown used to killing, Nedra found an odd assurance in the truth of her purpose. At any rate the story had been amusingly imaginative.

    "Is it safe to say stealing is why anyone might hire you?" While slavery was accepted and employed as a norm, Nedra wondered at the future of her fellow captor. As much as she wanted to be rid of the debt to Roland to walk free enough to prepare for strike number two, she began to wonder if she couldn't just team up with Wreath to accomplish it. While she considered it while she awaited reply, she tried to work out how they'd find the fortress.
     
  15. "I was hired to an assasination mission once actaully." she said, scratchign the back of her head through the clothe hood over her. "BUt dropping a stone gargoyle on someones head is alot different than killing someone outright." she sighed.
     
  16. "Yeah...that it is." The woman thought for a moment, debating on saying anything now or later. Lowering her voice, she continued.

    "What say you about getting the hell out of here as soon as possible? We could wait for that other guy to send his letter of receipt, and pick our moment. That way, as far as Roland is concerned, we owe him naught. If they release me first, though I don't see why, I can try to wait and help from the outside." Since Wreath wasn't exactly a seasoned killer, Nedra was uncertain of how to plan. Being ignorant of this Lord's castle and grounds was also a hinderance. But she felt the need to have an idea in place before they couldn't discuss one.
     
  17. Wrath felt a familiar twinge of excitement dance over her mind. The thought of escape was exhilirateing. Maybe she could take care of her deal with darkness in other ways?


    What was the worst that could happen?

    "It should take the letter as long to get back to roland as it does US to get there." she whispered, not sayeing another word as the sound of footsteps approached their door.... then faded away again.

    "I say we burn the place tot eh ground though. this other lord shap can't be a very savory character, now can he?... not if he's wiff leagues of Roland." she reasoned.
     
  18. Nodding in agreement, Nedra shut her mouth as the door was thrown open to rattle against the wall. The clamor made her spine jerk straight before she and the other woman were yanked from their seats and shoved topside. On the deck she squinted against the sun, accosted by shouted orders and shoving bodies as they were jostled down the ramp, then thrown to the sand. Nedra spat on the feet of her handler, earning her a boot between her shoulder blades and another mouthful of beach.

    Standing again, she surveyed their surroundings. Beyond the beach and a field of tall grasses was a forest, dense in appearance even from that distance. Trees were more her comfort level, when it came to environments she could escape and survive in. For now though she would keep her mental mappings and direction, noting that the sun had barely left mid-morning. A full day's trek was ahead of them, so she stretched the best her bounds would allow. Before they could be ushered forth, she shot a smirk in Wreath's direction, anxious for escape even now.

    {...}

    Other than a stop for lunch and a brief tousle with some wolves, their travels progressed until they found a glenn near sunset in which to make camp. From what she had gathered from what little chatter there had been, they would reach the grounds not long before lunch tomorrow. As it was, Nedra felt exhausted. Laying back to back with Wreath, she passed right out into a deep and aching sleep.
     
  19. Wreath didn't like killing... People that was. WOlves where another story however, and the Shiny new grey pelt on her shoulder proved it. She was good with her long dagger and not afraid of the beasts. she had learned as a little girl that wolves couldn't bite through chain mail, and letting them grab your arm gave you a REEEEEEEEALLY good opportunity to shove your blade into their skull and twist it harsh.

    Now she was usually a bit chatty when the opportunity arised, but today she was very silent. Lunch was meger bread and dry roasted chicken with a baked potato shoved all into a littel clothe bag for each of them. Not very satisfying, especially as of late with Wreath.

    And THAT was what was bothering her. slumped against Nedra, she fought the urge to cry a little. beneath ehr chainmail shirt, below the burazier plates steadfast over her chest, her stomach had grown. If it was simple gas or bloating she could explain it. If it was her time of month, she could explain it... if she had had a decent lunch or drank a few tankards of mead she could have explained it. there was no explaining this. Her stomach was bloating. It had been doing so all day, and Wreath hadn't noticed until their fight with the wolves. She doubted she was supposed to have noticed at all, but the chinks of the Mail where fitted very loose over her body in Roland's fortress. Now she could feel them rubbing on her shirt beneath.

    Sitting there against Nedra, she prayed silently to the trees to guard their rest from the encumberance of evils.
     
  20. A "gentle" boot to the stomach was the call to awaken, and Nedra tried her best to shake the remnants of sleep from her eyes. No matter how hard she tried though, her mind remained clouded and heavy. Shaking Wreath's shoulder, she stood and stretched in an attempt to gain some clarity. Her stomach cramped from the meager meal; between the lack of food and excess of travel, the woman found herself tired and short of patience. Battle had done little to alleviate the sensation, and she had always detested the scent of dead animal on her clothes.

    "You okay?" The last thing she needed was for Wreath to be sick or beaten out here before they could reach their destination, and thus make their escape. Through every emotion and lack of energy she faced, Nedra's goal remained certain and her blades practically vibrated for want of Roland's jugular.
     
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