Spirits of the Earth

Tags @Goldie

________

His carriage rolled across the cobblestones, the countryside of Connlaoth peeled away and the cityscape began to loom on the horizon.. soon towering overhead.

He hated traveling to the city, or rather any city in these lands. Connlaothians disgusted him. But the land was ripe of resources- from new technologies and rich resources of the lands, to the abundance of corruption in city politics.

 You could find corruption just about anywhere.. but to weave yourselves amongst them throughout the world.. that.. THAT had taken two lifetimes....it was an empire- and had tajen his own lifetime... and his father before him.

Even still, to keep your empire healthy, he had to maintain the lines. As a figurehead, he was expected to show face on occassion. But with the war raging between its people, even Opus Dey felt the effects pull at his supply lines and gains.

He had stayed out of the civil war for as long as was possible, playing from the shadows and the safety of far away lands. But he couldn't ignore the north any longer, lest he lose his strong hold on those commodities.  Besides, there were many hungry competitors eager to see him out and establish their own throne among the damned.

So when his carriage curled around a side street to park, the tall man stepped outside and looked onward towards the bustling city square. A crowd had gathered, one that gained only mild interest from Opus Dey as he adjusted the dark leather gloves over his fingers. He could hear a man's voice carrying over the crowd.

Interesting... did he hear this man talk of... peace? Interest piqued, Opus Dey made his way towards the outskirts of the crowd, eyes falling upon the single blond priest passionately speaking from a pulpit.

He noted the armed guards were getting testy as the crowds began to grow. Interesting... Opus hung back, adjusting the hood of his cloak but felt compelled to listen. Were these protests truly suing for peace? And how long have they been going on? Strange words coming from what looked like a priest.. and these were people that worshipped a war God.

Cities.

Human cities.

They were nothing like she expected. Dirtier, louder, lewder than any place she had lived for the first few decades of her life.

She'd read about them, of course, from the elven libraries deep in the woods of her father's people, but nothing really prepared her for it. For the underhanded dealings that happened in dark alleys. The less than reputable people who tossed their hair and flashed bits of flesh to entice those who happened to be walking by. The merchants and vendors who shouted over one another in an attempt to outbid their neighbor and bring in more customers.

The elves had trade, they had their own dark alleys, but all of that was accompanied by...well...less.

Humans were delightful.

Humans hung on every second like it might be their last.

Humans felt so strongly.

Humanity was a part of her that had been missing for so long.

Saoirse hoisted her lute over her shoulder and adjusted her pack as she walked through the city streets. She had been warned this place wasn't as accepting of her elven heritage so she let her wild red hair cover her elegantly pointed ears and hoped her mother's lineage would mask the elven sharpness of her features. She couldn't hide the gold that glittered in her hair or flecked her eyes, but a sweaping plait helped make her seem slightly more plain.

As she walked, she looked for an inn or even a street corner where she would be able to compose an ode to the city. She was already humming quietly to herself as she mentally wove a ballad of the normal people she saw. A ballad of the mother whose children hung at her skirts and begged for sweets. A litany of the man shouting about the freshness of his breads and pies. A lament for the man pilfering a fish from a local cart and disapearing without being spotted. A call for....peace?

Her elven ears picked up the priest's words nearly a block away. They were dynamic, inviting, and they called to her.

So she followed, eager to put a face to the words.

So entranced was she by his passion, she bumped slightly into a cloaked man.

"Pardon!" Her crystal voice chimmed quietly, hoping he wouldn't be too perturbed.

Instinctively, she brushed her hair from her face and tucked it behind her left ear without thinking.

The much taller man almost didn't give her a second glance.  He was aware of his surroundings, and perhaps was amused when she simply walked into him. Despite being cloaked, a man of his height stood out like a sore thumb.

Perhaps now she would stand out more than he. That hair- red as ruby fire and ears unnaturally elven. He didn't hide his stare as he watched her, taking her in with a critical eye.

But then he said... nothing. And turned his focus back towards the crowd. 

Saoirse kept walking and scanned the area, looking for an inconspicuous place to sit back and listen.

The blonde priest's words were captivating, but so was the crowd's reaction to his words. There were some who seemed intrigued, but the overall hostility was growing and she could sense it.

"Art imitating life." She murmured to herself, unaware of the stares that she had begun to attract. Even the ripple of whispers that sprung forth as she passed didn't reach her; she was so focused on the priest.

Completely oblivious, she had just made a hostile situation worse.

Danning Bengin Gates wasn't a tall nor imposing figure, like the cloaked man hanging to the back of the crowd. But he was sturdy of disposition and constitution.. and faith. In fact, he was simply radiating his passion with every word. It was for this that gave great appeal, the way he spoke.. the passion that commanded attention, empathy, and thought.

His words were also simple, preaching and reminding his fellow men of the word and blessings of Ansgar.

"It was our God, " he went on, passion and compassion fueling his words, his very being. "Ansgar himself, my friends, my fellow men, who taught us to 'love the mage' and know it's the magic that taints. "

The crowd was murmuring, people all beginning to exchange looks as the man's words changed to what the priest proposed. 

"In the name of Ansgar and the words of founding, put down your hate and embrace those less fortunate.  Embrace and help those lost on their path, poor of pocket or tainted of magic.  For not all men are lost and salvation is as easy as showing compassion to your neighbor. Love.. that's what we all need. Not this war. Not this defilement of the very words of our religion! Take heart, my fellow men! Take heart and abandoned this war before we kill our very selves, our very nation from the inside out. Take heart to care and nurture and forgive.. for these, my people.. these are the words of Ansgar."

He stared out across the crowd, blue eyes a blaze of imploring compassion.

"Let us end this war upon ourselves and learn to conquer the hate with love."

"Hmm" Saoirse mused before rifling through her pack to produce a notebook. This priest was sparking inspiration and she wanted to write down his words before they were lost. This was the kind if speech that inspired people, that drove them and encouraged them.Take heart to care and nurture and forgive.. for these, my people.. these are the words of Ansgar. she wrote, completely oblivious to the rising tide of anger that swelled through the crowd. Her mind was already composing sweeping melodies to capture his words.

Without realizing it, she was humming a few notes, then a few more, then her notebook was tucked under her arm and she swung her lute around to pluck a few quiet arpeggios and broken chords.

The crowd began to take notice. It wasn't like she was hard to miss, but the music tore attentions away and onto her. Eyes squinted, whispers rose to chatter. If Saorise had been paying attention to anything other than her music, she would have seen the crowd calling the attention of the guards and pointing to her exposed ear.

Rough hands grabbed her, snapping her attention back to the present. Her instrument slipped from her shoulder and fell heavily into the crook of her elbow before scraping on the ground.

Then she was moving towards the priest.

"YOU! Priest!" The man heckled as he dragged her forward, "we found one of your beloved people chanting spells."

"Wait!" Saoirse interjected, "No, no, I'm a bard. I was just composing a song!"

The man's hand ripped across her face, leaving her stunned; her head spinning.

"What do you think, friends? Should we let this rat go like this fool suggests? Should we forgive the magic spewing from her lips??"

The priest pounded his hands upon the pulpit, calling for order, for the crowds to stave their aggression. But it didn't seem anyone wanted to listen. 

The man in the cloak stayed back, but didn't immediately leave the vicinity. His eyes watched the elven woman like a hawk.. and how the crowd continued to get angry. A hand trailed over the hilt of a hidden blade- and then he tensed suddenly at what happened next. 

The priest leaped down from the pulpit, pushing his way into the crowd frantically. He was jostled about, shouting uselessly for the men to halt! That it wasn't right.

The priest's words were lost in the crescendoing chaos, and he- continued to struggle towards the woman...

The cloaked man was intrigued. So he decided to stick around to watch. The priest was being shoved around like drift wood in the ocean. But for now, none dare moved to strike him or fully hold him back.  

And the priest finally made his way to the men and red haired girl, breathing heavily.

"Let her go."

She could feel the bruises billowing under his grip and, for the first time in a long time, the cold rush of fear traveled down her spine.

Stupid.

Gods she was so stupid.

People had warned her that Connlaoth was not friendly towards mages but she had let her pride and curiosity override common sense. If she had turned instead towards Adela, this could have all been avoided.

Her ears still rang from the blow and she could taste copper. The shouts and screams from the crowd jumbled together in her head as she struggled to come to her senses.

Other hands lept from the crowd towards her as the anger grew. Her notebook, dropped when she was pulled away, had been scooped up by someone in the crowd who let out a blood curdling shriek just as the priest reached her location and demanded her release.

"SHE IS WORKING WITH THE PRIEST! LOOK!" the woman pointed at the words Saoirse had copied while listening to his words, "THE MAGE GAVE HIM WORDS TO SAY. THIS IS NOT THE WILL OF ANSGAR"

"She is not! Do not fall to the madness of your fears! Please! Listen to me! This is how we've been divided! Fear is divisive! Please, harming her will accomplish nothing!" 

But the priest's words were lost. Chaos continued to rage all around them. He struggled against the crowd, trying to force himself between the woman and the mob.


And the cloak man just watched.

Things weren't going to come back from this. In the matter of minutes a disgruntled few had turned into a mob of fear filled frenzy. Saoirse felt hits, scratches, saliva as people screamed at her and spit in her face. Her instrument strap snapped and the delicate wood crunched under their feet. For once she was thankful she had decided to leave her elven instruments behind when she began her journey.

But what to do? It was so loud she could barely think. Her head had stopped spinning from the initial blow, but now more and more kept coming. She could see them turning against both herself and the priest and she was powerless to stop it.

Well....

Nearly.

In a moment of panic, the half-elf began to sing. First softly and then louder. She sang a lullaby and wove her will into her words.

peace she begged.

peace

Her crystal clear voice began to break through the crowd as those nearest to her began to settle. She urged them to think of their loved ones, the small children who waited at home.

Her magic was not mind-control by any stretch, but she was able to coax the listeners to remember good times and visualize things that they loved.

Hers was a subtle skill. One of suggestion only. She could not control what was seen, only that those listening might remember their own lives, their own wants, their own dreams.

The lullaby continued and she tried desperately to keep the real-life visuals to a minimum. In any other situation, she would let her illusions flourish so all could see and contribute, but that would not do here.

Even still, the odd butterfly twinkled around the crowd. A hint of a rainbow twisted through the sky before she forced it to disperse. A small child's laugh lifted to the sky.

It was working. The grasp on her arm loosened and she was able to shake free, still singing of course.

Escape was her main objective. She grabbed her broken lute from the ground and began her retreat, weaving an illusion to mask her firey hair in the process.

peace

She turned to leave when she realized, once the song was done, the priest who tried so hard to save her would be at the crowd's mercy.

Without thinking, she reached for his  hand to lead him away.

He wasn't sure what had happened. One moment the crowd was threatening to suffocate him and the next... he felt.. calmed, his mind showcasing to him what he had just preached and he felt his breath catch. Was he being listened to? Part of him had reservations, trying to decipher the sudden turn coat of the crowd.

But then he felt someone take him by the hand and he was walking through the chaos, too confused to protest as he blindly followed. 

Dark eyes from the back continued to spectate, his own mind trying to fight through the illusionary aura. He hadn't considered he would have to deal with mages on this level. And he knew exactly the source. Quietly, he moved towards the shadows, keeping an eye on the elf with the red hair.

Saoirse lead the priest through the crowd, sensing murmurs on the outskirts where her voice was becoming difficult to hear.

The moment she stopped, the calm would end almost as quickly as it had started. They might have....a few seconds to find a safe place.

She kept her voice loud, feeling fatigue creap in, but she had to keep going. The snapped neck of her lute bounced against her hip; a reminder. Her abilities stemmed from the music itself, not her voice perse, and if her instrument were playable she would have a much easier time keeping it up. Usually she would perform for small intimate gatherings in rooms suited for 30 people at the most. The accoustics here in the open swallowed her voice if she let her dynamics fall.

They rounded a corner, the sounds of disgruntled people growing louder behind them.

She stopped singing.

1....

She turned quickly and pressed her hands against the priest's cheeks, "Sir. Please. Do you know where we can go?"

2....

Through years of practice she found that touch helped break the spell faster, "Sir, these streets are a death trap."

3...

I hope you can forgive me. I couldn't leave you to face their ire."

4...

we need a place out of sight"

"WHERE ARE THEY!?" A voice cut through the calm.

"FIND THEM!"

The priest blinked, stumbling as they ran before securing his footing.  Then he turned to the elf girl. The elf girl from the crowd! 

This time his stumbling was an attempt to halt the pair in their run. 

"Miss.. are.. are you okay.. the crowd.   They.."

Then he jumped, hearing the shouts coming from behind them. He turned to her and saw the fear. He felt that fear himself.. however..

"No.. I must go back and plead with them. Those people.. their anger has been stirred for so long. They're just like a lost flock of sheep."

"Go back?" She repeated, unable to hide her shock. If she couldn't still feel the tenderness on her own chin where she had been hit, she would have assumed he  had been the one attacked.

She stepped in front of him and held out her hands.

"Please." She pleaded, "Just listen to them. These people have let their fear turn them. You won't reach them until they've returned to themselves. You call them lost sheep, and perhaps they are deep down, but now the wolves are in charge and they will tear you apart."

She took a step forward, arms widening in a display of vulnerability, "I do not want to cause you trouble. I am sorry that my very presence is the reason for this, but these people will not listen to reason in this state. Let them find peace. Let them return to their families. Once they feel safe, then you can reach them."

The priest was.. torn.  On one hand, even he couldn't deny how the crowds had reached an unmanageable level. On the other... it was his duty to guide the masses.. the lost and confused.

Down the way, home and businesses were quickly locking up their doors. They knew better than to allow easy access to the mobs.. whose presence grew more frequently .

Finally, the priest stepped back, shaking his head as he still held the woman's hand.

"I can't leave them.  I can't not run away from the very anger I seek to quell. " he shook his head then glanced down the street. "There is a small antiquities shop two blocks from here. The old woman can keep you safe until the crowds calm. But hurry before she too, locks up her doors."


Ironically, the cloaked man was close enough to pick up this tid bit and and slipped down the other alleyway that ran parallel, seeking out the antiquities shop before slipping inside.

It seemed he had timed it appropriately as the old lady who owned it had been hobbling towards the door, a large blank of wood in her hand.

"Oh. I'm sorry, sir. Due to the riots, we'll be closed for the day."

Saoirse gaped at the priest, taking a moment to process his words. Was he seriously considering it? Did he think he'd stand a chance?

"Are you and idiot?" She accidentally said outloud, completely dumbfounded. Welp, it seemed she was going to take the path of rude. In any other situation she'd cover her mouth an apologize but she didn't have time for that now.

"No, honestly, I have to know. Is this kind of delusion common amongst your race, or are you just the exception?"

Too rude. Probably.

Impulsively she grabbed the neck of her broken lute, the strings half attached and dangling against the body, and raised it with her free hand. She waved it at him.

"Listen. I'm always impressed by the passion you all have, but passion in lieu of common sense is what gets you killed before you can enact any real change. I didn't come here to help people die, I came here to see life. So stop trying to be a martyr and come with me before I wrap this string around your wrist and drag you there myself. Do you think she'll let me in without you?"

Danning hesitated again. The woman had good points, even points he wanted to fight against. These people.. they needed so much help. He closed his eyes, drawing in a breath to calm himself. 

It was dangerous and had grown out of control.  It was best to let the fire's die and try another day.

"Very well. Let's make haste."

Before he changed his mind.

Quickly he guided her down the way and when the got to the antiquities shop, the priest saw the door beginning to close. He rushed forward, calling her name but she must not have heard because the door closed and by the time they approached- it was locked, barred from the inside.

Danning grimaced.

Then he began to knock on the door, frantic.

"Ezzel! Miss Ezzel! Please open up! It's Priest Danning!"

"Thank Gods." She sighed under her breath as he finally started leading her down the streets. The sound of the mob was getting louder by the second and she was certain she had heard string them up echoe through the streets.

She had been traveling through human cities for almost a year now and had encountered all sorts of dangers, but never something like this. This type of anger was infections. If it were visible she imagined it would be tiny black threads weaving through the streets and sneaking up legs and disappearing into their ears and in their eyes.

Would they wake from this dream happy with themselves, or would they be ashamed? How deep did the infection go?

They stopped in front of a door. The inn, she assumed, but it was already barred.

Silence met the priest's desperate calls. This Ezzel was clearly not planning to open her doors, not even for someone with whom she had garnered trust.

"Might want to hurry it up there," What had he said his name was? Danny?, "Danny."

The roar of the crowd was getting closer and....was that smoke she smelled?

No.. Ezzel wasn't the type of person to leave the priest to such a fate.  He shook his head and banged on the door again. 

"Ezzel.. please! It's priest Danning and I've come to beg of shelter! Please! Let me and my companion take shelter from the mob!"

But there was no answer, no stirring as Danning deflated. Ezzel...would she really keep them shut out?

A noise came from behind the door, and it creaked open. 

"Hurry inside!" The woman hissed.  "Quickly now before they see!"

Danning turned, smiling towards the red haired woman as they were quick to enter- Ezzel huffing as she replaced the heavy bar on the door. 

"You stirred up quite a ruckus; father.  But come in, come in. Like a storm, this will pass."

Just when she had lost any hope on the door opening,the rough scraping of wood against wood reached her ears. She was surprised, but in a good way. So far humans had always surprised her and it sent chills of glee down her spine that she was truly unable to predict their decisions. Elves were much more....stable. Perhaps it came with age, some might call is wisdom, but they were always so thoughtfulabout their decisions. Always taking the time to make sure every choice was absolutely perfectly thought out.

It made Saoirse impatient.

Probably her human half.

She fiddled with a small gold pendant around her neck as the old shop owner ushered them inside (ooc: sorry! I originally thought it was an inn - I have fixed my brain). Once through the threshold, Saoirse let her broken instrument clatter to the floor before turning to help the woman secur the door one more time.

"Will this be enough?" She asked, subtly making sure her ears were hidden. Wouldn't help anyone out of this situation if she slipped again, "the mob is so angry I'm certain they wouldn't be above looting the clothes off the backs of babes."

The lady thought for a moment and then gestured to a large armoire, "Danning, you and that man over there - move this in front of the door. Quick now, lads."

She turned to the elf and crinkled her nose, "I know an antique when I see one. I'd bet my livelihood you helped stir the pot."

Saoirse sighed and rubbed her temple, "Unintentionally. I was just copying down his speech so I could compose a song. Unfortunately they took one look and assumed I had givenhim the words to say. Thank you for letting us in. I know it was in no way kindness to me that swayed you, but rather your connection with Danny."

Danning had only seen the tall man in the corner after Ezzy pointed him out. The two set to work, moving the armoire infront of the door and secure it there the best they could. The man then returned to standing by himself towards a corner, somehow seeming unobtrusive. 

"Thank you." He nodded to the man before glancing over towards the door with a sigh.


Ezzel snorted at the woman's remark. "I would have played off I'm old and hard of hearing if it weren't for Father Danning. He's.. trying his best here. But sometimes I wonder if it makes the growing unrest worse."

She shook her head and eyed the woman.

"You're.. not from around here, are you?"

Saoirse laughed, a pure, golden chime, at Ezzel's comment. Feigning ignorance was a fantastic way to escape trouble, especially if you looked the part.

"Honestly, I'm not convinced letting us in was in your best interest, though I don't want you to take it as my being ungrateful for you. And...no....not from around here. I'm not really from anywhere if I'm being honest. My father provided me with a very.....safe....upbringing. Now I'm traveling to fill in the gaps." She smiled warmly and then glance around to finally take in her surroundings.

Her breath caught.

What....was this place?

A display case with different colored glasses caught her eye. The sunlight that peeked through the shutters made them glisten. Some of them were intricately painted with flowers and dancing couples. But the one that she stared at....

"Is...is that a duck??" She whispered taking a step forward to pick up the tiny glass in her hands. It was made out of blown glass and shaped like a duck.

She turned in one spot slowly, her worries about the growing riots slipping away. Over there was a simple wooden desk. That way an iron table that curled in a simple design that most would consider fairly normal. She walked and ran her fingers deftly over the pieces - they spoke to her. Each had their own history, their own souls beneath the craftmenship. Her mind spun yarns of what kinds of people would sit here, what kinds of food they would eat, what kinds of gossip would be shared:

"There once was a lad with a handsome soul
And that soul did yearn for more.
Every day he would sit
He would take a quick sip
Of the tea served to him that morn..."

She placed the duck glass on the table and chuckled. How delightful.

"All of this," she gestured around her, "was made by hand."

"Well it certainly wasn't created by magic, that's for sure!" Ezzel replied with a laugh.  "These trinkets I've collected over the years. My family works in trade, my sons and daughters get around and they're always gathering me unique pieces they find along their way." She gave a fond sigh at the memory. "That 'duck' was actually crafted by a glass blower in the capital.  He makes many little critters in colorful glass. Sold a few last week. I think the duck is all that's left."

Danning too, took a moment to appreciate the trinkets all around them. Knickknacks lined the walls, old rugs and used hand crafted pieces of furniture littered the place. He paused at a rocking chair before noticing an extraordinary metal and wood clock hanging from the wall.

Ezzel noticed where Danning looked and smiled.

"Go ahead and turn the crank." She said.

And Danning did just that, pinching his fingers over a small metal crank and listened to the gears wind-

Then a plinking sound of music breathed the clock to life- a pair of doors opening and little wooden figures came dancing out, down a little pathway against little wooden buildings and disappearing into another set of doors before a second set opened and triggered another animated set of tiny wooden dancers along another recessed path.

Saorise's breath caught in her throat so quickly that she literally choked on air and she sputtered ungracefully while stumbling past the man in the corner towards the clock.

A memory stirred in her, but she couldn't quite place it.

She pressed her hands against her mouth as the piece sang and danced. It was amazing, absolutely entrancing. "Not....magic...." she  murmured.

She couldn't help herself. She nearly ran around the clock, looking up and down the sides, peaking at the back, staring at the front, "How. How does it work?? What did you do? how much do you want for it?"

The old woman smiled as the young woman gushed over the animated clock.

"Very well crafted that one is.  Created with many knobs and gears."

When the girl went on about the price, Ezzel only laughed. 

"Twenty silver easy, for that one. Some fancy pants Lord wannabe brought it in.  Why? You really wanting to buy it, girl?"

Saorise didn't even blink, didn't even take a second to pause. Impulse was her middle name and she lived up to it now as she dug into her waistband and pulled out a handful of silver.

"25," she held out the amount to the shop keep, "the extra is for the trouble of sheltering us and to keep it here until I can procure pick up. It will be traveling a good distance and will take some tome to coordinate."

But she couldn't lose this piece.

Oof, her father was going to be angry when this human clock showed up at his doorstep....

Despite their situation, the priest couldn't help but smile. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

"Well, never thought I'd make a sale out of a situation but the clock is yours," Ezzel said, pocketing the money. 

"Thank you, Ezzel. We're truly grateful you allowed us to remain while things calm."

Ezzel shook her head, a hand to her hips. 

"Let's just hope things'll calm down, eh? Cause if it wont.. well.."

She couldn't keep the stupid grin off her face. Now that it was hers, she stepped closer and daintily ran her fingers across all of the mechanisms (ooc: look at this stuff, isn't it neat? Wouldn't you think my collection's complete? Lololol). She would need to figure out how it all worked. How these people, these amazing, wonderful magicless people, were able to make such wonderful things.

If there wasn't a riot happening in the streets, she might have picked Ezzel's brain to get to the bottom of it.

In a sudden impulse, Saoirse hugged the clock and let out a giggle. Gosh it was perfect.

Her memory twinged again and she stepped back with a gasp, turning towards the dark figure waiting in the wings.

"Hood man!" She exclaimed, "You're the man I accidentally bumped trying to get closer to hear Danny's words." She hadn't caught that she had misheard his name and continued using the wrong one.

She stepped closer to him and gave a small bow, "I am truly sorry for the inconvenience I must have caused you. I was distracted and was not focused on my surroundings. I'm glad to see you were able to find safety." She straightened and smiled, "and at the same place as us! It must be fate."

The cloaked man had been watching her. She trounced around like a child in the shop, excitedly hugging her newly acquired clock. Yes.. if he hadn't already known she was an elf, he would definitely questioning where she came from now.

The man rarely ran into these innocent sorts. His work did not afford such wastes of time. Being a crime Lord forced a certain way to play your hand.  So when she acknowledged him, he was genuinely surprised she'd remember one tall cloaked figure amongst the angst crowd. 

He nodded in acknowledgement. 

But then.. she was apologizing. Poor girl.  It seemed her naivety was even greater than his initial impression. Although was her innocence real or an act? What if the mob had accused her correctly and she was puppeting this priest?

And then she went on to talk about fate...

He smiled. 

She was either very clever...

Or overwhelmingly ignorant. 


......


Danning has moved towards the front of the store, listening with a frown at the noises outside. 

"The people are exceptionally agitated today." He lowered his head; shaking it as he sighed.

"Don't they understand this is not the will of God?"

Ezzel frowned, approaching him and placing a comforting hand on his arm. 

"Do not forget where this all stemmed. The last Grand Duke  was murdered by a mage.  Such an act.. it was not to go on without consequences. "

Danning shook his head .

"And did one death by a misguided rogue justify a war on ourselves?"

Saorise took his smile and nod as an invitation and she stayed to chat. You didn't become an expert entertainer by shying away from uncomfortable situations. Nor did it lend itself to well to those who were unable to accurately read an audience.

Danny she had understood instantly. He was a martyr at heart and would do anything to help his flock even if it lead to his ultimate destruction. She would need to study him to understand his true motivation, but overall she had labeled him as....uncomplicated.

This one, however, was still a mystery. In the few moments she'd seen him, he tended to blend into the shadows.

Now that was intriguing.

She smiled at him, clasping her hands behind her back and leaning forward, "A man of few words. There must be one hell of a story hiding behind that stoicism."

"I could say the same upon your enthusiasm over a clock." He looked at the wooden thing, still hugged tightly in her arms then at her.
"Foreigners aren't exactly embraced in this country. Makes amob consider them... dangerous," he told ger simply, but still wore his subtle smile. 

She eyed him slyly, a small smile creeping at her lips. So he does talk, she thought. His voice sent a shiver down her spine. Oh, this man had seen a lot. But was it good or was it evil? Did she even still believe in such a thing at this point in her elongated life?

Of course not. Even the past year of travel had solidified the gray in her. The white and the black were both beautiful and each had their place in life's expansive tapestry.

"So which are you, then? Foreigner or mob?"

His eyes sparkled subtly at her question. 

Interesting rebuff.

"You could say I have a.. passing interest."

He studied her. She was strange, that much was for certain, but he'd hardly allow his guard to drop for someone innocent or not. He had to wonder if she was starting to view him like her interest in that clock. He also had to remain guarded. He had felt the affects of her magic and... did not appreciate to find he wasn't immune.

Because of the red head's interest, Ezzel also took time to study the man.

"You're too tall to be from around these parts," She surmised. "And one man can hardly be a mob." 

Opus regarded the older woman now and his subtle smile grew.

She too, had an interesting rebuff. Although Ezzel held more suspicion in her eyes than he'd have liked, he was amused by her analysis that he wasn't a 'mob'.

Little did they know....

Opus Dey was both. 

Saoirse smiled.

A puzzle, eh? That she could get behind. Normalcy rarely lended itself to an epic ballad but puzzles? Oh yes....yes, this would do nicely.

Behind her she could hear the cries of the mob passing through the streets still looking for their elusive prey.

"Ezzel?" She asked the shopkeep without breaking eye contact with The Puzzle, "Do the people here know of your connection with Danny?"

"Eh? Oh, I wouldn't say so, no. I'm friendly with most in the area so I can't imagine they would single me out specifically."

Saoirse nodded. Good enough answer for her. It meant that the danger would, hopefully, pass them by. She placed the clock down on a nearby table and crossed her arms, continuing to study her subject. She stared at him in silence for more than a few minutes. Her eyes swept him up and down. He was, indeed, tall. Taller than even the average Elf and they had some tall people in their heritage. Saoirse was surprised at how well he was able to blend in because, truth be told, he was imposing. Even his skin, his eyes, everything about this man screamed other and yet....people still overlooked him.

"Fascinating." The half-elf mused, "What is it about you? Practice?" She paused and moved forward, standing on her toes so her words would only reach his ears, "maybe a bit of magic?"

Opus wasn't sure he liked that the little she-elf was being so bold. She was openly staring at him. And it went on for minutes.

Even still, the man remained impassive, even as she asked her question. 

"You know, in many places across the world, it's impolite to stare."

But no hostility was raised. Like before, he simply stated facts rather than answer her question directly.

"It's probably best not to judge someone a mage, dear," Ezzel Whispered her way, staring at Opus apologetically. But he was a tall one. She didn't want to anger the 'lion,' as they were all stuck in this 'cave' together.

Saoirse let out a laugh and stepped back, finally breaking eye contact to glance over at Ezzel. Damn that woman had good hearing.

"Only joking, only joking!" She exclaimed raising her hands in a show of defeat. "He's just sooooo tall! I haven't met a man his height before in all my travels. Naturally, we all know that things we can't explain are mystical." Reel it in Saoirse. She bit her tongue. Now was not the time to start a fight and get kicked out with the mob. Thankfully, it sounded as if it were getting further away.

She looked back at the tall ghost.

"I'm going to assume, based on your demeanor, that if I asked for a name you would either decline or simply lie." She smiled. Oh she loved games and what a delightful one he was playing, "I'll be calling you Vrae." If the man had any knowledge of the Elven language, he would understand her meaning. Vrae meant phantom and was fitting for his ability to be such a noticeable person and yet never be seen....

With a mischievous twinkle, she turned from Vrae and walked over to the priest.

"Thank you for leading me to safety." She bowed her head, "is there anything I can do to repay the debt?"

Opus just stared at her, that small smirk still on his lips, but said nothing. Vrae. She was lucky not many in these lands knew Elvin. However... she was either very bold or very stupid to try. Although it might be rare in these parts.. these were a learned people and well...
The more scholarly types could easily pin point that tongue. And if they studied her features long enough....

But she left, making her way back to the priest.

Danning only smiled at her approach, but shook his head.

"Why would I ask for payment for helping another? Besides, we were both in danger. I..." he went sheepish, scratching at the back of his head, downcasting his eyes. "I suppose I shouldn't have been so rash as to want to confront them- after.. well, all that occurred." He then turned his attention to Ezzel, who was peeking out a window.

"It looks like the mob has passed, but I'd give sometime for that temper to cool." She sighed at that and looked at the lot before her, hands on her hips. "Well, I've got a business I run and mob or no mob, I need to tidy up my shop for the evening. I'd welcome the help if someone wants to take up the broom."

Danny was the complete opposite of Vrae. He was kind, introspective, soft - but not in a negative way! Soft in features, in voice, in demeanor, yet powerful and passionate in his convictions.

"I'm just glad you listened." She took his hand in both of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, "You are a good man. A brave man. So few would stand up to a group so utterly against everything you believe and still hold to their convictions. Even men of the cloth bow to the loudest voice. But you? I only know you from a short meeting and I believe in you. I believe in your passion. You are a person who could move mountains with the right words."

She paused, regret covering her features, "and I'm sorry. Truly sorry, that my own carelessness has made your calling harder." She hesitated for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a clear red sphere. It was innocuous enough on the surface, but she also understood if anyone knew what it was...well...they would have reason to arrest any who carried it in this country. "Please, take this. I know you don't want payment, but I insist. You saved the life of an ignorant fool and, with this, should you ever need assistance from me just..." she didn't want to speak out loud in case the bat ears of Ezzel overheard.

Instead, she placed the sphere in his hand and produced another, identical one. She closed her hand around the one she kept and squeeze. The sphere she gave him began to warm and emitted the subtlest glow. They were made to be discrete. Were made to help people get out of situations without raising the alarm. Mothers gave these spheres to their children in case they strayed too far. The most important part, however, was the slight pull that the connected stones gave the holder. A pull in the direction of its partner. It was basically a homing becon.

"Please...please accept this."

She squeezed her stone again, and the connection broke.

Without waiting for a response, she stood and took the broom from Ezzel and began helping. It was the least she could do.

As she swept, she passed the ghost a few times. "So, Vrae." She asked after another pass with the broom, "after the threat is gone, where will you go?"

Danning gave her a curious look as she handed him the item, but said nothing. Rather he moved to follow Ezzel now, who handed him a feather duster and asked him to dust off the wares.

Opus it seemed, remained singled out in a way. He made no move towards helping and Ezzel.. seemed to just let him be. She didn't want any trouble, after all.

So for now, 'Vrae' simply leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. When she paused, however, to ask her question, he gave a slight tilt of his head.

"I have business in the city."

"Ahh...yes..business." she leaned on her broom, "do you think that business would still be available to you after today's festivities?"

She chewed on her tongue for a moment, considering just how open to be. She wasn't about to let him run off without some answers. Hell, she was already considering ways she might be able to follow him.

Dangerous? Sure. Stupid? Probably.

But she wanted to know about all humans and this man...he was the most interesting thing that had happened so far. Sure she had met her fair share of bandits on the road, but that was unsurprising. She had performed for nobles and servants alike and everyone had a motive. Everyone had something that made them tick.

What was this man's motivation? How did he work?

"People are usually scared of you, aren't they?" She finally settled on being direct and threw out her first guess. "You find me amusing, I assume, based on the small smile pulling at your lips. And you are observing everything. Every movement, every conversation. Are you worried someone is after you? Probably not, based on your size alone. But why then? Are you muscle or are you brains?" She was quite certain he was the latter. Muscle tended to follow direction but he...no...he clearly gave the orders.

Or she was completely off and his silence was actually a reflection of his intellect.

She was rarely wrong.

His smile remained, but it grew some in his eyes when she mentioned 'today's festivities'. 

"I'm a business man." Came his blunt reply.

She couldn't stop the laugh that burst from her lips at his response.

"Ah, yes, a businessman." She giggled, trying desperately to control herself. She leaned forward, eyes glittering mischievously, "and I am a Goddess."

At that, his smirk grew a little larger. He nodded to her at that response, but said little else.

His response wasn't.. wrong, perse...
Crime was just his business. And he had his hand in many pots.

Her smile grew in response to his own. She was reaching him, even if his words were few, there was a slight crack in his armor and she was nothing if not persistent. A small crack could grow much bigger with a little banging.

"I look forward to doing business with you, Vrae."

He simply bowed his head, very subtly, but enough to show he acknowledged that. Whether she knew or not what he did was of no real concern to him. If she was a good partner, that would come out in time...
But if she were that naive.. Well...
He wouldn't have to worry about that. He was, Opus Dey. Someone of such insignificance would hardly mean much to him-harmless or other wise.


Once the place was straightened up, Opus stared towards the door. He seemed a little restless, if only because he wasn't as still as when they had all first entered the little shop. Ezzel too, was anxious to be rid of them and- well, call it a night and sleep off the worries of the mob. She moved towards the window, frowning.

"It seems things have calmed... but I would still suggest leaving out the back exit if you want to leave now."

Danning approached her, setting the feather duster aside and bowed graciously.

"You've been more than a helpful friend today, Ezzel. Truly," he took both her hands, squeezing them lightly. "I shall pray your shop finds many sales in the days to come!"

At that, Ezzel laughed. 

"Do not waste your prayers on such things, Father Danning!" She laughed and shook her head. "But come.. all of you, I'll take you to the back. Just.. " she paused in midstride, staring back at the priest. "You take care. Be careful. The war has been going on for too long. I believe in what you preach.. however.. there was a reason for the war. People are tired.. broken.. poor..."

She shook her head and moved to unlock the back door, and surprised when Opus was there beside her, and moved to lift the heavy wood from where the door was barred. She simply nodded to him.

He nodded back, then moved to open the door himself.

"There's compensation left on your desk." He stepped outside, nodding towards her, then began to make his way down the street.

Danning looked to Ezzel, but said nothing, just nodded.

"Thank you again, Ezzel."

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you again." And the two exchanged hugs before the priest too, stepped out into the cobblestone streets of the on coming night.

Saorise also thanked Ezzel with a deep bow and another silver piece which she pressed into her old weathered hand. "I cannot thank you enough for your trouble." She said sincerely, "without your kindness, we would not have escaped with our lives. I am indebted to you and no amount of silver is enough."

Ezzel just chuckled and patted the half-elf's hand, "oh off with you." She cooed, "and don't forget to send for that clock."

"I could never," Saoirse assured her. And it wasn't a lie. That clock was a wonder! She would send a missive as soon as she was able and hope it didn't send her father on a rampage. He didn't exactly approve of her excursions. Something something "humans are dangerous" something something.

Honestly she stopped listening. After all, he was the one who had married a human, who was he to reprimand her, his HALF-HUMAN daughter.

Saoirse exited the shop and smiled as the starlight had started to sparkle above. The moon was a crescent this evening which  would make it more difficult to see as the sun's final rays disappeared over the horizon. It would make her next excursion much more difficult, but she wasn't worried.

Vrae wouldn't get far so long as she had the other half of a location sphere in her pocket. Even still, she had no way of knowing if he had noticed her slip one into his pocket earlier and, if he had, she would need to keep him in sight if she planned to follow.

Time to solve the Puzzle she thought to herself, and reached for a thread of magic to dampen the red in her hair. Personal illusions were easy and didn't require use of music to sustain. Thankfully. It would certainly not do to look normal at the moment. People were most likely still looking for the fire haired mage from before.

Her hair faded to a dark brown with only the slightest hints of red. She silently released her plait and let her long curls fall around her face. In a quick movement, she pulled a dull gray cloak from her pack and draped it over her shoulders to make herself even more inconspicuous.

Then she followed after her Puzzle and into the oncoming night.

Opus Dey was in this city with one purpose- and that purpose was always to maintain the empire he created. Inherited or not, it had grown much over the years beneath his rule, and civil war or not, he was not about to have that affect his northern interests.

Even still, the chaos and strife of war always fascinated him, and could usually benefit a man in his position. But with the way things were going... he did not appreciate any strife within his own empire.

His presence in Connlaoth would do well- if not to purely remind those beneath his fingers that yes.. That was jut the case-
They were beneath him.

This was the part of the job that irritated him the most- when subordinates thought that 'well just because a figure head wasn't present meant they could 'become' said figure head'. Perhaps the northerners were just getting 'too comfortable' in their roles. They were still very much apart of his empire and when connections had gone.... 'quiet' after his last 'extensive' order...

Well, it was time to pay his business venture a little visit.

Now, he had sometime to kill, and knew the little she-elf was following him. He just had to figure out what exactly what he wanted to do with her. He mulled over his options as he allowed his fingers to rub over the stone she had thought she so 'discretely' slipped into his pocket. Truthfully, she was lucky he hadn't bothered to slip anything into hers.

He knew.. mostly what the thing did. She did, after all, give a matching one to the priest as well.

An interesting sentiment.

So he just let her follow, and decided he'd take the very long way so she'd have to trail him for as long as she had the patience. For Opus? He could have her go in loops all night.

She followed well into the night, periodically checking the stone to make sure she was going in the right direction. She didn't know the city well, seeing as she'd never been here before, but she also wasn't stupid. She knew when someone was going in circles.

So he knows I'm following him, she thought, intrigued. That solidified a few things in her mind.

1) He was no muscle.
2) He was highly trained. Elven kind were quiet, nimble, and terrific tails. Even a half-elf could out sneak most.
3) If he was leading her in circles, he was clearly hiding his intent.

She weighed her options. If she kept going, he might lead her around all night and never actually go to his destination. That wouldn't do. But if she stopped and waited... well... that risked losing him.

"Puzzle....." she muttered, slightly vexed. This wasn't how she expected things to go and she was annoyed at his prowess. He wasn't supposed to be this good. He was a human.

And clearly she had learned prejudice from her kin.

Well that wouldn't do.

c'mon, think she urged herself. stop and think.

In a split second, she made her decision. She turned down a side street away from Vrae and leaned against the outside wall of a now closed shop. She was done with circles, done with games.

Either he would keep going or he'd turn back to find her.

He could tell the second she left his trail.
Ah, so the stubborn elf did have a limit. It was probably best to curb this now before the girl got herself into some real trouble.

He didn't turn back the way he had come, rather- took a bunch of corners until he could pin point her location...

Then he went up.

And a few moments later- the little enchanted item she had 'snuck' into his pocket landed down beside her from the cobbles...

Except it would appear.. no one was even around.

Truth of it was.. he had taken to the roof top, an old past time of his before he became as well established as he was today- he hopped roof tops far less often now and it would due him some good to stay in practice. So he simply sat up there, somehow shrouded in enough shadows she'd only be able to see him from just a few unique angles down below.

And he counted on her to be able to see him.

She let the stones of the wall sink into her back, almost like a massage, and closed her eyes. What a tale this day would make. Escaping a riot; saving, and being saved by, a priest; buying A CLOCK - oh Gods was she ecstatic about that clock! - and meeting her puzzle.

The mystery shrouding him made her itch. Hell, she didn't even have a name and she was already seeing him behind her eyelids when they closed. She heard his voice in the silence. She had to know who he was.

Even this little game of cat and mouse was the single most exciting thing that had happened to her in nearly a decade of life. She could almost believe it would be at the top for the next hundred years.

If she survived him.

She was impulsive, jovial, but she was no fool. Every piece of the puzzle she assembled screamed dangerous, but she didn't care. Well...she didn't want to be murdered or anything, but she was extremely well trained in the sword at her hip and her illusions kept her from sight if need be. She even kept a retractable dagger in her sleeve should there be a need. Those bandits she met on the road would not be sharing stories anymore and she had walked away with heavier coffers.

Thanks for the clock, friends! she thought darkly. It wasn't her fault, of course, they had attacked her.

Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by a small clink on the stones before her.

Odd.

She opened one eye to sweep her surroundings expecting to see a loose stone that had fallen or something. Instead, her eyes were drawn to a small glimmer on the cobblestones that had not been there a moment before.

She stooped, scooped up the object, and her blood ran cold.

She let out a high glimmer of laughter, "What fun!" no sooner had the words left her lips than the throwing blades were in her hands and she threw them in the direction of the shadowy figure above her.

Well, he hadn't expected that.

A moment later, a figure stood, blades sticking out from his form. If they seemed to bother him, he made no inclination, rather, he stared down at where they protruded from his chest then.. looked down at her and...

Simply turned from her and walked away.

She watched the blades fly, heard them make contact which, honestly, surprised her. For someone with so much mystery she had assumed he'd be a better fighter? Dodger?

But...the figure didn't fall, didn't so much as make a noise.

Throwing caution to the wind, Saoirse used her elven dexterity to swing herself seamlessly up the wall and onto the rooftops with her Puzzle.

"What are you?"

The wind whipped through her hair, all illusions had fallen at this point and the moonlight enhanced her elven-ness. In sunlight she could pass for human, in the moonlight, though she was anything but. The gold in her hair almost glowed in the moonlight. Her eyes were no longer brown, but glistening gold as well.

"Who are you?"

If he had heard her, or made a reply- she wouldn't have heard it. Because the second she was on the roof top, he was already on another, hopping away with def speed and grace- and as his silhouette sailed through the moonlight- those daggers still jutted out from the chest of his form.

Not this time.

The time for stealth was done.

He would not get away.

Without a second thought, Saoirse gave chase, jumping nimbly from the rooftops after him. He might be taller and maybe benefitted from some kind it magic or another, but she was the daughter of Eilinor, Lord of the Moon Elves who's ancestry could be traced back to Fell itself.

She breathed in the moonlight and let it guide her feet.

Opus maintained his lead, not sparring a single glance back as he ran, leaping, gliding from roof top to roof top. There was something exhilarating about the rush of wind that howled across his form as he soared. Anti-magic lands be damned, it was evident in the way he moved he had aid by magics- though since his were not innate, the mordecai in the country could not touch the jumps he blessed.

Nor, he surmised, could they touch the natural powers of certain she-elf tailing after him.

He got towards the end of one street, the buildings growing less tall as they reached the slums- and he dropped down suddenly- disappearing into the shadows below.

But if the girl were clever...
She might notice the only open window of a building nearby.. with drapes blowing casually in the night winds.

The girl was, indeed clever.

But since she wasn't exactly flying, and jumping down into the shadows would hide her from the moon's influences, she had to be cautious.

The moment the shadows overtook her, her ethereal glow dimmed as did her extra skills. She walked towards the open window and peered inside.

On the opposing side of the room, large drapes of tattered clothe swung in the stale winds that rustled from the single open window. Long shadows painted the walls and floors, but the figure was evident, standing between layers and layers of moving clothe- set within a room that would other wise be open, where the maze of drapery was now shrouding it in it's mystery.

Saoirse saw the future, but she hesitated. She had much more maneuverability out here in the open. This house could easily be a trap.

She chewed on her lip.

If she stay outside, she could lose him and then she'd never get answers. If she went in....well....he had already been stabbed by her throwing knives and bloody ran away like nothing happened.

"I'm not a mouse." She called from outside, deciding to be safer, "and I'm no fool."

If he heard or, he made no reaction, his tall form an imposing shadow- remaining between the gentle swaying layers of the drapery. The only thing that could be ascertained was that he was looking in her direction...
and if she could see- and he surmised the elf had very good eyesight...
That he still had the daggers jutting out from his form.

It made for an incredibly unsettling sight. Everything about this scene screamed at her to leave, that this mystery wasn't worth solving. She imagined the pain that would fill her father, her cousins, her friends, if she were to enter this house and never return to them.

But would she be able to sleep at night without knowing?

Would death be a cost she was willing to pay for answers?

You idiot, there is a 3rd option the little voice in her head chided her. Of course, the voice was right. The voice was always right. Her voice was the answer.

So she began to weave a ballad. She sang of their chase through the sky, sang of this moment, right here, in this house.

The illusions erupted through the window. 3, 4, 5 different Saorise's crept through the house. She put her will into the images to make them corporeal - a skill that drained her strength quickly, but just might save her life.

One of the Saoirse's walked towarda the curtain and drew it back.

And as it did- the same number of enchanted versions of herself that appeared...
That exact number of her 'Puzzle' stood right before her-
Each one of them smiling, saying nothing, only simply staring at her as she approached, with just the swishing sound of the dark curtains making noise all around them- and the creaking groan of the old building settling into place.

Get. Out.

Her inner voice practically screamed in her head. This wasn't worth the answers. This man had powers she had never seen.

Never had she been met with someone who, quite literally, copied her own abilities.

She was so shocked that she had stopped her song and the corporeal illusions she had made exploded into stardust. Her breath left her like a punch to the gut and she lurched forward, clutching the sill while her visions swirled.

Damnit. She clenched her teeth, eyes closed against the pain severing her magics so suddenly had caused. It had caught her completely unprepared and now she was helpless as she waited for the ricochet to pass.

"You win." She croaked from the window, hands shaking, sweat beaded on her brow.

One of the illusion's cocked his head. They all seemed to be staring at her from where they stood between the shadows and drapery.

"Than come claim your loss," he told her simply, and allowed his images to dissolve back into one.

She chuckled darkly. This was it then, was it? How she would meet her demise?

"And what would that be?" She didn't move from her place in the road, head still bowed towards the windowsill. "Pretty sure I'm getting enough of a reward for stupidity right here." Part of her stillness was due to the sheer fear that gripped her, but it was mostly the sudden break. She put her will into her magics, and the corporeal illusions even took parts of her own health to coax them to life. When those magics were severed without proper preparation, it was like having a brick wall slamming into your whole body.

"If you're going to kill me, I'd appreciate it if you did it right here. Those curtains look awfully nice and I'd hate to ruin them."

"Last time I checked, the loser did not dictate the spoils," he said calmly, voice laced with just the hinted bit of coyness.

He still hadn't moved.

"Yeah, well, I'm having some difficulty moving so you'll have to excuse me." Her hands gripped the sill tighter and she made a move to step closer, but her knees buckled and she fell, slamming her leg onto the stone.

"Shit." She cursed, blinking away tears. "How the hell did you do that?" Her voice was muffled, but clear from the road. She managed to turn and sit with her head against the side of the house.

Things were still spinning.

She laughed again, mostly at herself.

"Sorry for making demands," she wheezed, "But your little ditto (ooc: I had to. No other choice 😅) caught me off guard and now I'm paying the price. If you feel strongly about me coming in, you're going to have to give me a little help or wait like....an hour."

Something moved- almost unseen. Was it a shadow? Or just a blur? And had the figure within the drapery moved?  No.. it seemed it still remained...
but something tinkled and whirled beside her- like a coin rolling across the ground, but when it hit her boot, it came to a teetering halt- and shined faintly.

It was a small ring.


If the man wanted her to wear it, he said nothing. He simply remained where he was, the strange drapery hiding him making his appearance seem all the more surreal.

She opened her eyes when something clinked and then gently bumped into her boot. The ring next to her was unmistakable on the cold stone floor.

Another laugh escaped her lips, but it was tired even to her own ears. All mirth was gone. Even the gold that streaked her hair and eyes had faded.

"Fuck me." She laugh again sardonically, "You didn't strike me as someone who'd kill like a coward." She shifted with a groan and a ragged cough rumbled through her. "So what, I put this on and what? I drop dead instantly? No...not poetic enough for someone as verbose as you. A true genius with words, you are."

Ok, nervous talker. Time to shut up.

"Since you're probably just standing the43 reciting sonates, I'm picking up the ring now." She leaned forward with a groan and picked it up between her thumb and forefinger. "Ar sí ni fírima." She muttered in Elvish.

But she didn't die.

The cold metal slipped onto her finger and she closed her eyes to feel....better.

"The hell.....?" She felt instantly herself again. The pain in her chest faded to the smallest twinge. Even her knee, which crashed into the stone.

She stood and turned around to face the open window. The shadow still lurked behind the gently wafting lacey curtains.

Well now she was confused. Clearly the ring healed her but...did that mean she was healed just to be killed? Did that even make sense?

Cautiously, she sadled through the window but refused to enter the room any further. Would she still be healed if she took the ring off?

"Ok, honey, I'm here." She spread her arms. "Regale me with my failures."

He said nothing at first, simply let her eyes adjust to the darkness to where he apparently now sat in the shade of the draping sets of clothe. It was an odd set up, to be sure- but it also leant an air of mystery and though the curtains were delicate, and she would be able to see them more clearly now- they somehow seemed..
less ominous than before.

Than a lantern was lit, and she would be able to see him within his prison of silk. The fires danced around, warming the tall swaths of clothe.

And he was still looking at her.

"Why did you follow me?" he asked, not hint of anger in his town- but simple questioning.

Her eyebrow raised.

Ok, not what she was expecting, but honestly none of this was.

"That's easy." She crossed her arms, the gold in her hair and eyes returning as she healed, "You're a puzzle. I like to know how things work."

He smirked. She amused him. He normally hadn't the luxury to humor others such as she, so he simply enjoyed the moment and her being flabbergasted about it.

"You can keep the ring," he told her, still sitting where he was between the veils of clothe. Was he on a chair? It certainly seemed so. It also appeared another was nearby, somewhere near to him but also held between the tangles of clothe mazes.

The ring felt cold on her finger as she nervously spun it in slow circles. He was playing with her, she understood that just as she understood that she had very little advantages here. He was always one step ahead and one step stronger.

It was a new experience for her.

Most of her more dangerous encounters on her journey had been solved in a few moments. Her experience, typically, far outweighed that of a 20 or 30 year old human. She did, after all, have two to three times more years to hone her craft.

But now? Do not underestimate them, Saoirse, her father's last words to her before she left echoed in her ears.

Well....now her own pride had landed her in this mess. All in the name of adventure.

"You cheated." She stared at the trinket imagining his fingers littered with hundreds of magic rings gifting him with god-like powers. "Though, I'm assuming you don't have an artifact that lets you read minds." She looked up at him through the curtains, "I suppose thank yous are in order?"

He stared at her, remaining lazily lounging in the chair. 

"Any creature worth it's preservation cheats," he told her simply. "Man kind never would have evolved without it. It's what makes the species unique."

"Huh." She mulled over his words, "Seems like something a cheater would say." She shrugged and slipped the ring off her finger.

She paused for a moment to study it. It looked unobtrusive and she never would have guessed it held any kind if magic whatsoever. And yet....here she stood.

"So here's my conundrum." She held the ring in her palm, tossing it up and catching it a few times. "You are clearly a dangerous man. Based on the circles you walked through the city, you're also secretive with your business. So...."

She tossed the ring back at him, gently, but with enough force it would reach him before it hit the floor.

"Why am I even here? Am I prey? Do you find me as intriguing as I find you? Is that why you haven't killed me?"

He simply let the ring roll towards his boot, where it stopped in a clittering fade.

"I'm sorry.. do you know me? You dare presume much," he mused, stretching now from where he sat and moved to stand , retrieving the ring from the floor but not making much effort to leave the interesting confines of the drapes.

One had to wonder what the tall drapes inside the room had even been for.

"You also ask a lot of questions." He tilted his head curiously.  "Wasn't it you whom followed me?"

"Oh, so sorry my leige." She rolled her eyes, "I'll just act more like you, then."

She propped herself up on the windowsill and let the curtains dance around her. She glowered into the darkness, crossed her arms and....was silent.

And at this, he smiled. 
"It's a good first step. "

She continued to stay where she was, eyes carefully watching Vrae from her location while scouting around the room for anything that she might use to her advantage.

But what was she hoping for? She was right by the window, she could make a run for at this very moment but....

Running wouldn't give answers.

So she stayed still. She stayed silent.

It was a strange game they played. The hunter and the prey. But like the Venus fly trap, his 'aroma' seemed too intoxicating for the half elf.

And he began to wonder just what would he do with such a thing? Keep her around as a pet. No.. she wouldn't last a day. He'd likely forget to feed her.

Yet somehow... he continued to wonder about her.  Perhaps it was because elven kind in general steered clear of his enterprise.  Sure, he had dark elf connections a plenty but elves... true elves evaded his very existence like the plague.  And so perhaps he just saw her as that, an exotic toy.

So he continued to play his game and made no such efforts to advance.

Saoirse kept her mouth shut and waited. She wasn't really sure why or what she waited for, but they had reached an impasse it would seem.

As the minutes ticked by, she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on top, never moving her eyes away from her puzzle. Her Vrae.

She'd become pretty possessive over him, like a child clung to a new toy. A dangerous toy, but something new and exciting nevertheless.

What would happen if she decided to leave? Would he follow or would he stay? Part of her wanted to experiment, but despite her confident demeanor, she really wasn't sure if he found her interesting enough or not. He had clearly not killed her yet, as was evident by her being...well...not dead. But...was she interesting enough to follow?

She certainly hoped so, but she wasn't ready to concede if she was wrong.

Still so many questions.

As the time past, she found herself composing and began humming absentmindedly. She didn't tap into any magics this time, just let the music itself flow through her.

Her music did not rely on her magic. She had been raised by elves. She herself was half elven. Her talents were Gods given and she had honed them tirelessly over the years.

(tw: suicide in song description)

Then she sang, a mournful tune that lent itself well to her smooth soprano voice. Each note flowed into the next with a virtuosity rarely heard outside of elven circles. She sang, in Elvish, of a young woman who fell in love and gave her whole heart to one who could never love her back. She sang of their failed attempts to couple, their failed attempts to remain faithful and true. She sang of the woman's decline into solitude and despair as her true love left with another before leaping to her death from the cliffs into the sea. The ending candences were wordless rise and falls of her voice mimicking the feeling of the waves crashing; the ebb and flow of the tide.

The song ended as her voice decrescendoed into silence.

It had been sometime since he'd enjoy good, live music. The culture behind her singing was immeasurable.  And he began to formulate silly ideas as to why the young woman had followed him. A mystery, sure. But an unlucky lover? Perhaps.


He sat there, musing over her song, but stayed quiet in the silence that followed. It was interesting she chose not to use any bardic powers.

Then again, any good bard worth its salt knew how to tell a good tale.

Be wondered how else she'd choose to amuse him- remaining like her shark in a cage. 

This particular song was well known among her people, and often sung despite its more depressing libretto. The story went that this was the first time a mortal woman had fallen for an Elf. It was almost presented as a warning for the pairing between the two races back at home, but she had always loved how deeply the woman loved. To a fault, sure, since it ultimately claimed her life.

The story also continued that the woman bore a child; Half elven, half human. That when the woman cast herself into the sea, it was to force her child into the hands of her father to be raised by him and his kin.

All myth, of course, but Saoirse had an obvious vested interest in the story. It felt like it was her story, no matter the fact her mother had died from plague.

The moon had continued to rise and had hit the perfect height in the sky to reach the window where the half-elf sat, knees pressed against her chin.

As before, everywhere the moonlight touched glowed and seemingly transformed as if the moon itself embued her with its power. It sent warmth through her skin like slipping into a hot bath after a hard day's work.

"Do you sing, Vrae?" She asked quietly, for the first time averting her eyes away from him and up towards the crescent moon. She sounded tired. Almost forlorn.

He pocketed away the story.  he'd never remember the tune.  So when she asked him if he sang, t here was a shared quiet between them befire he simply answered,"No."

His answer did not surprise her, he didn't seem like the singing type, bit one could never know for certain. One thing she had learned over the last year was that humans always surprised her.

She held out her hand into the moonlight and summoned a single silver butterfly with a gentle twist of her wrist. It fluttered around her fingers leaving a shadow of light in its wake.

"Some people believe that magic makes you powerful." She spoke softly, "That if creates some kind of worldly advantage." The butterfly landed in her palm. She closed her fingers around it slowly until whisps of moonlight bled through her closed fist.

"But they're wrong."

Amused, Opus Dey continued to study her from between layers of drapes.  The lantern at his side continued to glow and dance. 

"Connlaoth makes for an interesting choice to visit then, doesn't it, she-elf?"

This whole country might very well be a bigger puzzle to her than he. Still, it amused him she'd so openly use it. Then again, it was just the two of them.

The whisps of moonlight smoke swirled back into the darkness. She watched it until it could no longer be seen by the naked eye, suddenly gripped with a sense of longing.

"Hmm?" His words broke her out of her trance and she glanced back at him. "Oh. Here? I honestly had no idea. I'd heard tell of their dislike of mages, but I didn't realize how deep it went until...you know....I started a riot."

The longing gripped her and she stared again at the rays that trickled through the drapes. She glanced back at him and shrugged, "whoops."

With one hand, she hoisted herself onto the ledge and hopped gracefully onto the roof of the house.

Not to escape. Not to run. But to stand in the night, drenched in starlight.

So she stood there, face turned up towards the sky, feeling her ancestors kissing her cheeks.

After sometime, there was a noise below and a small glinting object sat upon the sill she had abandoned. It was the ring, and it had a small piece of paper tied to it.

But also notably, the lantern had gone out and if she were to check, her puzzle would have gone away and the building was returned to the quiet shadows of the night. 

She didn't even realize how much time had passed, but when she opened her eyes the moon had well passed its apex and the night was on its way out. She took a deep breath in and was hit with the realization that Vrae had not come up to the roof with her.

Curious.

She had always known that leaving that room would be to lose her little puzzle, her phantom, her Vrae, but now faced with the fact that he wasn't here...

She was disappointed. She had thought he had found her just as interesting as she found him, but....he hadn't even tried to kill her. That was less than interest. That was...nothing.

He nothinged her.

A sigh blew through her lips as she slipped back down to the ground to peek into the house, secretly hoping to see his shrouded figure but...

Nothing.

Her fingers pressed onto the sill and something cold pressed into her palm.

Curious, she thought. Nothing had been on the windowsill when she left, had there?

Upon turning over her hand she saw the small, gold ring from before glistening against her slender fingers. Her heart skipped a beat. This was no accidental leave behind moment. No. He had purposefully left this for her. If there was any doubt in her mind, it dissipated the moment she noticed the piece of paper.

A note?

A smile pulled at Saoirse's lips as she unfolded the paper. What clues had her puzzle left for her?

Keep the ring. You might need it tomorrow.

Well...that was...ominous. It was a ring of healing after all. So, was he planning to do something to her? Or did he just expect her to get into some kind of trouble?

Pfft. Ridiculous. Her? Trouble?

Never.

Even still, she placed the ring and the note into her pocket and turned to leave. Perhaps she'd run into him again?

She turned to leave when her fingers brushed against the two matching locator stones in her pocket. She hesitated.

There was no guarantee he'd return, and maybe it was stupid to potentially her limited supply (after all she only had two sets and one she had given to the priest in case he ever needed help) but... maybe....

She pulled one from her pocket and left it on the sill.

"For luck." She murmured before turning il towards the incoming dawn and walking down the city streets.

******

Seeing as the half- elf hadn't made any arrangements on where to stay, she found herself wandering for a good while. It was incredibly late, and many shops and inns were still closed for fear of the rioters. She ended up meandering her way to the city limits and finding a nice tree, which she climbed, nestled into a small nook of branches, and closed her eyes to hopefully get a few hours of sleep.

The day before had been exciting to say the least and sleep took her before she knew it. Her dreams were filled with night stalking and cuckoo clocks, but when her eyes fluttered open the sun was high and she felt revitalized.

Many might have wondered why she even stayed after yesterday's events; it would have certainly been safer to just leave. However, she was running low on supplies and needed the shops if she hoped to get far at all.

And a lute. She needed to replace her lute. Considering the craftsmanship of the cuckoo clock she imagined they would have some amazing choices.

She splashed her face with some water from her canteen and made her way into the city protected by an illusion or two to change her features.

The shops, thankfully, were open and she was able to replenish her travel foods - specifically dried fruits and salted meats that would last for a long time. She even found a beautiful cloak with ivy ebroidered  on a gorgeous ivory cloth. Maybe not the best for traveling, but she couldn't say no and stored it carefully into her pack for another time. As much as she wanted to just wear it, it wouldn't exactly keep her inconspicuous.

Another time then.

Off she went to another shop. This time a craftsman known for his musical instruments. His shop took her breath away. It had everything from intricate lap harps, to viols inlayed with pearl and ebony. This man's art rivaled that of the elves.

Leaving with just one was a challenge. She was already going to have someone collect that clock so...why not also collect an instrument or two...? It wasn't like she didn't have the gold to pay for it.

But she controlled herself. She had enough instruments at home and only really needed the lute.

And it was a beautiful one and the sound...oh the resonance that this instrument created...it gave her shivers. The wood had come from an old grove of soft, dense trees that gave the instrument a warmth that newer trees just could not replicate. It was miles better than the one that broken during Danny's speech. And it was beautiful. Simple, but the inlay was second only to the elves and were clearly the work of the master.

Honestly, she wouldn't have been surprised if this man had trained with an Elven craftsman.

But she knew better than to ask that now...

Cradling her purchase, Saoirse exited the shop and into the late afternoon sun. She strummed the strings absently, humming a quiet tune while planning her next leg of the journey and where she might stop to perform on this beauty.

****

After the events of yesterday, the city's militia were out in force. The mage was still at large and she was dangerous. Danning was an odd character, yes, but to be controlled by the mage to spout such rhetoric...she must be powerful and dangerous.

Overnight, wanted posters had been placed of the red-haired devil along with descriptions of her heinous deeds.

A young boy was busy hanging them on the streets when he spotted her. Her hair wasn't red, but her features matched the papers in his hands. He stared after her, panicking.

Then the stack of remaining posters fell from his hands and he ran.

****

Saorise barely even blinked when the papers fell to the ground. She was so engrossed in her music that she didn't even notice when her illusion faltered and then...stopped.

Others noticed immediately. Whispers spread. They began disappearing into homes, into shops, as a line of uniformed soldiers entered the street to form a circle around her.

"You are ordered to stop, mage." The tall man in the middle declared.

Saoirse looked up, surprised, and cursed.

How the hell had she missed the entire guard surrounding her?

She had no choice, she started playing her newly purchased lute and started weaving her illusions into it. Best to disappear the .

But nothing happened.

The tall man stepped forward, smiling darkly, "That won't work for you this time, mage." He spat. With a wave of his hand, he signaled for the circle to close around her.

"Wait." She played a few more notes, but they felt...hollow. They were beautiful, skilled, but held no power. There was a wall around her and she could not touch her abilities. "Wait." She said again, panic creeping into her voice. What was happening? Why could she not conjur? How were they doing this?

"Never met a Mordecai before, eh?" He snarled and then was upon her. Her lute was ripped from her hands and thrown to the stones.

A cry escaped her lips, but no sooner had the lute left her fingers than a blinding blow slammed into the side of her head.

Everything went black.

When her vision returned she was on the ground and something warm was running down her face. Rough handa grabbed her arms and twisted, painfully.

The pain brought her back to her senses; cleared her head, and she twisted away from them with enough force to throw them off balance, but their grip on her arm didn't lift and a defending crack echoed through the road.

More pain.

So much pain.

But it was enough. Her wrist was no longer restricted to normal movements and she yanked, ignoring the fact that she was breaking it further, and pulled herself from his grip. She stood and staggered into the row of guards.

They grabbed at her, but her battle training kicked it. She was half-elf. Even without her magic she could out maneuver them.

She twirled and ducked between their arms and through the thin spaces between them. Her vision blurred and her head spun, but she couldn't stop.

Your blades! she screamed at herself, but her dominant hand was useless and it was cumbersome to unsheath her sword with the other. It would take too much time!

She stumbled, fell, and grabbed a fistfull of stones which she threw into the eyes of her attackers.

Their surprise was evident, but it only bought her a few precious moments.

She fumbled with her blade again, but it was taking too damn long!

Her left hand slipped and landed on the tiny buldge in her pocket.

Vrae's gift.

Without a second thought she shoved it onto her finger. Instantly her vision cleared and she could feel her bones fusing back together.

Gods this was bad.

There before her stood at least twenty guards. Six with crossbows aimed at her, a few others with some odd metal contraption that looked like intricately decorated tubes.

Twang, an arrow loosed and slammed into her shoulder lodging securely against the bone. The ring began mending as soon as the arrow hit. She ripped the arrow out with a gutteral cry and felt her skin knitting back together.

Twang another arrow hit, knocking her off her feet and she slammed against the wall cracking her skull against the stones.

Again, she reached up and pulled it out letting the ring do its work.

She had to get out of here. She was a sitting duck and there was no way she would be able to fight her way out. They had caught her off guard and had the clear advantage. She had to go....

Up.

She stood, using the wall for support. Her head was surprisingly groggy and the last arrow wound hadn't quite closed up.

The ring...must not be infinite.

Oh Gods.

Adrenaline kicke in and Saoirse  leapt with all of her strength, all of her will to live, and swung herself lithely up a few windows and onto the roof. She felt the woosh of another arrow zing past her ear and instinctively dodge to the opposite side.

All she needed to do was get out of range and then keep running. She was almost there.

It pained her to leave the lute lying in the road below, but she couldn't go back for it. Either save her life or save her music.

It wasn't even a choice.

So she turned and ran.

The sharp bang that echoed behind her hadn't even registered before her breath exploded from her lungs. She turned expecting to see one of the soldiers on the rooftop with her having just landed a kidney shot with his fists but....

She looked down and saw red blossoming from her side and spreading across her clothes.

What....

Another bang and another punch before she could even process the first. Her vision swam. Pain returned in force from her side and from just below her collarbone.

She reached towards her chest and felt....a hole....

Then her knees buckled and she slipped down the shingles, tumbling onto the road below in a heap.

Darkness came and went. Her ears no longer worked. She couldn't move, couldn't speak. The stones were drinking her blood.

Her fingers twitched and she did the only thing that came to her mind before darkness would come for sure this time.

She reached into her pocket and gave the tracking stone a final, weak squeeze.

When Saoirse would awaken, she'd find herself in a plush bed, head resting on a plush pillow surrounded by soft clothes. She would be naked, and cleaned, bandages wrapping tightly around her wounds as a familiar nearby clock ticked away at her bedside.

Thr room was large and lavish, with windows slatted shut and locked with daylight creeping in through the slats. The table beside her bed held more than just a familiar oversized clock, but a pair of familiar polished stone- and a small, glinting ring. 

The door was closed, keeping the outside noises muffled but somehow this area just seemed quiet and.. soft. Not much else lined the room except a few select paintings, velvet drapes and a tall, dark figure sitting on the corner- keeping a casual eye upon the bed.

The world was a blur. Sounds came and went like sudden roars and then....silence. Light flashed before her eyes interspersed by long moments of darkness.

And pain.

So much pain.

More pain than she had ever experienced in her long, sheltered life.

Fire ripped through her, tears stinging eyes that she couldn't open.

"Stop. Please..." She heard herself sob, but it didn't sound like her voice. It was distant, hoarse. Wet, rattling breathing followed her whether she was stirring or dreaming.

Dreams filled with terror. With falling. With blood.

Dreams of soldiers pressing fingers into her wounds and cackling.

Then darkness. Sweet, sweet darkness. If the darkness offered its hand, she would take it gladly and let it lead her away never to return.

But the fire stopped trying to consume her and turned into a constant, dull burn. Yet it had lost its all encompassing bite.

And still the breathing continued to plague her. Coupled with a slow, constant boom in her ears.

Her eyes fluttered, but closed quickly against the light. So much effort...

She was cocooned in a cloud. But...still there was pain so.... she couldn't be dead.

Right?

The labored, wet breathing got faster. The booming in her ears picked up. And panic set in which only made them worse and only made her panic more.

She tried to sit, tried to get away, but her body was made of lead and the pain. Gods the pain. A haggered sob escaped her lips, mingled with that constant raspy breathing.

Oh Gods...

She was hearing herself.

When she awoke, he tensed, uncertain what to make or do about her sudden, fitful arousal. It was obvious she was still in pain- and still not fully lucid. Frowning, he moved over towards the bed, staring down at her form before scooping up the ring and lifting up one of her hands. If she fought, he'd tighten his grip, but forcefully slipped the ring onto her finger- and hoped she was awaken enough that the ring would work.

Something grabbed her hand and her instinct was to try and snatch it back, but she was so weak. Each little movement sapped her strength and the attacker would most likely feel only very slight resistance.

She didn't know where she was and immediately assumed the guards had taken her somewhere. For what purpose she had no way of knowing, but if she was alive they wanted something from her.

The hand tightened as she fought weakly; comically. What could she even do?

"No..." She tried to make her fingers into a fist. Her heart beat faster, for it was her very own heartbeat she had been hearing in her ears, and her eyes snapped open and she blearily tried to look around. She had to fight. She had to stop whatever was happening.

She felt the tug on one of her fingers. No. No they were going to break them. No no no no no no n--

The ring slipped on her finger.

A ring.

No broken bones. No torture. No....her vision cleared slowly and the pain subsided ever so slightly and without rush. Her eyes darted to the figure towering above her.

She gripped his hand.

"Vrae.....?" She croaked.

Opus tensed when the woman suddenly touched him, but made no efforts to pull his hand away. The woman was delusional, recovering from he wounds. But then she spoke his name. Well, his 'name'- the moniker that she had given to him.

He smirked, but the smile was a little cold.

He wasn't exactly overflowing with knowledge on how to comfort those who had been torture or harmed. No...
He was typically the torturer.

"You cause a lot of trouble," he said, removing his hand from hers before stepping away, towards the closed window as he peered through the thin little slats covering the window.

"That's the second ring I've had to give you in less than 24 hours."

Her mind ran wild, cycling through one ridiculous thought after another. Thoughts that, had she been in a lucid state, would have been instantly ridiculous. Was Vrae with the guards? Had he come and swept her away for them? Keeping her here to heal just enough to not die from torture?

She forced herself to take a breath. The ring around her finger was working, but it was a testament to the sheer depth of her wounds by how slowly it seemed to be going.

The wound in her side and on her chest were taking the longest and she could feel her flesh stitching itself back together.

Then he spoke.

Trouble... she thought. It was a descriptor that had followed her since birth. She overheard others during her childhood telling her father how much trouble raising a human daughter would be. That her human side would only cause trouble. So she had thrown herself into her studies. Forced herself to be independent far sooner than any person rightfully should be. She did everything she could to stop being a burden.

Yet here she was. Trouble.

She had healed enough to be able to push herself up, but there was clearly a ways to go. It didn't bother her that she was unclothed. Partially because her wounds required bandages to be tightly wound around her chest, and partially because...well...if Vrae had helped heal her at all or was even in the room when it was happening....it wasn't like she had anything to hide anymore.

Her mouth pressed into a line and she slipped the ring off her finger and placed it on the covers next to her. The healing stopped instantly and she knew it would still be weeks before she was fully herself again.

"I'm sorry to have troubled you." Her words were curt, "I know these rings are finite. Probably expensive. I won't deplete it."

Opus kept his dark eyes on her, not moving from the window. 

"Do elves not accept gifts?" He found himself asking after a time.

She sat in silence, considering what her next move would be. Her anxiety rose the longer he didn't respond.

Was he angry? Was he offended?

She didn't want to look up at him for fear of what might be hiding behind his dark eyes. And then....

"What?" She whipped her face around to look at him, wincing as the half-healed wounds pulled and pinched, "Do we not.....gifts?"

Maybe her brain was still scrambled, but she was having difficulty understanding how so completely off guard his response had caught her. A few moments passed before she realized her mouth was hanging open in shock.

"What....no....no....we...we do accept gifts." She finished feeling deflated; ashamed.

"I don't understand." She picked up the ring and let it rest in her palm, "Why?"

It was a loaded question. There were so many whys that flooded her brain. Why had he let her follow him? Why had he healed her last night? Why had he left without really getting anything from their conversation. Why did he save me?

Opus remained casually leaned against the wall now, a subtle smile gracing his lips, and even reaching parts of his eyes.

"To be honest, I was bored. I had the day to myself and decided not to focus on work."
He tilted his head to one side, arms folded across his chest as he studied her. She looked thoroughly confused. It was interesting. She didn't even know him yet she already pinpointed he was of a more villainous nature. And she wasn't wrong.

The question was.. how had she deduced that from him just being so recluse?
Then again... he supposed he couldn't blame her. He did look like a devil- well, a handsome devil, but he was a tall man, square of features, strong, dark of complexion and held an air about him that spoke volumes.

He had been groomed this way all his life. A man did not simply inherit an empire and expect the respect his father had gained. And since he had taken the reigns, the empire had grown considerably. In those efforts, he was almost a better business man thanhis father, except his father started it all and set the seed for it to grow into hit's success. Opus just wasn't stupid and did not squander much of anything.


Except today. Today he had squandered away two rings to some half-elf girl who ought not to be in Connlaoth.

And she asked very good questions.

Why.

His response was truthful. He had time to kill and allowed himself the luxury of being sidetracked by this woman's plight. She was of little consequence to him except for amusement. He supposed it's why he cared enough to drag her from the guards. And that was no simple task.

He wasted quite a lot of resources on her already- and she was in no means a boon to his empire.
Interesting indeed.

Saoirse wasn't exactly sure what she expected his answer to be. It wasn't as if they were friends, or even acquaintances. They had met each other exactly once, had one conversation that wasn't exactly enlightening, and then...what?

"Huh." She leaned herself back against the pillows and the back of the bed. It really was comfortable.

"I guess that makes sense." She decided after a moment of silence. She rolled the ring between her thumb and forefinger. It looked so unassuming. Thieves might even overlook it thinking it of little value. "Whatever the reason, I wouldn't be here if you hadn't been bored."

There were still so many unanswered questions, but Saoirse noticed he didn't like answering questions that gave much away. He was a vault. A big, seven foot, locked vault. Maybe she'd never actually be able to crack it. Maybe it was futile.

But...

If they hadn't met, if they hadn't had a game of cat and mouse before, her ignorance would have killed her and no one would have been there.

Boredom was why she was alive.

"Can you..." she started, then stopped. Would he even answer?

Ultimately it didn't matter. She had to ask.

"Can you tell me what happened?" She touched her side and her chest, "I'm almost a decade old and....what did they do to me? How did they..." a shudder ran down her spine and she was forced to close her hand around the ring in an attempt to hide the trembling. The last few moments of the fight flashed through her head.

She couldn't stop shaking. Couldn't stop the images from taking over. The loud bang and then everything fell apart.

Her breath came quicker as the scene replayed over and over.

She was weak. She couldn't fight whatever that had been. She couldn't even run. Couldn't win.

Can't win.

Weak.

When she left this room they would find her. They would strip her of her connection with the world.

She couldn't breathe. Oh Gods she couldn't breathe.

Opus only watched her, as he usually did- much like a cat that got into the cream. But then.. she began to spiral, remembering and he watched her beginning to tremble and shake and then.. was she having trouble breathing?! The damn girl was going into shock.

He was at her side in a moment, grabbing her suddenly, roughly as he pinned her down against the bed. He fought against her hold, the hold on the ring, only to roughly force it from her grasp then shoved the damn thing onto her finger in hopes a second round of healing might help- other wise he may have just made it worse, his form over powering her and keeping her forced down upon the bed, a ring shoved near painful to her finger.

But.. had it worked?

It was almost as if she had black out. Nothing else existed in those moments except fear. Fear she had never experienced before. Fear that was all encompassing. Falling...all she could feel was falling and the sickening crack of her bones splintering on the stones.

Then she was falling again. Rough hands were pushing her off the roof. Gods she had never been saved had she? Waking up here was a hallucination and now they were pushing her off again.

A primal, uncontrolled, cry burst from her lips. She couldn't control herself. She had been reduced to pure instinct and reason had fled. She didn't even realize she wasn't falling again or that the stones that should have met her were actually soft pillows and clean sheets.

Her eyes were wide in terror, but she couldn't fight. She didn't have the strength. Every attempt at escape was met with a force the kept her down.

The ring slammed on her finger, healing the fracture that its placement had caused almost instantly.

Warmth spread through her. The rest of her  continued to heal, but it didn't touch her mind. That was a wound that would only dissipate with time and training.

Instead, her strength began to return and her struggling became more effective. Had to get out. Had to get out. Had to get out!

Her free hand lashed upwards, palm speeding towards his face in an upper cut meant to break his nose.

Opus cursed. He hadn't expected such a reaction from her. Was it the ring's magic and her elven blood reacting? Or was she in that much shock after what happened?

A man like Opus didn't get to be who or where he was by simply standing around and dictating orders- no he had well trained muscle memory for hand to hand situations- so while he did manage to dodge her attempted strike, he was still struggling to keep the frantic woman down.

His hands went for her wrists, growling as he wrestled with her before forcefully pinning her back down against the bed. This time, a powerful knee went to her belly, and his face got right up into hers as he growled. 

"Snap out of it, she-elf, before I snap it out of you!" He threatened. 

It was almost as if Saoirse was a prisoner to fear. She had no control while her brain raged in fight or flight and adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her strike missed.

Her hand was grabbed tightly and then....the spell was broken almost as quickly as it came. Vrae towered over her, pinning her to the bed; a terrifying image. But...terrifying in a different way than the panic that threatened to consume her. This was a real life terror. A tangible terror.

Her eyes cleared and though they were still full of fear, they had lost the phantoms that had lurked there.

She took a shuddering breath and stopped fighting. Her physical wounds were nearly healed now, she could tell just by the lack of pain that accompanied each ragged breath.

"I'm sorry." She croaked, staring deeply into his dark eyes. They grounded her in reality. They were Vrae's eyes, they were dark and terrifying but they were real. This was something she could focus on. This was something she could use.

"Vrae." She didn't break eyecontact. Her own brown and gold eyes still wide with fear, "Help me."

He was so strong. So much stronger than her. He had complete control over himself while she was floundering.

"I need to be stronger." This can't happen ever again.

"Are you that shooken up from a few gun shot wounds that you'd get me confused with that damned priest of yours?"

Perhaps this is why he never bothered to interact with the world outside of his network. He hadn't the patience for charity. 

He pulled away from her, leaving her lying there on the disheveled, but plush bed.

"Use that ring I gave you to recover. That's the most charity you'll receive from me."

He was no teacher, no Saint, no helper of the weak. Infact, he preyed off those and their weakness. And here she was..asking for help? He looked disgusted, annoyed even as he moved away from the bed.

Her fear was replaced with...shock. And then anger. An anger she had never felt before that rumbled, bubbled, and rose like fire into her translucent cheeks.

"Charity?" She whispered through gritted teeth, "Charity?"

In a flash she was on her feet and the sheets feel away from her naked body. Her hands were in fists with his ring glinting on her finger as her only covering. She didn't care. Her fear had been replaced with something akin to rage.

She took a few large steps until she found herself standing before him much closer than was comfortable.

"I don't want you charity. You chose to give me these gifts." She fingered the ring, "You chose to bring me here. I am no stranger to fighting but those people stripped something from me. It was like a wall went around me and I was being smothered and there was nothing I could do. I have taken down bandit troups on the road, single handedly but these humans downed me in seconds. Here you come and just sweep in and carry off my corpse from the road?

"I don't want charity, I want a trade. My gut tells me you could use me. I have entertained kings and servants alike. I am highly trained in diplomacy. And do you know what kinds of people tend to get into locked places? Bards.

"So use me." She spat, taking a step back and spreading her arms wide, "Use me and teach me. Break me again and again until my bones become steel."

She breathed heavily, her chest rising and falling.

"And what the hell is a gun?"

Her own fiery gaze was met by one in return, but the more she spoke- the more he remembered she was naive. His flamed simply smoldered, but the edge was gone.

"You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. There is no help for ignorance. "

He picked up the bedding and tossed it at her.

"Rest up. The only use you have here is to leave these lands with your tail between your legs. "

"What, so you learned everything you ever needed to know overnight?" She challenged, catching the bedding without so much as a blink. "You've never in your entire life met something or someone that made you think? Make you question? You just know everything automatically?"

She shook her head and took a step back, still angry but she could feel the shift in the air. He was not going to take her up on her trade.

And she couldn't exactly blame him. She knew nothing about Connlaoth. That had been proven the moment the riot began.

"You know what? Fine." She put the bedding down, after wrapping a light sheet around herself more for a layer of emotional protection than for modesty, and started looking around the room for the first time. She would need clothes  her pack, her provisions.

She turned back to Vrae and held out her hand, "I need a knife, or a dagger." Normally she would have said please, but she was tired, annoyed, and over pleasantries.

He hadn't expected his gracious act would lead him to thus frustration. How did elves live such long lives if they were this ignorant?

Instead of answering her, he returned to leaning against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. And just stared at her.

"Oh for the love of--do you WANT me to leave?" She threw her arms up in frustration. There were a few visible weapons on his person and she took a split second to decide.

Then she lunged.

Not an attack lunge, but one of skill and grace that almost looked like intricate steps to a dance at a vivace. She went for the blade closest to her which happened to be on his belt. He was too tall to do anything higher and going for anything lower would just be cumbersome.

In a flourish, his own hand had taken her's, and he guided her into a pirouette type move, spinning her out and away before dipping her low with a devilish grin. She wasn't the only dancer around here and well...
He wasn't exactly the easiest man to pick a pocket from- especially as she tried to steal a dagger so blatantly from the front.

"You know it's rude to take without asking," he said, that coy playfulness from earlier seeming to return.

What had she expected to happen when she attempted such a silly feat? And if she was to be successful... what was she planning to do with a dagger against him?

She still had no idea who he actually was...

Amusing. 

Saoirse might not know the full extent of who this man was, but he also did not know her. She never expected a straight on anything to work with him, except maybe normal human emotions - he was kind of stunted in that department, so she was prepared for his counter.

She did underestimate his speed and was miffed at herself for allowing her hand to be ensnared. She was surprised to find herself suddenly dancing, but she was able to, mostly, keep her wits.

As she spun, her free hand was able to grip the dagger. It was already under the sheets by her side by the time he dipped her low.

Fancy.

"Are you that worried about an elf who was practically killed not too long ago?" She asked, chest rising and falling faster than was normal. She was healed physically, but it would seem she would need some more time to recover fully from the bloodloss. Unsurprising, but she would make do.

"And I did ask. Now let me go."

He gave her a small smile, still holding her- and in such a way.. it would be difficult for her to just flee his arms.

"I seem to recall a demand," he told her, still holding her in her dip.

"Oh, so you care about being polite now? Do you want to be rid of me or not?"

She considered her options. She could fight her way out, but that felt wrong. After all, regardless of how infuriating he was, he had saved her life. Quite literally. She wouldn't even be alive to be annoyed at him without...well...him...

But he was also so keen to be rid of her yet didn't want to help her further.

"You're infuriating." She decided to try talking. Not that it had done much good before.

"I am what I am," he told her simply, still holding her in her dip.
"But what do you plan to do with my dagger you've stolen?" he asked, not about to let her go or pull her from this position. His eyes danced a little, there may have been a bit of a bold challenge there- but well...
He was a looming form over her, both dark and mysterious- and that dangerous air about him had yet to subside.

"You going to cut me?" he leaned his chest forward, almost challenging. "Then cut me."

"In.fur.i.a.ting." She emphasized each syllable. Her neck was starting to strain from the dip, but she kept her gaze steady and forced her muscles to remain still.

"And apparently stupid." She concluded after he revealed his knowledge about where his dagger actually was. She slipped it out from her side and held three blade side in her hand while touching the hilt to his cheek. It would be easy for him to take it back, which is exactly the point she was trying to prove.

"Why would I want to attack you? You literally pulled me back from the underworld and as unbelievable you are, I owe you a life debt." Her fierce brown eyes bore into his, "Now please release me."

That same dance from earlier within his eyes seemed to return as she pressed the blade's hilt to his cheek.
"And what do you intend to do once I release you?" His eyes never left hers. "You'll have my dagger..."
And it was one he was rather fond of- not just any ordinary dagger- though it might have seemed that way at first..
but it held a subtle significance in it.
After all, it was a signature Opus Dey blade, and one he had personally crafted to have on his person.

"Why don't you let me go and you'll find out." She challenged back, "Or, you could just take it back. It's not like I'm holding it in any way that would hinder you."

Gods she was annoyed.

She ignored the small part of her that seemed to be enjoying the banter.

"And let my puzzle piece go?" he challenged, amused. "You also forget.." he then added, after a moment of just silently holding her gaze. "To take back my dagger would mean to cut that pretty hand of yours. Ever take a wound on your hand?"

"And here I thought you were my puzzle. After all, I did name you Vrae which I'm fairly certain you understood the moment I said it." She closed her hand tighter on the blade, feeling the sharp burn of steel piercing skin, and pushed the hilt harder against his face.

"Do you want me to leave or not."

His grin was somehow smugger, even though his expression didn't grow any wider on his face. It was in those eyes of his, dark and alight with much to say, even in saying nothing at all.

He ignored the dagger, and drew his other hand forward, gently stroking the soft skin of her cheek as he still held her- body not even seeming to strain beneath her weight.

"Stay the night," he told her, voice low, husky, and a new look bloomed hotly within his eyes.

Her eyes flashed and she immediately tensed. This was not the direction she expected things to go.

Who the hell did he think he was? What about this situation made him think she was even remotely interested in any of this?

In one swift motion the dagger flipped and now she pressed the blade against his face. Hard. Quite possibly hard enough to draw blood, but she didn't care.

"I will not be your whore." She snapped. "Let. Me. Go."

He didn't flinch, simply smiled down at her.
"If I wanted a whore.. I'd go to the whore house."

She pressed the blade even harder. Would he force himself on her? Gods she didn't know this man at all.

Was that all this whole rescuing stuff was about? Lust? Some awful, twisted way to make her feel indebted to him so she would entertain this?

No. She would not let it happen.

"Let. Me. Go." She snarled, her voice was ice. All mirth, all warmth was gone and all that was left was self preservation and a blade digging into his cheek.

For a long, tense moment, they simply stared at one another with defiant eyes before..
His hold on her slackened, and he helped her to her feet. He was no longer holding her now, but that same simmering gaze remained.

She straightened, the blade held so tightly in her hand it shook. For the first time she was keenly aware that she only had a sheet and some bandages covering her.

The last person who had tried something like this was dead. And Gods the cold wash of fear that came from these types of interactions never got easier. But it did sharpen her senses and she was aware of everything.

She shook off his help to get back on her feet and took two large steps back. She placed the blade between her teeth and used her now freed hands to tighten the sheet around her and secure it to eliminate any worry of it falling down. There were no clothes lying about that she could see; she had to make do.

After a few, tense moments, Saoirse finally broke her gaze and turned towards the small mirror on the wall.

She pulled her long, red and gold hair over her shoulders and pulled the dagger through in one swift motion. The strands fell lazily onto the floor around her until a short, chin length cut remained.

Then, without looking, she flipped the dagger over her shoulder towards him. At this point, she didn't even care if it hit him.

Opus just remained where he was, a tall, imposing, impassive man- dark and brooding-
but his eyes still held that subtle sparkle from when she first chased him- like a cat and mouse..

He simply watched her, making no move nor reaction to her adjusting her make shift dress, nor cutting off her hair. He did, however, move towards the desk in the room. A long, thick leather coat remained over a chair. He picked it up, then tossed it at her- long after she had tossed the knife back to him. he had managed to catch it- although unfortunately forhim, he caught it by the blade.

He ignored the cut for now and waited for her to take the jacket.

She stared at herself in the mirror and frowned. With her magic she'd never needed to hide her appearance before, but she couldn't risk it after everything that had happened.

What had the guards called it? Mordecai? Even thinking about the word sent a shiver down her spine. She forced the fear away and fed the anger and annoyance. They had helped her forget. She could use that.

Stay angry. She reminded herself. That was easy, here, with Vrae standing behind her.

She'd need to do something about her hair color. She'd need to do something about her face.

Hmm....

She bit her lip and turned back towards Vrae, then walked towards him again.

Stay angry.

She removed the ring and then traced a line from her temple to her chin in a path that cut across her eyebrow, "Right here." She told him matter of factly, "Nice and deep. Preferably quick and without getting my eye."

Opus simply stared at her.
"And what is your intentions?" He asked. He knew very well what her intentions were. He just wanted to hear her say her ludicrous idea.

Saoirse rolled her eyes, "I might be ignorant, as you've so clearly pointed out, but I'm not stupid." She was pointedly ignoring the coat he was offering; not liking the idea of putting something of his on herself, "I clearly can't hide myself with magic here and need to do something more permanent. I'm not exactly inconspicuous and they'll be looking for me which I'm sure you know"

"I think you understand estimate your stupidity. You want a fresh wound? You can ask those guards that are chasing you. " He gave her a soured smile.
"You don't think they'd be able to notice someone they're aggressively chasing over a facial wound?"

"Fresh for a time, yes," she glared, "But I've told you before I'm not stupid." She twirled the ring in front of his nose.

"Can you please just be helpful for once? Was the point of saving me to torment me? Is it all just a continuation of your boredom?"

She might think herself clever, but a scar was a scar- and he knew what that meant to a woman's face. She'd be worthless.. well, in some regards .

"They're a lynch mob- they'll find any reason to find you out of a crowd or someone like you to hang. "

He shook his head.
"You want me to cut off your ears while I'm at it? And change your eyes? The willowyness of your body? That glow of your hair?"

She was in over her head.

"A marred face won't stop their prejudice."

She just stared at him. Contemplating. Her initial gut reaction was annoyance. Who did he think he was? He didn't know her. He didn't have the right to choose what she did or didn't get to do to herself!

But she also didn't have to ask him to help either, did she? She might not have all of the supplies she needed, she might not have any daggers in her own pack (which she had spotted sitting on a chair in the corner) and the blade she did have was much too large for any kind of intricate cuts, but she could always break the mirror and use the glass. There were options.

Yet....

Why was she asking him? Perhaps a little bit of fear? If someone else did it, could she blame them if something went wrong?

"Tell me how your ring works." Getting more information would help. "Does it heal perfectly? No scars? If I were to look under these bandages would there be any trace left? I don't care about their prejudices. I'm not looking for an amputation. I'm looking for a way out." her gaze had softened slightly and she felt the cold chill of fear starting to inch up her spine. No. she commanded herself. Fear would not serve her here. Fear had left her paralized and weak. Fear made her need Vrae.

Opus felt himself stiffen at the requested.
Those that came to him for help.. he reflexively obliged. And they entered into a contract.  A very binding, very real business venture that practically owed their lives to Opus.

Yet here he hesitated, even on his natural inclinations.

"There are more practical and less costly means to get out."
However, he remained stiff, uncertain he wanted to say more.  Damn she elf. 

"What does that mean, less costly? Are you really that worried about my face? If your ring is as powerful as it seems, shouldn't a partially healed wound just..." she snapped her fingers, "Go away?"

What was he talking about cost? Where had that even come from? Was it a cost for him, or a cost for her?

Opus' eyes glittered like a predator now. She was far too naive. 

"Let's say it did. It can not fix your ears, that hair nor your tongue. " His look hardened. "You need only make one mistake and.." he snapped his fingers. "They'll tear you apart like a pack of wolves. "

Her gaze hardened as she sensed the tone shift. Gods this man had no sense of his emotions did he? He was like a child playing with a new toy. One moment he was enamored and the next he was throwing it at a wall to watch it snap.

Following along was exhausting.

She rubbed her temples, "Why is nothing easy with you? You tell me to go, then ask me to stay, and now are playing a game of secret keeper...for what purpose?"

Her gold flecked eyes met his gaze and stared at him. Truly took him in. He was tall. Quite handsome, especially where humans were concerned. His eyes were a bottomless pit of secrets and most likely a lifetime of trauma. He was the main character of one of the epic tales she told to crowds.

No. Not the protagonist.

An antagonist, clearly, with those eyes...

Something tickled the back of her memory. Some story or another just out of reach. A man of his height, his coloring, his....hardness. Someone who just took on a full guard.

A phantom.

"Oh." Her eyes grew wide as understanding dawned. But she wasn't scared. Her face lit up with....delight?

"Oh Gods." Her hands flew to her mouth to hold back a squeal like she was still a child. Saoirse spun on the spot to take everything in. Her pack. A clean room at an inn. Daggers and weapons hidden everywhere on his person. A phantom. Refusal to answer simple questions. The constant air of mystery.

She was about to say his name out loud when her eyes settled on the clock.

"You..." her delight disappeared and was replaced by confusion, "You stopped to get the clock."

Opus remained more impassive as her realizations took over. But he said nothing, only the subtlest hint of a smile tugged leftward on his lips.

She was almost squealing, back to her excitement of a puzzle...

And then she saw the clock.

He didn't even glance at it as she was completely transfixed. And still said nothing, eyes lightly simmering with reserved mirth.

"Why?" She whipped around to stare at him. "Why am I here? You must have thought you could get something out it, right?" After all, if she was right about who he was, that was the only thing that would make sense.

"Saving my life couldn't have been easy but you did it anyway. Just from boredom? That doesn't make sense."

His eyes twinkled as she spoke. He didn't need to speak for him to be obviously amused. Yet his expression barely changed, it was felt more in the air around them- a unique tension of his feelings. 

Did she really expect an answer?

Saoirse didn't expect him to answer, but that didn't stop her from being unbelievably annoyed and frustrated with that little smirk. Gods she could hit him.

Actually, she thought about it....for a few seconds too long.

Instead she let out a muffled, frustrated scream.

"You could torture someone with silence, couldn't you." It wasn't a question. She walked away from him and kicked the long strands of hair she had cut off earlier in an attempt to let out that strong desire to just smack him.

She understood what he was saying. She understood that she truly couldn't hide who she was. She was raised as an elf and anyone who had any knowledge of her ancestry would be able to spot it a mile away. But she just needed a way to get out of Connlaoth, didn't she? Why was he making it a whole life lesson?

Part of her wanted to ask, but she already knew he wouldn't answer.

Instead, she held the sheet tightly against her body and sat down on the edge of the bed and reached over to wind the clock. The soft clicks were somehow soothing and when she spun the hands to strike the hour, the figures danced around and brought a small, introspective smile to her cheeks.

There was a knock at the door just then and Opus turned, curious.

"It's Yvena.. the maid servant. I.. I've brought those clothes you requested. "

He had nearly forgotten about them. He took a moment to admire Saoirse in just a blanket before he moved towards the door and allowed the maid to come in.

She had a few Connlaothian style clothing bundled in her arms and Opus instructed her to place them upon the bed. Once that was taken care of, he gave the woman a silver as tip and she left with a click from the door.

The knock on the door, as quiet as it was, sent a flood of fear through Saoirse and she jumped to her feet. Instinctually, her hands leapt to her hair to smooth the curls around her ears, but she tried to turn it into an awkward itch midway. She doubted it was successful and was embarassed she even tried.

Gods, she wasn't ok. She was a child who jumped at shadows and curled under blankets for protection.

But she couldn't show it. Her pride overwhelmed her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her unravel again.

Instead, she forced her breathing to slow and tried to ignore the pounding of her heart in her ears and tried to keep her face as neutral as possible. By the time the woman had left, Saoirse had managed to control herself and shoved the fear as low as she could push it.

Why did she care what Vrae thought? He had saved her, yes, but he didn't own her. He barely knew her, and she him. Ultimately when she walked out of this room they would go their separate ways and never see eachother again.

Why did that make her....sad?

Stop being stupid.  She commanded herself.

She took a few steps to the clothes and picked them up to look closer. Gods, how much did she really owe him for all of this? If the stories were true this man never did something without some kind of end goal.

"Control yourself." She glared in his direction and then turned her back to him and let the sheet loosen and then drop around her ankles. The bandages were still tightly wrapped around her and she looked and felt around for an end to begin the unraveling process. Her waist was easy, but the wrappings around her shoulder and her chest proved...difficult.

She sighed, "Can you help me find the end?" She asked, "Or is that too much of a request, too?"

He couldn't stop himself from studying Saoirse. Part of it was because he was a man and could appreciate something he were attracted to. She was smart to refuse his advances.  He would have bedded her already were she ever to concede.

And then she asked him to undress her.

He hesitated, staring over at her and wondering if she truly wanted him that close and undressing her after he made some of his intentions clear. He wanted to bed her. Not exactly the same as the whores he could pay for for his enjoyment. There was always something more satisfying when a woman willingly opened her legs for him because she wanted to give herself away and get caught up in a moment of pleasure.

Maybe he wanted to do so to add another notch to his bed? Or to prove he could be that attractive to her that she couldn't think of anything else and fell into raw need.

Whatever his inspiration, he kept it to himself before moving up behind her. She'd feel his warmth and shadow blanket over her as he stood behind her, purposely standing in a way so that as fingers moved to gently brush and tickle over her soft flesh while they worked to undo and find the bandages, that on occassion his strong body- chest, shoulder, hips or arms- would lightly touch against her own.

Even as he'd bend forward, working intimately close at her bandages, she'd feel on occasion even his cheek brushing her exposed flesh as wrap after wrap were removed and let drop to the floor.

Once the last bit was removed he stood there, hesitating, his form so close to her naked body...
But after a moment he simply stepped away and turned his back towards her, presumably to let her dress.

Saoirse was seriously surprised when he actually obliged her for once and within a few heartbeats he was there helping her unravel the bandages. She was acutely aware of just how close he was and felt small shivers climb up her spine, but she kept her breath steady as he worked.

She wasn't a prude by anymeans, and she certainly wasn't celibate, but she was a romantic. Despite his presence and the fact that he was a very attractive man, that wasn't enough.

So she let him work and said nothing as the wrappings fell from her body to reveal freshly healed skin underneath.

The first thing she did was look. She had been hit with arrows, fallen from a roof, and been attacked with something Vrae had called a gun....which she still didn't understand. It was clearly a weapon that was magic...but also couldn't use magic because of the very place it was used. So what the hell was it?

A silvery, circle scar was visible just over her heart, and another down on her right side. There were other healed puncture wounds from the altercation, but they already looked to be years into the healing process. Fascinating magic.

She had a few long healed wounds from the past 70 years that had left some raised scars. The most noticable were along her arms from sword play and general fighting over the years. Another extended from the back of her left ear and down her spine stopping just below her shoulder blade. Now that came with quite the tale. Probably the closest she'd come to death before her most recent maiming. And that had been a massive miscalculation on her part from simple pride and lack of skill.

Vrae stepped back, she could feel the cold replace his warmth, and that was it. She pulled on the clothes provided and stood in front of the small mirror to examine herself.

She still felt like an outsider.

"Hmm..." she chewed on her lip. The haircut didn't change the gold or the brightness of the red. It certainly accentuated her cheekbones in a rather flattering light but even in Connlaothian attire she was anything but.

"How do you do it?" She broke the silence, "Disappear into a crowd. You're not exactly  forgettable."

Opus remained at his distance, listening to her dress and only when she spoke to him again did he turn to her, arms folded across his chest.

He had cooled off.. well mostly. Best to keep his distance from the she-elf to maintain his cool head. He did not need.. a distraction. Perhaps that's why he himself was also puzzeled why he dare entertain her- especially without any such reward.

At her question, he gave a small smile.

"You ask a lot of questions."

She glared at him through the mirror, "and you deflect."

What the hell did he expect of her? Refused to help and then just...just...

It was all too much. Saoirse couldn't contain it anymore and letting anger and frustration take over masked the fear that threatened to take hold every time she thought about taking a step out the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She exclaimed, turning around to face him, her face flushed with anger, "You tell me I'm naive. You tell me I'm ignorant. You save my life only to sit there with that smug, self-righteous look on your face." She pointed, "Yes. That one. You offer no words other than insults and belittling remarks. If you want me to die, you're doing an awfully good job because I'm about to leave this room to walk across a country I clearly don't know in the hopes that I don't run into these....Morde-whatsits again."

She picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder and gave him a sarcastic curtsy.

"Thank you, my lord, for saving my life just to throw it back to the wolves."

She turned and walked to the door.

Who was he to stop the will of a woman? Free will was only taken were she to take up a contract. He was not about to offer those services to her. If she thought Connlaoth was unforgiving...
No..
He was not about to make a contract with the elf.

The crowds would likely be settled by now. By how much, he did not know. This whole city was as if doused in kerosene, one match would just set it alight. 

But he wasn't about to keep her there. She wasn't his prisoner. If his company was so souring to her, she had free will to do as she pleased. Obviously, his company wasn't welcome nor tolerated anymore. So for now.. he could only presume, their little game was at an end.


Funny though.. that she left her damn clock upon the table.

The moment Saoirse grabbed the handle, she felt the anger dissipate and the fear begin to rise. That room had been safe and now....now she was outside in a world that was determined to kill her. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. In fact it was all she could do to keep her gait steady and her pack from slipping through clammy hands.

Onlookers stared at her with awkward glances when they thought she wouldn't see, but they weren't being that discrete. She had barely made it to the stairs when she had enough.

"Terrible customer." She hissed, "Refused t'pay the price we agreed upon."

That shut them up. After that they kept their eyes down and pretended like the disreputable woman didn't even exist.

Perfect.

She hiked her skirt up flashing her legs on the stairs a little higher than modesty required to help solidify the character she was embodying. It was nice to know people reacted the same way in this backwards place as they did elsewhere.

Saoirse assumed some of the workers at least understood the circumstances that brought her here, but they said nothing as she walked past and into the sunlight beyond the main entrance.

He stood there for a time after she left, arms crossed and contemplative. The room was a lot more empty after she left. But she had made her choice. 

And although it had been a fun distraction, Opus had work to do. He didn't drag himself to gods forsaken wartorn Connloath just to play around with a she-elf.

Of course, now as he thought about it.. those ears.. and the fact she was intrigued by a human...
Ah, she was  half breed. Things made a little more sense for it. Most full blooded elves would never give his type the time of day- human or not. 

Even by human standards he stood out, having a mishmash of human blood lines running through his veins. His father had been a colorful man that had gotten around, and although he was sure there were more siblings besides himself, he only knew about his half sister.  And he was certain there were plenty more.

However, out of all of his known bastard children, Opus had been selected as his heir. He knew enough about his father to understand his obsessions- one having been his mother. It was still strange.. he could have had any of his bastards join his empire.

But as it were, only one bared his name in any official regard. He supposed it was time to get to work.. yet even still...
He took the time to open the shudders of his window, peering down to see where the little she-elf went.

The sunlight hit hard and Saoirse was forced to lift her arm to cover her eyes. She had to remind herself over and over and over that she could not use illusions here. If one of the magic eaters happened to walk by, the instant change in features would give her away.

Vrae was right, though. She had cut her hair, but the red and gold felt like a beacon in the street. There was nowhere she could hide. Nowhere she could run. They would find her. They would catch her.

But would they kill her? Or just keep her for fun?

Her chest tightened and she was forced to lean against a nearby building to regain her composure. She took deep, steadying breaths. Had to keep the panic down. Had to keep the fear out. But without Vrae she had no anger.

Mistake.

This was a mistake.

Breathe. She demanded herself and remembered how Vrae had snapped her out of her last attack. She relived the moment; felt his hands pinning her to the bed and yelling at her to pull herself together. It was working.

"Hey." A pair of nicely polished boots appeared next to her and a hand inched around her waist causing her to instantly stiffen. She turned her head to look up at some young man. "Come with me. I promise I pay well."

His lewd smile turned her blood cold and she stepped back quickly and pushed his hand off of her.

"My services aren't for you." She snapped. Gods what was wrong with this city? Couldn't she get a damned break?

He stepped closer and grabbed her arm; not in a rough way, but definitely one that demanded attention. A warning. "Come now. I'll make you never want another fuck for a week."

She tried to pull away but his hand tightened to the point of pain. "Not you."She hissed.

Anger flashed across his face and she knew she was going to be in trouble if she didn't get out of this situation and fast.

"Who do you think you are, whore? You can't deny your betters!" His free hand reached towards her hair and she moved with all of the skill and grace her elven side granted her. His hand closed on air and his grip on her arm slipped.

Then she slammed her fist into him as hard as she could, hearing bones snap in his face as well as her hands. But she was numb and didn't feel the pain.

He crumpled instantly.

And she ran.

He had watched from a distance, a hand tensed... ready...

But he did not intercede.  She took care of the man and he smirked.maybe she wouldn't need his help after all...

That still left the question of her clock. Pity she left such a pretty piece behind.

However...
He would tail that man later.

Saoirse ran until she found a deserted side road which she bolted into and slammed her back against the stone wall. Without even thinking, she summoned an illusion to shroud her.

She slid down to the ground and pulled her knees up to her face and....

Cried.

Not just a stray tear, no, but full body shaking sobs.

"I hate this place." She said to herself through raspy breaths while hugging her legs so tightly it seemed like she was trying to assimilate them into her torso.

People on the street could hear her, but the illusion was absolute and they began muttering about ghosts and rushing past as fast as they could. Even the small detatchment of guards that passed with the man she clocked drapped over their shoulders didn't even spare a look. If he woke up, she was sure they'd know she was involved, but he looked to be out cold.

Saorise wasn't sure how long she sat there, but she knew that she had to move eventually. It was a big city and an even bigger country and now she had to get out with a bounty on her head. How long had it taken her to get to this particular city? A few weeks at least, and she wasn't even certain when Connlaoth even started. It wasn't like there was a big "WELCOME!" Sign in the middle of the woods or on the mountains.

She needed to get it together. Having a breakdown wasn't going to get her anywhere but the ground where she had planted herself.

A quick glance to either side of her showed that she was alone, so she let the illusion drop and pulled herself to her feet. She pulled a dark cloak from her bag and drapped it over her shoulders after buckling her sword to her waist. Her pack, thankfully, looked to still be stocked with the dried food she had purchased for the road and her coin pouch had been undisturbed. Everything seemed to have darkened in places and she realized, upon inspecting the ivory cloak she had purchased, that it was most certainly her own dried blood.

Something to worry about later. For now, she just needed to walk. Pick a direction and go.

So she did.

There were wanted posters with her face plastered across the city. Once she spotted one, it was like they multiplied like rabbits and she could have sworn one shop had four on their stall.

Her unease grew.

But she had to keep walking.

So she did.

At least until she felt a tug at her skirts.

"Hey lady." She looked down to see a child who couldn't be any more than 5. The girl had a head of beautiful brown curls and perceptive eyes, "You look different than your pictures."

Dread flooded through her.

"What?" Saoirse managed to stammer.

"Mommy says you're dangerous and hurt people. But you don't look dangerous. You look nice. You cut your hair."

"I...I am nice. But you should go home, ok?"

The girl nodded, gave the half-elf an innocent smile and then ran back towards, what Saoirse assumed was her house.

She needed to move, and fast.

"Father! What are you doing?!" A nervous vendor had been nervously following Danning as the priest moved along the busy street, removing the freshly posted wanted posters.

"These posters are of an unfair prejudice. I was there during these events and she by no means deserves the malicious attention."

The vendor continued to watch, nervously.

"But they were placed by the city guard.."

"Buf not by Ansgar himself. Ansgar does not teach us to promote falsifications and I can not allow it either."

The vendor hung back, realizing talking to the priest was useless.

"Just be careful, Father Danning.  The guards are on high alert this day."

Father Danning. is that what she just heard? It slowed her panicked walk so she could look around.

Where had it come from? Perhaps it was imagined, but maybe....

Her puzzle hadn't been willing to help her, but the priest...the priest just might and if she was lucky enough to just run into him...

Hope kindled in her heart.

Then.

Yes. It was him! She stopped completely and waited for him to walk away from the clearly nervous vendor. He was taking down her posters.

Perhaps her luck was turning!

She picked up her pace to catch him, making sure her hood completely covered her fire-red hair.

"Father..." she muttered next to him, unable to keep her voice from shaking, "Danning, please...I need your help."

Danning turned with a smart, then glanced around to see if any had noticed before he ushered her I to a nearby all.

"You're still here! I had hope you'd have left the city," he Whispered, concern knitting his brow.

Then he noticed..

"Your hair..."

He saw her expression.

"Oh.. by Ansgar's name.. what happened?"

"I tried." She explained, working hard to keep her voice steady. Fear and panic would no serve her, "I was caught...only survived by some weird twist of fate. But..."

She shook her head, keeping her eyes glued to the ground.

"They're going to find me again. This place is so big and I don't know where to go."

The priest frowned, then looked down at the papers crumpled into his arms. He raised them up for her to see. "I take it you've seen these? They is a surprisingly amount throughout the city. I'm not sure how they managed to create so many in such a time... but the stir in the town square... well, with these war times, people are not soon to forget. I feel someone is behind this, forcing it to a head more quickly than I've seen them tackle most rebel mages."

He shook his head, his frown deepening.

"I am not sure what can be done, but I know of a place you could stay and lay low- but... I'm not sure I can be more help than that."

He looked at her, concern filling his warm eyes.

"You really need to leave the city.. if not, even the country. I.. I'm sorry I can't be much more use than this."

She nodded. What else had she expected from him? It wasn't as if he could tackle a whole country himself, try as he may.

"I know." She acknowledged, "And I don't want to stay. I just...I just want to get out. The city first, then the country. I was a fool coming her. Naive and stupid and should have done my research first." She looked up, eyes still damp with unshed tears and fear, "Do you know a way out of the city that is less obvious? Perhaps a map of the surrounding areas? Just...anything..."

"Father Danning." A voice that she recognized from her previous altercation with the guard, "Do you realize you are speaking with the assailant of this upstanding citizen?"

She didn't want to turn, didn't want to see what was behind her, but she did - slowly and with care to keep her gaze averted. They thought she was just a common criminal now but things would turn ugly once they realize who she truly was.

So she stared at their feet and saw the same polished boots from earlier. She glanced up and couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips at the sight of his face. He was already black and blue on both eyes and dried blood caked his face. He still looked a little dazed.

"That whore attacked me without provocation." His voice sounded nasally and he winced when he spoke.

Good.

"I promise he deserved it." She murmured softly to Danning, "Couldn't keep his hands to himself."

The priest frowned. He was not a fan of any such altercations.

"Sir.. I ask that you politely step away. I am handling this here. We do not need further agitation." He spared Saoirse a look, apologetically. There wasn't much he could do here except pray the man went away.

"Step away, priest," the man spat, "this is for the law to handle."

Saoirse laughed sardonically. It didn't look like Danning would be able to do much here. That man was clearly upper crust and they tended to make their own rules.

"How does the law handle the advances you made?" She asked, still keeping her face in shadows, "Are men allowed to touch women whenever they want?"

The guard seemed to get more uncomfortable as she spoke and murmured something to the nobleman. "Who would you believe?" She heard the man hiss, "She is a nobody whose words mean nothing. Do not make me get your superiors."

Saoirse's hands were clammy. How could she work around this?

"I have no intention to report you." She tried to reason with him, "Just go on your way and nothing needs to come from this."

He spit at her feet and ordered the guard to take her. To his credit, the guard did not move quickly and was clearly annoyed that he couldn't just make the man go away.

But he did reach her, and he did place a hand on her shoulder, "I'm sorry, Father," he murmured to the priest, "You know what they're like and the trouble they can cause."

He turned his attention to Saoirse and the moment she had been dreading was upon her. What could she do?

His hand reach towards her hood.

Could she run? How far would she get? If she went quietly would things go better or worse? What about Danning? If she ran, he had already claimed to be dealing with the situation which meant he had literally admitted to working with a mage.

Her hood came down and her red and gold hair glittered in the sunlight. The guard stiffened.

"You." Anger spread across his face and he turned towards Danning, "You're aiding her?" He seethed, "After all of your ill gotten words, you cross the line to traitor?"

No. No. Saoirse couldn't live with herself if Danning got into trouble because of her. This was her mess. Whatever happened to her now was entirely because of her ignorance. This priest was innocent. He was a good person.

"No!" She went to rip her hand from the Guard's grip, but he was faster and before she knew it a large iron shackle clamped around her wrist and her knees buckled. No..no no no no. "It's not his fault!" What could she say to save him?? "I...I..." her strength was gone. The iron sucked ever bit from her body. She looked directly at Danning, her eyes full of apologies before she stammered, "Enchanted him."

The moment she was out of his sight, he couldn't help the anxiety that was rubbing raw inside of him. So without much thought, he threw on his cloak and left the building. 

Weaving through the streets would take too much time, so much like earlier- Opus had taken to the roof tops, leaping from building to building with impeccable skill and grace. The exhilaration of the jumps- near flights- from roof top to roof top always got his blood rushing- a great warm up for a fight.

It didn't take him long to find the man who attempted to throw himself at Saoirse. He had a special place in hell he reserved for him once he'd get his hands on him. But the bloke was actually waking up, and a few guards tended to him.

He could easily take them all on however...
he supposed he'd let that man go for now. He'd check on Saoirse first.

Unfortunately for him, that pathetic rapist wanna be somehow found her first. It didn't help that the city was full of confusing mishmashes of streets and maze like alleyways int he back slums. But the first scuffle he heard, he went leaping towards it, only to realize he was nearly too late.

Down below, he saw the man from earlier, a guard in tow and a red haired woman being shackled and...
Was that the damn priest from earlier? Damn.

The she-elf really did like to get herself into trouble. He moved with the silent but powerful grace of a cat, leaping closer, those below none the wiser. And he landed down in the street parallel before making his move- then struck, leaping onto the guard with ferocious finesse. And he was unconscious and on the ground in seconds.

The devil from earlier gasped, and Opus rose above his prey- a menacing figure that looked about ready to strike. It all happened too fast- Danning not prepared for the third man to arrive, but when he saw the blade in his hand- and where he stood now, having knocked the guard over- and the red haired elf-
He didn't think but acted-
slamming a brick into the back of Opus's head.

Opus blinked once, confused before the whirled swirled above him, and his massive form fell into a heap, unconscious beside Saoirse.

Danning fell to his knees beside her- the other man still cowering away, as he moved to help her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, shoving Opus's legs off of Saoirse, realizing the tall man had half fallen ontop of her before he knocked him out witht he brick.

It all happened so quickly that Saoirse didn't even recognize what had just fallen from the sky as a person. Maybe it was panic, but more likely it was the drunken feeling that accompanied the iron clasped around her wrist. She had difficulty focusing. She was slow. Tired.

No, more than tired. The shackle deadened life itself.

Then she was on the ground, her head smacking against the stones and sending her reeling even more. Each breath was a struggle. Even moving her littlest finger felt like a chore.

A voice...who...

Her vision swam from the hit to her head and it took a few efforts to focus in on him.

"Danning...What..." she looked around just in time to see the man who caused all of this gather his thoughts and take off running calling for more guards. Then...who had Danning moved. The guard who caught her? No...he was to her right and was bleeding from his temple but seemed to be breathing.

She forced herself up to her knees and braced herself as a wave of nausea swept over her. Then she inched forward.

"Oh Gods...Vrae...." she knew who he was but still used the name she had given him. It felt more sincere. Felt right. He was her phantom afterall. Her puzzle.

And he had come for her despite everything.

"Danning, please, help me!" She cried, inching towards Vrae's limp form. She turned him as best she could in her weakened state and cradled his head in her lap. "Oh no...no no...Vrae. Hey. Can you hear me?" She inspected his head and felt warm blood from where Danning had hit him.

The guards were coming. She could feel their freedom slipping away.

"Danning help. I can't...I can't do it myself!" She grabbed a the iron shackle and let out a cry of frustration when she could do nothing about it. "Vrae. I need you to wake up. Please...oh Gods please."

Danning stood, shocked.

"Is.. is that the man from the shop?" He asked, not believing it with his own eyes. Guilt washed over him, weighing him down. But still he managed to scramble to her side.

"Whay do you want me to do? The guards.." he could hear shouting. He grimaced. 

"You should leave him with me.. run.. try to flee this place."

She shook her head, ignoring another wave of nausea.

"I can't." She croaked, "He saved my life. I would have died....I can't leave him." She felt tears of frustration well at the corners of her eyes and she brushed them away angrily.

She owed him.

But more than that she wanted to help him. She needed to help him. Maybe he would call her foolish. Naive. But she was neither. She knew what staying meant, but she needed to at least try.

She shifted his body so she could weave herself under his arms and pulled with all of her might. He barely even shifted but she fell backwards and retched from the effort.

"Damn iron!" She grabbed at it again hoping that maybe this time it would budge. It didn't, of course.

The shouts of the guards were closing in.

"Danning, you need to go." She turned to him, "You shouldn't be a part of this. You needn't be a part of this. Go. Live. Keep fighting your fight. The world needs you more than it needs me. Please."

She turned back to Vrae and screwed up her courage again to try and drag him away. She knew it was futile. She knew it was all over. But she had to keep trying.

Each time she dragged him, she found herself retching more and more.

The sound of boots were close. Gods so close. Only a few more seconds. She had failed. She had failed.

The guards were in sight. They saw her and ran right for her without a moments hesitation.

The ring! she remembered suddenly. Just before the guards roughly grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across the stones she had managed to slip Vrae's gift to her back on his finger.

Then the bag went over her head.

Once the ring slipped on, Opus was lucid enough to utilize a second ring and while they scooped up the girl, the other man was no where to be seen- having activated his invisibility ring and become nothing.

Danning, arguably, tried his best to protest and keep the guards back. It didn't help. It merely earned both he and the elf a spot in a cell. 

She was tossed in without regard, the priest barely handled any better, he being taken to a different cell- both now locked securely away.

And yet... back in the alleyway... something stirred...
The healing ring instinctly activated and began to rouse him and for just a moment, he lay there- dazed and confused.

When the bag went over her head she actually felt herself relax. At this point she knew there was nothing she could do. Even without the iron bangle, she wouldn't have been able to overpower them unless she wanted to get shot off a roof again.

So she let herself be dragged away, giving into exhaustion and wooziness and just....existed.

She was dumped, quite painfully, into a cell after what felt like a very long time. They didn't even remove the bag from her head, but they also didn't shackle her hands together so she was able to remove it herself after she pulled herself together and pushed herself into a seated position.

It was a small cell that smelled like piss and glowed with the eyes of a family of rats who had clearly taken up residence in the extremely filthy hay that she had no plans of using. The floor would do quite nicely

At least the bag was clean.

She laid it down on the hard stone floor and rested her head on it before a chuckle burst from her lips.

"Shut up, elf." A guard slammed something metal into the bars which made her ears ring long after the sound dispersed.

"No thanks." She replied, unable to control the nervous laughter that courses through her.

"Shut your fucking mouth." He snarled.

"What are you going to do?" She asked through breathless chortles, "Kill me? Pretty sure my death warrant is already signed so....go ahead." She waived her hand in the air.

Gods she was tired.

"Oh, you won't die for a long time elf." She could hear the venom in his words and it made her laughter falter, but shock kept it going. "Shut! Up!" she heard the keys jingle in the lock and then a boot stomped on her stomach. She coughed violently and curled onto her side.

"Careful." She weazed, "Wouldn't...want....the magic...to rub off on...you."

Perhaps he was already finished, or maybe he was worried her words were actually a thing, but he left quickly after locking the door behind him and leaving Saoirse to clutch her stomach while quietly laughing through tears.

Once the guard had left her, Danning moved towards the bars, hands gripping them tightly as he peered over at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, ignoring the guard who told him to be quiet.

"You shouldn't try to anger them."

She took some steadying breaths before rolling over with a groan to look at Danning. At this point she didn't even try to hide her ears and let them poke out from behind a tangle of red curls.

"No." She answered him, "But I'm sure this is the best I'm going to be soon enough."

She shrugged at his comment. It wouldn't change the outcome, would it? And she'd much rather go down as an annoying thorn in their side than as some victim hoping to escape.

There was no escape. She knew it. Every inch of the cell was iron. She wouldn't be surprised if they had lined the stones themselves with it. It was soul sucking.

"I'm sorry." She told him after a time, "I really did just want to leave...but...now I'm pulling you down with me."

She was silent after that, chewing on her tongue as she contemplated what the future might hold. Torture. That much was clear. But how much and how long? What information were they even looking for or was it just some sick game to make magic users suffer?

"How...how long will it take." She asked finally, "Before they get bored and take me to be executed?"

She needed to focus on the end and then she could make it through the present. Eventually it would end. That was enough.

Danning hesitated. His eyes were a pure display of his emotions. 

"I do not know," he told her softly, honestly. "They... will certainly try to find answers... but I can try.. try to petition the church. That it was a misunderstanding... that it-"

The guard wrapped a gauntleted arm against the wall.

"Keep your tongues, prisoners!"

Danning spared her an apologetic gaze, growing silent, his eyes still a brightness in the dark.

While elsewhere...
Opus loomed- calculating... moving...

After that, Saoirse decided to stay quiet and exist in her thoughts. She decided, in her last moments, to compose an epic ballad. One about a priest who spent his life working towards the betterment of society. Most of the tales she spun were fabrications sprinkled with truth, but it was clearly a take about Danning and the life she hoped he'd be able to live.

He has stuck his neck out for her. Had stayed by her to the point of being arrested. She knew he would feel terrible about the things that were going to happen to her so this composition would be her gift to him. Something beautiful from the depths of despair.

She hummed a few lines here and there, but did not sing it yet. No... that would be for later. Later when she herself needed strength.

Later came sooner than expected. Her cell opened and rough hands pulled her into the hall where iron shackles were roughly placed around her ankles and around her neck. Then she stumbled away....

***

Only to be returned later. She didn't know how much later. It could have been five minutes, but it had felt like weeks.

Her clothes had been removed and all she wore was a dirty rough spun sack that barely covered her buttocks. Her hair was darker and caked with blood on one side but her face overall looked untouched.

She cradled her arm gently against her chest and even from a distance it was bent in an unnatural position with purple and black bruises blossoming on her translucent skin.

Around the neck of her "clothes" red claw marks extended onto her neck and spots of blood on the fabric told the tale of wounds that traveled down her back.

Cradling her arm, she slid down the back wall being very careful not to press her back against it, but rather sat on the floor leaning against her side.

Her eyes were dark.

She had no tears left to cry.

But she sang. Sang the Ballad of Danning in soft, hoarse tones.

When she had been returned to her cell... things were a lot calmer, a lot quieter.. and the priest was no where to be seen. 

She was left to sing her ballad to the men that did remain, who have her scowling looks or pissed in her direction.

They knew what she was. And tried to ignore her, a majority of them covering their ears. 

Mages. It was not a good age to live in Connlaoth as a mage. Or.. as Saoirse now knew.. even be one passing by.

However, it was bleak and things looked bad...

Something was.. different about her cage...
And if she were to look more closely to the bed of hay, she'd see a tiny, silver ring. 

Whether in a stroke of good forture or bad, Saoirse did not see the ring. Her back was to the hay and she had, very early on, decided to stay clear of it. Of course, if she had magically healed that might have made things worse for her anyways.

Eventually her exhaustion overtook her and her song stopped. Her head rested on the damp stones and her eyes closed.

A loud BANG on the cell bars jolted her awake and the sound of the guards laughter reached her muffled ears. Not long after her eyes closed again only to be jolted awake by yet another bang. It repeated over, and over, and over. Rest would not come.

After what felt like hours, the banging stopped keeping her awake and a bucket of ice cold water covered her from head to toe. The water alone made her cry out in surprise but then....

Blinding pain came soon after. All of her open wounds started screaming at once and her voice blended with it as she writhed on the floor of her cell in a vain attempt to make it stop. Salt. The small rational part of her brain explained. But it didn't help her in the moment. The guards continued to laugh while they watched their prisoner suffer.

Eventually, a life time later, the burning stopped and the elf curled up on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest. Tears mixed with the ice cold water.

And she laid on the floor, shivering, the tips of her fingers and toes becoming numb, until her cell opened again and she was dragged out for another interrogation session.

Then a soft sound was heard- distant but distinct. Someone was raising the alarm. There had been a breach in the jail- and the men that held onto Saoirse cursed.

"Did someone escape?"

"That's definitely the bell for an intruder."

"Whay do we do?"

There was hesitation between the men before the one who seemed to be in charge said,"We continue as usual. The lower dungeons are the safest and most secure. If there's a threat, it can't get us there. Now go." 

And the men moved hurriedly to take the she elf below.

Saoirse was in a daze. Between the physical and mental torture, she felt like she was drowning. Her body was exhausted. Her mind practically non-functional. But her instincts were still intact.

The moment they pulled her from the cell, she fought. Weakly, but passionately, despite the futility of if all.

It landed her a few swift blows to the head which caused her to black out for a few, glorious moments of rest. But inevitably her eyes would open again and the nightmare would continue.

It took a moment for her to realize the ringing she heard was not a hallucination but rather some kind of alarm system in the prison. It was enough to spook the guards and take their attention for a moment.

Instinct took over and the half-elf used her entire weight - as slight as it was - and crashed to the ground in an instant.

The guards hands slipped and, for a moment, she felt victorious. So victorious that she didn't even feel the pain as she pushed herself to her feet with her broken arm and tried to run.

It was useless of course. With her feet shackled she never would have made it far, but the curses that exploded from the guards' lips sent ripples of laughter coursing through her even as they restrained her again.

"Move." One of the guards hissed to his group and off she went. Half dragged, half walking, unable to keep the deranged laughter from her lips.

"I'm too much trouble," she giggled even as tears filled her eyes, "What kind of information do you think you'll get?" It was almost like stream of consciousness. She wasn't sure why she kept talking, but she also found herself unable to stop, "It's too much work, isn't it? And for what? You know you're just going to kill me anyway. Just toss me off the walls and be done with it." She stumbled and they hoisted her up again. Some who had free hands were covering their ears, "Oh yes....you can't be too careful. Might just curse you with my words. Maybe I'll have your arms fall off? Maybe your tongue swell up and choke you?"

She saw them pale and it made her laughter even stronger.

But still they dragged her.

"Such good little soldiers. Doing God's work. Well done. You know...my mother was Connlaothian. Probably makes it easier to curse you..." another smack on her cheek sent her reeling and she fell silent as they continued towards the lower levels of the dungeon.

They finally made it down into the lower level, a single guard standing for duty as the other two approached.

One of them paused to consider the guard before them-
"Just one of you on duty down here?"

The helmed man nodded.

"They needed to use the privy and now the sirens are going off. Did he stink the place off that badly?"

The soldiers gave a shake of their head, their smiles a bit sour.

"The bell is for real. Come, open the door. We gotta get the prisoner inside before-"

And before the man talking even knew what happened- the halberd the guard at the door had been holding smashed into the side of his face, dropping him  into a lump. The other man swore, but before he could draw any weapons (as he was stumbling now between holding the elf by himself and moving to act..) that the halberd smashed now into his leg, sending him to the ground where the helmed man crowned him over his head.


That's when the helm flipped up and those dark eyes of Opus Dey glared down at her.

"You're a lot of trouble," he said, moving to fish through the men's things as he produced a key and went to work at unlocking her shackles.

Everything moved so slowly. The iron sapped her strength and sleep deprivation made her question even the most basics of reality.

When the guards started falling, she almost believed she had fallen asleep. It was the kind of dream that would probably be constructed by her subconscious. A Connlaothian guard deciding to step up and rescue an elf who had publically used magic and confessed to bewitching a priest? Yeah....this was a dream.

But....she staggered and fell hard as the guard who gripped her was crushed with the hilt of the sword. Her broken arm and bruised limbs sent shockwaves of pain up and down her body blinding her for a moment with a golden aura similar to that feeling you get when you're about to pass out.

And she didn't move. She found she couldn't move. Couldn't even get so much as her little finger to wiggle and she slumped forward, allowing the cold stone to press against her feverish brow.

It took far to long to process the words the guard spoke. She....knew that voice....but....

She forced her head to lift - Gods the effort it took her - and watching flumoxed as he worked to unlock the iron shackles around her.

It was as if a giant wet blanket had been lifted off of her. Everything felt brighter. Colors were less muted, sounds she had missed before suddenly reached her ears.

She took a shuddering breath like a newborn babe tasting air for the first time.

"....Opus....." her voice was raw. She blinked and shook her head. "It's a dream....Gods what an awful dream." She pressed the palms of her newly freed hands into her eyes. Her wrists and feet were circled with dried blood and she assumed her neck looked very similar. But...why wasn't she waking up? Wouldn't the guards have woken her already to keep her from getting the rest necessary to heal and recharge?

She dropped her arms and pushed herself onto her knees. She was unsteady and didn't trust herself not to fall if she stood up.

She blinked up at him again, "This...isn't a dream?" Her voice cracked and the sudden flood of hope cracked her hardened exterior and sent uncontrollable shakes through her tattered body.

There was that subtle smile he always gave her when she was being clever.  It was the first time she said his name. But it left as quickly as it had come and he studied her form.
She was in bad shape.

At her query if this were a dream, he shook his head. "I'm afraid not.  It is me abd we are here. "

But as he studied her more thoroughly , something dangerous brewed within his eyes.

"Can you even stand?"

"I...." she didn't know how to answer the question. Her voice shook in the same rhythm as her body. She was in control, she wasn't lost to panic, but she just couldn't stop the tremors."I don't.....know."

She cradled her broken arm against her chest and used her free hand to push against the ground. She forced herself into a squat and promptly teetered and fell forward only just catching herself before completely falling over. She tried again, this time using the wall to steady herself and managed to rise completely, but not without her breath coming in short spurts like she had just run for a long distance. Once again she pressed her head against the stones and closed her eyes.

That was a mistake and she found sleep reach its tendrils up and wrap around her mind. She wasn't sure how long her eyes stayed closed, but she jolted them open again.

"Sorry..." she muttered. She had to stay awake. She had to be helpful. If she gave into her injuries, into the torture she endured, she'd never leave. "Wha....what do I need to do?"

Opus frowned and began to search her hand, then her person.

"Don't you have it?" He asked, rushed...worried. "the ring.. I left a healing ring in your cell."

Saoirse was struggling to process what he was saying and their implications. He had...he had left something....for her?

He had been in her cell? How....had she missed....

She shook her head, eyes drooping again. It was getting harder and harder to remain standing. The tremors refused to dissipate and cold chills ran up and down her spine. Her wounds had, unsurprisingly, not been cleaned or even bandaged and infection had set in quickly. As gentle as he was being, she still winced as he searched.

"I don't....I didn't....you...did?" A weight of crushing despair came crashing down and she wilted into him, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...I didn't see it...I didn't  look."

Opus cursed. They didn't have much time- and he was running low on rings. He should have been more frugal. He was usually more frugal. Why was he being so reckless? 

He gave her a tug, and was about to remove his last ring and shove it on her damn finger when he heard commotion down the hall.

He swore, stepping inbetween Saoirse and the oncoming noise. And then a group of soldiers showed up, surprised to see other men on the ground.

"She's trying to escape!"

And they moved forward to assist Opus, her braced himself- only momentarily, until he realized they had no idea he wasn't a solider-

And raised the halberd up the second all three were in a ring around him, and roared out his defiance as he swung the halberd up and over his heard, slamming it around in a powerful circle around him- hammering it into the men and tossing two bodily at the wall, and knocking one clean across the head.

He grabbed Saoirse roughly by the arm and without much warning- threw her like a sack of potatoes onto his shoulder and began to run down the hall, towards the staircase she had initially come.

Everything happened so fast. So unbelievably fast. She was behind Opus, barely managing to remain upright but was able to steady herself with a grip on his armor.

Not that it did much good. No sooner had she steadied herself than she was whipped around by the arm, her shoulder screaming in distress, but nothing prepared her for the next bit. For a moment, she was flying, the next she was drapped over his shoulder.

Considering the amounts of bruises underneath her sack of a dress, this was bound to hurt no matter what. But her stomach didn't just hit skin, no, it crashed into a full suit of armor.

Air exploded from her lungs before she could even make a sound from the initial arm grab. She slammed into the metal and coughed violently tasting blood.

Her body fell limp over his shoulder as darkness took her. Blissful darkness where pain couldn't reach her.

Opus was cursing again, when he realized Saoirse was slipping off his shoulder- and then the why.

The woman was unconscious. Shit.

He had to think fast and move fast. And soon the large, armored man was bolting down the way. He felt the cumbersome affects of the armor- feeling too slow for what he'd prefer. But he had to keep moving, keep up the rouse, as he made his way, two steps at a time, back up the staircase and into the back halls.

He could  hear commotion all over the place. It was his plan, after all- he had set off the alarm. Now he had to make use of all the chaos.

He found a more secluded portion of the jail and took the time to check on the she-elf. Gods she looked worse for wear. So he gently shook her, hoping to rouse her.

She was in an odd state of twilight. She could hear sometimes....or maybe it was all in her head.

But in truth, she would surface for a moment before slipping away again. Her body was rejecting consciousness and only sheer force of will helped her escape its clutches.

She felt gentle hands on her and urged herself with whatever strength she had left to come to. She needed to help....she needed to....

A groan, a single half sob was all she could manage. Her eyelids fluttered, but she struggled to focus her vision. She couldn't sleep yet. If she truly slept she would not wake up, perhaps ever, perhaps just for a long time. But, with her injuries even the worst healer would know she stood on the edge of a knife.

"Water..." she managed to whispered before her eyelids closed again.

After a time, a waterskin was placed gently to her lips.
"Drink," the man's voice urged, cradling her and keeping one ear open for any more soldiers to appear. It seemed most had run off towards the opposing end of the building like he had planned, but guards already on duty were doubling up where they could...

It took a few tries before her mouth cooperated. At first the liquid just fell out of her mouth. The next attempt left her coughing a sputtering. Gods, that hurt. Finally, she was able to swallow the smallest amount of water and a shuddered shook through her starting at her feet and traveling all the way up her body.

"You should just leave me." She tried to reason, "Get out while you can." She closed her eyes in pain as another cough ripped through her. Blood appeared on her lips again and she thought she could feel something warm coming from her nose.

Opus cursed. He didn't have much time to waste, but with her in such a state...

They were near the cells... he contemplated how foolish it would be to go after the ring he left her. It.. was quite expensive-
and also very full. He had already given to her and used up the ones he had with less to almost empty of charges.

No..  he had to go get it.

"You remember the ring I gave you?"
He moved, slipping an armored glove off and toss it aside, then pulled off a ring. He held it between two fingers before her face.

"Don't lose this one. It's full of charges."
And before she could protest, he shoved the damn thing onto her finger-
and before she would even know what was going on- the waterskin was away and she-being tossed back onto his shoulder like a sack of bricks.

He moved, and had to move quickly- heading directly for her discarded cell.
Sure, he could purchase another ring...
But he was down to his last two. And he was not about to give up that resource without a fight.

He kicked open the door, pausing to eye the jail cells before fumbling at the keys at his side. He cursed as he tried each one, before finally, ten keys in, one slipped in and the cage door slipped open. He rushed inside with the elf still over his shoulder, and went over towards the hay.

It was still there- a slight sparkle in the dull, dead grasses. He scooped it up, shoving it back onto a finger before he froze-

Men were coming their way.

Another cough rippled through her and she felt herself slipping back into the darkness. The edges of her vision were blackening and inching closer towards the center.

Opus' face swam in front of her but she couldn't make out what he was saying. What was in his hand? Was there even anything there, or was she imagining it?

She felt him take her hand, but no sooner had he begun than it was over and she was back over his shoulder and rushing off once again. He really should have just left her. It was stupid of him to risk his life not once, not twice, but now three times to get her out of trouble. And for what? She'd never even told him her name.

The moment they entered into the cells, she could feel it. Even in her state, nothing would make her forget the effects this iron clad hell had on her. Even without the shackles around her, she could still feel its effects. Even with her eyes closed she knew where they were.

And that was enough. The metal sucked the last of her strength and her body began to shut down completely as death crept under her skin.

And if not for Opus' forethought, she would have died. But the moment her organs began to fail, the ring on her finger jumped into action. The lesser wounds were closed in a matter of seconds. Her arm righted itself on its own and a circle of magic mended the bone. The color slowly started to return to her cheeks and the claw marks on her back disappeared as if they had never even existed in the first place.

But as fast as the ring was working, Saoirse was still out and still healing well after the sound of the guards reached the cell.

When another group of soldiers came to check on them, they noticed Opus and the girl.

"What's going on? Do you need help?"

It was so easy for Opus to pass off as a guard.. yet when one of them cane by to check- Opus smashed his head with the cell door, causing the second to cry out in alarm.

Opus didn't wait for a  full response or retaliation as he rammed his entire body into the man , sending him groaning uselessly to the ground. He too, was wearing a helm so he took the sword from the first felled soldier and hammered it against the others helm, hopefully stunning and deafening him long enough he could properly flee.

He then rushed back to where he had left Saoirse on the ground.  She was still unconscious. So he took out the waterskin again and dumped some onto her face. 

The ring had worked miracles in a matter of minutes and the half-elf looked completely healed by the time Opus returned to see her progress. Despite the rings' impressive abilities, her brain wasn't ready to come back. She had endured so much and it had left psychological scars that no magic would be able to touch.

But the water was enough to force her awake. In an instant she jolted awake and was met with....confusion.

A soldier knelt before her. Too close. far too close.

Years of training took over and, despite the deadening the iron caused, Saoirse was still quite fast and she rolled nimbly to the side and grabbed one of the swords on the ground that had fallen from the soliders hands. She raised it to point at the remaining guard, hand shaking from the ghosts that would haunt her for years to come.

She breathed heavily, not because of injury, but because of fear, of anxiety, of rage.

But....

Memories flooded back. Her brown and gold eyes widened as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place. She looked down at her hand where the ring glittered on her finger, and then she lowered the blade.

"Opus." Her voice was stronger; the ring had done an incredible job. She didn't even feel the crushing weight of sleep deprivation. The only difference between the Saoirse who had first met him and this current model was in her eyes. She was healed, yes, but her once innocent eyes had hardened, had darkened.

He stared back at her, his eyes still a mask of emotions. He didn't even flinch when she pointed the sword. 

"Are you well enough to run?"

"Yes." She responded without hesitation. "Lead the way."

Maybe if they were lucky, they wouldn't run into any more guards. Maybe if she was lucky, they would....and she would run the sword she held straight through them.

He grabbed the weapon from the other fallen soldier and moved with quick caution down the hall. The horns were still blaring and he could hear men shouting and moving down the hall.

Of they would have had time, he would have had Saoirse take up one of the soldier's armor, but this was Connlaoth. A woman guard would be just as out of place.

So he moved with the purpose of a predator, eyes keen, ears alert and hid back never unguarded. Once they reached the end of the hall, there was a much larger number of men gathering around the front of the building. He studied them and motioned for Saoirse to stay back.. and low.

It took all of her strength to keep from rushing in head first. Even behind the helmets, she recognized a few of the soldiers standing in the group and the blade in her hand itched for the taste of their flesh. Her hand gripped tighter on the hilt and she clenched her teeth, but remained still; remained silent.

"The one on the left hurt his left leg a month ago." She whispered to Opus, offering whatever information she could that might be helpful, "The short one in the back keeps a flask in his sleeve and is always drunk."

She continued to scan and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the one person in this whole prison she had both hoped to avoid and hoped to find. Her breath came in a hiss. He was so cocky he wasn't even wearing his helmet and seemed....oddly relaxed. He was taller than the others with sandy blonde hair cut short against his head and a long scar that cut down his cheek and ended at his collarbone. His was a face she would never forget. His was the face that would surface in nightmares. A face that even in death would live on.

Saoirse was unable to tear her eyes away from him and she couldn't help but shrink against the wall.

Opus nodded at the words, studying the men before he noted her silence. He turned and saw her, huddled , braced and afraid. He then followed her gaze to the scarred man- and without preamble- threw a dagger clean for his head.

She saw Opus move too late to react and her words, "Wait, don't!" hadn't even left her lips before the blade was flying. Why did she want to stop him? Didn't she want to see him die? Isn't this what she was hoping for? But no....no...in the end sneaking away without an altercation would have benefitted her more now. She wasn't prepared to confront him this soon.

Whether by a stroke of extreme misfortune on her part, or luck on his, he took a single step to the side just as the knife flew and instead of a direct hit, a thin red line appeared from his cheek to his ear.

The man didn't even flinch, didn't even look around to try and figure out what had happened, didn't even try to stop the blood that began falling from his wound.

No. He simply looked over in their direction right into Saoirse's eyes and smiled as he saw them fill with fear.

"Comrades, we have company!" He spread his arms wide and took a step forward while the guards around him made a defensive formation.

"I told you we'd meet again, Saoirse." The way he spoke her name made her blood turn cold and she was frozen. "You look better. Your doing, I assume?" He addressed Opus only briefly before that sickening smile returned as his attention went back to her, "We have so much more to talk about, my love. Are you dreaming of me, yet? Of our time together?" He laughed like he had remembered a good joke, "oh, how silly of me. We won't let you sleep. But the next time you do..." his grin widened. "You should come back to me and I'll let you....friend.....go."

Saoirse found herself trying to become liquid, to melt into the stones themselves.

Opus just... smiled, his own lips curling with subtle, sadistic pleasure. It appeared he'd get a lion's fight today. But he also knew they were limited on time. The longer it took to get out, the quicker the whole jail would be notified of what truly was going on- and going against an entire squadron of men wasn't exactly going to be easy.

But Opus never did play fair.

A small sphere slipped into his hand, which he twisted between two fingers as the man spoke. Then, once he was certain he had waited enough time- he tossed the marble like gem towards the group of men where it skidded to a hault- and then an explosion of hissing lighting erupted into a bubble- and as lightning was.. it was attracted to the metal of their armor leaving then screaming in pain. 

By then, Opus had another bead at the ready, which he rolled in their direction. As soon as the little sphere came in contact with the lightning, a plume of nauseous gas erupted. 

He turned towards Saoirse and gestured for her to run.

"That way. Quickly."

As much as he'd love to slice open pretty boys throat- his main objective was to get the elf out of there.

Saoirse couldn't tear her eyes away from him. She knew that there would be a connection there for the rest of her life no matter how badly she wished it to be severed. Her life would never be the same thanks to him and Gods she hated it. Hated him. Hated that she couldn't break free even in this moment.

If it wasn't for the explosion of light and sound, she might have remained paralyzed. Thankfully, it hid him from view and her attention snapped back to what really mattered.

Opus.

Escape.

The sword was no longer in her hand, but she didn't notice; didn't care that it lay forgotten on the stones by her side.

She obeyed and ran in the direction Opus pointed.

The two moved fast. The men behind them would be stunned or sickened long enough for the pair to get a head start. Looks like they'd have to go another way out. 

He moved ahead, leading them down narrow back halls that seemed less active.  And soon he was smelly manure. They must be near the stables. 

He paused at the end a hall- do they go left or right.

He chose right.

"Come," he commanded gruffly, moving on ahead. They would be wise to take their chances in the stables.  He moved down the way, turning down sharply around another corner and ran full force into a stable hand. Without much thought, the large man knocked the other unconscious before gesturing for her to stay close .

There wasn't anyone else in the stables- bells still ringing in alarm. 

He turned to Saoirse.

"Do you know how to ride?"

Their flight felt like a dream. Despite feeling physically fine, Saoirse felt....disconnected. As if only half of her mind was bent on escape and the other....well....that part of her would be trapped here. For how long she couldn't know. Maybe forever.

It was too soon to tell.

They ran, the bell constantly ringing in the distance as a constant reminder that they could be a few steps away from utter failure. A few steps away from returning to that monster.

Horses.

She smelled them before she saw them so it was not a surprise when they rounded a corner and there they were. Saoirse didn't even have time to think about the stable hands before Opus took them to the ground. And, without hesitation, she crossed to one of their geldings, opened its stall, and swung herself up without even worrying about a saddle.

"Yes." She answered his question. Her sorry excuse for a dress barely covered her while she was standing, and now up on the horse it did even less. She knew how she must look. She knew what onlookers would see. Her wounds were healed, but the dried blood on the burlap was starkly visible and her hair was still caked with it as well. There were no mirrors, but she was certain her face looked just as streaked with filth as her arms and her legs. Just looking down at her upper legs sent shivers down her spine.

"Where will we go?"

Opus fetched a pair of dark horses and guided them from the stables, then moved to unlatch the gate. He didn't slide it open, but snatched up a torch and mounted a horse himself. Then took the torch and set the stable alight. Once the rooftop was crackling with flames, he tossed the torch into the beds of hay. The other horses he had led out he prodded to move, then guided his own horse back to the gate where he dismounted and worked on pulling the heavy stable gates open.

The fresh air of the small lawn out back greeted them as Opus mounted again. 

"You'll have to trust me. We're heading east, towards the river that boarders this city." And with that, he gave a heavy kick and 'h-ya!' As his horse stormed out onto the yard and then made a quick right turn, hooves thundering across the back stone streets. 

He kept an eye on Saoirse, another on the plume of smoke rising from the jail. 

Saoirse nodded and followed without a word. This man, despite his history, had just saved her from the depths of hell and she would follow him off a cliff if it meant escape.

Their horses thundered down the streets, making lefts and rights with almost blind clarity until the smell of the river greeted them, and Opus slowed his horse as they raced past the docks. Thick reeds dominated the untamed side of the river abd Opus dismounted, then gave the horse a heavy smack as it ran free.

He didn't feel the need to explain the next moves to Saoirse, as his eyes turned back towards the smokes fron the jail. The bells were still clamoring.

Then he turned to Saoirse. 

'How long can you hold your breath?"

Saoirse nimbly stopped her horse with a quiet whisper and pressed her forehead against his snout before releasing him back. He was a faithful and loyal horse; she could tell in the little time they road together and she silently wished him well.

Without a sound, he turned to join his companion and together they sped back towards the smoke.

The thought of getting into the water sent a wave of panic coursing through the elf as memories returned of the hours she spent in "questioning." This is different, she tried to reason with herself. This wasn't inflicted upon her, it was a means of escape. She was in control. She could do this.

Still, she hesitated and looked up and down the bank hoping for....what? A random bridge that wasn't guarded?

"Pull yourself together." She murmured to herself as she took a shaky breath and answered Opus' question as honestly as she could.

"I'll do my best."

He eyed her. 
"That didn't answer my question."
He noted the way her anxiety grew, the way she trembled. 

"How long. " he started the question again, eyes seeking to hold hers. "Can you hold your breath?"

Saoirse's hand inadvertently rose to her throat to grip the neck of her clothes. She tried to keep her eyes on Opus, but found them drifting to the water of the river.

His face flashed before her eyes and she closed her eyes tightly for a few moments.

She was taking too long. She was wasting precious time over her stupid inability to control herself

Her eyes opened and she searched for Opus's, "A minute. Maybe two? I don't know."

Opus studied her, his face unreadable. Then he began to unfasten his armor pauldrons. His helm came off next and he put them into her arms.

"You'll have to hold it for those two minutes, atleast. Use these to help weigh you down. We need to remain in place at the bottom of the river for atleast thirty seconds..and it'll take us over a minute to find the spot." He began to remove his breast plate now, exposing a half laced up shirt and sweaty torso, which matched the swear slicking his hair from his helm.

He handed her the breast plate.

"These should be enough to weigh you down. "
He paused before asking, only finally looking into her eyes. "Do you need help.putting these on?  You'll need the extra weight. The river's current is faster than I'd like. "

She accepted the armor almost in a trance. What....was he saying. They were...purposefully sinking....why...no...couldn't they just...swim across?

"I ca--" she stopped herself mid word. Can't wouldn't help her here. Can't would get her caught. Did she trust him? Truly trust him? Her palms were sweaty and her hands trembled.

"I need help." She finished, her voice barely louder than a whisper. Her brown and gold eyes were wide and panicked when she looked up at him, "Don't let me drown. Please."

Opus studied her, eyes calculating. He didn't have time for this. They didn't have time for this.
Was she really going to struggle with a fear of drowning now?

He momentarily thought about her time in the prison.  She was likely still rattled from whatever torture she had to endure.

And he wasn't good with dealing with those suffering in such a state. He either cut them out or cut them up. Such fear was weak.. useless...

Yet here he was- playing a God damn hero and for what? Because he was bored? He had something to prove? To gain?

So at her words he said nothing, swallowing down his irritation and helping her fasten the metal to her body. He hadnt considered it might likely be iron. What he was thinking about was getting then to the bottom of the river where he set up a channel- a series of unique magics that would take them both from the city to his safe house in the hills. It was expensive as hell to set up and he knew it personally worked..and only those possessing the matching pieces had access.

Once she was laced into the armored pieces he moved to the series of necklaces he wore and twisted a small locket and removed a tiny, small red bead. He took her hand and forced it open, forced the bead into it.

"Hold onto this and do not lose it, no matter what." He moved now to finally look at her, truly take in the fear and dred inside her eyes.

And he thought back to her question.

And brushed her wild red hair from her eyes where he held a hand at the back of her head. His eyes looked unto hers..intense and focused on only her.

"Would I have come almost this way to pull you from a prison to drown you in a river?"

Saoirse stood silently as the armor was placed upon her shoulders and instantly felt the effect of the iron with which it was wrought. Colors dimmed, sounds deadened, and the fog descended upon her like it had in the prison but this....with the sheer amount of iron...this was much much worse than the shackles she had worn.

But what could she do? She needed the weight. She needed it.

Opus's hand in her hair caught her off guard and her head was gently forced up to meet the intensity of his gaze. She wasn't sure if it was the armor, but it took her breath away.

She nodded, her heart beating heavily in her chest. She could do this. He was here with her. He wasn't one to waste his own time and yet he was here with her.

"Okay." She replied breathlessly, fighting the effects of the iron. She gripped the stone in her hand tightly, "I trust you."

At those words- that she trusted him, a smile twitched across his lips.
"You shouldn't  ."

But she did. 

His hand slipped away as he approached the river's edge.

"Stay close to me, got it? We're not just diving into the river to get wet."
He gestured out towards the waters.

"Below the surface is something I've hidden away. It will help take us off their radar "

He turned to look at her again and wondered if his father ever felt this way about his mother.

Then he offered her a hand. 

"Take my hand. We'll jump on three.."

She took his hand without hesitation having now committed her whole attention to trusting that he was committed to her. Or at least to keeping her alive at this moment. Whatever it was, it was enough.

He was enough for her right now.

The iron weighed on her and a small part of her brain told her that she should have said something the moment she realized what it was but...it was just for 2 minutes. She managed for days before, she could manage for two minutes. Right.....?

She bit the inside of her lip and changed her mind. He needed to know.

But it was too late. The iron made her slow and by the time her mouth opened to speak, the countdown had finished and together they fell into the water.

It was cold. The current quick. Water filled her mouth, her eyes, her ears. She could feel the current even now despite the heavy armor that pulled her down and was suddenly thankful she hadn't been able to tell him. Without its help, she would have been swept away and water was unforgiving.

As she knew.

No. She wouldn't think of that. Wouldn't think of him. This was different. She would surface again. She just needed to hold on for two minutes.

But the iron made her weak and she hadn't taken a breath before they entered the water. It had been 30 seconds and her lungs were already screaming. She gripped Opus' hand tighter.

Blub. Blub. Blub.

Large bubbles undulated and rose between the pair as their bodies sank onto the icy waters. Rivers were always so cold in the North- whether the source was from the Kilanthros or the northern, icy lands of Hyoite. And the roar of the rivers Current lashed at their ears and bodies, the murky depths making it impossible to see.

And he held onto her hand as they continued to sink- and he felt her grip tightening. He peered over at her, uncertain if the squeeze was meant to communicate something more dire than simple fear.

So he squeezed back, eyes only tearing away from hers as he noted the darkness of the river bottom slowly approaching- and he gestured for her to brace for impact.

Too bad it was perhaps a little TOO dark and a little TOO difficult to see, as the pair continued to sink down further- a large rock, uncalculated for, came into view, forcing Opus to yank Saoirse suddenly into his arms as he put his back to it , cringing as he felt the rock scrape down his spine.

If it weren't for the extreme focus she needed to keep from breathing, she would have appreciated their surroundings more. Or....if she had been in any other kind of armor. Between that, the cold, and the dark her mind itched for sleep. Wouldn't it be nice to just close her eyes and let the water rock her to sleep.

But survival was strong, and her connection to Opus was stronger. As long as....

A sudden jerk of her arm sent bubbles as the last remaining air wooshed from her lungs. She slammed into Opus and didn't even notice as the stone slipped from her hand an fell quickly into the darkness that surrended them.

Almost instantly, her vision began to darken, starting from the edges and inching far too quickly in. Her body convulsed slightly in his grip as her brain tried to take over, tried to make her breathe...but no. No no. She couldn't do that here. That was a death sentence. Gods, they were on the bottom of a river with currents that would taken them miles away before their bodies ever surfaced.

The iron made it worse. She couldn't hold on. She couldn't think. It made everything fade that much faster.

Stupid. stupid. She should have said something, she should never have tried to fight the one thing that made existing impossible.

The darkness was coming fast.

She couldn't make it to the surface.

She had to let Opus know.

In one final attempt, with the absolute last bubble of air she had left she turned dimming eyes up towards Opus and pointed to the armor. "Iron..." she mouthed

Of course this couldn't go off without a Hitch.  Nothing was making sense since he'd cross paths with the red haired elf.

The pain along his back thankfully made him lose no bubbles of conserved air- he had too many years of training against that. But the squirming form of Saoirse tight against his body drew his gaze-

And he saw her flounder- then speak.

Iron.

Opus swore inside his mouth, almost swallowing up his oxygen. 

This was only to take a few minutes. Barely two at best...

But now the woman in his arms was floundering and losing, if not- completely out of air- a nd he wasn't even certain where they were from their mark. The area at the river bottom...
He held up his stone, it glowed faintly and he gestured towards her hand..
Then also to her throat- questioning how much air she had left.

Her vision faded, but she was able to keep from breathing in the water for now. But not for long. The iron sucked her strength  so she couldn't even wiggle herself out of the armor to even try to make it to the surface.

So down she went, the armor her anchor, and no more bubbles came from her lips.

Opus cursed internally again. They needed to find the marker, and needed to get...
His other hand reach for hers.. the one that should be holding the small gem and he gave it a shake, trying to draw her focus towards it as her vision seemed distant. 

Damn it.

He needed to find the markers in the river- the magical recessed matching jewels and glyphs...

But he also needed both of the damn gems to get the pair of them out of there.

He noted then, the lack of bubbles.. and her stiff restraint...

She was out of air. 

Damnit.

He had little choice in the moment before he pulled her close suddenly, and forcefully pressed his lips against hers. A hand moved to cup her, face- to still her as his lips pressed deeply of hers as he kissed his breath into her.

Their bodies were pressed tightly together, their other hands still held together as the strong currents tickled abd tangled their hair and clothing together in some wild rushing dance.

And then he pulled away, a few bubbles rising between them.. and he felt the strain on his lungs as his held breath was nearly gone....

It was enough. Her vision returned almost as quickly as it went and Opus came back into focus. She didn't fight him. Even in her half conscious state she understood that, once again, he was saving her life.

And still they fell with the weight pulling her down and Opus with her. She clung to him, shamelessly, until she felt the river bed under her feet.

They needed to hurry.

They finally reached the bottom, and he braced her against himself on the impact, absorbing most of the weight of the descent. Even at these depths, he could feel the pull of the river. Thankfully, he weighted them both down rather securely and he began to search around in the murky waters for the signs of the magical access point.

But everything looked like stirred, moving mud. He tried his best not to grit his teeth, but his lack of air held a tense pressure to his lungs.

He'd have to find it by light.

He loosened his grip and let the little gem slip into his fingers.  He concentrated then a soft light began to glow from it.  He held that light between them and gestured for her to produce hers.

Saoirse let the weight of the armor hold her down and, despite the obvious setbacks at being confined and weakened it at least kept her from being swept downstream.

At the expense of being practically useless.

And...what...did he want?

She took a step back from him and looked down at her empty hand where the stone had been but...

She looked up at him, surprised. Where was it? She had it when they descended but now it was....where??

Dammit.

A crazy thought crossed her mind. One that very well could get her killed but she could do nothing while the iron caged her.  But her magic? Illusions they might be, but even the illusion of light could illuminate there surroundings.

She let Opus go and dug her feet deeply into the silt until she was certain she wouldn't be ripped away by the current. Then she started unstrapping the armor as fast as her iron-weakened state would allow.

Opus couldn't believe this. What was she doing, And had she really lost the gem already?

His hand gripped into hers suddenly; halting her- eyes wild, mad  but also demanding.

What are you doing!?

Saoirse ripped his hand from his and made a rude gesture before continuing to unbuckle the armor. It was a slow process, but it was necessary. Gods, too slow, it felt like it was taking forever.

As each piece fell, more of her strength came back. Her vision returned, her stamina replenished. She was half-elven after all, and that did come with certain perks that humans didn't have and couldn't understand.

The largest piece fell and the relief was visible across her face. If she had been above water, she would have taken a deep breath.

Instead, she closed her eyes and.....

Light.

It was not showy, not flashy, but the silt and sediment of the river began to glitter and a tiny red dot twinkled not too far off.

Opus allowed her this, jaw set- breathe still stiffly held. And then there was light.

He flinched at the initial display, eyes needing to adjust, even in the gloom. And as the river bottom came alight- he saw it. Both the things he was searching for- and he motioned for her to stay put , as he moved, careful, towards the red bead of light.

It probably took another ten seconds or so, but even that short walk- he felt his body straining in protest- the first bits of drowning panic flashing inside his head.

He was able to swallow it down for now, before he returned to her and took her hand, pressing the gem into it, his eyes dictating unspoken words.

"Hold this and do not let it go."

Then he turned upstream to where he could just make out the marker on the ground. It was much further than where the gem had fallen- and they were both very lucky it wasn't just taken away by the current completely.

He set his jaw, the strain on his lungs hard to ignore as he took her hand and pulled her in close. He smirked a bit at this, realizing she put herself into a position where Opus had to keep her close, and he perhaps just held her close for a beat longer than was necessary- then he began to move.

Her eyes were still closed when she felt Opus place something in her hand. Only then did she open them to see the red gem and she carefully wrapped her fingers tightly around it and nodded in understanding. She wouldn't let it go this time.

Assuming she didn't drown.

The effects of the iron were slow to wear off, possibly because the armor was resting on the river floor only inches away from her. Regardless, the light faltered when he concentration wavered, so she squeezed her eyes shut and the light steadied.

Then Opus pulled her close and she felt....safe. Safe enough that she didn't even flinch when her barefeet lifted from their achored position in the mud as they began moving. She snaked an arm around him for extra security and helped swim towards the destination when she could.

Opus guided them towards a gold plate that was anchored into the silt- nearly hidden from view. He paused a moment to use an armored boot to clear off the muck. And the river carried the rest of it away.

As the murk settled, a golden plate was revealed and Opus showed her the gem he held- then he bent over and lifted something up, and a small recessed hole appeared. He presses his bead into place, it glowing much more brightly for it.

Then he gestured for Saoirse to do the same, he- supporting her as she no longer held the weight of the iron armor- and he... finding he didn't mind so much as he held her safe and close.

When the movement stopped, she allowed herself to open her eyes again and the light blinked out in an instant leaving spots dancing in front of her for a few moments. Her hair whipped around her face which she hastily pushed aside to better see what Opus was messing with.

It was interesting what these gems ended up doing and she pulled hers out and felt herself tug at it mentally for just a moment and hers began to glow softly. Though she still had no idea what it was or what it would do, it was clearly important and thankfully she had been able to locate hers after it fell.

Holding tightly onto him to stand against the current, she pressed hers into place.

As she moved to place the glowing stone into place, he leaned with her, supporting her as she moved and keeping her weighted down with him.

But the sudden shift of their weight was enough to cause the river rocks beneath them to shift- and - just as the magical plate began to glow- Opus toppled forward, slamming his side into the rocks while turning just in time to block the blow from hitting Saoirse and-

The impact forced him to gasp , taking in water suddenly as his hands floundered at his throat and hit the gem Opus has placed out of its holder and sending it up into the murky current of water.

Opus frantically lurched for it and missed- forcing more water into his lungs as he fought against his own panic and the suffocating waters rushing inside him.

The current grabbed her almost instantly as Opus lost his footing and chaos reigned. She watched with horror as he fell and the panic he had helped quell returned in full force. She jerked in the water trying to find anything to grab onto. As luck would have it, the stone that he had knocked out was following her same path.

She had to think fast; to fight the urge to survive and let go of the rocks she had managed to grab to slow her movements down river. If she didn't, the stone would disappear and whatever he had tried to do would have failed.

The maneuver sent her a few more feet away but the stone was held firmly in her hand by the time she was able to stop. Her lungs were screaming.

But Opus needed her. He needed her. even from here she could see his form just....floating.....she had seen him take in water.

Gods she was too damn far away!

She needed her hands so she did the only thing she could and put the gem in her mouth and began to claw her way across the riverbed towards him. She could feel the moon and it gave her strength. She could do this. Luck was on her side.

Empowered, she swam and pulled herself forward until finally she reached him. It had been so long. Maybe only 30 seconds, but it felt like hours.

She grabbed the plate and put the stone in her mouth into the slot it had fallen from. But....nothing happened. She didn't even know what was supposed to happen. Opus didn't have time to wait!

Panic.

She herself only had a few more moments. Even with the skills of her people, she could only do so much. Maybe if she had been full blooded things would have gone differently?

With tears that became part of the river, she wrapped her arms around Opus - holding the now complete plate on his chest - and kicked off the floor. He was heavy, her strength was failing...faster than it has before...

The iron boots. she thought with horror. Her vision was fading. Her brain was telling her she needed to breath. She kept kicking and pulling as death swirled in on them both.

And then- with the gems settled and locked- and with their bodies touching the plate-...

Ten whole heart beats each- the life pulse.. it's connection...

It awakened the plate into a blossom of light that engulfed them in a scream of energy-


And in an instant, the roar of the river was gone and replaced by the smallest curling stream.. one that snaked through a shallow boxed off area on the stone floor of the basement of a rather dusty and dusky home.


The pair lay there in an entangled heap- Opus still, face expressionless.. and heart beat fading fast...


And it was clear the man wasn't breathing.

A sobbing gasp ripped through the half-elf  as the air struck her face, but also because she now was laying under Opus with her hands still wrapped under his arms the way she had been attempting to drag him out of the water.

He was heavy and despite her 5'8" height which would be considered relatively tall for a human, he towered over her still and his limp body threatened to crush her. With a desperate cry, she pushed him and was able to wiggled herself out, still gasping and coughing from their river ordeal.

Then she rolled him flat on his back and pressed an ear to his mouth.

Silence.

"No no no...not like this..." she pleaded with him, "Opus, wake up." She shook his shoulders and pressed her hands to his cheeks. He was cold. He was fading.

Without a moment's hesitation, she placed both hands on his chest just like she had learned from her time with the healers back home. Magic would not always serve you, so you need to know how to save someone without.

She began compressions, counting outloud to 20 before tilting his head back and pinching his nose. Three big breaths. She left one hand on his chest to make sure she could feel it rise. Then back to compressions. She heard some pops that might have been ribs breaking, but she kept going.

"Breathe, dammit." She sobbed. Three more breaths. Three more rises of his chest. She had to keep going. She had to get him back, "You came back for me. You came back for me. Breathe!"

If there's one thing the world ought know, it's that removing it of Opus Dey was a terribly difficult task. He was evidently hard to kill- and Saoirse gave more reasons for its truth. For as she breathed and pumped and thrusted upon his chest, it only took three cycles for the filthy river water to come spewing out from his lips and the shroud of death over him to fade.

He choked, gasped and turned over suddenly, retching out more water as his throat rattled with pained breaths.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn't dead...
Another moment to realize the magic had worked and a third ..

His eyes rested upon the red haired elf as he whispered,"You saved me "

And didn't even bother to think as his powerful hands scooped around her as he drew her into one long, heated , needed powerful blessed kiss.

When the water came up from his lungs, Saoirsa felt hot tears of relief fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks. She kept her hand firmly on his back while the entire river seemingly spilled out and onto the floor.

She was shaky, unbelieving that one stupid decision to go to one stupid city had lead her here. Lead a massive crime lord who was not known for his charity to rescue a stupid girl not once, not twice, but three times without asking for a single thing in return and then....

He turned. He looked straight at her, the air caught in her throat and his hands were around her, in her hair, on her back and his lips were on hers. She didn't have time to think, nor did she want to, she simply responded and melted into him. Her mouth opened, inviting, and she pulled him closer as desperately as he did her.

He came back for me...

The coldness from the river water was being kissed away. So it tasted of river, of salt in tears,.. he just wanted it all, the intoxicating thrill of being alive... the intoxicating thrill of it being her.

His hands moved, lips warm and body strong. He was fumbling at his clothes, unlacing his damn water logged shirt as he attacked her with hungered kiss after hungered kiss.

"Let me have you," he moaned against her ear, kissing, sucking and lapping hotly down her neck as powerful hands moved to rip open the front of her clothes before those large, calloused hands began to drink and feel of her soft; warm body.

He shivered with desire, his brain unable to think nor breath anything other than her.

She didn't fight him. She didn't want to. After everything she just wanted him. He who fought so desperately to keep her alive it felt right that it would be him who would make her truly feel it.

She attempted to help him with his clothes, but whether it was graceful or much more than a fumble she damn well didn't care.

"Take me." She moaned in his ear before leading his hand across her body with her own.

"Take me."

She gave permission. 

And he obeyed.

Whatever damn clothing was left he ripped it away. Nothing would keep his skin from the sweetness of her sin. Hungered hands met and roved all over her body, on occassion tearing off his own clothes and the damn water filled pieces of armor that were left. Those he clumsily kicked aside.

Then Hot lips met to the cool flesh of her body- chilled by the river, but now being stoked by need.

And once their damned clothing were all but cast aside, he moved to kiss a hot trail up her body, before pausing to rest one hand beneath her head as though to cradle her as their bodies aligned. Their eyes met, his own a fire of need before his lips sealed to hers sweetly, tenderly- 
And soon...
He sunk down, shivering in pleasure. 

Now... now she was his.

Life.

That was what this was. Every touch, every kiss, every moment was life. For days she had thought only of death. So complete were those tendrils she never thought she would be free of them until this very moment. She consumed him. She traced every inch of him and pulled him against her at every moment she could.

When she was with him she was alive. Fire coursed through her veins and then...a moan of pleasure poured from her lips and into his ear as she entwined her fingers into his hair.

Then she grabbed his hand and traced it down her torso...lower... lower.... until...

Literal sparks of light erupted around her as her magic spilled out of her uncontrolled and she lost herself in him completely.

It wasn't just sex. The act the two shared was a primal passion, raw and wild. They both escaped death, and now the pair writhed wildly together, coupling over life.

He used his raw power, pinning her, pistoning into her as she charged a fanfare of emotional sparks all around. The sensation drove him to continue on- undulating with feral pleasure like he'd never experienced before. 

But he had her, finally had her- and each powerful thrust into her he was making his claim. 

What was it about this woman that had him so possessive? So raw and unhinged with need? Sure, he'd had plenty of sex before. He was Opus Dey. But this moment- this union of their bodies he felt something burn.

A heat. A need. A pleasure. A seed.

Lips kissed her all over before he pressed his entire form against her, still moving, while lips moved, sucked and bit as her neck.  He was moaning, the feel of her body was so intense he began to shake.  Then he moved so he could look into her eyes- a haze of lust glossing them as he held her in his powerful arms and began to slow his rush- and in doing so- began to painfully take his time with her, eyes glued to hers as he wanted to experience every way possible of making love.

Her body moved with his. Her breath heavy and explosive with each thrust. Her hands were tingling, her brain intoxicated with the feel of him moving on her, around her, in her. She held his hand on her, feel waves upon waves of pleasure as his fingers moved rhythmically against her.

She shuddered, gasped, and match his intensity with her own.

"You're mine." She murmured, brown and gold eyes staring passionately into his, "You're mine."

The very words almost made him cum. The sheer excitement this woman claimed him sent indescribable thrills coursing throughout his body. But he held back, shivering as he pressed his sweat slicked forehead against hers. Their eyes never parting as he moaned.

"And you're mine," he growled, kissing her roughly, passionately with need, his body building speed. He repeated the words over and over again as he kissed and cupped her face- until he burst. And their union, their possession solidified their bonds.

They belonged to each other now. And he shivered and reveled at the idea.

Saoirse gripped him tightly and embraced him as passion ran its course. She convulsed against him as he released and a primal cry escaped her at his pleasure. She stared into his eyes and drowned in them. There was nothing else. No one else.

"Opus." She sighed his name without breaking eye contact, "Nin vrae." My phantom.

She didn't want to let him go. She didn't want to separate. She wanted this feeling to last for the rest of her life.

He shivered at her words and moved to kiss the top or her hair, moving to lay beside her and hold her, yet propping a leg up so the pair would remain in union.  He didn't want to crush her as he enjoyed the after glow.

He ran a hand down through her hair, then the side of her face and drank her in.

When was the last time he got to choose his own path? Everything had always been for the empire his father built- making connections here or there, killing to keep order, keeping order to kill....

But this? 

A simple act so natural to others, was more of a fantasy to a man like Opus Dey. He'd never considered himself a romantic... 
Or even someone capable of true fondness or deep affection.

Yet here he was, completely wrapped around this woman's finger. And he simply held her, and continued to just revel in their moment.
And breathe.

Her heart took its sweet time to settle and even still, the feel of his fingers brushing against her skin sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. She was no prude, she had been on this earth for almost a century and had experimented, had loved, had lost. As a half-human in an elven world the couplings were....more infatuation with her lineage than anything else. Nothing ever had the air of longevity. Then, when she began her travels, there had been a fling here and there but....then she'd leave and go off on her next adventure.

So what was this? She asked herself. Where did this fall in her book of adventures? It was nothing she had experienced before. This man had risked everything.

Why?

She closed her eyes and pressed her head against his chest to hear his heart beating. It was soothing, like a lullaby in her ears. She kissed him softly across his torso, up his shoulder, his neck, and then gently pressed her lips against his. Passion had cooled, but the electricity remained even in the feather-like kisses she now gave him.

She should have known she was playing with fire.  His body reacted to her kisses as he shivered and when their lips met he kissed in turn, cupping her face and moving to crawl back over her, still kissing her as she'd feel him move again and soon he was stoking the fire between them again, moving at a steady pace as he claimed her.

There was too much tension for a single peak to satisfy, and Opus moved gently within, heart and body alight by the thrill.

"Opus." She moaned his name as she felt him again and welcomed him. "Yes. Gods, yes." And she kissed him deeply again ignoring the rough floor against her back.

This time she moved to switch their positions to lay him on the hard floor so she could straddle him and bring him to climax slowly. Painfully slow...she wanted to milk every moment.

When they moved positions, or rather, prior to, his eyes danced at the idea she wanted to lead. And who was he to stop her? He was her phantom, and he simply obeyed- back laying against the dusty floor and large hands moving down her soft, warm body, pausing to grip her hips and keeping her locked against his body as she worked. 

And she was the devil. Moving painfully slow along his length that moans growled into whimpers beneath her minstrations. 

"Saoirse. " he moaned, a hand moving up to grip  at her red hair, the other hand still keeping firm pressure, not allowing her to move from where she straddled  

He said her name and she shuddered in climax against him, ripples of pleasure coursing through her as she gripped his arms to remain steady. Each convulsion pressed him deeper into her causing groans and uncontrollable gasps exploding from her lips and her head tilted up towards the ceiling as she rode wave upon wave.

And once it settled, she leaned forward and grabbed his head with her hands and encased his lips with her own. Her hips moved wildly against him, her tongue tracing his lips as the passion she felt blinded her.

"Come for me." She hissed, her lips moving down to his throat where she pressed her teeth against his skin and thrust her hips faster and faster....

Just watching her pleasure herself all over him was near enough to make him erupt- it wasn't until those commands came out did he let himself go- the tension of holding back allowing her hips to take command, to rule over him and ride him into bliss.

As the feelings pooled, the raw sensations brewing hotly, he arched his body into a moan and gripped onto her hair suddenly, crying out as he began to buck up into her with a fever. 

And soon she'd feel that which she desired, as he shivered and filled her with that need. And he cried her name out to the heavens. 

This was bliss. And he would almost die for this again.

She remained straddled over him long after they had finished and slumped forward to rest her forehead on his cheek. Her chest rose and fell quickly as if she had been running for miles. Her hands were tangled in his hair and a thin layer of sweat glistened across her body.

She could feel him still inside of her and made no attempt to change it. As long as they remained here, she didn't have to think about anything else. In this moment he was her world.

Time seemed to move slowly and Saoirse had no idea how long she stayed there before lifting her head and pushed strands of red and gold hair behind her ear. She studied him, still breathless, still amazed that after everything they were here.

"I'm glad I turned you down before." She said with a sly smile.

Opus felt so relaxed after their second go that he could have melted away. He had closed his eyes, just listening to her breathing and enjoying the feel of her draped across his body.

At her words, however, he popped an eye open.

"Oh? Afraid you wouldn't be able to walk afterwards?" He said, giving a playful thrust into her body.

He probably shouldn't have teased her. After all, he was also teasing himself.

She gasped in surprise and chuckled as he pushed himself deeper, "Oh, definitely." She laughed, tracing a line down his neck. She felt desire stirring in her again. Gods it just felt good being here.

"No," she kissed his neck gently, "Just thinking how less satisfying it would have been without the wait."

She paused and looked down at him with a slight frown pulling at the corners of her lips, "and...maybe then....you wouldn't have come back." She finished quietly.

He studied her as her expression changed and lifted a hand to cup her cheek. His hips were slowly moving, just enough to keep a taste of her.

"You were right to worry. Although I was intrigued by you.. I would have had to leave eventually.  I'm only here on business. "

His response didn't surprise her. She knew who he was and what he stood for. She understood he didn't have time for silly girls and yet....

She leaned down and stopped just close enough that their lips were a mere shift away from touching, "And yet you stayed." She murmurered, "I left. You had no obligation to me. Why?"

He smiled against her soft lips, leaning in and kissing her back. A warm hand moved to rest against the small of her back.

"Maybe I did," he murmured, kissing her again, hands moving up her body- feeling her softness. 

His hips still rolled .

"Maybe you are my obligation.."

She couldn't help the smile that appeared at his words. She felt silly; felt giddy like a school girl with a crush.

"That's not really an answer. " She cooed in-between kissing him. Her mind was split between having a conversation and the feel of him between her legs. She began to match him, rising and falling slowly. If he wasn't ready to stop, who was she to call it off?

"You know you should be careful, Mr. Dey." She whispered tantalizingly while brushing her lips against his skin and running her fingers across the base of his neck, "My people have a thing with threes. We're already connected by you saving my life three times and now this..." she thrust herself upon him one singular time, "If the elders speak the truth we'll be bound together if we continue." She thrust again and pressed her lips firmly against his, tracing her tongue along his upper lip, "Your move."

Opus shivered at the idea. He was not a man to simply be owned and in fact, was the one always doing the owning. Always.

Her tongue was met with his own as he pressed into her. Gods she felt so gods damned good all hot and slick like velvet all around him.

He moaned as he kissed her, cupping her face and picking up his pace. 

"You think you can tame all this?" He growled, biting at her lips before shoving his tongue back inside her mouth against as it wrestled passionately against hers. His hips were moving more frantically as he panted and growled moans between kisses.

"You think you can claim me, she-elf?"
Here he gripped her hair roughly, jerking her head back as he continued to pound up into her. He bit at her ear. She be able to feel the rumble of his moans as he kissed down her cheek.

Cries of pain and pleasure combined together as he wrenched her head to the side and the pace and power with which he took her increased. Her fingernails gripped into his shoulder and she was lost. Nothing existed but each thrust. He was hurting her but Gods it felt so good and she didn't want it to stop.

His name was on her lips in broken syllables intermixed between gasps and screams of pleasure.

The climax he kindled in her this time was slow, powerful, and swept over her in continuous waves. She shuddered uncontrollably over and over with no end in sight. Her magic blossomed in light and colors around her but her eyes were closed so she couldn't have described if she tried.

As she was finishing, he grabbed her around her waist, keeping them pressed together as he flipped her over, so her back was to the floor and he- over top of her- claiming her- over and over again.

Kisses were pressed hard all over her body, his hips thrusting so hard each slap echoed inside the room as he moved to yank her arms and pinned them over her head in a quick, rough, possessive motion.

"We bond at three? What if I demand more?" He threatened, words almost feral a he doggedly fucked her, a growling moan rumbling from his lips as he kissed her fierce

In a flash she was back in that small stone room that smelled of blood and fear. Her hands were above her head, chained, useless, unable to move. Her chest was tight and his face swam before her eyes.

"No." The words were directed at the ghosts that haunted her, "Not this." She pulled her hands against Opus' grasp and passion was replaced with fear. "Stop." She tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

Trapped.

Will you dream of me, my love?

"Stop. Please stop."

"Stop. Please stop."

Her panicked words cut through the foggy heat and wild desire.  He stopped suddenly, confused- but the pieces began to click into place.

He pulled her arms back down, remaining over her but giving her shoulders a shake as he just held her firm.

"Saoirse!" He growled, shaking her some more. "You are not in that room! Not in that cell! Not in that place but with me," he coaxed her, a hand moving to comb through her mussed hair. 

"You're Vrae."

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't shake his face from her mind. Couldn't move. Useless. There was nothing but Him.

"Kill me, please." She whimpered, as hands grabbed her shoulders. Pain would come. Humiliation. Oh, not yet, Saoirse. We have so much more to do together.

Saoirse.

Her name.

Saoirse.

But...not his voice. And the words were not the same. Not calculating, not dripping with pure evil itself.

"Vrae..." her eyes finally returned to the present, wild but clearing. "It's you. I'm...here." shaking hands ran down her face and shuddering breaths wracked her body, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

He didn't say a single word when she came back to him, rather he wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her close so their bodies were pressed and his head was able to nestle against hers. And he held her, held her fierce, before kissing her softly just once and sighing against her smells.

He scooped her off the floor and held her close. In this position she couldn't pretend like her whole body wasn't shaking. Couldn't act like everything was fine when it was anything but. Words didn't need to be said for the full extent of her experiences in that prison to be articulated. So she let him hold her and let the warmth of his body chase away the chill that settled in her bones.

"Why do they hate us?" She asked quietly after the silence stretched on for awhile, "Just for existing?"

"This is a land unworthy of your kind. They're wretched and unforgivable with hate dictating their hearts.."
He moved to brush her hair away but just let her be. 

"And I'm no better of a monster," he whispered back, still holding her.

"You should.. reconsider that third part. Connecting yourself to me will only draw you into an even darker world. "

This had been a mistake. She wasn't a cut throat- but a pure and curious woman just living her life.


She would get smothered in his world. Yet still...
He held her. Because she needed that . Abd maybe part of him needed it, too.

Saoirsa felt his hand hovering near her head before changing course. The ghosts had faded and her breathing had steadied, mostly due to his unwavering presence and the constant beating of his heart in her ear. When he spoke, she listened. Truly listened and weighed his words carefully before gently untangling herself from his arms and sitting back to study him.

She covered her chest with her arms and stared steadily up at him.

"I know who you are, Opus Dey." She informed him, "I've been traveling outside of elven lands for the past year with the full intent to learn. I have met many unsavory people with good hearts and villians who pass off as Gods. And I've heard plenty about you. There are a number of songs about you and I've learned and performed them all. Some people believe you wrestle with bears. Some believe you are part bear. There is one particularly creative ballad called 'The Dey Rises' - yes, D - E - Y, that speaks of a princess who gets ensnared and dies after years of torture. Even in fiction, truth exists, and the truth is that people will not cross you. They speak in riddles if at all.

"In all of those stories, those hushed whispers about demons and death, they fail to capture you at your core." She took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper and she dropped her gaze to the floor. "When I was....there....they...no, he, didn't even ask questions. Not like you would expect in that kind of situation. What he did wasn't a...a job...it was his life." Her arms tightened around her and she closed her eyes tightly against the images that flooded behind her eyes, "He wanted my name. He stole it." She licked her extremely dry lips, "He....had....no other motivation and just....he just...."

She found she couldn't continue. She couldn't voice her experiences anymore.

"So tell me, nin vrae." Her eyes found him again, "When you do the things you have to do. Is that who you are, or something you do."

Opus studied her and allow her this distance she gave. It also helped him to cool off, to finally breathe after all that had occurred. 

And he too listened. 

He knew what she was getting at, and he simply stared at her- eyes nearly as unreadable as when they first met. Yet.. something else was there. 

"Are you sure you want the answer to that?" He asked her, voice low, throaty.

She shook her head, sadly, but not in answer to his question.

"I've looked evil in the face," She responded bluntly, "And when I look at you that is not who I see." She cocked her head to the side and did not break his gaze as she raised herself up on her knees and held his face gently in her hands, "If evil is who you are, you would have let them have me. If evil is what gives you life, you would have killed me yourself the moment I followed you to that house in the city."

She leaned in and kissed him tenderly before resting her forehead against his, "Yet here I am."

He said nothing, he didn't even flinch nor respond to her touch or kiss. But there was something there in the depths of his eyes- an unspoken question.. a longing.. and perhaps so much more.

"Perhaps this was a mistake... just a lapse in my judgment.."

Yet he reached out, a hand moving to brush her red locks from her face.

"I am a monster." He told her firmly. " A killer... a cheat. I own an entire empire built on fear and of blood."

He tilted his head, letting his cheek cup into her hand where he sighed.

"I have done everything that man has done and more. Contracts are paid and written.. and you pay in service or blood. It's written in my empire, and will happen again."

He was absently stocking her face with his thumb as he spoke, and paused a moment before looking into her eyes.

"I am not a good man."

She pulled back from him as he finished speaking and settled her buttocks on her calves while resting her hands gentle in her lap. She knew that everything he said was raw and honest. This was the most open he had ever been with her. Something lingered behind his eyes, something he wasn't voicing but she couldn't put her finger on what. He was a man of layers. A man who spent his life becoming the monster he claimed to be; the monster people saw.

"Maybe." She mused outloud, her face unreadable. "But I'll ask you again. Why? You risked everything for me and not just once. You broke into a high security prison. You used up valuable resources. Why. Should I expect a contract from you?"

There was that same twinkle from when they first met. So much was said yet left open to questioning in that look. Yet he said nothing.

What could he say? 

If she had a clue as to how his contracts worked....

Well... to say the least, he wouldn't have saved her life if one were needed. The contract always came first. It guaranteed the payment later.

And payment was always guaranteed. 

Saoirse stayed where she was and let the silence wash over both of them. She let it linger longer than she had ever done with him before. The air was heavy with words unspoken.

After what felt like a lifetime, she nodded, "As I thought."

Then she rose to her feet and made her way to the small stream that ran through the basement of....wherever they were....and began using the water to clean herself off from their earlier couplings. Moving around was...an interesting experience and try as she may she couldn't quite hide the bow-legged walk that their last interlude had caused.

As she moved away, he just sat there, alone in his thoughts before asking after a time.

"Where shall I take you?"

She had finished rinsing off her legs by the time he spoke and was actively rinsing the last of him off of her hands. She didn't even looking up.

"Try again."

Truthfully, he hadn't expected that response and he moved to the waters, scooping up the cool, refreshing spring waters before splashing it over his face. He let the riverlets slow down his face almost completely before speaking.

"You shouldn't stay in this country. "

"You're right, I shouldn't." She agreed before falling silent again. She hummed quietly under her breath and a few glimmering fish appeared in the water in front of them.

Opus frowned and moves to drink of the waters, then he too began to use it to clean himself of her.. their sweat.. the river...

He pauses again, waiting for the droplets to slow down his body.

Then he asked again.

"Where am I to take you?"

The humming stopped and the fish disappeared. Saoirse turned towards him with fire in her eyes.

"Try. Again."

Her own heat elicited a glare of his own.

"You can't stay here with me," he told her, not a suggestion, but a demand.

The half-elf walked over, squatted down next to him, and grabbed his chin in her hand to force him to look at her.

"Then let's not stay here." She challenged.

There was a bold defiance in his eyes before he yanked his chin away, keeping his eyes from her. He drew in a breath, going back to washing himself of her.

"I need to get you out of the city. Out of this damn kingdom."

Did he really need to explain why?

They didn't finish coupling because of why.
And he?

He was Opus Dey. And he had come to this country with a purpose- and no she elf could keep him from finishing that job.

She was almost offended when he ripped his chin out of her hands, but she also knew that it was annoyance at his complete inability to be anything other than this character he needed to play. A character she had no intention of judging or trying to change.

"And then what." She asked softly through clenched teeth, unable to keep the fire from her voice, "You'll just drop me off and continue wrestling bears and kidnapping princesses?"

He gave her a look, then smirked and turned away.

"I don't know."

And the response was.. surprisingly honest. He continued to wash himself- he had been pretty slick with her- and his eyes grew distant with thought.

She stood there for a few moments, nursing some unacknowledged hurt that their interactions had caused. He was right, she knew it, she couldn't stay here. There was bound to be a bounty on her head and illusions would be no help in a spot where she might actually need it.

What hurt the most was just how quickly he seemed to have turned. One moment she was sure she had glimpsed his true self. He had done monstrous things, she knew that. One did not earn his reputation without many, many skeletons in the closet.

But....maybe that was the problem. Maybe whatever he was feeling would hurt him if he cultivated it.

Maybe she would be his downfall.

She stood and walked away from him and finally took stock of their location. They had been transported....somewhere...and by the sound of it, they were still in Connlaoth. She had nothing to her name anymore. No clothes, no provisions, but....

She made a decision. Possibly a stupid, impulsive decision.

Using every elven skill she had, she slipped the ring he had given her off of her finger and left it silently in the middle of the room. Then she breathed in the night and let it shroud her completely before silently walking up the stairs.

He was Opus Dey. And she....she was a complication that could ruin everything.

He wouldn't stop her. He hadn't stopped her before. He wouldn't stop her now. Nor in the future. This was her life and she was free to make those choices. 

A freedom she could never have if she pressed to be with him.

A part of him berated himself for just letting her go. How long had he felt such a connection towards another? Had he ever? Even with his sister, it was more duty bound than anything... wasn't it?


It was never good when a man like Opus Dey questioned anything. A part of him wanted to be that monster of her dreams, to show her- remind her of what a dangerous game she played.

If she thought what that mad man did to her was bad...

No.

Opus had and would continue to do far worse than that. And he would prove it. He came here to remind those in this nation of his name.

And he would show Saoirse the darker side of her phantom. 

Saoirse left the house without any idea of where she would go. A sorrow filled her that she couldn't explain, but leaving Opus, nin vrae behind felt... wrong. But the alternative would be to just be dropped off somewhere like cargo and that was worse.

It took a few days to get her footing and she was able to pull a few garments off of some clotheslines and snatch a few coin purses to get by. The next step was to color her hair which turned out to be more of a headache than she would have thought. By the end of a week she had managed to create a whole new persona. Calli, was the name she went by based off of her favorite flower and she passed as a young widow working to make ends meet for her children back in Reajh. She had found a way to plait her hair in such a way that only her earlobes showed but was secure enough that it wouldn't accidentally shift.

And she sang at inns to fill her purse. Each stop she would end her set with an original composition entitled My Shadow about a woman ensnared by a phantom, ir a ghost,  who stole her heart but they couldn't cross the boarder between their worlds.

Soon, her name began to spread across the countryside and people would give local towns a heads up if she was spotted heading their way. Connlaoth was a big country and she had one more thing she needed to do before leaving.

She built her reputation while her true identity and the escape died down just enough that she would be able to return.

Until the time came and she entered into the city where it all began, hoping that Danning had received her letter from weeks ago and had managed to find her clock.

A day hadn't even gone by once Saoirse left that wretch of a town, her absence- in a sense, damned them all. At first, there were just rumors, little shadowed stories of happenings in the dark. A caravan to the jail gone missing- a lord poisoned to death with his face drowned in soup...
But nothing could have prepared that town for the inconceivable terror that was Opus Dey. 

It was a crystal clear morning, beautiful yet the wind was filled with chilled winds of the promise of winter.  Autumn trees still held their colorful leaves, but the most vibrant color in the town was the blood.

It painted all manner of buildings around the area, and not a single corrupt one was left unscathed. He had planned it, plotted it little by little as he worked his way about the countryside- before finally unleashing his what the townsfolk could only claim as pure hell.

He made sure there was suffering along with his deaths- but those who were strung up by their skin- splayed open at their ribs and nailed against the building sides begged for it- with what little strength was left to them.

This. This was the message left from Opus Dey. He had left his mark- not only to remind the jailers of what they had done , but to cull the rumors about his name where his grasp so far north had become weak.

Let them speak now. Let the story roll across the countryside of the man you do not cross, nor talk of weakness nor short of reach. For he was everywhere.

Nin vrae.

He was Opus Dey.

The first hint of a problem should have come from the sheer number of people who were traveling away from the city, but Saoirse was preoccupied with her own demons as she walked the path. It had been some time since her stay but the nightmares hadn't stopped.

To be honest, she wasn't sure they ever would.

It had been long enough that her hair had grown from the hastey chin-length bob to just brushing her shoulders, though it was now a deep mousey brown that could only be described as plain. She hadn't used her magics since slipping out of the safe house and it was clear on her features. Her cheeks were slightly sunken, but the most obvious indicator was the luster that had faded from her eyes; from her skin. But she couldn't risk her cover, so she suppressed it.

"Calli?" A young woman's voice reached the elf's ears, "Calli, the singer?" A hand grabbed hers and Saoirse stopped to stare into haunted, tear stained eyes. "Turn back. Come with us, please. Don't go any further."

"What's happened?" Saoirse asked her, gripping her hand with both of her own. The woman was shaking and...there was blood on her cheek.

"Hell on earth." The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, "Please, come with us."

Saoirse looked towards the city walls that had just come into view. From here nothing looked amiss but this woman....and then she looked at just how many women and children were rushing away. But...where were the men. Why were there only.....

Cold terror gripped her as she examined faces. Their shoes were leaving crimson footprints on the road.

"Come with us." the woman pleaded, but Saoirse knew she couldn't.

"I'm sorry. I have to." She pressed her hands to the woman's cheeks and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead, "Go. I'll be fine."

But nothing prepared her for what she would see as she walked through the gates and into the city streets. The smell reached her before anything else. Then...blood. So much blood. Everywhere. A sound to her right drew her attention and there was a guard on the wall. His heart was still beating in his cracked open chest displayed for all the world to see.

Saoirse didn't know if she should run or scream or....what...but he stared at her. Still alive. Still....

She took a step forward and pulled her dagger across his throat. Blood spilled onto her hands and she stepped back and watched as his heart slowly, finally, stopped.

Then she turned and faced the rest of the horrors and walked through the streets like an angel of mercy; her clothes slowly turning crimson with each flash of her blade.

At the front of the jail a small mass of people gathered, the forefront of it would be a familiar face as Saoirse approached. 

Father Danning was bent over a series of flayed men- it looked as if he were working to save their lives rather than end them- and he was frantically working on sewing one of the men up- his own arms covered in blood from the impromptu surgery. 

So many...too many to count...how many had she freed? At least she told herself she was freeing them. How could anyone survive those wounds. And she was no doctor nor did she have the magic or the skills to do more than simply end their suffering. Even if she did have the ability to heal, it wouldn't work here, not in this place. And if she used it, they'd just kill her for it.

The irony was dizzying.

Whether subconsciously or not, she found herself back at the jail. She was covered, splattered, painted in blood. At some point her own blade had slipped in her hands and she had been forced to hastily bandage the gash along her palm that it caused. It was deep, but she couldn't tell how much blood was hers and how much was others.

She wasn't a murderer. She was a savior.

Her dulled eyes found the priest working to stitch them back together. She pitied him. He worked so hard against odds that would never go his way.

She wiped the back of her hand across her face and spoke, not even realizing who she was addressing, "You're not going to save them." Her voice was as dead as her heart, "You're just prolonging their suffering to appease your own sense of need."

She wasn't a murderer.

He nodded towards the woman to acknowledge her.  He didn't recognize her, nor her voice. But he hadn't stopped his work .

"If I do not at least try to save them, at least one life here, then I can not call myself a man of God."

"This is what God wants?" She asked, unable to hide the bite and the shake from her voice. She gestured around at the blood and death, "This? He wants you to make sure these people spend their last moments in pain and suffering for days, maybe weeks before infection takes them? You would condemn them to that in the name of your god?"

Danning was quiet, back to her as he worked- diligent but also gentle, with compassion. 

"If there is even shred of hope for a life.. I am compelled to save them."

He took a cool rag, mostly stained red, and went about wiping down the suffering man's face.

"Everyone deserves a chance.. and a choice to be helped to live."

She didn't agree. This wasn't a chance, it was torture. These people didn't deserve to suffer in agony. She might not agree with them or their beliefs, but that didn't mean she wished them this.

And now, here she stood at the prison that had nearly killed her with the blood of the tortured on her hands and yet still more hung on the walls.

She was not a murderer.

And yet.

She stared at the priest. Really looked at him. He worked so hard and for what? For a slim chance? Was that worth it? How much pain was he inflicting under this guise of kindness and mercy?

She was not a murderer.

Right?

Doubt settled in her bones. Faces swam past her. Alive and then not. Suffering and then at peace.

She took a step forward and looked to her left where another man, clearly another guard, hung. She could see his heart beating from here. She could help him. She could free him. She could save him. But who was right and who was wrong?

She sheathed her blade and stepped towards the man and began prying his hands away from the wall.

"What do I need to do?" She asked. The man cried out weakly as she worked.

She was not a murderer. But....this felt worse.

Despite their condition, despite the cruelness of letting it continue... the man before her trembled and begged, "Help... me... please. " Then the man's eyes rolled back as he began to convulse, spitting up blood.

She was able to get him down just before he collapsed onto her convulsing. His open chest pressed onto her covering her completely and she stumbled from his weight. She tried to hold onto him as he fell but her hands were slick and her fingers wrapped around bone instead of skin.

Together they fell; Saoirse to her knees under him with a cry and he, draped over her shoulders, gave one final shudder before falling still, eyes staring sightlessly into the distance.

With a panicked whimper, a cry, a gutteral noise she did not know existed within her, she tried to untangle herself from the horror. There was nowhere to grab. Her palms went into him. His organs squeltched and her hands went deeper.

Finally she gave a shove and he fell away from her in a heap of blood and gore while the elf just stared at her hands in shock.

Wrong. Wrong. This was wrong!

And then he was there, like a phantom, moving almost unseen- although it was probably because of the shock.  But protective arms wrapped her into a blanket, holding it closed around her and tight. 

"It's okay," he whispered to her, his voice soothing, caring.

"This one Ansgar felt the need to take."

The priest paused, arms still around her to comfort her before he stepped back, hands on her shoulder as he looked towards her voice.

He was about to say something, but a few men behind him called to him.

"I'll be right there."

They had gotten 3 men stable out of the 25 that were slaughtered.  Those helping Danning were preparing boards to move the delicate wounded.

Danning squeezed her shoulder.

"Will you be alright?" He asked, noting the horrible horribleness of her state. She was covered in blood not her own. 

"Come.. we can clean you up at the church. "

She didn't register his embrace for a few moments. Bits of flesh were stuck to her fingers and on her dress; a dress that no longer held a distinguishable color. Had it been blue? A mossy green? Had it even had a color before it became a relic of death?

His voice registered in her mind and called her back from the brink of complete collapse.

"Father Danning." She looked up at him numbly and allowed him to lead her to the church.

Baths were quickly prepared for those who needed it, but the main attention was on tending to the three potential survivors. However, their fate looked grim.

As priests and attendants moved about the church, Danning guided Saoirse to sit upon a bench to wait. He moved to sit beside her, keeping a hand in his as he gently gave it a squeeze.

"Today was a day of terror. Thank you for what help you could afford these poor souls."

She shook her head, still staring at her hands, "I didn't help that man. I made it worse. That wasn't helping."

Why had she let him change her course? If she had just freed that man, none of this would have happened. He would have still died, but he would have suffered less. help me.... had been his last words and she had done the exact opposite.

"What happened here?" She asked after a time, "I came into the city....people told me to turn back....what happened?" her voice was quiet and she couldn't keep it from shaking.

Danning was silent. Perhaps longer than he meant to. But despite the fear and horror and panic gripping his own mind and body, he willed himself onward. Helping others, being that beacon they needed. Showing hope.

Perhaps it took him so long to speak since he hadn't any answers. Or atleast, he was measuring them.

"We are still trying to figure that out," he told her softly. "But it seems this horrific act was only targeted to the jail."

Saoirse started at that and it seemed to knock her out of her head if even for just a moment.

"The jail?" She asked surprised, "No one else was hurt? Injured?" She thought back on the men she had killed. Had they all been in uniform? She didn't think so, but then not all guards would work at the same time.

Danning frowned as he studied her. She.. looked familiar.

"Yes. But that's all we seem to know about this. The acts were acted out against workers from the jail. Not all of the workers.. but a good amount."

Saorise felt a cold chill down her spine along with...what was the feeling? Relief? She didn't know what to think, didn't know what to feel. Was she a monster for being relieved? That only the nightmares were caught in the massacre?

"Excuse me." Her words almost didn't come out of her mouth. She stood and walked towards where the other volunteers and religious were working on the men who had been brought in. She didn't get close. She didn't say a word. She just....looked.

The first man was already gone by the time she stepped closer and the workers were already pulling a sheet over his head.

She didn't recognize him.

Then to the second. He looked familiar, but it was so difficult to see beneath the bruising, the blood, the swelling.

Then to the third. This was the man Danning had been helping when she arrived. He, too, was unrecognizable. He was still breathing but would he live? He coughed, then moaned, and his head turned revealing a scar that she would reconize with her eyes closed.

She didn't stop to think. Didn't say a word.

She turned and fled from the church.

"Miss, please!" Danning called after her, startled at first and although bone tired after all he'd gone through, he still had the energy to make chase.

Was she okay? Had she known the man? Was he a fallen lover of hers, perhaps?

"Miss!"

She was running so fast...

Blood pounded in her ears as she sped away. Of all the people she had dispatched. Of all those guards or workers hanging on the wall he had been the one Danning was trying to save. She didn't know what she would do with this knowledge. Should she kill him? The thought of being the one to dispatch him forever filled her with a joy that made her hate herself with even ounce of her being.

But....

To let him be would force him to suffer. Gods she wanted him to suffer. It didn't matter that he had already been through hell, it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

But if he recovered....? If she didn't kill him and he lived could she live with that?

Gods how many weeks had he been haunting her? How many sleepless nights? Had she even slept since then?

In a moment she made a decision. A decision that would change her forever. If she went back...offered her services...

She slowed and turned, keeping her head down and forcing her shoulders to shake as if overcome with strong womanly emotions.

"I'm sorry," she wiped her hands across her face leaving a streak of fresh blood from the gash on her hand, "It's just so much....he's still alive and in pain and....please let me help him."

"It's okay.. Miss.. they are in the hands of the church healers now. Their fate is with Ansgar. Please... come back with me and let us tend to your wounds and your worries."

He grew silent a moment and watched her weep.

"I will read you of the blessed warriors tales. Ansgar.. he had over come so much to create this nation. Perhaps it will help calm your woes, and think about the days ahead and not those freshly behind us."

And as they spoke, a dark figure seemed to loom on the roof tops.

She nodded and began following him back to the church. Her head was bowed to hide the fact that there were no tears in her eyes or on her cheeks and her lips were set in a firm line.

It was a start. She wouldn't kill him. That was far too easy of an end. No one could survive wounds like this and Ansgar, as Danning would say, would take him in the end. No...she would offer her assistance to the healers. Just a cup of water would do to carry the powders she kept in her bag. She had been mixing them to help with sleep, but in the wrong dosage they could cause temporary paralysis and he would then be awake to feel every wound he had.

Danning felt much more at ease when Saoirse was inside the church. He guided her towards the room where baths were finished being drawn and bowed his head.

"Should you need me, I will be attending to the wounded." And moved to disappear into the crowded room of helpers, injured , and those making notes about the dead.

She turned down the offers if assistance from the church staff and entered into the room with a handful of folded clothes on her own. It was a small room, but the tub in the middle was just big enough for one person if she pulled her knees up and it steamed gently. The door behind her, thankfully, had a latch which she quickly turned before walking to the wash basin and mirror across from a small window.

There she saw herself for the first time. Her hair was almost red again with the blood from the dying and the dead. Her cheeks were a giant painting of soot, dirt and dried, caked-on blood; with the exception of the fresher streak from her hand.

Her clothes were ruined. These stains would never lift and they would need to be burned. That was where she started. First she undid the ties under her arms that held her bodice in place and it came off almost like armor to reveal her linen shift which was stained pink. Next, she fumbled with her skirts and sighed as the weight of it all crumpled in a heap on the floor.

With a provided cloth, she dipped it into the tub and began wiping the blood and sweat from her cheeks. Her palm ached, terribly, and it didn't take long to realize she wouldn't be able to do much without tending to it first.

The volunteers would assist, she was certain, if she asked, but she didn't. Instead, she took the basin provided and pulled some water from the tub before turning back to the small table where she began to unwrap her injured hand. Then came the arduous process if cleaning it. Gods it hurt. She had really cut deeply. Deep enough that just wrapping it wouldn't do a damn thing.

She pressed the washcloth to her palm and gripped it there while opening her pack with one hand and her teeth. A quick dig revealing some needle and thread and she began the arduous process of stitching herself up.

"At least it's my non-dominant hand." She muttered through clenched teeth as the thread tugged through her skin.

The room was private and small, with only a few choice exits- the tiny slit of a window- or the door. Both were, naturally, locked. But he'd spent a great deal on resources lately and hardly needed a key. Why use a key when you could walk through walls?

It did make mass murder all the easier.

So she might be surprised when a shadow fell over her, and a familiar voice rumbled, "You're early. "

She was so focused on stitching the two inch gash on her palm. It was still bleeding heavier than she would have liked which made the needle slick and required constant rinsing during the process. She was almost to the end when the shadow loomed over her and his voice cut through her concentration.

The hand holding the needle jerked and slammed painfully into unintended flesh. But she barely felt it as the panic of one caught unawares coursed through her.

She spun in place and instinctually reached for the dagger that usually resided in her waistband but was now obviously in the heap of bloody clothes on the floor. Instead, her unharmed hand grabbed the pitcher on the table and a slew of elven curses hissed through her teeth.

Realization dawned on her and panic was replaced with confusion. But her heart continued to beat rapidly in her chest.

"What...how...why..." pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place but she didn't want them to. She didn't want to think about the implications that would inevitably arise. She still hadn't fully processed the day itself. "What do you mean, early."

"You think you would just part ways with me and that was it?" He asked, genuinely curious. He strolled closer towards the blood soaked water and eyed her hand. 

But he said nothing, or rather nothing about it as he studied it. 

"I've had men following you."

She nodded at that. That at least fell into the realm of normal in her understanding of him. There had been moments she had wondered if he would but deep down she also assumed she was nothing to him in the grand scheme of things. If she had meant something, why hadn't he come after her himself?

"I don't know what I thought." She admitted quietly, following his eyes to her mostly-sewn up hand. She plucked the needle aimlessly out from where it had been shoved and continued the last few stitches- mostly to just give herself something to do - and proceeded to break the thread from the needle with a quick twist and painful pull. Having him here before her brought up memories both good and bad and they confused her more. "I don't know what to think." She was too shaken to play games; too mentally exhausted to ask questions she knew he wouldn't answer.

"So...now you're here, then. My tail has been upgraded."

"You shouldn't have stayed."

He let that question linger in silence before speaking again.

"You shouldn't have come back."

She watched him in the silence and did not interrupt. She let his words marinate within herself.

"I didn't have a choice." She finally replied. Her mouth opened to say more, but she decided against it and her eyes dropped to her thumbs which she had been absently rubbing together.

"I needed the clock." She finished, leaving her true thoughts locked within herself.

He tensed.

He.. had not expected that response. Yes, he knew the priest was in possession of it, but...

"Your life worth that?" He questioned, standing beside her, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the tub. 

He was so close to her that she could feel his heat radiating against her and it was distracting. It filled her with questions she needed to know, but she also knew he would probably answer maybe one, if any. Gods her head hurt, her hand was throbbing, she was still covered in blood and she could feel hardened bits of hair sticking to her cheek every time she shifted.

She was also a terrible liar under normal circumstances.

"No....I mean yes?" Her eyes remained glued to her thumbs which had started rubbing at imagined blood stains where flecks of that guard's organs had been only moments before.

"It was you, wasn't it." She changed the subject, "All of it."

There was the hint of a smile when she compared herself to the clock. 

Then silence.

Then he picked up the soap and wash clothe she'd been offered and began to lather up the clothe, before moving to work at the filth on her back.

Of course he'd say nothing.  Why would he openly admitted to a crime?

"All of it.. yes," he said, voice low as he moved to scrub a shoulder.

A shudder swept through her at his answer and her eyes closed tightly. A single tear escaped and fell silently down her cheek. When she spoke her words were barely audible.

"Thank Gods."

He paused long enough to hear her words, to digest them as the silence reigned. Only the dripping off the wash clothe and the scent of death and humidity claimed the other wise stillness between them.

"They deserved worse," he growled lowly, returning back to cleaning her skin. But he was only a man.. and even a phantom could do so much in this life.

Her eyes opened and she stared back at him, brown shimmering with a light that hadn't been present since before her arrest weeks ago; a light that he seemed to kindle.

"They did." She admitted, "And I was stupid enough to end their suffering." Gods she should have left them there. She should have walked right past and thrown salt on their wounds.

"Yet..." he began, voice low, gravely. "You're here aiding the priest. "

After a time, he moved to work at lathering up soap into her hair, gently massaging into the scalp and producing a thick lather.

His hands on her scalp were soothing and her eyes closed again but this time to live in the moment. She could stay here like this forever and forget about life itself. There was a pleasure to it, but not a sexual one... no....a simpler, safer pleasure that washed away woes and worldly cares.

"Aid him?" Her eyes shot open and a nervous chuckle escaped her lips and she was sudddenly, extremely, entirely embarrassed. "No..... not... exactly.."

She leaned down to where her satchel lay discarded and pulled out a large glass vial filed halfway with white powder. She placed it on the table without a word.

He said nothing, continuing to do work a deep lather over her skin. She was completely covered and he was ensuring he was working hard and deep. 

Then he moves to grab a small cup nearby and began to work on rinsing out her hair.

And remaining silent. 

Although the water was warm, the air around her was colder and goose bumps rose quickly across every inch of her skin. The water and suds were pink instead of white as they slid down her body and onto the floor; her thin shift clung to her body leaving nothing to the imagination.

"It's a....kind of mushroom?" She tried to find the words to explain, "We use it back home for...well...there isn't a word for it in human tongues....it's a...aiding poison? No...um...a...not-death...er?" She scratched her head and sighed, "It grows in the woods outside of the Fell, before things get...questionable. When harvested under the right moon phase, they have a lot of good qualities and are used in healing and," she paused, hesitant to admit the demons that followed her since they parted, "A few grams provide a dreamless sleep. A few more cause complete, lucid paralysis."

She shivered as the cooler air continued to lick her skin. Gods he would find her stupid, wouldn't he? And he wouldn't be wrong. What had she actually been thinking would happen?

"I...didn't come back for the clock. Not exactly." Her voice was quiet, her eyes glued to her hands, "I was going to collect it but..." her eyes lifted to the vial for a quick moment before falling again, "After they all burned."

He listened to her talk. He knew what she meant. He knew everything about a person of interest. And she?

She was absolutely on his radar. And they had enough time apart for him to properly dig up information on her- what little there was. 

No, she made more of a name for herself with this other identity she created.

"Then it shall be done."
His voice had the promise of ice.

The water he poured over her had removed most of the blood from her hair, but it had also begun removing the brown she had used to color it. Nothing seemed to want to stick to the red, she had found, and bits of fire were bleeding through after just one rinse. Her eyes lifted again to meet his, confusion glimmering there. Connlaoth had broken her and nothing made sense anymore. She was adrift in a world of darkness and death and couldn't come up for air no matter how hard she tried.

"Why?" She asked breathlessly, "Why do this for me? Without question? Without asking for anything in return? I am nothing but a blip in your world, Opus Dey. I'm nothing but a complication."

He said nothing, letting the quiet after the question linger. He then stood up, arms open as he held out a large towel for her. Once she'd stepped inside, he'd wrap the towel around her- and then would simply hold her form close.

Saoirse stared at him, her disbelief and confusion rising by the second. Why couldn't he just talk to her? Why the ever infuriating silence? Did he not want her to know or did he expect her to find the answers herself? None of it made sense. Her life didn't make sense.

Humans are dangerous. Her father had warned before she left over a year ago. She had thought him bigoted, stupid even, but he was right. Of course he was right. He was hundreds and hundreds of years old and she was a child. Old in human years - ancient even - but as an elf she was barely out of the nursery.

She stared at the open towel. Hesitating.

She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve any of this. She should turn him down; should put on the clothes regardless of how wet she was and just leave.

But she couldn't. Gods she couldn't. She needed him more than she would ever admit because it was weak. She was weak.

She needed a moment, just one blissful moment, where she could close her eyes and not see...him.

So she hesitated, yes, but ultimately stepped forward and shrugged the wet shift from her shoulders where it fell in a heap on the floor at her feet, and allowed the towel to encompass her while Opus' arms pulled her close.

Much was left unsaid in the silence they shared. For even though he had much to say, he had been trained since his youth to be mindful of his tongue, how to distract in conversation...how to lead one's prey.

But his father never taught him some core aspects of life, one's that he would rarely find the time to entertain them or question them- and they seemed as fake and surreal as the the bed time stories told to children.

Yet this? As he held her, just kept her trembling , cold body close, he felt the desire to explore something more.

And that single idea, he knew, was a dangerous mistake. But should he care? A simple, small act could start the crack that could break the back of his entire empire. One he had been trained for- raised since birth....

Perhaps it was the lack of his mother, the lack of close bonds...

But the criminal before her remained equally as intrigued by the woman he held as she did with him.

But this.. whatever it was.. was different than so many other things in his life. This.. he had made a choice. Nothing coached from well laid plans or mutual gains to rise up his empire.


No..this woman in his arms represented the simple, sweetness of choice.

"You're right," came his voice, like a deep growl rising softly in his chest. "You are a complication," he agreed.

Time seemed to stop in these moments as she just let herself exist for the first time since her arrest. She allowed the sound of his heart beat to fill her head intermingled with the gentle woosh of air as it filled and released from his lungs. This man was known for chaos and death. He was responsible for the destruction that she had just witnessed and yet he was her anchor in the storm. Despite it all, despite what he might claim, he had come back and sought revenge on the people that kept her awake; the demons that woke her screaming in the middle of the night. He might be a monster, but his reign of destruction brought her a peace she had not felt since.

And there it was...she had left him because she knew she could destroy him. Her very existence could bring down the life he had worked so hard to cultivate. Would she be able to live with herself if she was the reason he fell?

"Opus..." she began, and then nearly jumped out of her skin when a heavy knock came at the door.

"Miss?" A muffled female voice called through the door, "I'm just checking to make sure everything is alright. Do you need any assistance?" The handle jiggled softly.

Saoirse pulled her head away from their embrace, "No, no I'm fine, thank you."

The handle would jiggle but then stopped. It seemed the woman couldn't open it and when she stepped back, it seemed a faint glow to the door knob faded.

The woman on the other side either didn't notice it, or did not react.  She did, however, hesitate before apologizing and continuing her way down the hall.

Opus, who had lifted his hand very subtly, lowered it as the other woman left. He then took a step back, regarding the half elf a moment before speaking.

"You should get dressed."

Saoirse held the towel tightly against her with her good hand as Opus stepped back and she felt oddly embarrassed about the whole situation, but why she couldn't quite figure out. Perhaps it was how quick she was to let his very presence soothe her. Perhaps it was the fact that she felt comfort in him in a way that just didn't make any sense. He had just committed mass murder. Mass torture of dozens of men.

But they had all had a hand in her own torture. They all were complicit in the murder and sheer destruction of people like her. He might not have come to this city with clear intentions, of that she had no doubts, but somewhere along the line he had decided to take her demons and destroy them for her.

She nodded, silently, and turned to find the clean dress that had been provided. It was extremely simple, not much more than an undyed linen dress with a long gray tunic that slipped right over top and cinched with ties at the side to accommodate people of varying sizes. With her back turned, she lifted the underdress over her head while keeping the towel firmly in place until modesty allowed it to drop onto the damp floor and the dress slid across her newly cleaned skin and fell just at her ankles. It was probably meant to be longer, but she wasn't exactly the height of an average Connlaothian woman and doubted they had many dresses that would fit her without alterations.

The tunic proved troublesome, as she soon found out just how limited the movement of her left hand was. She tried to hide the winces that threatened to overtake her face as she worked slowly to tie the sides into place. She would need to re-plait her hair as well, she noticed upon looking up at the small mirror on the wash table. Her ears were prominently poking through strands of her not-quite-brown-but-not-quite-red hair. She wouldn't have time to fix it now and just hoped it was subtle enough that they didn't notice a huge difference. Her hair had been so completely covered in blood before, it wouldn't be too odd for a lighter color to come through after a wash.

She sighed after a moment and began the arduous process of hiding her ears while doing her best to keep her hand as still as she could in the process.

As usual, the large man remained as an imposing shadow- silent and observant. He didn't move to assist her, reading the tension and aversion. He knew she was still digesting hid guilt in all of this. 

He had created horror- scarring many lives and ending so many in such a brazen way...

But it was all apart of how he lived. One was simply not known and feared world wide without reasons. And those who fucked either him would come to realize why they began to fear him in the first place.

In a sense, he had not only gotten revenge for her, and for what the men had done, but had also recemented his reputation in Connlaoth. Where it had once waned, horror stories would sweep through the lands... and Opus Dey's reputation would remain as it should. 

He noted her fussing over her hair and raised a hand, resting it on her arm.

"You should leave it."

He was so quiet and she was so engrossed in minimizing the pain in her hand that, for a moment, she forgot that Opus was even there. It had been a long few weeks of constant anxiety and stress to hide who she was and cultivate this new persona that it was easy to fall back into habits. Extremely important habits, to be exact, seeing as they kept her hidden; kept her alive.

When his hand touched her arm she jumped as if coming out of a trance. Her heart raced for a moment until she realized that she wasn't actual in any danger, but her fingers remained entwined in strands of her hair mid-braid.

She looked up at him in the small mirror and then back at herself. The sight of her ears sent an unexpected fear coursing through her. How long had she been afraid of herself? When had that started?

Another glance back up at Opus betrayed that fear and she slowly shook her head, "I...they'll see." she argued. If she didn't hide they'd just take her again, wouldn't they? Maybe it would be different now that he was lying in the other room slowly dying from the wounds Opus had inflicted upon him, but there were bound to be others like him. Regardless, to be seen, to be found, would mean death.

Opus gave her a stern look through the mirror before moving to stand before her. He was so much taller than she- than most- and the way he stood only bolstered the confident and dangerous persona before her.

"Leave it," he said, not a command- but it sure seemed like it.

He was so tall as he stood before her and she was certainly not short, especially for a woman. As an elf she was on the shorter side, sure, but here, outside of the forests, she towered over most women and stood eye-to-eye with the men. But not Opus. He made her feel like a child looking up at the world rather than looking at it.

Her hands dipped slightly at his words, but the hair remained loosely grasped in her fingers. She found that she couldn't let go.

"They'll see." she repeated, almost whispering.

He moved to step closer- a hand closing over her's as she held her hair.

"Let them."

When his hand wrapped around hers she found the courage to let the strands of partially dyed hair to slip from her fingers, and she let the strength of them guide her. Her brown and gold eyes locked onto his still filled with a mix of fear and confusion. His words stirred a memory in her long since forgotten.

Let them. Were the exact words her father had said to her years ago when she had started using her magics to hide her brown eyes - her human eyes. She had always been different; always been "other." Whether in the human world or elvish, she stood out and tried to hide who she was. But she was both. There was no getting around that fact.

"Why are you here, Opus." She asked softly, her gaze never wavering, "I left so you didn't have to be here - so you wouldn't have to make that choice. You let me leave. You could be anywhere but....you're here.

For a long moment, unspoken words chewed on the inside. The tension grew palpable. Then he lowered his hand. 

"So are you."

She chewed on that for a moment as she let her hands fall to her side and her half-braided hair brushed against her shoulders. It was starting to curl as it dried in a mix of ringlets and waves - yet another indication of her humannes. None of her elven kin has anything but long straight hair in varying shades of white and red. At least she had gotten that....

"I am." She responded slowly, "Though your being here makes my reasons rather pointless now."

He studied her, the small details of her face, the wet ringlets of her hair.

"And where am I supposed to be?" He asked.

"I don't know." She admitted, "But I don't think it would have been here if we'd never met. At least not for this kind of vengeance."

Bold assumption, she knew, but was she wrong? Would he have targeted these people specifically if they had no connection?

He looked thoughtful as he regarded her.
"Perhaps.. but does it matter? It has already been done."

She thought for a moment, finally breaking his gaze and staring down at her hands as her thumbs spun round eachother absently.

"No. I suppose it doesn't." She replied, "Though....your way was better than mine." She looked back up at him again, "Thank you."

He nodded, still regarding her. She seemed so small. The way she stood, tense and with an unreachable itch- he was trying to process it.

He never had time to truly worry about the emotions of others. To consider things outside of his establishment... he had his hands in too many pots that that simple act was a luxury. 

Strange how he found himself with free time enough to indulge in his own life choices- and those choices lead him to her.

She couldn't understand how precious a thing was where he could allow for choices outside of his own empire's gain. This was a choice. She was a choice- and now that he was bound to something outside of his greater enterprise- he could not help himself but to loop them in, together. 

Even now, his time was limited. He couldn't remain in Connlaoth- affairs were drawing him back to Essryn. But he would afford her this. He would destroy her demons. And he did so in a way that also rose above his desired goals. 

"I will be leaving soon," he found himself saying, not realizing a hand has moved to cup her face. So he just stared at her, and into those honey warmed eyes of hers.

This time when his hand moved to rest on her cheek she didn't flinch and didn't move away. In fact, she did the exact opposite and found her own hand reaching up to lay against his and she leaned into it while closing her eyes. In this moment she could ignore everything outside of that door. She could pretend that the world beyond simply didn't exist and the only thing that mattered was the feel of him against her skin.

"I understand." she replied with a deep, shuddering breath. She understood, but she didn't like it. She wanted to go with him. She wanted to beg him to take her with him but that was a selfish wish wasn't it? And an unfair one. Of course she couldn't go with him. Of course she couldn't voice any of those wants and desires. But, Gods, she wanted to.

Instead, she wrapped her slender fingers around his and held onto him for this singular moment a little bit tighter than was necessary.

They shared a silence, long and needed.

But then he spoke. 

"Have you ever been to Essryn?"

The silence stretch on and she let it, not wanting to end this moment because she knew what it would mean and she wasn't ready for it. So she let it drift and seared the feel of his hand into her mind.

And then it was over.

But...what? Essryn?

Her eyes opened and her head lifted just slightly as she shook her head slowly.

The smile started in his eyes and tugged subtly at his lips.

"I have a ship.." he began, a hand moving to stroke across her hair. He studied her, the thought just hanging there before his eyes returned to hers. "And it leaves port tomorrow. "

She stood there silently, a chill running down her neck as his fingers moved through her hair, and processed the intent behind his words. She knew him enough to know that things like this weren't offered on a whim or just for conversation. To tell her about this ship was intentional...

But was that just her wishing it to mean more than just information? Hoping that he was just as loath to leave her as she was him? She knew she should just ask but...

"Does this ship require sinking to the bottom of a river covered in iron?" she said instead.

The shimmer in his eyes grew and the smile.. more obvious. 

"This ship will not fit in a river."

She took a step closer to him, neck straining to keep eye contact - Gods he was tall. The heat from his body radiated against her, but she kept enough distance that their bodies had just enough space to keep from touching.

"And you'll get to the port how? That safe house didn't fit in a river, either." Saoirse knew she should just ask him simply is this an invitation but part of her was worried about his answer. Another part of her just wanted to hear him admit he wanted her without needing to extract it from him by force.

A hand moved to cup her face again, his own eyes holding hers.

Then he suddenly pulled her in close, so their bodies pressed.

"It's already in port..."

The feel of him against her sent a thrill to the tips of her fingers and toes and she breathed him in with a deep, shuddering breath. She could hear his heart beating against her ear where it rested on his chest.

It was too much, she needed him to tell her what she thought he wasn't quite saying. What she hoped he was saying...

"How will we get there, Opus?"

He moved to place a finger beneath her chin, so that she was looking up at him again.
"Magic," he told her softly, before stealing a soft, gentle kiss- a strange opposing action to the horror only beginning to quell in the world around them. "We leave once the sun sets. And we'll sail come the morning."

The kiss was so gentle it was easy to forget that this same person, these same hands, had brought about the destruction of the city outside of the washroom's door. She could forget that he was dying just down the hall. Forget the number of deaths she had aided on her way to this very church.

She pulled back and made a face, "And it won't require iron and a river, right? I just need to be really sure about that before I agree to go anywhere."

This time, he smiled more openly and scooped her up, pressing her to the wall and kissed her with more heat than the Essyrni sun. A hand moved through her hair- then down her body, before his hands grew softer, slower and his eyes returned to hers.

"I can't make such promises," he said, voice husky.

A gasp of surprise and thrill escaped her lips as he pressed her against the wall and she returned his passion with her own. Her good hand snaked up around his shoulders and her fingertips wove into the hair at the base of his neck. With one simple act he made her feel alive again after weeks of forcing herself not to feel. Survival meant disappearing and so she did just that.

But now...every part of her was on fire and she felt her body instantly responding to his touch.

She stretched her lips towards his ear and ran her fingers up and down his neck, "Then maybe I shouldn't go?"

He leaned down at her ministrations, - he was towering over her, after all. And made a soft noise as her lips met his neck. But then at her words, he smirked and looked into her eyes again.

"I wouldn't force you to go."

She drew her head back, her eyes suddenly serious as she held his gaze, "And that is exactly why I'll go."

His large hand cupped her cheek as he studied her.
"You have a strange reason to agree," he said quietly, a thumb stroking her skin, softly.

"I disagree." her hand still draped delicately across his shoulder and her fingers twisted in a few loose strands of his hair, "You have the power of force and yet you choose not to use it. Choice is a powerful thing."

Opus actually tensed at that. Whether or not he had come to that realization before, it still gained a reaction. 

But she wasn't wrong. In any sense of the word. 

"And yet you use it to follow a criminal."

At that he smirked. 

She cocked her head to the side, "From where I'm standing you followed me. Three times now, it would seem."

And then she frowned as a memory woke within her, "Unless...it's actually four?" an eyebrow raised at that, "What lead you to that antique shop after the riots? Coincidence?"

Her heart fluttered inside her chest and a grin spread across her face, "Surely not me?"

"And you can't see much from where you stand," he reminded, the jest present but he spoke as if facts were given.

"How much do you really know about Opus Dey?"

But their shared moment did not last as there was another knock at the door. 

"Miss?" A pause.  "Are you alright? "

It was Danning.

She thought for a moment back to all of the songs that she'd heard, and sung, about the infamous Opus Dey. People were quick to spread stories in song, but rarely would speak about him otherwise - she had tried to ask questions over the weeks since they had parted but there was real, true fear behind the eyes of anyone who actually knew anything.

And after seeing the city it was no wonder.

"Lye vrae." she answered after a few moments of silence, which meant you are a phantom in the language of her people.

She would have said more, but another knock on the door made her jump. With Opus pressed against her it kept her from losing her balance, but her heart raced in her chest and she closed her eyes as she rested her head against the wall for a beat.

"Fine." she responded and then cleared her throat when it didn't quite come out, "I'm fine. Thank you. Finishing up."

She looked at Opus in question. What should they do?

Her eyes turned to him for answers.  There were always eyes looking to him for answers. It was the way of things.  Some were born to follow.. others were born to lead.

And in sometimes, for those rare moments- the followers would take up the reins.

For now? For now, Opus Dey knew exactly what he was about to do. Each step, each movement- a calculation. 

They remained close, but a single step drew them closer still, as a large hand cupped the back of her head and he leaned in and kissed her, long and with a powerful need.

A kiss that would make one's eyes close tight.
A kiss that would traverse one to another world.

Or in this case...

A kiss to take them both into...

Opus stepped back, the wooden room around them creaking as the ship they now dwelled within was rocked gently by the sea.

It only took a heart beat- but they were there. They had made it to the ship.


And that's when Opus fell unconscious to his knees.