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[Galathan]

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Galathan removed the wadded cloth from his cheek. The once white cloth was scarlet and thoroughly soaked. Waves of throbbing, stinging pain shot their way up his sinus, making his eyes water. That stupid b*tch.

He angrily threw the wad of wet red cloth on the ground and quickly pressed a new, fresh piece of white cloth to his gaping cheek. A fragment of bone glinted beneath the red, pulpy flesh. He spit on the ground, crimson drops rolling from his lips. How dare anyone mar his perfect face so? Especially some crazy lunatic woman. She was a menace to all things beautiful.

Galathan stomped along the well-worn path that led to the caverns separating Sanctus from the lands of Umbra. In spite of the spikes of pain in his face, Galathan had a grim satisfaction. He opened his fingers and peered at the locket in his palm. It was meaningful to the b*tch, he knew. It was coated with blood, making it slippery and hard to hold on to. The delicate gold chain was snapped in half, and inside the locket was a white powder. The sight was something that made Galathan grin in spite of his exposed nicked cheek bone screaming at him not to move his facial muscles.

Smiling, he closed the locket and stuffed it inside a belt pouch for safe keeping. He had another moment of grim satisfaction as he drew his skinning knife from its worn black leather sheath. A shred of torn skin dangled like a broken tree limb from one of the serrated edges. Blood streaked the entire length of the blade. He licked a small dollop of the thick crimson from the blade, tasting the fresh saltiness. The warmth of life coated his tongue and teeth. It tasted different than his own blood. That b*tch had it coming.



* * *



Daeynaries leaned against the wooden fence, speaking with some darkly-clothed man on a horse. The man’s drab wardrobe annoyed Galathan. It took a special person to pull off dark colors, and the man clearly was not all that special. Galathan looked the woman over appraisingly. He knew she saw him from the corner of her eye, so he leaned against the back wall of the Hostel casually, waiting for her to finish whatever business it was she was doing. He rubbed the side of his throbbing head. The pain annoyed him worse than the drab man on the horse. It was as if Tatiana Alexi was inside his skull smashing it with a blacksmith’s hammer.

The clanging clamor of combat emanated from inside of a fenced-off pen, only serving to agitate the headache. Two members of Sanctus clashed weapons and magic time and again, frantically trying to outmaneuver one another and score a winning blow. Galathan remembered such training from most of his life. He snorted his annoyance in their direction. He was not in the mood to watch amateurs flounder about, playing soldier.

“. . . if you’ll excuse me, I have some more business to attend to.” The last fragment of Daeynaries’ conversation drifted to Galathan’s ears and perked his attention. She looked over to him and in slow, long strides, brought herself by his side.

“So, you came for more?” She asked with a smile. The wind picked up slightly, the groaning of tree limbs temporarily drowning out the sounds of fighting.

Galathan peered around. Several on-lookers clothed in the colors of Sanctus turned their heads and glanced casually at the two before turning their attention back on the men fighting in the pen. Another man in a mask did not turn back towards the action, but instead watched the two carefully. That annoyed Galathan even more. The booming inside of his head felt like a keg of conflagration potions going off at the base of his brainstem. He hated people who didn’t mind their own business.

“Not here.” Galathan stated simply, if not curtly. Extra ears and eyes were never good for business, and the zealots of Sanctus seemed to arrest anybody for incredibly minor infractions. The last thing Galathan wanted was to spend another night in the Sanctus holding cells, especially with such a pain in his skull.

The two made their way around to the front of the Hostel. Nobody was around, as they were all out back watching the duels. The two stepped through the heavy oak door and into the fire-warmed main room. The crackling fireplace on the far side of the room danced like a silent ballet, causing the furniture in the room to grow incredibly animated shadows. Daeynaries lead the way to one of the few rooms of the Hostel. She led in such a way that she probably did business in that room regularly. For some reason, that too annoyed Galathan.

The door clunked shut behind the two. There were several beds in the rectangular room, all neatly made up. A small table sat against the wall, with chairs surrounding three of its sides. The room was not very big, so the chairs stuck out intrusively. Galathan smiled. Not many windows.

“I raised the price.” Daeynaries stated coolly. Her fingers played with the locket dangling between her breasts.

She unilaterally raised the price. That made his head hurt more. It felt as if Tai Kwan Leap gave him a boot to the head. Galathan scrunched his face in a displeased sort of way, several perfectly groomed hairs on his head falling out of place. “Raised the price? Why?”

Daeynaries smiled a sultry smile and twirled a curl of fiery red hair around her finger. “Because I can. You need it, so you will pay for it.”

Galathan’s blood came to a boil and he felt his face become red. A dull thudding resonated in his ears, sounding like the distant echo of his own heartbeat. She was coy and smiling, like a little girl getting exactly what she wanted. It was not fair.

Without conscious thought, he simply wanted to wipe that smile off of her face. Before he even could rationally put together his own actions, the backside of his gloved fist flew in a wide arc towards her face. Her head snapped to the side and a spray of crimson splashed from her lip onto one of the neatly made beds. The blood soaked into the sheet and formed large splotches.

Galathan grit his teeth, wanting to extract as much pleasure from her skin as he thought he was entitled to after such a treacherous thing. How dare she raise the price on the thing that he wanted most? Needed most?

A soft swish sound came from his belt as his knife slid smoothly from its sheathed home. However, in the blink of an eye, Daeynaries leapt over one of the haphazardly placed chairs and bolted for the door in one frantic move. Galathan reached out as fast as he could, but only managed to grip the end of her cloak before she managed to swing the door open frighteningly fast.

“HELP!” She yelled out into the main room. Galathan did not remember seeing anybody in the Hostel at all on the way in. However, a man in a mask stepped through the door and positioned himself between Galathan and Daeynaries. It was the man from the pen. He wore a primarily red tribal mask and mismatched commoner’s clothes. He held a black dagger in one hand in such a way that told Galathan that he was not, in fact, some ordinary commoner.

“He tried to take -it- from me!” Daeynaries exclaimed to the stranger in a tattletale manner. A trickle of blood flowed down her chin from her lip. Galathan had forgotten about the pounding inside of his head.

“Leave her alone.” The man commanded. His voice had a peculiar accent. Who was this man to tell Galathan what to do? It was never nice or proper to interfere in other people’s business. In fact, it was just plain rude. Galathan stepped towards the two of them and smiled.



* * *



The air in Umbra was as bitingly cold as ever. However, Galathan hardly felt it at all as he covered himself in a blanket of anger. Just who the hell did they think they were telling him that he couldn’t have what he wanted? Just what did they think they were doing, depriving of what he needed most? How dare anybody speak to him like they were in control of him! Galathan clenched his fists, the creasing leather being audible.

He had to bite his tongue earlier from saying or doing something that could have put himself at a disadvantage in a two-on-one position. Daeynaries did not seem like much of a fighter, but she could have proven to have been an annoyance in such close quarters if Galathan engaged the stranger in combat. No, no fighting in Sanctus. It was a terrible idea. Members of Sanctus were but a stone throw away and most likely would have heard the sounds of fighting and probably would have to arrest them all, and then how would he have his sweet, sweet justice? Justice is what it was all about. Sometimes it is better to have patience, Galathan knew. He bit his tongue and the two had walked out of the room in the Hostel, leaving Galathan to soak in the fact that they had what he needed and there was no changing that. They were a couple of scheming bags of ogre droppings.

Galathan made his way to Umbra simply because he knew that Daeynaries would be there. He knew because that is where she did business mostly. It was only a matter of waiting and having patience. He knew she would go there.

Galathan leaned heavily against one of the tiny guard posts near the main bridge to the wilted town. The dark grey sky loomed from horizon to horizon, covering everything beneath it in a foreboding shadow. From there, he had a clear view of the tavern where Daeynaries did business. From there, he saw Daeynaries walk casually into the large, dark tent as if there was nothing wrong in the whole wide world. How dare she raise the price on him.

Galathan peered around for the masked man, but saw that Daeynaries was alone. Nobody was with her. No stranger in an ugly mask, nobody. He would deal with that masked man at some other juncture in time, if the fancy struck him. After all, it was very rude to interfere in other people’s business. A dull ache resonated in the back of Galathan’s head, reminding him just what it was that he wanted. What he needed.

If Daeynaries was surprised at Galathan’s appearance in the tavern, she didn’t show it. Her eyes contained as much fire as ever. Fire that Galathan wanted to douse ever so much for the insolence earlier that night. Her fingers toyed with the locket hanging from her neck absently.

“Why did you hit me?” She asked in a curious tone. She did not sound upset by the fact that she was struck, or the fact that her lip had swollen. She was just curious.

“The same reason that you raised the price. Because I enjoyed it. Because I could. Because my daddy didn’t love me as a child. Pick one.” Galathan said snidely. His voice betrayed the anger that he would have preferred to keep under control.

“So you did it because you would enjoy it? You like hitting me?”

Galathan pondered for the briefest of moments. “If I thought for a second that you were actually a lady, I never would have done such a thing. But you’re not. In fact, I would very much enjoy skinning you alive.”

Daeynaries smiled and leaned back in her chair, putting one leg up on the table in front of her. Her skirt slid teasingly up her thigh, exposing the soft flesh. Her fingers traced the contours of her toned leg, outlining three rather large, scabbed gashes.

“You’re right.” She cooed. The big cuts on her legs were in a straight line. They were no accidents.

“You cut yourself?”

Daeynaries moved her gaze from her leg up to Galathan, holding him firmly with her eyes. He forgot, just for a small moment, exactly what he was mad about. “Yes. It stops the hallucinations.”

With her eyes appraising Galathan, she opened the locket close to her chest. She smiled a wide, knowing smile as the tip of her pinky dipped inside and came back out covered in white powder. “This is what you want, isn’t it? This is what you need.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her swollen lip.

“You want to feel again, don’t you? Feel the grass between your toes? Feel the soft skin of a woman?” She pushed her chest out slightly to accentuate her question.

Her covered pinky raised to her nose and she inhaled the white powder in one quick snort. She was right in that regard. He wanted it. He needed it. Patience. He needed just a little patience.

“I want a sample. If you are raising the price, I want to try it to make sure that you didn’t use flour or something.” Galathan watched Daeynaries’ smile disappear from her lips. Her brow furrowed.

“You don’t trust me?” She asked in a tone that seemed genuinely hurt. Galathan didn’t truly believe that she was, though.

“Surely just a tiny sample would cost you nothing, and it would only secure you the price that you are asking.” Galathan stated simply, showing no outside emotion to her wounded tone. Coldness was part of the game.

Daeynaries dipped a finger back into the locket and held her hand up towards Galathan. He looked from her finger to her face, judging her sincerity. In spite of the fact that she had claimed that he needed her more than she needed him, she was still willing to do business. In fact, Galathan wagered, she would do what it took to keep business going. That is what she did. Even though the euphoric white powder was addictive, she still needed to keep customers happy and coming back.

Galathan raised his gloved hand as if to stop her. “I believe you.” He walked towards her and dropped a leather bag of gold onto the table in front of her with a loud clink. He had prepared the bag of gold after her walk-out with the stranger. It was part of the game. Patience, just a little longer.

Daeynaries looked inside the bag briefly before tucking it away. It would seem that she trusted Galathan, too. She removed a small pouch from her belt and tossed it on the table. The pouch was small, and landed with a barely audible thud. Galathan picked it up and opened it, smiling as he saw what was inside. Just what he wanted. Just what he needed.

He dipped a finger into the pouch and removed it, covered in white. Daeynaries had the look of a little girl again as she looked up at Galathan expectantly. Her hands clasped together in front of her, her eyes as big as saucers. He brought his finger to his nose and inhaled deeply, the familiar rush of feeling and vibrancy coursing through him. The dark and bleak Umbran landscape lit up like a rainbow. Even the dark, swirling clouds in the black sky seemed more vibrant. The sensations of leather and cloth against his skin sent shivers down his spine. He could feel it all.

Daeynaries tipped her head back and started laughing a merry laugh. The kind of laugh that one does when so happy, they are euphoric. Anything and everything is worth laughing about.

Bubbles’ little green head poked out from his hiding place in Galathan’s cloak, and looked about. He snuggled against Galathan’s ear, the downy feathers brushing his sensitive skin. “Your patience shall now be rewarded. Now is the time that you have been waiting for.”

Galathan put his hand on Daeynaries shoulder, the tips of his fingers sliding beneath the neck of her shirt, touching her skin. It was warm and inviting. Her giggles made her chest heave and her eyes twinkled as if lit by a thousand candles. She was happy.

His hand moved to the back of her neck slowly, feeling every inch of skin, every hair, every nook and cranny on the way to its destination. Her lips were stretched wide with a grin as she looked up at Galathan. He could only smile back. She was right, he did miss the soft skin of a woman.

“You know, I really wasn’t going to skin you before.” He said lightly.

She beamed. “I know. We need each other, don’t you see?”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t the reason at all.”

“Oh?”

Before another word could be uttered, his fingers tightened like a vice on the back of her neck, and in less than a blink of an eye, his skinning knife was no longer in its sheath, but in his hand and pressed against her throat. Her giggling stopped.

A lightening quick look of confusion darted across her face until she realized just what happened. “No.” Galathan smiled down at her. “I didn’t do it because I would have much preferred to feel your skin as it peeled from your flesh.”

“You can’t kill me. I am the only one who can make the stuff.” She tried bargaining. Galathan did not care. He only smiled wider and ran the edge of the knife along her jugular, protruding from her neck.

“Oh, you can live without most of your skin, you know. It is not very pleasant, I know, but it is possible.” He watched her squirm uncomfortably in her chair. The look of inescapable anguish and fear made all the waiting worthwhile. This is what he wanted. This is what he needed.

Trickles of tears began to trail down her cheeks as she pleaded with her eyes. Her expressive eyes. The twinkling fire in her eyes had all but vanished, and was replaced with despair. Her coyness dried up, replaced by torturous sorrow. The once happy face now had the look of someone who realized that the end was coming far sooner than ever imagined.

Long, silent moments passed as the tip of the knife pressed into her neck lightly. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, wetting her brow. She stayed as still as possible, only her wide eyes glancing about, searching Galathan’s face as if trying to find a shred of probability that he would not go through with such an act. His face was, what most people would consider, a perfect poker face. Years of warfare saps the humanity from a person and they can afford to have such a face.

“Anything you would like to say before you no longer can use that pretty mouth of yours?” Galathan asked in a whisper, his lips brushing her ear. He pressed the blade of the skinning knife against her throat for emphasis.

Her lips quivered. Several tries yielded no results, as just silent air passed her lips. She swallowed dryly several times, mustering the strength to speak. “E-Emerald. Emerald, I love you . . .” She gasped, feeling the tip of the knife digging into the soft base of her throat, right above the collarbone. Emerald. Galathan pondered the name, thinking of the possible connections. Mother? Perhaps, but doubtful. A daughter who’s last dying breath was the utterance of her love for her mother never would have chosen such a delinquent life path. Sister? More likely than mother, but still doubtful. Daughter? That fit the best. The last regrets of a dying mother, not seeing her child. Galathan was convinced of her fear. Her anguish was palpable enough to him.

He grasped the hairs of the nape of her neck and pulled her head backwards hard and hissed sharply into her ear. “Remember this fear. Remember this pain. Remember everything because if you ever raise the price on me again, I will make you wish that you felt as comfortable as you do right now.” Galathan’s fingers released her.

Daeynaries took deep breathes, the panic in her eyes quickly disappearing, flooding with relief. Galathan took a step back, putting his knife back in its sheath. Bubbles nestled into the crook of Galathan’s neck, watching the woman, his feathers ruffled and standing high.

Her fear had disappeared, and was replaced with humiliated anger. Her face was red and she wielded daggers in her eyes. She had the look of someone who stared death in the face and wanted revenge.

“I pity you, you pitiful man!” She snarled. “You are nothing! I will make sure you never feel again! I will never give you any more of what you need!” Her snarls were replaced with fits of unnecessary laughter. Manic laughter. The kind of laughter that a person has when something cataclysmic happens, and yet they survive.

Galathan was in no mood to be berated any further that night. Just who did she think she was, talking to him like that after he had shown her the greatest mercy one living being could show another? She owed him her life. He granted her a second chance after she selfishly raised the price.

“Emerald, was it?” Galathan asked in a calm tone. The manic laughter stopped. There was a brief pause as tension filled the air tangibly.

“DON’T YOU EVER SPEAK THAT NAME YOU B*STARD!” Daeynaries screeched. Catching Galathan off guard, the incredibly red-faced furious woman rushed towards him, unveiling a hidden dagger, and slashed wildly towards his head.

The flash of cold metal through the air was all that he saw before a spray of crimson red arched through the air, spattering the tent flap. The dagger dug into his cheek and chiseled off a chunk of bone along with the flesh, which now found a new home in the dirt.

Instinct kicked in for Galathan, his training as a soldier being second nature, and the full weight of his retaliatory punch landed squarely on her swollen lip. The force of the punch sent her reeling backwards, off balance. He followed up with a swift kick to her stomach, doubling her over in coughing pain. She fell to her hands and knees on the ground, choking for breath. His foot stomped heavily on the hand that held the dagger, making an echoing crunch and forcing her to drop the blade on the ground.

Daeynaries curled up in withering pain. Galathan looked down on her, clutching his gashed cheek, blood flowing freely between his fingers. That b*tch cut his face. Nobody ruins Galathan’s perfect face. His eyes were filled with little more than hatred for the pitiful woman curled up at his feet. The b*tch.

He knelt heavily on her ribcage as he reached for his skinning knife. The sound of metal sliding against leather was therapeutic to his ears.

Daeynaries, in a mixture of trauma, pain, and lack of air due from the crushing weight on her ribs, passed out. Too bad, Galathan would have loved to finish getting his justice. The justice he deserved. The justice he needed. She tried to make him pay more, and then ruined his perfect face. What a b*tch.

With one quick and well-aimed carving swing of his knife, he left a large gash across her cheek and nose. Something to make it even. He gazed into her face, the lines of anguish and pain had disappeared when she lost consciousness. She looked like a bleeding angel. Red trails wound their way down the side of her face and pooled in the dirt on the ground. Specks and bits of dirt floated on the surface of the tiny lakes. He moved his face close to hers and ran his lips along her cheek softly and slowly. The taste of her skin lingered on his taste buds. Her blood coated his lips in a thin layer. He felt that she owed him more for all of the pain and suffering that she had put him through. He felt that justice was not yet served. Even letting her live, after all that she did, was still a great mercy.

His finger tips traced a trail down her neck and over her collarbone, soaking the feel of her skin and supple flesh. His fingers continued until they reached the top swells of her breasts, lingering there for a moment. His fingers enclosed around her locket and he pulled it forcibly from her neck. His blood-coated hand smeared the redness along the polished metal of the locket. He smiled. Now they were even.
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Galathan
"Survivor of Ormus"

[NOT Malorn]

---

Everyday was Halloween. Cold, yellow eyes met his gaze as he stared blankly into the vanity. It was always too much work to put his face on, though he did enjoy doing it so. The implications of shrouding his face with a face amused him to no extent. He smiled smugly as he looked over his fine craftsmanship, perfect as any other day. Everyone would believe he was the same, ordinary student of anthropology. His smile broke into a frown as he adorned his face with spectacles and he quickly cast them aside. He did not wish to be Jovrick Svynr today. He wished to be something more jovial, more… sinister. The grinning tribal mask on the table stared at him, with blank sockets, emotionless. His eye caught sight of it and he laughed gleefully as he strapped it on his face. Looking back into the mirror his teeth shown through the mouth opening. The enigma, born anew for yet another day.

---

Malorn walked casually through Umbra, leaning heavily on the staff he carried. The world melted and melded around him, into dancing colors, and dull, hollow sounds. A bird flew across his path, a dull streak of white. The smell of blood resonated in his nostrils and a smile crossed his lips. The taste of death infiltrated his mouth and the sounds of screams deafened his awareness. This was why he did not need -it-. Throughout the years he had crafted his own perfect happiness, his own drug, his own euphoria, and it lived where his victims did no longer. It was wonderful, the peace it brought him, the bliss.

He snapped to reality quickly as he neared the tavern, he knew Daeynaries would be there, especially after running from the Hostel, following their confrontation with the lunatic Galathan. Though the sight he encountered was not one he expected. She laid bleeding on the ground, unconscious, her chest rising and falling subtly. An intense rage filled him, and it took all he could muster not to finish her off himself. He awoke her and hefted her to her feet, shoving her into one of the chairs, before sitting across from her. Every muscle in his arm twitched to draw his dagger. He wished so desperately to add her to his past. The desire was intense, nearly uncontrollable.

But he needed her.

He needed her and he was loath to it. He despised dependency. Addressing her coldly, he asked of what occurred.

She took a moment to explain the situation and it became overly apparent to him once more. She needed to quit.

“I’m sorry Jovrick, I’m so sorry.” She mumbled begging for his forgiveness through her apology. He spoke cautiously, being sure not to upset her more, trying to soothe her worries and still battle his urge to eviscerate her.

“It was not your fault… I’m just glad you’re still with me.” He had to be cautious, and ready. He was treading on thin ice, and she would notice and incongruent response. Stick to character and yet portray fallacy of emotion. He was confident. This is exactly what she wanted.

“Daey,” his voice was nearly a whisper and full of desperation, devoid of triumph, rattled with uncertainty, “I need you.”

“I know, I know, you need me and I need you!” She sarcastically quoted a past conversation of theirs and with hurt and obstinacy in her voice retorted. “I’ll be more careful.”

He looked at her seriously, now certain he would accomplish his end. He said wide eyed, he did not mean that, and he professed love. Malorn almost even convinced himself he was serious. And he nearly felt badly about it…

She was convinced, and he was in. Everything would be much easier now. A wide toothy grin crossed his mouth, and he stared at her longingly. How easy it was, when you knew what they wanted.

[Daeynaries]

---

Daey laid on the dirt floor of the tavern inn , coughing up blood. Her eyes fixed on Jovrick and she gave him a relieved look. She was going to be alright, he was here with her. He helped her into the chair and she sat across from him looking ashamed. She had failed him by this happening to her. She was a failure. She sat muddling over what had occured in the past few hours, trying to remember. Jovrick gave her -the- look and asked her simply, "What happened to you?" She didn't respond for quite awhile but when she did, she blurted everything out. After hearing, he decided it was too dangerous for her to deal with Galathan anymore. He made Daey give him her word. She reluctantly did so.

They sat talking for awhile before Jovrick took her hand in his and professed his love for her. She was shocked and completely taken a-back by his words. Daey knew she felt something for him, but wasn't sure it was love. Regardless of what she felt, she would roll with it. Better off to have him love her then kill her for the special ingredient. She cared for him enough to fake it. She had faked enough in her time to actually play the part and play it well. Daeynaries gazed at him and professed her love as well.

Daey sat in the chair and her hand moved to her neck, her fingers searching for her locket, but found nothing. She wanted to cry, scream, kick something, but remained calm. Her beloved locket, was in that low-life's hands. Daey gave Jovrick a look of despair and whined softly to him. "I must have my locket back Jovrick. I know I have ten more just like it, but you gave me that one. I must have it back". He grinned at her, his soft eyes filled with hope. "I will get it back for you my dear, no worries. You will have your locket back soon enough." Daey smiled ever so sweetly at him and nodded gratefully. The locket meant nothing, but how far he would go meant everything.

Daeynaries pulled a silver locket from her pack and clasped it around her neck, filling it with her heaven. It would have to do for now..
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Deadly Vixen
Dark Knights of Chaos, (DKC)

[Daeynaries]

---

Daey woke up, refreshed and stretched her arms, yawning. Despite the loss of her locket, her bruises and cuts, it felt like a great day. She did her normal morning duties and had her morning snort. As she gathered her things in the inn, she wondered how to deal with her injuries. She couldn't do her dealings looking like this. It was apparent she had to see a healer.

Daey looked far and wide for the most powerful healer and was given the name of a woman living in Skara Brae. Daey went to see her with five thousand gold in a sac. As Daey entered her homely tent outside of the city, she noticed vials, bubblers, and flasks, all set neatly on stone tables. It almost looked like a alchemist lived here. No matter, Daey thought to herself, she was said to be the best. They conversed for awhile before the healer finally began her work on Daeynaries. The busted lip was tended to, her cheek was almost beyond repair. The healer took a healing salve and packed it against Daey's cheek. She then took needle and thread to Daey's open cheek wound and sewed it together tightly. It was horribly painful but such was the price of beauty. The healer was even able to help with Daey's own self-inflicted thigh wounds. It was turning out to be a grand day indeed. She was given a potion and told to lay for several hours. When her head hit the pillow made of clothe and hay, she fell instantly into a dream.

Dark images clouded her dream. Monsters of epic proportion all danced around her, baring their large ugly fangs at her. She looked up as a winged dragon hovered over-head. Just before it swooped in to grab her, Jovrick appeared, sword in hand. The other beasts faded and it was just them, Jovrick and the dragon battling, fire and sword blazing. Jovrick twisted and turned, evading the dragons breath with agile ease. Daey watched on with wide-eyes. She could not take her eyes off him. Every fluid motion of his metal, melted a bit more of her icey heart. Jovrick made the final blow, driving his sword through the dragon's neck. He stood next to the fallen foe, his chest heaving, staring at Daey. His lips mouthed those three frightening words. "I love you." Tears streamed down her face as she whispered it in return.

Daeynaries sat up on the healers cot, dripping in sweat. No.... she thought to herself, no it can't be! She -did- love him. She wanted to cry forever and drown in those tears untill her breath escaped her forever. All the acting she had done, all her pretending to care, had come to pass. She was in love with a murdering, lying charlaton. Her mother would be so proud, she thought to herself, falling back on the pillow wanting to smother herself with it. And it was supposed to be a -good- day...
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Deadly Vixen
Dark Knights of Chaos, (DKC)