"Don't look back."

The voice still retained its iron and its coldness, regardless of the years through which it traveled. She'd been a girl, then -- human, fragile, and too full of emotion to manage logic. When her father finally pushed her away from her mum's skirts, when her great warrior of a father thrust her toward what seemed to be a yawning maw of stone - the entrance to what would become her home for the next two hundred years - there was only one thing he said to her. Not 'Goodbye.' Not 'I'll see you soon.' Not the three words expressing the sentiment that every child should know and also crave. None of that. Simply, 'Don't look back.'

( And she obeyed. )

If there was anything that kept Loria from worrying about whether supplies would run out it was actually keeping a running tab on what they had, what they were using, and what they would need in the coming week from their supplies. It was an easy and accurate way of keeping track of things. She was the only person who did it, although she sometimes asked for a few men to help her with heavier things that she couldn't count alone, or things on high shelves. Sometimes she had maids count things, twice, and recorded them after the second count.

( There was one thing she dreaded counting. )

There were no pews in the temple. They were seats of subservience, meant to make a man feel less than he was, and in the presence of the gods one should never feel thus. You could not forget their power to create or destroy. Yet you also could not forget that they would not have anyone to worship them if mankind were gone. A symbiotic relationship, one might say. One. He would never address such thoughts to the worshipful masses but they were in his mind at all times. The pews were gone. Instead hanging lamps that seemed connected to nothing designated the place where a man should arrange himself. Or a woman. That amendment to his thoughts was late but important given the fact that he was in the employ of not one but two females. They were iron, black as night, untouched by chain or cable, suspended. Arranged in perfect rows as pews once had been. Upon each iron lamp there were six candles, and each candle burned brightly tonight. No other light in the temple save the stained glass. In the sloping cathedral roof stained glass formed the ceiling, so far as the eye could tell, and above that stone and shingle. There were two towers and a long administrative wing attached to the temple but here - here was the work of art. Behind each pain of stained glass there were torches, hanging there as well, suspended.

( They made the stained glass glow. )

Although the torches burned against the wall - throwing off their odd green-tinged light - the high council room was cold. Even colder were its occupants. There were no smiles to be shared or jokes to pass between them; only a collective silence greeted her when Loria finally made it to the room. Loria was glad for that. She'd been summoned from her chamber minutes before entering the room. Dealing with merchants, wives of contingent members, and numbers that could drive a normal man insane was something Loria normally found thrill in. Today she did not. Shade was resting now. That was the only good that any of them would likely see today. He was alive, and he was resting. Loria wanted to speak with Rayne in private because of it, but instead she was here.

In the past weeks, she'd had too much to deal with to see her friend. There were merchants who wanted to argue about the price of spices and their goods. Loria did her best not to lose her temper around them, but with what felt like war brimming over the horizon, how could she focus on such a meager debate? When war came, if it did, there was too much to think about. The supplies an entire country needed that they could be denied once war was set on their borders… They already had thieves to deal with, let alone convoys of men who sought to suffocate the very people who lived and breathed in a country. It was a lot to think about, and squabbling over coins was not something Loria had the patience for these days. She knew too much. She knew how many lives were lost - twenty and counting, fifteen wounded, and some missing entirely. The price of pepper and salt would stay as it had no matter how much the merchants argued over it. Loria's prices were set in stone. If they wanted the goods - and the ability to sell them to those poor wives who could lose the men who made them their money - then they'd have to stop arguing with her.

( Now their eyes were on her. )

It was there. A dull, thrumming bass sort of sound that to human ears sounded the call of madness. Saedus sat against the wall with his feet flat, knees raised in front of his face. Knowing what was possible and impossible in this place gave him an edge of many sorts. A mental edge. A physical edge. And most importantly, a spiritual edge. Here was a place of apparent godlessness. His captive had the thought by now, even if he could not or would not express it in those terms. True believers were the hardest to break. Eventually, they would wear down, and the end was near for Kaelyx. Nearer now than the end for anyone else. Saedus might have laughed at how easy it was to break a man. Might have laughed at how weak the human soul was, even those who were dedicated to a cause. It only took a question that the mind could not answer to its own satisfaction to cause the first crack. From there time would do the rest. He had already posed the question. Now they were waiting for the inevitable conclusion, the lack of an answer, and from there the floodgates would open. It was just a matter of that time, and patience. Saedus had both, in whatever supply he desired. From that bass rumbling echo the floor trembled.

( Saedus smiled as Kaelyx opened his eyes. )

The news had come in the form of one of the only Knights of the Contingent - a vampire so ancient and, until Kenyon, so very wild that he himself had forgotten his old name. Here, he went by the somewhat over-dramatic moniker of Lord Apocalyptic -- or, at least, it seemed over-dramatic until one was face to face with him. The creature - for it was difficult to call him 'man' - approached seven feet, was possessed of violently tempestuous green eyes, and had a mane of golden hair that ran in wild waves down to the center of his back. More often than not, pieces of un-worked leather tied the mane back against the nape of his neck, but tonight it was down, untamed. Soot or ash covered the black uniform he wore, which was unusual. Despite his barbaric appearance, Apocalyptic typically showed a great respect for the uniform of the military that had once saved his life. Together, now, and with speed that no human could have followed with their eyes, he and the Chatelaine navigated the latticework of tunnels deep under the temple.

Best that Lord Apocalyptic had come alone; they'd argued, and passionately, about her leaving the safety of the chambers where she had been waiting. In the end, they'd had to bend to each other in stalemate; as Chatelaine, she had no power over a Knight. As a Knight, he had no power to order the Chatelaine. The checks and balances of the military and ruling forces that her mother and father set in place were well and truly stable; but that did not mitigate the frustration both vampires felt - and showed - each other. Both felt their place was at the Commander's side, however, and that is where they went. Later, Rayne would regret the harsh words she'd given her Knight; for now, her mind had focused on her brother, ( and her brother alone. )

OOC Note: This is a group thread, which means that if you cannot reply in a day or so, the next person in line should reply... and so on, and so forth...

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The sound of muted chatter drifted from the Great Hall and into the corridor where Salassa ol Ralac waited ... drifted, paused, and died. Shortly after, a feminine voice filled with gravitas and mesmerizing beauty spilled gracefully onward, introducing the celebration to which she and her party had been invited. The page who had debriefed them on the particulars of this gala had informed them that the woman speaking was the most senior priestess of the temple of Amasa at Kenyon - and that she was introducing the newly-appointed High Priest of Kenyon, the magician whose name was Saedus. That one gave her pause; every creature with a hidden talent did. But in a few hours, it would matter very little to the people of Kenyon just what talents High Priest Saedus possessed - and it would matter even less to her. Beads of moisture collected in the center of her back under her garments, pooled, then trickled slowly downward. Still she waited, poised in silk and gold on the arm of her kingdom's Grand Chancellor. Behind her, their warrior stood as well, although he lacked Kaelyx' cool and patient stillness. It would be tonight. Her skin was hot, her throat was dry. It would be tonight. A part of her was frightened - they said that it would only be natural - but the rest of her heart was ready. ( Tonight, tonight, the deaths of their ancestors would be redeemed. )

Waiting was not one of the skills in Dak il Rhonn's admittedly shallow repertoire. It made the warrior edgy, made him feel wasted, useless, and on guard against any shadow that moved. Ironically, he should have been on guard for that very thing at every point of his waking hours. He was not so stupid, that warrior, to miss the ridiculousness of the thought.

Across the table, Salassa raised one expressive eyebrow at the nasal exhalation that Dak didn't quite manage to stifle. She was a pretty thing, Salassa ol Ralac, but far too treacherous a creature for one of his status. The ruling class of Ahlyss never wore their power for everyone to see, and although Salassa was one of the youngest of House Ralac, a Ralac she remained. Their strength, their power was a secretive thing and not often displayed, but no one of Ahlyss lived to underestimate the House of Ralac. For all her hidden power, however, it wasn't that which kept Dak from following his more base instincts with her. She was a crafty one, Salassa, and even if he thought his strength of arms would overcome her, and even if he thought he could somehow intimidate her into silence, there was a toll for sullying the blood of her house.

Hell, it was the reason, the very root of why they were here now, in this strangely crafted hall and in this midnight land.

To her aristocratic eyebrow-raising, Dak shrugged and cracked his knuckles. Beside him, Xhal was giving him the icy glare of an old man's disdain. Snorting in the presence of a lady was not a high enough offense to warrant punishment, but the two seemed offended enough to glare at him. There wasn't much he could do about that except shut the hell up and be patient. Patience. Already, the urge to drum his fingers was gnawing at him. He crossed his arms over his chest to keep his hands still and leaned back in his chair instead. They'd been waiting for nearly ten minutes now. Whoever these Kenyonites who came to meet them happened to be, they were late in this warrior's estimation. A doleful glance at the chancellor beside him and the hoity-toity half-princess across the table revealed that they seemed wholly unconcerned.

A warrior's solution for the entire Kenyon issue was still the most simple solution in Dak's mind, but he'd heard too many times the reasons why they would not follow the easy route... this time. It was still frustrating. Gritting his teeth, he continued to wait.

But in the next moment, the wait was over. At the sound of the door opening on its hinges, Salassa was up on her feet. Xhal followed, and with annoyance Dak did admirably well at hiding, he stood as well. Warriors were not meant for the delicacy of diplomacy. He didn't know how Xhal had made the transition from warrior to chancellor without losing his sanity.

As their Emerald Shield hosts announced the arrival of the emissaries, Dak folded his hands behind his back and stood just behind Salassa and to the left of Xhal. Salassa would do all the talking, once the emissaries introduced themselves. From this moment out, however, he knew his role. Stoic, emotionless muscle. This, he could do very well.

Once Shade passed through the door of her antechamber, Rayne closed the door gently. Her fingers sketched a familiar path against the wood of that door, then circled the shape with delicate, precise movements. Though her body shielded the workings of that rune-encrusted glyph from the visitor behind her, there was a high-pitched hum that she didn't bother to mask. Let him ask if he wished it. But in this moment, as the glyph drew its power from the ambient life within the castle, her concern was for privacy and not for reassuring explanation. The silencing ward up, she turned around and leveled her eyes at Saedus.

It was difficult to read his face. Now he wore a smile, and if she had not seen him murder and if she had not seen him break the laws of time, she would have called it an innocent thing. Very little struck Rayne as innocent about Saedus, which was the exact reason why she didn't trust that smile on his face. Her lips thinned briefly before she crossed to the desk at the far side of the room. Seating herself there, she drew out a parchment sheet and an inkwell. A quick inspection of the closest quill showed it was sharpened well enough for the type of writing she set herself on doing. Her hand went down on the paper, scratching long and gentle lines in dignified brown script.

"What," she said as she wrote, "Am I to think of you, Saedus Allasan?" Now in the privacy of her own rooms, she could be frank with him. Now, without her dear friend and honorable Knight beside her, she could say what was truly on her mind. And knowing what she knew of Saedus, she doubted that the full expression of her concern would come as any surprise to him. Knowing what she knew of him, she doubted the full expression of her thoughts would change anything in his mind.

"You have been gone for 16 years. You left the kingdom you vowed you wished to see raised up again, left before we'd found this land, and stayed silent long after The Breaking." The words were accusatory, even if there was nothing in her voice but fact. The quill paused, lifted, dipped, and continued on the parchment. "And now you return to strike down a murderer with intent against me, but you have not yet explained why he was looking for my death or why you now wish to travel with Shade to meet this unknown envoy."

Gently pushing aside her missive to that very envoy, she turned in her chair and looked at him. There was nothing in her face, but her heart was filled with conflict. She trusted this man, once upon a time. Although she'd never discussed it, she feared he'd perished with half the world during The Breaking. Although she'd never shown it, she'd mourned for him. Seeing him in that chair across the room was both relieving and unnerving - a ghost, risen from the dead.

"You were being kind when you asked permission to go with Shade. You and I both know you can go wherever you choose. You and I both know that you would only be under Shade's supervision if you wished it. And you and I both know that there are few powers in this world that could stop you, were your intentions to turn against the wellfare of Kenyon. You've never been my subject, and I've no right to order you. I have no power to stop you, either. What, Saedus Allasan, am I to think of you?"

Strictly speaking, she could conjure up any number of spells to bind him in place, to hold him steady, to freeze his blood... But she didn't wish to slay Saedus, and even if she did, she didn't trust that he wouldn't have already predicted that desire, that he wouldn't already have taken steps to protect himself. It was a curious and unsettling thing, to feel as if you were staring at Fate itself.

If it surprised her servants that she'd directed them to place Saedus in the set of rooms neighboring her own, they had done well not to show it. Those rooms had been empty since the building of the castle, and although no one - save the Chatelaine - knew what purpose they wound serve, there were many rumors. Some said that they belonged to the original Lord and Lady - Methos and Sirenna Kenyon. Some said they were reserved for the future Lord of Kenyon. Some said they were for human children who may one day grow up to be embraced and called the heirs of Kenyon itself. Some said those rooms were meant for the great protector of Kenyon, as Methos had first been. But Kenyon's Chatelaine had given no hint until tonight as to why she had them set aside. Even now, with that terrifyingly-cloaked stranger assigned to them, there was no certainty.

Not even for Rayne herself.

Having returned from the temple well-fed and much improved from the hour earlier, she waited at the bottom of the winding staircase. One hand rested on the balustrade beside her; the other stayed in an elegant line at her side. She had sent the summons from the temple, both to give herself and them the time to answer it. Time. The thought made her smile, if only faintly. What sort of creature could give that one time? It seemed to Rayne that he took whatever time he wanted, and the rest moved in accordance with Amasa's wishes. She was sure the thought was sacrilegious in some way. She didn't bother thinking about the how of the slight.

When the doors to the castle opened from the outside, she turned her attention toward it. The night air was warm and slightly humid when it hit her, but she yet remained motionless until, from that darkness past the reinforced wood planks, came the distinct blue light she had been expecting. There was the one, then. But the other? She resisted a speculative look over her shoudler to the corridor upstairs. She had left the door open, though a guard was posted with instructions... She wanted to believe that Saedus Allasan was still an ally to Kenyon. And it seemed to her that if he waited for them now, it was more likely that he was still loyal to the word he once gave her.

But if he made her wait past the appointed time - which was now - then that said something, too. She had been negotiating for far too long to miss the subtleties of action - or inaction - and the games of superiority. Saedus could play them, those games, for the power she'd seen him display made him superior to more than his fair share. But would he play them with her?

Time would tell. Time, always time. The swirl of air from the castle door closing caught the hem of her green silk and sent it ghosting around her ankles. Shade's boots sounded clean and uncompromising on the stone floor spanning between them. But she met him before he could bow and set her hand on his arm instead. They had been through too much together for her to bear him humbling himself before her.

And that was why she had sent for him. Of all the Contingent - only her brother, the Commander, excluded - Shade Everdark, Knight of the Eclipse Guard, was the one she most trusted. And she wanted him with her when she finally did sit down to speak with Saedus. It helped that Saedus already knew Shade as well. Helped.... But she was certain Saedus would still understand the reason for Shade's presence with them.

"Shall we go up?" she asked him quietly. And this time, she did look up those stairs to the corridor that led to her antechamber.

When knives would not do it, the lash again. This one was different from before. There was a sharp heaviness to the blows - a smooth dragging - and heated fire trailed in its wake. Shards of metal, perhaps, or glass -- both were sufficiently sharp enough to slice as cleanly as she felt them. Rather than focus on the gravely voice demanding through the snapping of the whip behind her, she pushed her mind into focusing on the exact timing of the blows. She could almost see the long stretch of the one behind her as he pulled his arm back. There was the faint creaking of leather, the rustling of coarse fabric, and then fire again, and no breathing through that for fear of an unguarded scream.

Hands bound with powerful magic in front of her, high over her head, Rayne turned her face slightly from the rough wooden post when the force of the lash pushed her forward. It was the third night of this, and the voice behind her was the same as before. Sometimes demanding, sometimes cajoling, sometimes flat and monotone, but always with the same promises: You can end this. Just tell us what we need to hear. She almost had the exact shape and size of the man behind the lash. When she did...

She knew they were being careful, knew that a minimum amount of her blood had been spilled in this dank stone vault, but as careful as they may have been Rayne still felt the collapsing of her veins, the tooth-filled sharpness running through her. Hunger was competing with the lash for dominance over her senses. Desperation tasted ashy in the back of her throat. She estimated the angle at which she would need to kick backward, she estimated the amount of strength she'd need to use to pull herself up, she estimated just how far away the second man - the gravely voice - was, and when the next lash came, she marked the time, readied herself.

( The next strike never came. )