Welcome to Gaia! ::

The flash diminished and the green haze dissolved, leaving Chaldrion and Kur'grohm in a wide hall, staircases on either side twisted upwards to a great balcony, from which more spiral stairs protruded. Doorways and halls littered the chamber, and figures wandered about, some robed, others clad in twisted armor. The overwhelming vastness of the hall made Chaldrion ever the more excitied, and he let a grin form on his hidden face. Holding onto Kur'grohm's reins, he slowly stepped deeper into the great hall. It seemed like one could easily become lost in such a maze of stairways and rooms.

Chaldrion turned in time to see the girl from before appear, standing close behind him. He shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously, but sighed a deep breath and stood calm. He accepted she was no immediate threat to him and let his uneasiness dissolve from his mind.

Turning halfway to better observe her, Chaldrion nodded is head to her in a polite welcome. "I believe we have not been formally introduced," he spoke, his voice resounding through the wide depths of the hall. "I am Chaldrion Kahlesh, Chosen of Nurgle." He did not expect the girl to know of his god's name, but he spoke it anyway, prideful of his title. "Who might you be?"

The elf emerged from the portal behind the others. He arrived nonchalantly, for he had been transported before. He was not startled by the journey as he had been previously. Instead, he arrived, while at the same time inspecting the bleeding gash on his hand, and slipping his dark glove back over his fingers. “I suppose it is better than walking.” He said light-heartedly as he approached his fellow recruits. Their leader had not yet arrived, so, as awkward as it looked, they trio (and horse) were forced to stand in their places waiting for him. “Er, hello.” He hesitated, upon seeing the river of hair that fell from the woman’s once covered head. It was impractical, he thought. Beautiful, but completely impractical.

As the others had experienced before him, Djelani was entranced by the appearance of the Citadel. It almost didn’t occur to him that he was standing in the very place that had overlooked the wasteland that his first trial had been conducted in. Other Knights were busy living their own lives there, but no matter how foreign his surroundings were at the Dread Dialect, Djelani felt that it was the place which he would call home from then on. It was inviting to him.

The burn on her back only grew stronger as her seal began to visibly glow. The faint red impression of the chain and keyhole insignia lit through her hair, implying that her hair was not actually gray or silver or white, but hollow and transparent tubes. It lit the way for whoever was behind her and warned him to not get too close. It would not do for anyone to step on the long train of her skirt.

She didn't look like a knight at all, not with her attire. Rather, she seemed a daughter of a most affluent household -- a candidate for consort. A suitress. Her arms did not appear muscular in the least. Her waist was too slender for her to be strong. Her eyes were cast low and timid though her body filled with an almost imperial pride in its straight-backed, perfect-lady stature. That was not how a Knight usually acted or looked. How DID she fight with such cumbersome things? Well... that would be her secret, wouldn't it?

The closer they advanced, the brighter her back glowed. Her insignia was a magical signature denoting her position that can only be removed by the Dollmaker. However, that wasn't all it did. The insignia was her leash for when she went berserk and it displeased her Master, something only Exquisite Class wraiths possessed. He who holds her Command Key does not always control her free will... and for her to continue being Exquisite Class, her free will has to be maintained. For that reason, he who holds her Command key can cause pain and suffering upon her in any way, shape, or form that does not end her life, simply by touching the key and willing her to suffer. Be it mental or be it physical, she could be tormented and sedated through the mark of her enslavement. The thought made her grimace a little. Her former master only had to subjugate her once, and only to paralyze her with inexplicable fear. The effect may end when he wills her release but the memory remained and haunted her for days.

The other function of the keyhole was to reset her psychological alliance. As the command key transfers hands, she may be bound to the torture of the new keyholder, but she herself may wish to remain with a former master. By inserting the key into the keyhole seal on her back and winding her up, her memories of anyone who's ever touched the key, excluding the Dollmaker, would vanish. She would start on a new slate and show no resistance.

In a way, she was still a flawed product. Her protocols followed all the rules and limits they could without seeming to. Her design had yet to exceed imagination, or even reach it, in some aspects. She was far from perfection.

... but perfection was what the Dollmaker sought. It was for that reason that she listened to the Captain with fervent attention. She was a fast learner -- that was to be expected of an Exquisite Class wraith, after all -- and if learning would serve her Master better, then it was her pride to study.

She dropped her bow again, keeping it a slight bit longer to accomodate the presence of two people. The edge of her headscarf fluttered in a slight breeze that didn't seem to affect everyone else. The helmet in the crook of her left elbow prevented her from bowing properly but she managed still. The Servant of Lust's bow was trademark. It was almost ironic that she displayed such a courtesy after talk of Virgin Blood wine. It did seem that the Captain's taste did lie with classics. She, who had been a 'whore' as they call it by existence alone, created for the purpose, had only been treated well out of necessity. It was a fittingly symbolic incident. There was no 'love' in her. Only lust. What was love but a long, long forgotten human emotion that she had discarded for the sake of blind servitude? Love was a song she forgot how to sing and had no desire to relearn despite she could very well sing it in a pretty voice.

"Gynefieve, Hades' Butterfly..." Her soft voice was barely above a whisper but so well enunciated that every syllable was clear-cut. Listening to her speak was like admiring a crystal. That, too, was a quality for a Servant of Lust... and something the Dollmaker strove -- to equate her to 'geisha'. To make her into a living piece of art. To make everything she did or said beautiful but keep her chained down and submissive enough that no one can envy her, only admire her. No one envies a slave. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss, Sir."

She regarded Claire especially. It was nice to see other females here. Being alone was a lonesome prospect... she did love listening to girl talks and discussions over accessories, fashion, and boys. Call it her guilty pleasure... something that proved the existence of her free will. The woman's free use of her skill was what intrigued her the most. To materialize and dematerialize into shadow was something grand for her. The fact that people can control the concept so easily was intimidating and impressive. Almost in flattery, she allowed a slight widening of her eyes to show out of her normally emotionless reaction... a compliment to the lady that she had phased a Wraith.

The seal on her back felt like a brand from a few inches away now. This woman was close to he who held her Command Key. Did her new Master prefer cheerful women like her as well? Did he prefer women with as much free will as possible? Did he buy her key, thinking that she was nothing more than a grotesque monster to be hauled in via crate and wagon? Knowing the Dollmaker, he probably only mentioned 'An Exquisite-Class Servant of Wrath unlike any other' and nothing about her shape or form. Would he simply discard her or send her to a far border patrol? She preferred the company of a Master. She craved it, as her instinct dictated as a Servant. It would be unbearable for her to be separated for long periods of time from her Key. Looking at this pretty female knight before her, she felt inadequate.

Claire giggled lightly. "His nickname was an accident at first... When I first met him in Sleepyknell I was trying to ask a question and I forgot to say the other half of his name.' Her bright smile turned into a more sheepish grin. However, she bit her lip to keep from giggling further as Kraid's arm popped off. She wondered though, could Cornelius fall apart and reattach himself, too? Or was that just an ability left to his brother?

She turned the flower this way and that, looking at it from all angles. Despite that it had wilted, it was still beautiful in an odd way. "Thank you," her reply was full of pride for her accomplishment. "There were a bunch of living skeletons down there, too. One of them gave me a pair of purple ear plugs..." She trailed off slightly. She still had them in her pocket. "Oh but I totally sneak attacked the guy, Marduke. Kraid distracted him for me and I got to pop out of one of his vines' shadows and stab him right in the heart. It was cool!" She was almost bouncing on her seat on his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, we're heading that way. Gotta let Sire know that the mission was successful, though doesn't he already know everything that happens anyway?" Lord Fleur seemed like the type of person who would be all knowing when it came to his own kingdom. "But yeah, let's go!" She raised her left arm in the air as she cheerfully chirped, but as she passed Kraid on the way, she bent down, using her tail to curl further around Captain Ataire's waist for balance, and picked up his right hand in her left and held it as they walked along.

Turning her head over her shoulder she lifted her right hand from the Captain's shoulder and motioned for the three newbies to follow. "C'mon, time to see Sire!" She was obviously excited, but to bring up light conversation between the brothers, she turned to Kraid and inquired. "Seeing as Cornelius, here, is a fan of wine, would that mean that you favor whiskey or brandy then? And I can see you preferring the crimson of a brothel maiden over the the virgin damsel, right?" Just some guess work, as they seemed to be very different, though twins.

And they would continue down the halls until they had arrived at the doors to Lord Fleur's Throne room. Sucking in all of her childish notion, Claire slipped off of Captain Ataire's shoulder and let go of Kraid's hand. A more serious expression crossed her face now as she turned to the three fledglings. "Good luck to you three... you'll need it." She hoped they had a great pain tolerance. She didn't when she first arrived. Giving them a final nod, she turned and took the lead, pushing open the doors and entering the artistic domain of her Sire.

(exit to throne room)