(LOG) Synaria's Kidnapping

[i](Just so everyone is aware, this is not recent, it happened in October. I had to edit the log, realizing there was a huge chunk missing.. so now it looks like it's a new thang. >.<) [/i]



Nefertise strode along, arm wrapped around the princesses arm as they headed towards their usual joint; the tavern. A soft giggle escaped her as she practically skipped along, dragging the poor princess behind her in what would have looked like a hurried pace. Thick hooded-cloak was draped over her form, fastened just below the chin and left to hang open any further down. Fortunately, the duo had agreed that some time at the tavern was exactly what they needed to set their minds at ease and this seemed a tradition with the princesses now. Random mumblings to Synaria could have been heard escaping the girl, soft steps along the cobblestone would give way to their whereabouts in a heartbeat, even if they were trying their best to hide from the townspeople. Onward they went, giggling all the while.

Synaria giggled as she was dragged down the road. "Slow down! My shoe keeps slipping off!" She finally released Nefe's arm to pull her sandals off quickly, no matter how cold the stone was on her feet. She held the shoes tightly in one hand as she raced to catch up with Nefe, laughing loudly. "We've got all night sister!" She called out. On her short sprint to catch up, the hood of her deep black cloak started to slip and she used her free hand to tug it and hold it in it's proper position. When she reached the younger princess' side her arm rehooked in her's. "What shall we drink tonight?" She asked cheerily, feeling so much better that she was away from the castle. But the closer they came to town, the more Endy's words weighed on her. She had to be more careful than usual, had to watch, had to listen. Syn grew quiet then, only offering a hushed giggle here and there to Nefertise's chatter.

Torquemada, High Inquisitor peeked his head out of an alleyway. Two cloaked figures laughing and giggling in feminine voices, heading straight for the tavern? Yes, that was exactly what his intelligence had told him they would go as. It was surprising that they hadn't been caught yet, with as obvous as it was to anyone who paid attention. Torque motioned for his acolytes to move forward. "Take the heathen. I will handle our princess as gently as I can. Show no mercy. The heathen is to be disabled, but not killed. Take her into the forge when ready, and hold her there for me." His voice came out a whispering growl. Torquemada raised his hammer up, and crept after the two of them. As soon as he got close enough, the inquisitor would gently rap Nefertise on the head to knock her out without breaking her skull open. That was the plan, anyways.

The Acolytes spread at their leader's command, two waiting beyond the spot where the girls were now and another two slinking up from the side. The last pair crept up from the back, all black robed figures, though the pair at the front were unhooded. The two men, faces disfigured by flame and forge, laid eyes on their quarry .. the young one ignored for the High Inquisitor to take. No, it was the dark one that their hungry gaze burned into, staring as they approached, bold and unafraid. Closer the surrounding ones crept, closing in on their quarry so that should she turn, Synaria would find no where to run. Hands grabbed for the heathen woman, a flurry of them, one trying to slip a full hood over her head, others shooting for her hands to attempt to bind them, another grabbing for her throat.

Nefertise was laughing one minute and the next she was laying on the ground with a close-up on the floor. Her vision blurred considerably and a wave of unconsciousness washed over her the second she made a move to roll over. She didn't even get the chance to scream. There she lay, unable to help as her sister was completely surrounded. She'd have no idea what even hit her when she woke up, or what had happened. (Yep, short. Peace. <3)

Synaria came to a halt as she caught the sight of the men in front of her. The dim glow of the moon twisting their faces ever worse than their disfigurement. Panicked she looked to Nefe, mouth opened to tell her to run, but she found the woman on the ground. "Nefertise!" She screamed and lowered to a crouch to clutch at her sister, only to hear the encroaching steps. Endy's words raced through her mind 'The men want to strip you down and rape you...'. Her anger boiled over in an instant. Fingers threw back her cloak and she reached for the darts the jester had given her, tucked in the waist of her dress. She cursed herself for not having coated them in poison yet. Gaze narrowed in on the eye of one of the men in front of her, and just as the hands came from behind and to the side, she released the dart, praying it would blind him if anything else. Fingers tried to reach for another but their hands were on her. She couldn't move, but her body thrashed, struggling against their grip as >
Synaria> they slid the hood over her head. "Nefertise!" She screamed "Nefertise wake up!"

Torquemada, High Inquisitor: Silence the heathen!" Torquemada boomed, ironically ignoring his own loud voice. He caught Nefertise's falling form in his arms. "Apologies, princess. Didn't want you to be caught up in this....But it's your own fault for associating with such filth." Torquemada summoned an acolyte over to help him with the fallen princess. He gave her to the acolyte. "Take her to the tavern. Leave THIS note on her. Eventually, someone will take notice. Not, I wager, for an hour or more. Enough time." The inquisitor reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll that he handed to the acolyte. He turned his attention to the heretic they were about to purify, and watched as she threw a dart right into one of the faithful. "Treacherous viper!" He hissed. "Take her to the forge, now!" He walked his way into the building so kindly given to them for their day's work.

The Acolytes failed to notice the dull thud and howl of pain from their comrade as the dart hit home, blood gushing from his eye to coat his face. Knees thudded on the ground as he collapsed, writhing, but the fever was upon the others. With the wench hooded, hands closed about her throat, half dragging her as rough rope bite into her arms, securing her wrists behind her back. One of them, the largest, snatched her up as though she weighed nothing, others quick to bind her ankles before she could get in more than a kick or two. Only then did they pay mind to their fallen one, dragging him off with them to the forge as the other brought the note and the princess into the bar. >>
The Acolytes bore the heretic into the forge, a roar of triumph slipping from lips as the door slammed shut behind them. Heat shimmered in the air, rancid sweat breaking out beneath the woolen robes. With one purpose, they worked, dragging her to the hooks set in floor and ceiling for their purpose. Her arms were unbound only to be tied singly and stretched out spread over head, while her legs met the same treatment, the rough rope wrapped tightly over her limbs. There was no slack to the bindings, ropes for her arms pulled so taut that she'd likely be dragged up onto her toes, muscles forced to contort slightly. With her bound securely, they snatched up their knives, slicing away her immodest clothing to reveal her heathen form until the woman was displayed naked before them .. a few nicks on her skin where the knives had slipped too deep.

Synaria did not get to see the dart make it's mark, but heard the howling, and the remark from the one who had bashed Nefe. A smirk then, before she was pulled off her feet. She thrashed, body twisting as she tried to kick the ones at her legs, but there was too many of them. Once bound she wiggled her body harder, trying to get the fool carrying her to drop her, but she didn't have the strength. She was carried easily into the forge as she screamed curses beneath the hood, words too muffled to be understood. She saw nothing then, only shadows behind the thick fabric. "You can't DO this to me!" She screamed "Don't you know who I am!?" Suddenly she was being lifted, onto her toes. The strain putting a terrible ache on her arches and wrists. She screamed again, trying to shove her body foreward, only to cause a sharp pain in her back. Then the hands came again. She stiffened, eyes wide as saucers beneath her covering as she felt the fabric sliding down her legs to puddle in peices on the >
Synaria> floor. More pain then, hot stripes of fire in her skin where the knives slid through, she felt the blood roll down her smooth skin. A single river near her thigh drew attention to the darker spot. A tattoo on the inside of her thigh. It was of a skinny black serpent, it's tail at the crook of her leg, and it twisted down nearly three inches, the head reared back, as if to strike, it's eyes a shining, briliant blue.

Torquemada, High Inquisitor watched his faithful work with a grim satisfaction. As they cut away the sinful harlot's clothes, he would help them by tossing material out of the way, and wiping away the blood as it spilled. He was to inspect her for signs of a heathen god, and blood would get in the way. "Silence." He stated, backhanding the princess through the hood. The hood would then be ripped off of her, so she could look the inquisitor in the eyes. "You are a heretic. You are corrupting our kingdom, infecting it's faithful with your sinful ways. We are going to stop you. Today, you will be filled with His righteous fire, and you will convert. By force, if necessary. This is your chance, harlot. Beg for forgiveness, and repent. We will be gentle." >>
Torquemada, High Inquisitor: >> Torquemada's eyes roamed over her naked body. He had to suppress licking his lips. She was indeed desirable. And if she wasn't an affront to his very faith, he would very much consider using a....different form of cleansing and blessing. But Synaria was well known for exposing her flesh, and tempting men. It would not work with her. "Repent now." He stated again, bellowing it out. Then the inquisitor really began his inspection. Trailing calloused hands up and down her arms, lifting her face this way and that. All the way down until he reached between her legs. A sharp hiss left him. "You have the mark of your false god. Will will correct this. Brother Justin. Ready two brands." He stood up, glaring fire into the princess' eyes.

The Acolytes knelt in silence still surrounding the princess, their eyes locked on her. If lust lit their gaze, it was a righteous one, to cleanse her of all that was unholy, to purify her. She was a temptation, but she was not worthy of the seed of men of faith. "Heretic.." Whispers rumbled from them, echoing their leader. "Repent.." One slunk from their number to do the Inquistor's bidding, brands placed into the fire to heat. "M'lord..what of her jewels?" One of them hissed, the closest to her dragging his jagged nails over her hips to rip the bright bits from her flesh. "They mark her too. She must be purified fully..." Another hand ripped at her opposite hip, plucking the jewels from her one by one, scratching deep furrows into her flesh.

Synaria's head turned as she was slapped, a dark anger rising over her. No one had ever touched her in this manner. Blazing blue gaze settled on the man when the cloth was ripped off "Touch me again and I'll tear out your eyes!" She hissed. But, being bound as she was, there was no way she could carry out such threats. "I am of the Valenti household. You have no right!" Her nakedness did not even shame her enough to quell her rage. The word 'heretic' though, brought memories so sharp she almost winced, could almost feel the noose around her neck. Zealots. A small stab of fear then. The worst kind of 'holymen'. She let not an ounce of that fear show. "I do not know what you wish of me! I have said my vows to The One god. I have prayed to him! I am of Nharati FAITH." She growled, lying through her teeth. "You are trying to convert one of your own!" When he found the tattoo, her eyes narrowed, she felt the buildup within her, like rising lava through her veins. >
Synaria> It wanted to be used, her panic in loosing her symbol feeding its desire. But she controlled it, but she doubted how much stregth to do so she had left. "No." She hissed through her teeth. She shook her head, trying to coax her long mussed hair over herself, to hide her jewels from those tearing fingers, hide her symbol from the brands he called for. "NO!" She screamed, trying to lunge at the man.

Torquemada, High Inquisitor: SILENCE!" Torquemada roared again. And once again too, he backhanded her. He would do it as many times as needed. Every word she spoke in her defense just made him angrier and angrier. "You lying, deceitful SLUT!" The inquisitor slapped her again. "You have SPAT in the face of the Forge Lord! You spat upon His vows in your own accursed WEDDING! In HIS house!" Flecks of spittle rained upon her face. "We've seen you, Heathen. In His house, praying to your false god. You've done it for the last time. We have His permission to do with you what we will. It is down to our choice, how to carry out His divine judgement. You would do well to repent. Give in. Do NOT try His patience!" Torquemada took a deep breath. "Look at you. You BEG for men to commit adultery with you. LOOK!" He aided his zealots, prying jewels from her skin and throwing them on the ground of the forge. He stuck to the ones on her face, pinching her skin and letting his hands roam all over her, pulling and plucking and touc
Torquemada, High Inquisitor: >>touching.

The Acolytes swarmed her with their hands in an attempt to remove the jewels from her hips, scratches so deep that blood seeped from some. Dirty fingernails tore at her flesh, the jewels the excuse to rake and marr the lush dark skin. "Lies..." They rumbled, several sliding forward to take in the snake emblazoned on her flesh. Invasive hands prodded it, one slapping the tattoo roughly. "A sign..HE gave us a sign. We were to take you, to make you His, to purify you..to teach you his love." Each seemed to complete the words for the other, almost a chant. "Repent..He is merciful." The voices whispered close to her thighs, breath rippling over her flesh as they cleared her of her jewels, some rising to rip the ones from her shoulders and collarbone, more than once a finger relishing the feel of her smooth skin. The brother returned with one of the brands, the metal glowing as he held the handle to the Inquisitor.

Synaria's head again whipped to the side with the force of his hand. Dark gaze lighting with angry fire, so blue it seemed almost unnatural against the color of her skin. Teeth bared as she clentched her jaw, saying nothing as he listed off her offenses. The jewels he plucked from her brow and cheek causing small rivulets of blood to trickle down her face. The hands on her flesh feeling like daggers, each touch almost painful. Inside she seethed, her blood boiling in her veins. The power building up, causing her palms to ache, feeling almost aflame. The eyes Nepheli had etched into her skin, invisible before reddened. Finally she turned her head to face the men "I BEG for nothing." She spat out "It is YOUR men who have lust in their eyes. It is YOU!" Eyes then shot over to the brand that was presented for a moment before looking back to the obvious ringleader. "Your God orders the marring of a woman already converted to your faith?" Gaze held a challenge, her body shaking with rage.

Torquemada, High Inquisitor: Insolent woman." Torquemada whispered. If he ever had any doubt as to the rightness of what they were doing, it was long gone. He raised his hand as if to slap her across the face again, but dropped it. He gave her a wicked smile. "It is your tempting ways that bring lust out in us, you filthy slut. My children here would gladly take their turns on you, and purify you. I might yet let them. Show you just what your lust and lack of decency will bring you. First things first." He took the brand from the acolyte. "To get rid of that marking." Torquemada knelt before Synaria. "Hold her." He commanded his zealots. "Oh Forge Lord, please guide my unworthy hand. Let Your glory and power was away the taint of a pagan god. In Your mercy." The inquisitor lined the brand up, and shoved it firmly against the princess' thigh, where a giant burning torch would cover the snake up.

The Acolytes seethed at her accusations, though laughter slipped from one or two. At the command, they took hold of her. Calloused hands grabbed both thighs to keep them from flinching, the one pressing her into the brand as another wrapped around her from behind, thick arms holding her against his chest to confine her should she try to flail. As the sickening scent of burning flesh filled the air, their eyes drank her in, the tiny rivulets of blood streaking her flesh, skin glowing with the heat of the forge. "He knows you lie. You do not love the Forge Lord, but you will." The words came against her ears as his hands suddenly left her torso to grab hold of her jaw, viciously forcing her to face forward as others yanked her hair from her face and body, presenting her for the second brand as the others joined in prayer. Thumbs dug into her cheekbones, mashing into her face as the Acolyte's eyes wandered to his brother bearing the second brand.

Synaria glared darkly at the man as he spoke. "You wouldn't dare." She hissed out as he spoke of letting the others take her. "If they so much as touch me in that way I will see too it their heads find pikes and their bodies fed to the wolves that roam the countryside!" Panic rose, her body feeling as if her very skin were on fire. The sweat and blood stinging at her eyes, but she would not close them as the brand moved to her thigh. She struggled against the men holding her, but she moved not an inch. She heard the sizzle, smelled the burning flesh before the pain hit. And when it did, she let out a piercing scream, muscles straining against the hands that held her. Tears now joined the rivers of blood and sweat, small sections of hair matting to her cheeks. She screamed again, and again, feeling the skin bubbling up. The sight of the second brand, and the hands pressing into her face, they broke her, she couldn't hold the lava in her blood. Her eyes closed tightly and she let out another long, wicked scream. And it all released, every drop of her magic exploding from her every pore. A hot gust of wind howled through the room, extinguishing every candle, and several logs from heavier fires. In the sudden dark she wailed out in pain, her palms burning like flame down to her very bones, her body shaking violently in fear and pain.

Torquemada, High Inquisitor had no more pulled the brand away to inspect his work when she extinguished all the loose fires in the room, had cooled the forge a little bit, and turned the brand in his hand from hot enough to char flesh into cool, safe iron. At least he had already covered up her heathen symbol. "WITCH!" Torquemada screamed. He jumped to his feet. "Another sin against you, you monstrous BITCH! You are a heretic, a harlot, and a WITCH!" The inquistor flung the useless iron brand to the side, not noticing the fact that it hit an acolyte in the face and made him drop. "Everyone NOT holding the witch, light the candles back up, and get to work on the forge again. His will will NOT be denied! We just have one more sin to cleanse." He looked at the other brand. Warm, but not hot. He stuck it back into the closed forge. It was gathering up smoke, in perparation.

The Acolytes howled as the light fell in the room, some jumping back from her while the one holding her face jerked on her hair, forcing her head back. As he spoke, his foul breath wafted into her face. "You lied." His tongue flicked over his lips, spittle flying into her face. "We told you, He knows your heart belongs to false gods and now you show it. You should be thanking us." He'd seen this sort before, gloried in bringing them to the Forge Lord's justice..there was no fear in this, only right confidence. If he died doing his Lord's work, then it was his will. The other scattered to light the candles and stoke the fires.

Synaria's eyes lost their fire, dull and streaming with tears. She had no more strength in her muscles, that act siphoning what she had held on to so desperately. Amid the smoke that rose, she saw the form of her God, perhaps only a pain induced deliusion, but she heard him speak in her ear. 'Keep the pain child, sear this event into your memory. You will grow strong from it.'. Paled eyes stared at the swirling smoke until the room was relit, and His form vanished. She would have dropped her head if it weren't held onto so tightly by the man now whispering in her ear. But she heard them not. Heard nothing but the roaring fires, felt nothing but pain lacing through every fiber. "I will convert." She said in a hoarse voice. "Just stop this, please. No more!" This was said with only a smidge more conviction before voice dropped back down to a whisper "Please. Please. Please." Tears, blood and sweat still dripping down her cheeks. Moreso now.

Torquemada, High Inquisitor grinned. He felt the power of his faith surge inside of him. Yes, she WOULD convert. There had never been any doubt about that. "Yes, you will. Good. You will convert. But first, you must repent. You must atone for your sins. You must beg forgiveness from Him. He will grant it. But it will not be without its own slings and arrows. You will endure the rest of the Cleansing Ritual, and you will be better for His love and strength." Torquemada looked at the brand. It was ready again. This one was much smaller. It would serve as an eternal symbol on her skin of her atonement and newfound glory. "Forge Lord above, kiss the child before you. Let her know Your love. Show her that You punish all sins equally, and you forgive after justice has been done." The inquisitor aimed the brand for her right cheek. Carefully, slowly, he pressed the red hot metal against the soft, perfect flesh. The metal screamed at the contact.

The Acolytes's activity only heightened with her tearful acceptance. The hold on her face was still tight, but the Acolyte pressed his cheek against her temple like a father comforting a child. "You are his." He whispered, the words almost a prayer. As the Inquisitor dedicated the woman to their Forge Lord, the men went silent, heads bowed in respect as they prayed with him, lips moving silently. Joy surged in the room as the Inquisitor claimed her as one of theirs, and the prayer ended with hushed silence as they all beheld the brand pressed to her flesh. Two slipped close, moving behind the one that held her to take the atoning whips down from the wall, three falled leather constructs with jagged metal tips, one handed to the one who served as her support.

Synaria's eyes squeezed closed as fresh pain exploded through her head, the scent of the searing flesh invading her nose. She cried out, trying to buck away from the pain, but there was no where to go. Her mind darkened, such hate deep inside her, but she had no energy to fight these beasts, these terrible monsters around her. Her vision waivered, blackness trying to force her into unconciousness. She struggled to keep her eyes open once she had forced the lids to part. All their faces became warped in her faultering sight. The smoke from her cheek stung her eyes. When her face was released her head dropped down, chin resting against her chest. She tried to contort her face to one of apology. "Forgive me." She voiced quietly, forcing the words off the tongue. Giving in completely to these vicious beasts.

Torquemada, High Inquisitor: Yes, He does love you." Torquemada nodded along with his acolytes. He sighed, filled with happiness. It felt good to be doing his duty properly. "Never you fear, my child." Of course, the inquisitor's tone was a lot gentler and happier now that she was playing along with his game. Everyone gave in to the Forge Lord's love eventually. How could they not? "The Forge Lord forgives all who seek it. All you must do is ask, and He will grant you his forgiveness and love. But you must still accept his chastisement. You have spent your entire life up until now in the service of a heathen god. You will be struck for your sins. Each sin we find on you, you shall recieve one strike across your back. Acolytes? Begin. Call them out, and bring down his judgement."

The Acolytes arranged themselves around her while two of their number took up the implements, the one who had presented her face for branding beaming at her proudly. "Forgiveness will come, child." He whispered, his voice oddly soothing. "For worshipping false gods!" He cried, the others echoing his words The scourge snapped down on the smooth skin of her back, metal biting at her flesh as he dragged it roughly. Blood trickled from three torn welts, and the next flew at her. "For faultering in your vow!" crack "For your immodesty!" crack "For your lies" And the whip fell thrice, back, buttocks and thighs bearing the brunt. "For all your lies" It was merciless, tearing the sin from her flesh as they chanted her wrongdoing with each crack of the whip.

Synaria felt a darkness building up in her, a hatred so dangerously deep as she watched the leaders joy, heard the words of the whispering acolyte. She felt a beast growing inside her. Instead of fearing this darkness, she embraced it, but had not the strength to release it, not understanding it yet. She forced her lips to mold into a smile toward those in front of her, a smile of 'understanding'. "Please, forgive this woman for her sins Forge Lord." The words tasted vile on her tongue, but she made them pour out. Then the pain came again, her back arching with each lash, followed by a sharp cry. Her body now slick with sweat and blood, she felt it running down her legs, could imagine it pooling around her feet. Eyes did not close, for fear of passing out. Instead they focused on the leader, sparkling now with what she hoped would look like gratefullness.

Trylstrian had waited long enough. He had seen evidence of her magic, had allowed her to be marked to proper aesthetics, and amused himself to his fullest on this backwards religion. Now he stood to his full height outside the wall. He had no disguise, this time. There was no need for it. His fingers suddenly broke, bones twisting in the flesh until they formed distorted patterns. And then the wall buckled. It curled inward on itself like a budding flower, groaning its protest as a man-sized hole announced Trylstrian's presence. He was smiling. His bald head tilted to the side as he pointed his hand towards the array of weapons that were presented on the wall to the side. Not a word was spoken, but the second the new configuration was made from his fingers, axes and claymores and even crossbows became projectiles, hissing through the air while making sure to avoid both Synaria and the Inquisitor.

Torquemada, High Inquisitor nodded his head, smiling at how well she was taking it. He could see the glory of the Forge Lord in her eyes now! The inquisitor reached forward to wipe away the tears. "You may cry, child. There IS pain rom His judgement. But it will pass. Feel yourself....ACK!" Torquemada was set sprawling from the wall right beside him breaking open. When he looked up, he saw some...Some DEMON bending the world to his whim, and killing off the acolytes. The thought didn't ever occur to him to question why he was safe. His faith protected him. "You DARE defile this holy place!?" He bellowed at Trys. He climbed to his feet, and drew his silver hammer. "Face the WRATH!" He charged the wizard, swinging the hammer wildly.

The Acolytes chanted of forgiveness and sins, though the sound broke out as they all turned wide-eyed to stare at the hole emerging in the wall. Those with the whips kept to their task until weapons shot through the air. An axe through the neck downed the fatherly one, blood gushing, spraying onto the princess while the others found them felled with no less speed, claymores through chests, crossbows bludgeoning their heads against the stone floor until it was sticky with blood and brain, the room and it inhabitants spattered by what remained of them. Not fighting men naturally, even those that managed to raise their hands merely found them impaled before the sharp ends of the swords found rest in their skulls .. the Acolytes demolished.

Synaria's gaze stayed on the leader, left eye starting to twitch from this act. The crashing wall saved her from exposing her lies, and head turned, only to get blood splattered into her face. She looked horrified for a moment before there was a long pause. Wide-eyed, she took in the weaponry flying through the air, tearing apart skin, destroying the men, the sound of the falling bodies. She heard nothing, all of the sound in the room never touching her ears. Something in her snapped. She could feel it happen, hear it, like a crack of thunder, and she began laughing, a deep choking laughter as the blood ran down her face, dripping over her lips. She laughed and laughed, even as she felt like her lungs would burst, even as the world waivered before her. A crazy thought entered her mind 'It's raining blood and steel!' and she grinned, even though it hurt the bubbling brand on her cheek. And she turned her maddened gaze upon her savior and the one she desperately wanted to skewer with>
Synaria>one of those falling weapons.

Trylstrian almost hesitated, because something wonderful had happened. The princess' laugh was like the sweetest harp in the world, sweeping through his body and stirring him. It was the first time he had ever felt any kind of social acceptance, and it was thrilling. So thrilling that his small teeth showed as he grinned at the Inquisitor. The hammer whipped at him, and he swung a gnarled hand at it. The aegis was a complicated craft, but the blue haze of the magical shield appeared an inch in front of his hand with ease. It deflected the hammer and knocked it away from his foe's hand. The whip of his arm turned into a spin, and a second aegis appeared on his other hand. When he came back around, he thrust out this new shield towards the Inquisitor's torso. Rather than locked in place, it served as a flying battering ram that crushed the man into a wooden crate, shattering bones and digging splinters into his back. But he was not through with him. Not by a long shot. As Trylstrian walked towards the man, the fire intensified and began to move. It crept upon the floor like a slithering mass of serpents, creeping towards the broken man until it was nipping at his heels.

Torquemada, High Inquisitor put all the momentum into the downward swing of his hammer. A blow like this could break a man in half, he knew. And he was oh so eager to do it on this monstrous heathen. The inquisitor's eyes widened as his hammer was slapped away as easily as a child's hand. He went to swing it back upwards at the wizard, but the feeling of a siege engine hitting him in the chest put an end to that. The world slowed down as the middle-aged priest flew through the air. In a dumb sort of wonderment, he looked down on his ruined chest. Bones stuck out at odd angles, and he was having trouble breathing. Then the wall greeted him, and crunched part of his spine together. Torquemada looked up at the wizard. His mouth worked soundlessly, dripping and coughing blood. He couldn't move. He couldn't escape the fire. He couldn't do ANYTHING!

Synaria's laughter continued, intensified as the pain did. Her dark gaze, sparkling in the firelight. She twisted in her bindings, blood rolling down her arms from where the rope tore away at the skin on her wrists, ankles spilling small snakes of blood down her toes. She had to see, had to watch this, if she couldn't do it herself. "How does it feel Priest?" She hissed out, giggling harder in her madness. "How much love do you think your god has for you now!" Her voice had taken on a hard edge, gaze drinking up his blood, his pain, his utter suffering. Wide smile on her bloodied lips as the memory of the booming voice resounded in her mind 'Remember'. Oh she would. She would remember every little bit of this man's death and of her rescuer.

Trylstrian did not watch as the fire flickered away from his footsteps until he came to a solid stop in front of this foolish man. Religion; it made things so easy for a man with a mind to destroy. He hesitated only to give Synaria a little sidelong glace. It was amused, but the furrow of his brow seemed to state: A little decorum, please. When he looked back at the man, his smile was complete. Now the fire rushed over the man. Brief, sizzling, crackling death that still refused to kill him. It made his flesh bubble and redden, his hair singe away from his skin, and the salt of his eyes boil away. Yet then it parted, and Trylstrian now leaned in. This was the sign of the magician's awesome power; this ability shown now as his jaws unhinged and distorted to obscene proportions. The tattoos, usually hidden under his clothes, now snaked over his arms and feet and neck until his entire body looked as though it was painted with spiralling, twisting spikes. He put the man's face in his mouth and the roar of life being devoured was quiet and deafening at the same time. He ate every thought, every feeling, and every shred of humanity from that husk of a body, filling his need in the same way that a vampire supped upon blood. And when it was done, he jerked his head up and left the now faceless body alone. It would serve no purpose to apply any more necromantic strings upon him. Now he turned to Synaria. With the gentle touch of a concerned father he would cut her down and take her into his arms, smiling simply and speaking the first words since his arrival: "You are safe."

Synaria was to far in the throes of madness that Tryl's look meant nothing to her, she barely even saw it as she watched on. Her silence following, had nothing to do with his furrowed brows, but by his actions. The unhinging jaw reminding her too much of a serpent. So much so, that such an action could not horrify her as it should. She gazed on to the now faceless priest, almost thoughtful looking eyes upon him, even as Tryls cut her down. Only when she dropped into his arms did she tear her gaze away, trying to push her thoughts into some kind of order. For a long time she stared at him, in a kind of awe before her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she buried her face against his chest. "Thank you." She whispered. And in the darkness of her face against his clothes she saw the blood again, the faces, heard the words, axes and whips, brands, and all at once she cringed against him as she felt the pain of her wounds.

Trylstrian did not quite know what sort of madness was upon him, but it struck him deep now. He should have put her asleep, make her forget these things that she saw. But she had struck something strangely familiar in him. Perhaps he was biased, though. She was magical, after all. The corner of his mouth quirked as he sought out some strange, rather foul smelling gown that was lying upon the floor. He did not want to let go of her, however, so he merely draped it over her to cover her nakedness. "Speak nothing of how these men died today," he warned her. "Tell no one about my nature." And then he took her away from the stench of death and loosed bowel to return her to the castle. He felt good. Strangely good. Not only had he secured his place in the castle... but he had done something charitable. Forget the fact that he had created the circumstances.

Synaria pulled her face away from him to look up, her eyes steely in their sincerity. "Believe me, I shall never speak of it." She gave him a smile, even though it nearly killed her burned cheek to do so "I couldn't have seen it, I had passed out." She would hold his secret, not only because he had saved her, but of her own secrets. She knew Nharati people, moreso now than ever before, and did not want her savior to come to harm. She accepted the gown, adding another light "Thank you." Relieved that he would not carry her through the castle so fully exposed. As he took her out the door she strained herself, ignoring the screaming pain, to peer over his shoulder at the bloodied room, faint trace of a grin on her lips. Then began the trek home, all the way her arms stayed wrapped around him, temple pressed against his shoulder, every so often her body trembled from the cold mixed with the sharp pain of her many wounds.

Endyme Ian was sitting slumped in front of the fireplace, on the rugs. He was inbetwen Nefertise and Garnett. And despite what their thoughts on the matter might be, he was currently holding both of their hands. When he had traveled to the tavern to meet up with the two more rebellious princesses, he had found Nefertise's unconscious form, and the note. At once, he lifted her up and dragged her back, and raised the alert. After that, he had fallen apart, muttering to himself and rocking in front of the fireplace. Eventually, the other two had joined him, and the three sat there, waiting for word of the lost princess. He didn't care if he was thrown in the stocks for inappropriately touching royalty. He needed to know that he was at least keeping TWO of them safe.

Nefertise lay there, head pressed firmly against the cushions and hand taken by the jester. Her head was pounding and she had yet to wash the speckles from the back of her head. She wouldn't move until the princess was returned to the castle, despite the numerous servants that were trying to offer her drink and meat. Her eyes were set on Endy's kneecap, drawing in a deep breath every now and then and blaming herself entirely for the situation at hand. It had been her idea to travel to the tavern, after all, and she was foolish enough to leave her weapons behind. Not that she had much of a chance to defend herself, what with being knocked over the back of the head with a hammer. Her mind kept reeling what little of the situation she managed to see over and over, constantly telling herself that it was her fault with each passing image. She had woken up in the castle somehow, though with the jester sitting before her it was pretty safe to say that he had found her.. where ever they had left her>
Nefertise >> and brought her back to the safety of the castle. Why couldn't he find Synaria, though? She was focused on all the worse possible outcomes from the situation and silently giving herself a mental beatdown.

Garnett wanted, rather than sit still, to spring herself from the castle and go looking for Synaria rather than sit sedately..but her word to Uhtred kept her in the castle, not that she'd do any good anyway. She had been marching up and down the main hall earlier, as if by wearing a path into the marble, Syn would be safe, but eventually, she'd joined Endy by the fire, thin fingers lacing with his when he took her hand. Small comfort that it was, she'd not decline it. Her lips parted to offer to tend to Nefe's head again, but she pressed them together, knowing she would just decline or ignore her. Sighing softly, she brushed a lock of hair back from Nefe's face, her own pale and drawn with worry. "There was nothing more in the note?" She asked in hushed tones, not for the first time, as if successive readings would find new information. Thus far her eyes had remained dry, a sort of terrified shock gripping her as she convulsively squeezed Endy's hand.

Trylstrian had been careful to prevent himself from being stopped by the rather obnoxious military men that seemed to think that the things they did were important. It made things easier for him as he simply waltzed into the castle. The internal guard would automatically assume that he had been allowed inside. "Pardon me," he muttered toward the strange mass of frilly-dressed people who had assembled in front of the fireplace. "Could you perhaps guide me towards your infirmary?" Why was of course obvious, for he presented Synaria for them. There was blood on his hands, but he was very careful to cover it with illusion lest he be blamed for having done some of the injury upon her.

Synaria must have drifted in and out of sleep as they walked, or... rather he walked. Because before she knew it, they were inside a building. It took her a few long moments for her to realize they were in the main hall. She flinched at all the light, the brightness of the room causing sharp stabbing pains in her head. Bloodied face turned back to hide in the darkness of his shoulder, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. Of course, she was extremely careful not to lay her burned cheek upon him, the pinprick holes where her jewels had been only stinging slightly against the cloth. She knew people where gathered there, but her brief glance had only produced shadows. She could speak, she should speak, but she could not find the words to say, the pain having warped her brain to far for the moment.

Endyme Ian sighed for what felt like the millionith time in the past three hours. Every so often he would squeeze Garnett's or Nefertise's hands rhythmically. Or mentally think of various games, songs, and other things. Anything to take his mind off of the fact that he had failed. He hadn't been there to keep Synaria from harm, despite promising that he would be there to do just that. Endyme knew that he would have to talk about it, when she got back. If she got back. He swallowed a lump in his throat. The sound of scuffling feet caught his attention, and he looked behind him. He grimaced to see that scary 'stableboy', but eyes lit up to see that he was carrying what was obviously a person. Not one for restraint, Endyme leapt up, and shouted. "She's back!" He took off towards the infirmary to grab the doctor, or whomever was in there that could help. Just in case.

Nefertise lifted her head the second she heard the jester shout, moving to stand just as quickly as she had before she swayed and landed on her butt again. A soft groan was given as her hand lifted to rub her temple, wanting desperately to get up and rush over but figuring it was best to take her time. Slowly, she rose and headed towards the strange man and her sister. "Synaria, thank God. Where did you find her?" She didn't want to direct too many questions towards the princess at the moment, fearing she might overwhelm her ever moreso than she already appeared to be. Her hand outstretched to brush back her sister's hair before she gestured towards the stairs, "Come, this way. The infirmary is just up those stairs." She'd move to grab his arm and rush him up there herself if she thought it wise, but her arms simply folded across her stomach carefully and a hurried pace was taken in the same direction as the jester.

Garnett jerked when she heard footsteps, her head swiveling to see the most wonderful sight. "Syn!" She cried, just as Endy called out, yanking her hand free to scramble to her feet, stumbling over her skirts as she ran to Ys, utterly forgetting to be afraid of him. "Thank you." She breathed, regarding him with a sort of awe, close to kissing the frightening servant for returning her sister. Her eyes raked over Synaria, her hurt and near nudity only too apparent. Her guards started to decend from their spots around the room, and she waved them off with a hiss. "If the healer isn't there, I will tend to her best I can." She murmured, nodding her head in the direction indicated by the other two. How she wanted to know what had happened, her sharp gaze catching sight of streaked welts on her side and leg where it peeked from beneath the cloth. She tried to steady the ragged breaths that shook her, attempting to keep her pace steady at the servant's side.

Seregon had the best of luck. He'd just returned to the kingdom and what did he find? All sorts of hustle and bustle for some reason the knight had no knowledge of. His time away was a mixture of plesant and trying and half of him did not want to return to what awaited him. Like usual Seregon strolled with a stride brimming with the utmost confidence. Body language was different then what it was prior to his leaving. Where he appeared pained and suffering, he now held a look of power and control. Clearly the knight had seen a few changes. Eventually his travels landed him smack in the middle of a rather large group and like usual, he settled in the doorway and watched silently.

Trylstrian found himself feeling rather frustrated with the situation as a whole. He knew it was part of the game, but dealing with all of these overbearing personalities made his stomach churn. Almost defensively, he clutched Synaria a hair tighter to him. Yet his head dipped, still playing the servant as he acknowledged each statement. Eyes narrowed as he watched the jester go dashing up the stairs. As if it wasn't stressful enough, now he would have to deal with his lunacy. Ah well. He did not hesitate for any longer than he had to, but simply swept her off up the stairs. "Watch your head," he murmured to the girl, rather concerned that she would dip her head back at some point and have it scraped on the stone.

Synaria kept her grip on Tryl's tight as the two women came close. Her pain twisted mind finding enemies in them all, hearing them speak with the Acolytes voices. Her body shuddered violently when Nefertise brushed her hair back, exposing that dark burn upon her cheek, blistered and an angry red. She whimpered against Tryl's shoulder. "Don't let them touch me. I swear I'll kill them all! Don't let them hurt me." His tightening grip had silenced her words though and when they began the move up to the infirmiry she only groaned against him. Her backside was still dripping blood from her lashings, leaving a spotty trail up the stairs and down the halls. His murmur stilled her, and she did not move a muscle.

Endyme Ian had contacted one of the castle's healers, and had a bed ready for Synaria's use. The jester himself was more or less running back and forth at one of the healer's orders, fetching bits of clean cloth, heating up water to be used, and other things. Partially to be helpful, and partially to keep the worried man out of their hair long enough to attend to the princess, when she came. "Right this way!" A thin man wearing white directed. He pat down a bed that had it's covers pulled back. "I'm going to need you to take that cloak off so I can see the damages. Fool! Bring the water and cloth!" Endyme did as he was told, bringing forth one bottle of boiling water, and then running to go grab another. The jester seemed to at least be comforted in being run ragged.

Nefertise did what she had to in order to lead them upstairs and then she was back outside the infirmary once again. She had little use being in there, since she figured she would just get in the way and crowd things. A soft sigh was given before she slumped against the wall outside and pushed herself off. If nothing else, she could have a comfortable bed ready and waiting for the princess when she was finally ready to return there. So, for now, she would tend to the room whether it was her job or not. She felt guilty and seeing her sister in such a condition did little to rid the guilt that plagued her at the moment.

Garnett hovered close to Ys and Synaria, hearing her mumble something to him though not catching the content of it. It would have been hard to miss that terrible blistering mass rising on the princess's face as she shot another quick glance at her, her stomach roiling, oblivious to the fact that her skirt was dragging to the trailing blood though she'd seen it dripping. Was this the terrible thing Syn had felt was coming? Relief swept through her when she saw that the healers were there, her hands trembling so that she wasn't sure she'd have been able to tend to her properly. She bit her tongue to keep from asking questions, knowing that there would be time for that later when Synaria had been tended to, her eyes searching the servant and the woman he carried helplessly as she hunched onto a seat, trying to stay out of the healers' way.

Trylstrian lowered his head so that he could murmur in her ear. "They are not foes, lady. They are your sisters, your friends. There is a man who will heal your wounds. And... well, a Fool, frankly." Brows furrowed at him, quietly wondering why he was doing the work of medical men, but he shrugged it off and set the girl into the bed. He stayed close, however, knowing that her stress level had made her defensive. "If you still do not want them to touch you, then I will treat you myself." He looked up at the medic with a shrug. "With your guidance, of course." It was best to keep her from thrashing out, he figured. He removed the cloak from her body, hiding a smile at the good work that he had done by making all of this damage. It was good, and it was bad, and it was most certainly confusing.

Synaria made a small sound in her throat at his words and finally peeked out from her hiding spot, her entire face stained in streaks and mats of blood, small clumps of hair sticking to the half congelled mess. She finally recognized Garnett, and Endyme, but could not summon up any kind of emotion to greet them with. The healer though, was one she did not know, and the sight of him filled her with dread, and a strange want of a long sharp bit of metal. "I don't want him to touch me." Her voice was quick, eyes darting around the room. The pain, which had almost numbed, was reborn when he laid her on the bed. Fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt for a few moments, not wanting to let him go. But finally he had pulled too far away for her to reach. She flinched at the pain, shifting to lay upon her side, the sheets sticking momentarily to her stipped back. She cried out softly before squeezing her eyes shut, her breath coming out in hisses between her teeth. She wanted Garnett and Endy>
Synaria> closer, but could not find her voice.

Endyme Ian finished bringing over the necessary materials for patching up the poor thing. Boiling water, cloth, bandages, a needle and very strong thread, and a bottle of alcohol. If not for her, then for Endyme. He had a feeling he was going to need it. The head healer, since the good Doctor Wolkere wasn't in at the moment, approached Synaria with a damp cloth. He stopped, however, when the battered princess expressed her desire. The healer sighed, and mumbled something about stubborn patients. He backed off, and motioned for the remaining people, the ones she seemed to trust, to do it for him. "Gather the wet cloth, and dab at her wounds gently. Do NOT wipe or scrape." Endyme bit his lip, looking from the healer to Synaria. >>
Endyme Ian: >> While he normally would have joked about wanting to see the eastern beauty naked...He didn't want it like this. He took a cloth, and dunked it under the boiling water, not even registering the brief spike of pain on his hand. Endyme wrung the water out, and crept closer. "D-don't worry, Nar..." He whispered to her, voice tight and strained. "You're...Okay...now." His voice failed him. So, he picked a spot high up on her back, and gently pressed the wet rag against the wound, hissing FOR her in sympathy pain. Eventually, he'd pull back, and do another cut.

Garnett stared in horrified silence, every nerve in her body urging her to rush to the torn princess, but she forced herself to stay where she was, hands pressed tightly to her belly ..Garnett as usual unaware of the habit. Synaria's refusal for the healer broke her resolve, and the girl rushed over to the bed, knealing at the head of it to brush her fingers through Synaria's hair as she forced herself to take a proper look at her back. It was sickening, blood coating her flesh, the wounds themselves darker with the flesh torn and puckering. Very carefully, she tugged away the bit of sheet that clung to it as she bent to kiss Synaria's temple. "Then he shan't touch you, dear one." She cooed soothingly, an apologetic glance shot to the healer.>>
Garnett Automatically she reached for the cloth too, bumping Endy's hand before pulling back. Folding her hands in her lap, she tore her gaze from her wounded sister to focus on Ys, searching his face as if she could divine answers by looking. Guilt at doubting the man lept into her eyes as she whispered. "Who did this?"

Trylstrian refrained from treating her wounds, glad to see that Garnett and the Fool had come to her aid. It made it easier for him to take a small space back from the wounded woman, to regroup and consider his position. It was obvious that he was in, now, taken into the belly of the beast without so much as a stutter on Garnett's part.. who was now looking at him. He turned his head and looked upon her, his expression the correct amount of grim relief and stress. "Zealots," he said softly, looking between her and Synaria as the corner of his mouth quirked. "They were trying to 'convert' her." He did not want to tell her where it happened, however. The evidence of his magic would be concealed as soon as he could find an appropriate moment to exit.

Nefertise had finished with making her bedroom as cozy as humanly possible, slipping back in to the infirmary now and drawing in a deep, very deep breath. She staggered to the side and slid down the wall very slowly, caring little if it ripped her dress or ruined the fabric at the moment. It was either slide or fall, and she'd prefer the former. Synaria's condition did little to calm her nerves, wanting desperately to find whoever had done such unspeakable things and do away with them using her own methods. Her voice was quite as she spoke, opting to stay away from the scene as a whole for a while, "How is she?" She wasn't close enough to see the horrific damages that well, though her voice was barely audible to her own ears so she doubted anyone else would hear her. The guilt was clearly evident in her eyes, knowing full well this had every bit to do with her.

Synaria's eyes widened as she felt hands on her, too many hands. She trembled, curling her burned and bloodied legs up to her chest, ignoring the sting of the dirty claw marks on her hips and the brand on her thigh. Cringing she fought the urge to lash out at the two touching her, her blood soaked fingers curling into the sheets so she would not twist around and shove them into someones eyes. Such dark thoughts running through her head! Something close to a growl escaped her throat as her wounds were cleaned. Mouth opened to say something, but gaze caught on Tryl's backing away. She pitched foreward, pulling herself to the edge of the bed with her fingertips, but could make it no further. Muscles loosened, and she went slack all together, eyes rolling into the back of her head. It seems her body and mind had finally had enough, and forced her into sleep.

Endyme Ian winced at her the girl's thrashing and twitching. "Good lord." He whimpered. He probably looked more pathetic and helpless now than he ever had. And for good reason. This was disturbing him. He had just said goodbye to her before she got attacked! They had played games! Upon her falling unconscious, Endyme fell back on his ass, staring stupidly up at Synaria's naked backside. The healer took this as his cue. "Ah, good. This'll be so much easier with her out of it. Alright. You, you, and you, thread the needle and get the wine ready to pour on her when it comes time to stitch her up. You there, get out of the way so we can work." The healer shoved Endyme aside. He easily rolled over, then ran from the room, making a pained noise in his throat.

Garnett's eyes locked on his face at that single word, the blood that had slowly been restoring itself to her face draining away with such quickness it seemed she might faint. Her hand gripped the edge of the bed as she wavered. "Convert her?" She hissed, tone dripping with disgust, and it hit her suddenly. The King had tried to warn her, to warn them all, and they had seen it as chastisement of Synaria... more worried about his displeasure than why he said such things. She scarcely heard Nefertise return, her heart pounding so hard in her head that it made thought difficult. "She's passed out now." She muttered flatly in response to the princess, her eyes squeezing closed. "I wish to know all you can tell me, Ys, please." She whispered, trying to make it sound more like a request than a demand, recalling his rather touchy disposition, shuddering as she recalled Syn's attempt to protect her ears from horrible rumours about the princess. Rumours!

Trylstrian saw Synaria's eyes meet his and nearly flinched when she reacted so violently. Yet finally she had passed out, and now he could breathe easy. Yet it was not to be so easy now, for the bastard healer had put him to work. He silently vowed to remove his bones from his body as he knelt back down, taking up a bottle in preparation for pouring it upon the woman. It was a rather absurd display, a naked, bloody woman surrounded by the usual, disgusting opulence of royalty and their accoutrements. A sharp glance was given to Garnett. Though it was obvious now, perhaps, that he was not just a mere servant, he needed to keep up the ruse lest his earlier story come under suspicion. Later, woman, later...

Raij Valenti burst into the room, haggard and worn. The man had come as soon as he had heard! Why hadn't he been informed sooner? He had shoved passed servants, demanding that he be taken to Synaria as soon as he had found out about her kidnapping, her battered status, and those whom knew before him! The Prince! Of all people, why had he not been informed until now?! At the door, he snarled at the servant who stood outside, hand extending to grab him by the collar and physically remove him from his post. "Move!" Order resounded forth as he pushed himself in, emerald eyes ablaze with nothing short of fury and concern! As soon as he entered, he froze...incapable of moving from where he stood. There, on the bed, bloodied, bruised, and unconscious...was his Synaria. His beloved Synaria. Auburn hair fell into his features as he suddenly stormed forward - not daring to interrupt the procession of her healing...but wait. A foreigner? Again, he halted - emerald orbs resting upon [c]
Raij Valenti. Tryl. Narrowed gaze, suspicious immediately, for he dare not trust anyone sans for those whom he came in contact with on a regular basis, he growled and regarded the healer. Raij's fury was reigned in, however....for he knew that expressing his anger was not appropriate for the current situation. Synaria was injured...and she needed him. He swallowed thickly, walking to the end of her bed and dropping to his knees in a rather undignified manner. He knew not of why she had been assaulted, only having heard the barest minimum from a passing servant...and therefore he desired answers. They would wait, for now. He was far, far too concerned for Syn's well-being to worry about her attackers. The woman was his life. His saving grace...the one whom kept him sane through these rough times...and to see her lying there... "...Synaria..." [end]

Nefertise. Once again the servant, Ys, had left questions unanswered. Just as when she had asked him where Synaria was found. A soft sigh was drawn in before she forced herself to her feet, moving slowly towards Garnett and snagging a blanket from the bed to wrap around her form tightly. She thought about asking the healer permission to steal the servant for a few moments, but decided against it. "Forgive me for asking, but I do not recall you answering my question. Where did you say you found her?" Her voice was slightly louder this time, heard clearly to allow a tone of annoyance to make itself evident. Her eyes were locked on the servant, clearly sharing something in common with her brother in the fact that she trusted absolutely no one anymore. Especially after this little.. incident. The blanket was pulled tighter around her form, seemingly glaring him down as if that would intimidate him enough to answer.

Garnett flushed, chagrined by Ys's stern look, and pressed no further for the moment, her gaze ducking down to the prone princess. As the healers set to work, she carefully twisted Synaria's blood-spattered hair up against the back of her head, white hands quickly stained with the blood, but she pulled pins from her own hair carelessly to secure it so it would not get in the healer's way. Her gaze lifted sharply when Raij crashed into the room, a mixture of relief and anger in her tone, emotions too raw to dampen anything at the moment. "There you are ...We tried to find you!" Her lips quivered, hearing the snap in her voice as she tried to swallow it down. Shaking her head, she rose from her seat to pace the length of the room, the tone Nefe took with Ys too like her own when they'd first met...and yet she wanted to hear the answer.

Trylstrian looked at Nefertise for a moment, hiding the fact that if he'd half a chance to get her alone, he would set her on fire and send her body hurdling from the highest reaches of the castle. So of course, 'Ys' smiled faintly and supplied her with a ready answer. "I found her just north of town, near the road to the Juntlis." He was completely unaware of her posturing, which might have been a mistake. "Rambled right into their midsts." He would say nothing more for a moment as he doused the girl's back lightly with the bottle's contents. A flash of a look in Garnett's direction told her his feelings on the matter quite clearly: Shut her up.

Raij Valenti remained at the foot of Synaria's bed, emerald gaze fixated upon her pale features - unaware of Tryl's glares sent in Garnett's direction. As for her words, however? Oh, he caught those alright. "If that was so, Garnett, then I would have been here fucking sooner. But alas, I had to hear about my wife's condition from a passing servant. I was in the goddamn library." His tone was livid, irate, but not above a proper level. Raij was harsh, certainly, but he was pissed off and upset. Therefore, he reacted poorly when accused of something that he had no knowledge of. Gaze lifted then to regard the woman fiercely. "Do you have anything else you wish to speak to me about?" He practically hissed, before finally shifting his attention back to Synaria. Make no mistake. Raij loves Synaria. Period.

Nefertise quirked a slender brow, staring down at the servant all the while she moved to stand at his shoulders. She wasn't going to let up, not anytime soon. "What were you doing there to begin with?" It seemed odd that he just happened upon her and even more strange that she was just left alone. "It seems odd that you find her in such a condition and yet she is not afraid of you." It was a quite observement, though she was hoping to stir things up a bit. She wasn't trusting and was clearly looking for someone to point a finger at. How had they not managed to find her and this lowly servant had done wonderous things? Her eyes narrowed slightly, arms folded across her chest as her back straightened slightly. Something was off, any other servant would have been cowering and apologizing profusely when she came upon them and glowered in such a manner and yet this one - he still had something left that kept him from doing all of these things. Her head spun just then, swaying slightly and >>
Nefertise >> stepping sideways to catch her balance. Regaining her composure a few moments later, her fierce eyes resumed their glares towards the male. She cared little for how she looked at the time being.

Seregon'd been on his way down to the infirmary. The knight had a nasty little gash on the outside of his right bicep he'd aquired from his trip. Upon his arrival he pressed right into the room without so much as a word nor a glance toward anyone. The knight immediately located himself a duo clean bandages. Seregon took a seat upon one of the cots off to the side and out of the way, turning his attention down at the wounded arm. Sleeve was rolled up, revealing the markings upon his skin. Opposite hand withdrew a small dagger and without so much as a blink he lifted it to the wound, slowly cutting away the festering sections.

Garnett took a deep breath as Raij's anger focused on her, and she stared at him with blank eyes, struggling to force her anger into a tiny ball though her cheeks reddened. How she wanted to yell at him for such words, but she heard the King's voice in her head and swallowed her response, instead listening to Ys's explanation. Her gaze focused mainly on Synaria now, trying to wrap her mind around what had happened, her tentative faith faltering in the face of such vile acts by its adherents. She glanced up just in time to catch the look on Ys's face, and she froze, unable to think how to stop Nefe from her line of questioning. >>
Garnett's eyes shot around to the various servants and healers set about, and panic rose. Nefertise's questions planted small doubts, and yet, Uhtred had said.. Squeezing the bridge of her nose between her fingers, she tried to draw the whirling room into focus. "Please, Nefertise, not around so many ears. I'm sure Ys will give us a complete accounting once Synaria had been tended to." She murmured. All at once the room, the emotions, the blood on the air..it was too much for her and she managed a quick apology. "If you all will excuse me.." The princess trying to make her way out the door.

Trylstrian could feel his blood heat at the constant questioning. He answered her, however, though briefly. "Tubers. I wanted to make a stew." He knew tubers grew in the forest there, and it was not uncommon for townsfolk to seek them out. Now he handed the bottle away and stood up as well, ignorant of the princess' continued staredown. "I must check on the horses now," he said simply, bowing low to show his nonexistent respect. He would not wait for further inquiries, but merely take his leave in a calm fashion. A look was given to Garnett, and his head nudged in a direction to take her aside. He knew she would want to ask more questions, and she was easier to manipulate now that he had her complete trust.

Raij Valenti remained as he was, immediately taking Tryl's spot once he departed. That man was not on his friendly list. All the same, Nef's inquiries of the individual and the lack of direct answers that came from him were dually noted...though shoved into the back of his mind for the time being. Situated at his beloved's side he would remain there in silence, merely watching her. Seregon's entrance went unnoticed simply for the fact that Syn was more important. Gaze shifted to Nef briefly, lips pursed. She seemed to be staggering in slight. "Nef, are you well?" Concerned words were uttered softly, though his gaze shifted immediately back to the more injured of the two. For now, he remained ignorant of Nef's head injury.

Nefertise narrowed her eyes and watched the man exit with a gesture towards Garn, "I believe a servant just told me what he was going to do. Why would he have a desire to speak with the princess?" None of it made sense, though she had obviously caught the gesture between servant and royalty. "Seregon, watch that man like a hawk if need be. Something is.. off about him." Her eyes finally shifted away from the doorway where they both had exited, glancing towards her brother as he questioned her and lifting a hand to wave him off. "I am well, worry about your wife." Her tone was sharp, clearly something had struck a chord in the young female. Her attention had finally turned towards Sere now, quirking a slender brow, "How did you acquire that?" She wasn't even aware he had left the kingdom, so expectant on him being around and serving random tasks for His Majesty. She wanted to chase after that damned servant, but the room was spinning.

Seregon was oblivious to whom Nefe spoke about, hell he didn't even hear her when she spoke up. The pain from that knife had his mind one track at the moment. At long last he'd successfully dug out the infected parts of the wound, which was now bleeding like all hell. The knife was steadied atop a thigh before the same hand lifted a bandage and began dabbing at the wound in hopes of stopping the bleeding. Now he heard her speak. Head lifted and so vibrant eyes locked on her. "From an enemy's spear." Details were left out like usual. It was then that her prior comment entered his mind. "Which man?" Eyes dropped back to his arm as he spoke.

Raij Valenti glanced to Nef once more, a frown contorting his lips in slight as he heard her snappish response. "I see. Well, do take it easy." The Prince was obviously distracted, a hand lifting to run along her face gently - not daring to touch her anywhere else for fear of injuring her further. He would rather not see her in pain...though he knew such was inevitable. Despair was written all across his features, emerald gaze expressing the concern he held for her. Why were such things occurring as of late? [shortness]

Nefertise dipped her head at her brother's vague response, sighing softly and bending over to kiss the top of his head. Righting herself, she'd turn and take a seat beside Seregon, taking his arm carefully and stealing the bandage from his hands to dab at the wound as he was doing. "My hands are meant for this, leave it to me." She'd rise slowly and move to the supplies, grabbing a bottle of green liquid and a few more guaze pads to place over the wound. Moving to take a seat beside him, she'd open the bottle carefully and pour it across his wound. The bloodied bandage was left at the bottom to catch what liquid the wound missed. "It will prevent the infection from returning, just make sure you leave the bandage on." A few more drops were placed to the clean guaze before the wound was dressed and wrapped. "The man that has been said to have rescued Synaria. It seems odd he was the only to find her out of your knights and the guardsman. If nothing else, he insults your knights by claiming to >
Nefertise >> have found her on his own." She'd rise and place the supplies back in there place, staggering for a few moments and grabbing the shelf to steady herself out as another wave of diziness washed over her. The bottles on the top shook and one tumbled to the ground below, shattering instantly and creating a great deal to clean up for the servants. Her heart skipped a beat and she jumped to the side the second the bottle smashed on the ground, shaking her head for a few moments before she backed in to the table that held the vase of water and knocked that over as well. "Excuse me, please, before I ruin something else." A sidelong glance was given to Synaria, clearly indicating that she wasn't speaking of the worthless breakables.

Seregon relinquished the bandage to her when she sat beside him, instantly locking his eyes on her. Silently the knight just watched her, not even breaking a sweat or grimace when that liquid stung away at his arm like no other. She was acting strange, this much was easy to tell. His newly freed up hands went about cleaning his dagger and returning it from where it came from. Seregon seemed unusual as well. The usually large body of the knight seemed to have gotten a little more, compact. His muscles looked biggerm, thicker, the result of hard constant work. He was going nuts training himself recently, pressing himself to new bounds for an unknown reason. When she stood to exit he did as well, wrapping up that bicep in the mean time.

Raij Valenti lifted his gaze as Nef kissed him on the top of his head, emerald gaze following her route to help Ser with his bandage. Seemingly swallowing a lump in his throat, he then spotted her stumble - eyes narrowing only to rise as soon as she stood again. "Nefertise." He stated, concern evident. The knight was once again disregarded, his sister more important than him. "Whatever is the matter? You were not injured as well, were you?" Steps were taken to follow after her, a hand extended to catch her should she stumble again. Oy. Raij was...sigh. Not himself.

Nefertise staggered as if she were drunk towards the door, face paling as the head wound was left unnoticed. She'd prefer to keep it that way for now, despite the build-up of blood on the back of her head that clumped her auburn tresses together. "No, I am fine. Look after your wife, Raij, I shall return." She managed to make it out the door and close it behind her before she fell to her knees once in the library with a soft grunt.