Doubt- Lierra Lunora

[Faeble]

Perched on top of a large stack of crates in a dark corner of an decrepit cellar was a small figure, an elf if one had to guess. She lay on her back with her hands tucked behind her head and her feet dangling over the edge to occasionally thump against the wooden panels of the boxes as she stared silently up at the warped ceiling above her. So still she was, aside from the bored kicking of her boot of course, one would be hard pressed to notice her at first glance. The slight movement, however, was enough to give her away should one look hard enough for any given time at the stack of supplies.

Quite often the shy elf would come down into the Jackal's Hole (that is what she had started calling the cellar once Gilos had given her a key) and enjoy the silence of it all. Sometimes, a heavy footed-bloke would stomp about or shout some unseemly curse in the tavern above but most times the only sound to keep her company in the darkness was that of her own breathing and the occasional soft thump of her heel against the box.

It was here, in this place that reminded her so much of her dismal home, that Lierra Lunora would finally lower her hood and relax. Should one of her "guys" (another term she had taken to using since becoming a Jackal) come barreling down the ladder, however, she would quickly pull the cowl back over her features. This was never very hard to accomplish since Leif and Gilos were never exactly quiet.

Her eyes narrowed a little, almost in suspicion, as her mind inadvertently called the others "her guys" again. It concerned her how attached she was becoming to the three of them. For days now she had felt an unsettling stirring in her chest, a pressure of sorts, that she did not understand. That, or she simply refused to acknowledge it for what it was.

Without actually realizing what she was doing, Lierra reached up to rub the scar that was seared into the right side of her neck with a small sigh. Frowning a little more so, she pulled her gloves off of her hands to stare at the scars that were deeply etched into her wrists and hands. For several minutes, she held her hands out in front of her face and turned them over, back and forth, to closely inspect them. They served as testament to the hard life the woman had known thus far, reminding her of exactly what people are capable of. There were others, of course, but those were much easier to hide.

A heavy sigh slipped through her lips and she settled her hands on top of her chest, clasping one in the other while her boot continued to softly thump against the crate. Thunk, thunk, thunk. She let the time pass by, seconds to minutes, minutes to hours... until she let her thoughts finally begin to roam.

I should not be getting this involved with these... "Jackals", not to mention whatever that other group is that's been watching me. Giving them this much control over ... everything? It's dangerous, you idiot. Have you learned nothing? She berated herself internally for hours as she waited for the long night to pass. You've put your, well lets not call it trust... we'll call it...(unable to come up with a better word, she yields) sod it, trust then, in a man that isn't even honest with himself, who claims you are just an "investment". While another has already proven to you that he will gladly throw you at the feet of a monster if only to give him a chance to get away. And the last one... he's entirely too much like... like him. This is just another nightmare waiting to happen.. And then, that bothersome twinge blossomed in her chest once more at the thought of her Jackals (There was that word again: "her"). Her face twisted into a pained grimace and she sat upright on the edge of the box to stare down at the grimy floor below. Next to her waist on both sides, her scarred hands braced against the crate to balance herself. The space between the box and the ceiling was much too small for one of the guys to sit upright, but Lierra fit just fine.

"What have I gotten myself into?" She muttered bitterly into the darkness in a strange accent that she had learned to hide years ago when she had first arrived.

But deep down, she knew the answer to that question and it terrified her. She had found somewhere she belonged.

[Faeble]

Before they had even made their way out of the dank sewers, she had made up her mind. Anger, disgust, revulsion, despair... betrayal all churned bitterly in her gut as they made their way through the dark passage ways.  Gilos' flippant attitude about the job appalled her. His indifference infuriated her.  How could I've been so stupid? Of course he would deal in this. What were you thinking? Within her own thoughts, she raged and screamed her anguish. She dreaded the climb to the surface, the light meant she would have to face them. How could she? What plagued her mind more, however, was how could Gilos' face her? Taking on a job from Hazlan, even if he knew the pay wouldn't be good and then throwing it in her face. And all the while, Leif stayed silent.

"It likely won't pay well."... "I don't want you to cause a problem" ..."Don't offend local customs" Gilos' words echoed harshly in her mind as she hauled herself up the rope that led to the surface. Her fury gave her strength but it also made her hands quiver with rage. She could barely control herself enough to make the climb. As she slung her legs over the rough stone edge of the well she was tempted to bolt right then and there but she had lingered for the hope, the faintest glimmer of hope, that one of them would show some sign of remorse. That Gilos would try to at least make amends but she knew better, and he did not disappoint.

As he had crested the top the first words past of his lips were: "You're being unreasonable".

Even this had given her pause, his absolute disregard for any internal conflict that she may have felt, had stunned her. She had known that the man was a mercenary, that it was just a job to him, but she had come to trust him as a both a leader and a friend. She could understand his decision to take the job, money was money, and to a man that had never known the crack of a whip against his flesh or the ache of a cold shackle on his wrists, slavery was just another means to make coin. She had told him about her life before the mists days ago and still it had made no difference to him. In her denial, her anger, she had shoved him.

A sharp pain had seared through her chest as he defended himself, declaring that she was making a mistake as if she was the one that was in the wrong and she'd turned to flee into the forest. Throughout the entire altercation, Leif has just stood by and watched in silence.

Lierra raced through the woods, blinded by tears that stung her eyes and in turn caused her to lose her bearings. For hours, she wandered aimlessly in the woods, trying to find her way back to Degannwy. A place she had avoided returning to until now. It was a false refuge, she didn't belong here among the elves of the forest. She felt awkward, out of place... lost. Eventually, she found herself standing at the edge of a cliff with a waterfall pouring over the side next to her. She looked down into the darkness below with muted interest, trying to distract herself. The pestering pressure, the strange sensation that had been building in her chest since becoming a Jackal, was gone. Snatched away, simple as that.

Carefully, she lowered herself down to sit on the edge of the cliff with her feet dangling over the ledge. Not like I'm surprised exactly. She mused miserably to herself as she pulled the key to the Jackal's Hole out of her pocket and stared down at it. I was wrong... and it won't happen again.

As the night dragged on she had laid down in the soft grass, staring blankly up at the sky still mulling over the previous days unfortunate event. But then, something dawned on her. Gilos had asked what she worked for in place of coin and she had responded immediately with "myself". Her brow furrowed together as she considered the statement then she slowly pushed herself upright. So why don't I? He had told her that there was no right, no wrong in what she did. That she shouldn't fool herself  but he was wrong. It was his work where there were no lines to be crossed, his lack of morals that allowed him to work for coin with no real purpose, without concern for his actions. Coin was of next to no importance to her, she didn't need to follow such a cloudy path. She could forge her own way. Setting her jaw, she leaned forward once more to stare down into the darkness below. Coin will not be my master. I am the wielder of my own fate.

With her mind made up, Lierra stood up from the cliff's edge and walked away with her hand still tightly gripping the key to what she had once hoped could be her home.

[Faeble]

The next morning, with a clear head, Lierra made her way back through the sewers to seek out the one person that had the answers she needed. It was foolish, brazen and out right moronic but she did not care. The man who had given the job would be able to tell her what she wanted to know. One way or another.
The stench of the underground network of pipes didn't even bother her anymore. Before, she would have been hopelessly lost down here but now, her feet carried her forward with a conviction that she had not known in some time. Sure enough, it was only a matter of time before she stood at the table of the caliban who had given the job to the Jackals.

Their conversation was short and to the point. She had no qualms with how he had berated her for demanding answers in his own home, how he scowled at her and told her to get back to work once they had both said their peace. He was right, it was incredibly uncouth of her to outright question his motives and what would happen with the 'package' that he would get from the job but again, still, she did not care.  

A side of her that she had not known in years had finally resurfaced. The woman who had rallied the other slaves behind her in a rebellion. Who resisted and challenged her master. Her feet guided her through the dark drains of the sewers with her head held high, her shoulders back and her stride confident. She had done those things once.  And she would be damned if she allowed herself to work blindly for any other man, she had made that clear and felt no shame in doing so.

At the bottom of the rope that led to the surface, she paused and stared upwards. One of her hands gripped the worn rope loosely as she considered her next move. She would need to seek Gilos out, perhaps Leif if the man was even still in town. For what she had planned, she would more than likely need them at some point, as much as it pained her to admit it.

Wallowing about in self pity will not help anyone, least of all yourself, girl. She thought to herself as she began to haul herself up the rope.

No good in what I do, eh Gilos? We will just see about that. As her feet touched the soft grass and the crisp morning air filled her lungs, she assumed her usual timid demeanor. Shoulders slightly hunched, head bowed low to avoid eye contact while her hands habitually wrung themselves in worrisome knots.  This was a shield she had used for more than one human life time, and she used it well.  

[Faeble]

"How -dare- you question ME you insignificant little wretch!" Her master raged, beyond reason at this point,  in the cabin of his opulent vessel. Lierra worked quietly in the corner, arranging his food ever so neatly on his plate in just the way that he liked. He was ever so specific about every minute detail. A quick glance over her shoulder towards the argument allowed her to see the prospective business partner on his knees and cowering from the red-faced, spittle-spewing mad man that towered over him. Such a sight was common place in this House that she had been sold into some twenty years ago. At least, she guessed it was twenty years, she never really bothered to count anymore. At least his anger was directed at a free man this time, the merchant would likely leave the ship with wet trousers, hurt pride and that was all.

"P-please! Y-your ... your Grace! I meant n-n-no... disrespect!" The older man who was still on his knees whimpered pitifully. The enraged bull of a man sneered down at the merchant, his head quirked to the side with a grotesque grin on his face. "There will be no deal. Be gone from here!" He roared down at the quivering whelp of a man. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, 'what a filthy coward' she thought to herself.  With immense care, she lifted the heavy tray and moved to set it on the table. She made sure to keep her head down and her eyes averted but she did allow herself a brief glance at the merchant as he fled the room. Sure enough, the seat of his trousers were dark and damp.

She stood silently by the food, her eyes still downcast as she waited for her master decide it was time for supper. One of the more experienced girls of the House, she took it upon herself to be the one who tended to Master's meals. A younger, greener girl was likely to be flayed alive if she so much as blinked at the wrong time.

After nearly ten minutes of furious pacing about the room, her master settled his hulking form in the chair at the head of the table. The wood creaked beneath the weight of him and threatened to buckle. Lierra was amazed that the chair still held together after all these years. She was careful, however, to keep her face impassive and her eyes on the floor while she awaited Master's acknowledgement.

He took his time adjusting himself in his seat with a heavy sigh, the fury from earlier having faded away. The slave girl knew better though, it was only dormant likely to flare to life at the slightest provocation. Finally, he spoke. "Damned fools, the lot of them, Lierra."

Her only response was to nod quietly as she turned to face the table, her hands neatly clasped in front of her.

A hefty grunt and a satisfied nod from her Master. "That's why I like you girl. Know when to keep your mouth shut. Smart thing it was, putting you in charge of those..." he paused and tilted his head as he thought for the right word. "The rest of those imbeciles that I own. Now hurry up, before this food gets cold." He barked curtly at her.

It always bothered her when he called her "Lierra" what kind of name was that? He had given it to her as if it were some kind of gift. Something to call her other than 'girl' or 'wench' but still... bah. She had never dared correct him and so, now, she was stuck with it. The internal complaints aside, she reached out and began her daily ritual of tasting her Master's food for poisons. As she was finishing up her task, the door to the cabin suddenly burst open and a lanky she-elf burst through, gasping for breath. Her suspicions were raised immediately, she did not recognize the woman and she knew every single slave on this ship. Master was less conscious of such things and simply turned in his chair, which gave a loud groan of protest, to scowl at the woman.

"What the blazes do you think you are -doing- wench?" He snarled fiercely in the intruders direction and slowly raised himself out of the chair. Lierra stood by the table, not moving a single muscle as she watched the scantily clad elf raise up her hand which held a small crossbow. The bolt flew free from the weapon and embedded itself deep in the Master's chest but it missed it's mark, having struck to the left of his heart. This served to only infuriate the man even more and he charged across the room as the would-be-assassin tried in desperation to reload her weapon. Before she was even able to lay the bolt into position, the Master had her in his bear like grasp and snapped her neck, he dropped the body which crumpled lifelessly to the floor and whirled on his own slave. 

"YOU KNEW! YOU HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH THIS!" He roared his fury as he strode towards Lierra.

Fear seized her muscles and her stomach lurched up into her throat. "No! Master I've never seen her. Please, she must be one of the merchant's slaves. I didn't know!"

It was too late for apologies, she knew that. If she was smart, she would have thrown herself in front of the assassin. Either the shot would've killed her... or her master would not have turned his anger on her. His massive hand grabbed the right side of her neck, his thumb pressed firmly against her cheek as he slammed her head down onto the table. His food scattered and tumbled over the beautiful wood. For a brief moment, it crossed her mind that the mess would only make him more angry. Then, she felt the heat rise up in his hand as the fire that he so easily wielded flared to cover his skin. It burned. She screamed in agony and thrashed beneath him but she could not escape. The horrid stench of her charring flesh swarmed through her nostrils and the sick hissing sound filled her ears. She could only see the dead elf, lying in a heap on the floor and the flames that engulfed his hand. He raised her head up off the table then slammed her back down again with such a tremendous force so that her vision swam and the room swayed... or was that the ship rolling in the sea?

And then she knew only darkness. Years and years of nothing but the cold, black night.

[Faeble]

When she first opened her eyes, she'd feared that she had gone blind. The world was a featureless mass of inky blackness and she could see only shadows. She could feel the cold, wet stone that was pressed against her uninjured cheek as she lay on the floor. The right side of her face blazed in agony and she cried out in pain as the sensations assaulted her once more. Her clothing clung to her like a sickness in the damp, stale air and she struggled to sit upright. Eventually, after much crawling and stumbling, she found her way to a wall that was covered in a thick sludge that oozed through her fingers. The repulsive feeling and the oppressive odor nearly made her vomit. For what felt like hours, she used this disgusting wall as a guide to find her way through the darkness.

In fact, she had wandered for -days- in the winding tunnels of 'Hell's Labyrinth' beneath her master's castle.

 Criminals and the unwanted were cast away into it's miserable depths to lurk in the shadows for the remainder of their wretched lives. It was unclear which Master of the House had concocted the idea of such a prison but it had been in existence far longer than any could remember.  At first, the people thrown into the Labyrinth had murdered, raped and killed anyone else they came across in the Black in their desperate struggle for survival. Years passed, but nevertheless, a make-shift society of survivors and outcasts came into being to put an end to the cruelty. Those that refused to cooperate were killed.  Entire generations of people dwelled within the tunnels, having never before felt the kiss of the sun on their skin nor seen the glimmer of the stars on a clear night. With time, micro-villages took root and it was one of these encampments that Lierra stumbled into delirious from infection, half-starved and dehydrated.   

Time lost all significance for her as she recovered in a mud hut on a bed of furs. She had tried at first to keep track but without the sun to guide her, she was unable to. Lierra remembered very little of her time spent in the hut, mostly a flickering candle, a beautiful woman with violet eyes and jet black hair. Once her wounds were healed, however, she was free to roam the village as she saw fit. The Lurkers, as they called themselves, showed Lierra how to scale the lips of the wall to avoid walking in the muck, how to find her way through the darkness using her other senses, they taught her how to find clean water or how to purify it if there was none to be found, they helped her make new clothing to combat the damp air. She learned how to recognize someone  by the sound of their footsteps alone and how to tell which tunnels were too dangerous to venture down based only on the smell of the air. It was here, in the place meant to be her punishment, her prison, that she learned of freedom.

Many years later, Lierra was nearly unrecognizable. Her neat and tidy hair had grown long and wild, she wore it in a braid that fell nearly past her waist. The dresses and fine clothing that she had been forced to wear for her master were long gone, tossed aside and replaced with loose fitting trousers and a cropped top. She kept her face smeared with mud and a green paint that they made from the wall slime to cover her scar. When they gathered around the bonfires to share the food gathered from a day's hard work, her golden brown eyes glimmered with mirth and she laughed often and without restraint. It was a hard life, a daily struggle to survive but it was -hers-. She savored even the smallest of moments and came to appreciate everything the Labyrinth had to offer. Though the Lurkers taught her much, the lesson that Lierra took most to heart was their ability to take even the most dismal of circumstances and make something from it. They had a deep appreciation for what they had, and even though it was not much, it was enough.

[Faeble]

Lierra stood at the ladder that led down in the Jackal's Hole, her right hand resting on of the rungs just above shoulder height. Her golden eyes swept over the cluttered and yet empty room, a hollow ache burning in her chest. A pain she had not known in quite some time had seared its way back into her heart.  With a heavy sigh she let her hand fall to her side and took a few silent steps forward. Dust swirled around her grime crusted boots as she slowly paced around the small ring in the center of the room. Her left hand idly trailed along one of the wooden rails while her eyes continued to slowly scan the room. She remembered when Gilos had first brought her, Elgie and Leif down here. Now the Jackals had grown to the point where she didn't even know half of the members. She paused briefly before she carefully gripped the upper railing with both hands and hauled herself up onto the ring, perching herself on top with her feet dangling in front of her. Pain flared in her shoulder where a werewolf's claws had torn through her muscle and flesh alike just the night before. Her elbows rested on her knees as she hunched forward, her feet slipping back to prop up on the bottom rung beneath her. As she let her mind wander, she rubbed her palms together and lowered her head to stare down at the ground below.

Even though she was wrapped in a warm cloak and her usual attire, she shivered as a chill settled into her very core. Why can't that man just... make sense. For ten seconds? One minute he's a decent person and the next he's pulled that mask back down. And now he's gotten it in his mind to try and make me a Lieutenant? Again with the... inconsistencies. In her mind, she took on an overly-exaggerated impersonation of Gilos' gruff voice. "I can't trust anyone, Lierra. But! I want you to be a Lieutenant. Because I can't count on anyone else to lead these men in my absence" With an irritated huff she sat up a little more straight, bracing her hands against the wooden rail next to her hips. "What does that even mean?!"

Her frustration simmered and she frowned as she looked up to gaze across the room. One moment, he said he trusted her, that he counted on her. The next he would dig his heels in and say that trusting others is foolish and a way to get yourself killed. She understood that he was pushing her away, that he was scared of her in way. But if he didn't want her around, she didn't want to make him uncomfortable, so she'd told him that she'd stay away from him unless there was a job to be done. She'd be a Jackal, just another grunt, and nothing more.

When she'd told him that, she thought that she would be fine with it. Just another fact of life in this miserable land but the ache in her chest only worsened. What was wrong with her? What was he so damn scared of? This is what you get for letting yourself get attached to people, Lierra. You're an idiot. She internally berated herself and dragged a hand through her thick hair to pull her hood back.

She rolled her shoulders, wincing in pain as the healing wounds twinged at the movement. Stop focusing so much on him. Get your head in the game and get over yourself. You've a job to do. You used to be good at hiding behind a wall of your own. It's high time you got back behind it. He wants you to do a job that he doesn't trust anyone else with. Take what you can, be grateful and give it your all. She suddenly realized that even though she had started the thought with "stop focusing on him" that's all she had done.

With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes. Forcing herself to sit still and focused her other senses. The air was still with a slight chill from the frigidness that had settled over Barovia. The room smelled of earth, dried sweat and barley. Above her, she could hear the footsteps of the patrons that had taken refuge in the bar for the night and the muffled sounds of their conversations. She could feel the wood beneath her hands, still rough not having had the chance to be worn smooth. Her heartbeat slowed and came to a steady rhythm as she finally took the time to gather herself and calm down. This was something she had done almost constantly when she had lived with the Lurkers; taking the time to center herself. To get familiar with her surroundings in every way possible, instead of just relying on eyesight.  

Don't lose yourself in the darkness. She had once instructed a man new to the Tunnels. Do not be overwhelmed by what surrounds you or the circumstances you find yourself in. Focus. Meld yourself into it. Let what troubles you empower you. Find yourself and you will find your way. Words she had spoken years ago echoed in her mind. Once, she had been a leader. All she had to do was find that strength again.

[Faeble]

Thick mist swirled around the grime covered boots of the elven woman with every step she took. Draped over her shoulders was a faded black cloak that fell to her ankles, the hem of which was caked with splashed mud from her travels. The hood of her cloak was pulled low over her face, obscuring her features from view, which made it difficult to tell exactly what it was that was on the woman's mind. She walked with her head held low and her shoulders hunched slightly, as though trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. Strung across her back was a massive bow, almost as tall as she was with a quiver stuffed full of arrows tied to her waist. Her every movement was eerily silent, every step chosen carefully to prevent making a sound as she moved through the thick forests on the outskirts of Vallaki.

For many days, she lingered on the edge of the trees, watching the movements of the locals closely... searching for a familiar face but she found none. It would be as if she had only freshly emerged from the mists, she decided. She would fade into the land as she had done before, not catching the notice of the garda, just another timid little fey. A slow smile spread over her lips at the thought. Just like old times. She thought to herself and with that, she slipped out of the treeline and into the world of Barovia once more, as nothing more than a skittish little fey.