Name: Lana Grün
Appearance:

~~~~~~~~

Lana stooped in the forest clearing, picking up various sticks she could find in her immediate proximity. It was late autumn, and she needed to collect firewood considering that she already had several layers of long-sleeved garments on--on top of which she'd donned a heavy fur cloak. She had a brown peasant top and green skirt over several petticoats she'd sown herself, after her mother had died last year. For a nineteen-year-old petite woman, she was rather handy with most things, particularly hunting and building things.

The cottage had sprung a leak during a rainstorm three days ago and she'd had to path up the ceiling herself. Unfortunately, most of the villagers did not consider her skills flattering for a young woman of her age. She hardly behaved ladylike, and they often raved about her she'd occasionally hike up her skirts in winter time or flat-out wear stockings suited for men and not girls. She'd learned healing from her mother, and paired with her vulgar mouth, half of the people believed her to be a witch since the shelves of her cottage contained nothing but various medicinal herbs. No one would come to her for help, so she'd generally use her knowledge to mend her own cuts and scrapes.

No men dared approach her, except for Hans Metzger. And the only reason he did so was to mock the leaves in her flaming orange hair and the filth on her dark skin. He came from the village's most prominent family, despite the fact they were more or less subservient to the lords of the land. Her mother had been an outcast for bearing Lana, a bastard child, and she'd spent her childhood in the depths of poverty. Eventually illness had overcome her mother--a sickness that neither of them could cure. But who could Lana go to when the townsfolk considered her a raving lunatic? She felt it was best to be by herself and avoid the lot of them.

Devon was out for a ride again. He always left just before dusk, even though it was literally painful for him to venture forth before dark. He was not sure why his horse was not spooked as the others were when he was around them. Perhaps it was because this was the horse he was riding on the day that beast attacked him. Devon always dressed "down" when he went for these rides, no sense wearing his knightly uniform and causing a general murmur among any people he might meet along the way.

If it came down to it, he would ride down a roe and have that in absence of human blood. It worked to stem the pain and keep his strength up but was somehow faintly nauseating to consume nonhuman blood. His senses picked up some activity nearby. A sigh, a slight grunt, a shuffle of feet. It was a woman. He reigned up the horse and coaxed it slowly up to a copse of trees.

There she was. He had seen her before. It took a moment but he remembered she was the one rumored to be a witch, or at least daft. Devon decided he would try the gallant approach first, to see what that gleaned. He circled his mount back a dozen or so paces, then trotted it into the clearing where the woman gathered firewood.

"I say, good woman, is there a way that I may be of assistance to you?" His demeanor revealed none of his regal status, but when he bowed a bit his sword swung around his waist, revealing the Baron's symbol on the scabbard and hilt. Devon heaved an inward sigh, but awaited her reply nonetheless.

Lana drew back from this stranger, not from fright, but from the audacity of his approach and address. She held her pile of wood to her side with one arm, placing a free hand defiantly on her hip. She gave the man a good look, noting his somewhat drab but clean raiment, his wavy dark hair, and the insignia on the hilt of his sword. A baron, out riding in these parts? She wasn't really surprised. What did shock her, however, was that he'd offered to assist her. Apparently her reputation hadn't proceeded her. Well, she'd soon enlighten him.

"Well, sire, I cannot say that you can be," she stated, puffing a gust off air from her lips to blow a wayward strand of hair from out of her eyes. "My name is Lana Grün and I'm the village witch. If you come any closer, I will turn you into a toad. Good day."

Lana pivoted on her heels, marching towards the forest. If he did not pursue her, she would be safe under dense treecover. She knew these woods well enough. She could run like a shewolf, camouflage herself just as well as the owls in the trees. Despite her confidence, she had the strangest feeling that she'd seen the man before, perhaps earlier that year. Maybe he'd visited the village. Maybe he worked for the lord of the fief. Maybe he was the lord of the fief. She hadn't the foggiest idea, but she certainly wasn't going to stick around and find out. If he touched her, she'd beat him over the head with her firewood.

"A toad you say? I've been called far worse in my day, and some of my enemies would welcome my becoming such a creature. Also, as a good Christian man, it is my duty to show you the error of your ways and bring you to our Lord." Devon dismounted and walked up to her.

"Put on all the armor that God has forged, that you may be able to make a stand against the devil's cunning tricks. Our wrestling is not against weak human nature, but against the Principalities and the Powers, against those that rule the world of darkness, the wicked spirits that belong to an order higher than ours. . . . With all this take up the shield of faith, with which you will be enabled to put out all the flaming arrows of the wicked enemy."

All the time he was speaking he was weaving in his suggestion with his powers that she become tired and listless. Devon assumed that he could do this less subtly and more powerfully if he had been taught, but the feral beast that attacked him had little or no humanity left within it.

Despite her attempts to flee, Knight Devon Claymore ended up walking side by side with his intended victim of the evening, clutching the crucifix in his right hand. At least he was not repelled by religious symbols; that would have changed his life immeasurably for the worse had that particular old wives tale about vampires had been true.

Lana's eyes flickered to her side, as she became well-aware of the fact that the man was following her. Even worse, he was walking beside her, undaunted by her nastiness and sharp tongue. Now he spoke religious jibberish, apparently haven taken her words seriously. Did he really think she was a sorceress like the rest of the village? She almost regretted saying anything to him at all. She should have just walked way when she had the chance. Just rolled her eyes and ignored his presence altogether. Although, from the persistence he displayed here, irritatingly, she doubted that would have worked either.

"What nonsense are you speaking, sir? I could care less about your solemn Christian duty, or what have you. Just get out of my hair and leave me in peace. I have to be getting home. The hour is late, the fireplace is empty, and so is my stomach. I haven't the time to waste on you."

Her eyes twitched a little, and for some unexplicable reason her eyelids felt heavy. She refused to give into the temptation to nap, however. Not here in the clearing with this cretin. God knew what he'd try on her if she let her guard down. Sure, Lana had no penny to her name and a wild, untamed quality to her. But despite these things, she was not repulsive--actually, rather easy on the eyes. At least, she assumed so. She repelled any man that came into her sight, so she wouldn't know what they thought of her exotic, unkempt hair and olive-green eyes.

"Go on, get out of here. I'm tired. I cannot deal with the likes of you." Lana stifled a yawn mid-sentence. Wht was wrong with her? However, her headstrong attitude preventing her from dropping to the floor asleep. Only she had control over her own body!

"Oh but I know you jest about your sorcery, woman. If you were truly a witch, you would have indeed turned me into a toad or newt by now, or at least straddled one of those sticks you carry and flown off like a bird." Devon laughed, and walked slowly around in front of her, his grey eyes meeting her olive ones.

"I shall be on the level with you, miss. I have indeed seen you before today. From the tower of that rook in the distance. I am the knight entrusted by the Baron to look after these demesnes and this includes the resident population. I would be quite remiss in my duty to let an unescorted woman, especially one as tired as you profess to be, wander the forest so close to evening. Who knows what manner of beast there be about?" With each word, he knew her body had fallen further under his power, but he left her mind alone. For one, it was easier, and secondly, an unbridled respect for this survivor of a woman had arisen in him. Something about her primal nature inspired that respect.

"Come, the rook is just over the hill. I shall have servants deliver whatever you need to your cottage in the morn. I phrase this as a simple request, even though I might demand it due to our respective positions in society." The veiled threat might anger the woman, who was none too congenial as it was, but perhaps that was the manner in which he could secure her cooperation with the least amount of use of his powers. Devon hated using the abilities, not only due to the moral quandary this posed but the use of the power only increased his hunger.

Devon crossed his arms behind his back, but they were poised so that he could quickly draw the small club he used to help bring animals down when he was forced to subsist on nonhuman vitae.

Lana Grün refused to take another minute of this. His intentions, as she'd predicted, were not as chivalrous as he had initially claimed, which was apparent from his latest declaration. She had to come with him, or face the consequences. He would not allow her to return her cottage until he had quelled his desires with her. At least, she had construed this to be the meaning behind his somewhat thinly-veiled-but-vague threat. As inconspicuously as possible, she spread her legs a little to make sure she had sure footing before her next dramatic action.

"I am not going anywhere with you," she said through clenched teeth, squeezing the wood tightly to her side. There was a thicker stick in the middle of the bundle. Should she be fast enough, she could throw the rest aside and keep only what she required now...

"Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but I'll be damned if your concern is for my well-being at this late hour. I am merely a peasant, a servant of his lordship, and what happens to any of his subjects could concern him the least. He didn't help my poor mother last year when she fell ill. I've no one by myself and I'll be damned if I let anyone peer down their nose at me. I can manage..."

This was it...

"Now step aside!"

She threw her wood aside, yanking from the bunch the largest, heaviest branch and swung it deliberately at his face with all the force she could muster.

Devon was so surprised by the sudden attack that he was actually grazed by it, though his reaction time was much faster than it had been before his turning, and even before, he was a knight, trained for countless hours at avoiding such blows. The piece of wood careened off of his temple, shattering from the impact. Were he still human, it would have caused considerable damage. As it was, it merely snapped his head to one side.

When he met her eyes again, he had barely contained his primal urge to throw her to the ground and feast right there. But Devon knew if he fed in anger he would not be able to stop. And what slippery slope would that be if he began to kill for his survival.

"Enough, woman. A lesser knight would have run you through just now for your insolence. I am not a drunkard in the tavern out wenching, I am a Knight of the Realm, and now you will go with me." With the word 'will' he exerted the full force of his power on her. Whenever he used this on a deer before, it had merely collapsed, paralyzed. He assumed it would have the same stunning effect on a human, but he hadn't tested it out before. Devon watched her reaction to his exertion carefully.

"Ahh~!"

Lana did not understand what force had come over her. Her head was spinning and she fell down to one knee. The world was swimming, the trees and the man's figure rippling before her eyes. Still she fought losing consciousness, grasping in her hand the stump of the branch. The majority of it had shattered to pieces on the man's temple. She inhaled deepy, puzzling over, even in her weakened state, why the man was still standing upright. He looked as though he'd merely been struck by a fly bumping into his forehead and not a large stick swung by a woman who spent her time lifting heavy objects and had upperarm muscles. She hadn't felt so weak before he'd come into the picture, so she was starting to think that the sorcerer in these parts wasn't her after all...

"Can't you leave... A woman.. In peace?" she groaned, falling onto her hands and knees now, panting. The world was going black, but still she held on. She did not want to be used... Like her mother... She wouldn't have a child that would be shunned by the villages like that, a bastard child, forced to grow up in the same void as she did. "I don't want... to go..."

She could not fight the darkness any longer. "With you..." And with that, she collapsed into a heap on the floor, too inexplicably exhausted to do anything else.

The moments passed painfully slowly...

Thump-thump.

He heard the heartbeat. Still solid. He hadn't overdone it.

Thump-thump.

He could just end it now. Who would miss the crazy witch from town?

Thump-thump.

No. He might have been assaulted by a creature of Satan, but he would not become one of them.

Thump-thump.

Devon whistled to his horse. It trotted up to him, not disturbed at all by the fight.

Thump-thump.

He reached down and wrapped one arm around the fallen woman's waist.

It would be so easy...

Thump-thump.

No. Thou shalt not kill.

Thump-thump.

He tossed her over the back of his horse like so much cordwood.

Thump-thump.

"O Lord, In this time of need, strengthen me. You are my strength and my shield; You are my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. I know, Father, that Your eyes go to and fro throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts long for You. The body grows weary, but my hope is in You to renew my strength."

Thump-thump.

"I do not fear, for You are with me."

Thump-thump.

I am not dismayed or overwhelmed, for You are my God. I know You will strengthen me and help me; that You will uphold me with Your righteous hand. Even as the shadows of illness cover me, I feel the comfort of Your strength, Or Lord.
Amen."

The urge had passed. He had passed the test once again. His cross was indeed heavy but Devon bore it as well as any man could.

He rode up to the gates of the small rook, and his guards looked at him oddly.
"This woman is ill. Call Greta to the East Room to take care of her."

He got no question. They were used to him bringing ladies, but they were always awake and escorted in inside his lush carriage, not thrown across the back of his horse. It drew odd looks, so he needed to further explain.

"I have just performed the first part of an exorcism. God's power to expel demons was channeled through me this eve. I shall call Father Bromley in the morning to further examine her. But for now, she needs medical attention, food, and to be properly cleaned up. Move!"

The guards scattered, calling others to take over the gate duty as they scrambled to comply with his request. In moments, one of the serving maids and two of his guards had carried the woman carefully off.

Devon went back to his room, and looked into the mirror. There was only a small mark. He would have to fix that. Walking to his fireplace, he drew the poker from its rack, swung it around a few times then, wincing, bounced it off of the side of his head. His head swum for a moment or two, then he regained his composure and replaced the item. He would have the proper bruise now. Awful waste of blood that was, but it was needed to keep up appearances for now.

He waited there awhile until he heard the faint knock on his door, his signal that the woman had been attended to.

With a long sigh, Devon Claymore ran his hand through his jet black hair and walked to the room he had ordered prepared for her.

This was going to be a long night.

Lana Grün's eyes fluttered open. All the colors of the room had blended together, becoming blurry. She blinked her eyes a few times, trying to get a clearer picture of her surroundings. She remembered the knight, become faint, falling... She remembered that her sight had gone black and she had passed out on the grass of the clearing. She was tucked into a soft bed, she could tell that from the feeling. She'd never been accustomed to such luxury, so clearly such comfort would be foreign and obvious to her. Her sight began to clear, although she saw two of everything for a while. Four bedposts, two curtains, two bedside stands... She could make out red lush drapes handing on either side of the bed. Stone, castle walls...

Lana sat up, rubbing her eyes. When she opened them again, everything came back into focus. The room felt a bit chilly, although decidedly warmer than the air outside. A fire crackled in a space in the wall on the farther end of the room, which evidently kept the space warm enough in this weather. She no longer wore her own clothing, but a loose white nightgown. Her regular clothing had been hung over a chair by the window, which was framed by a curtain that matched the drapes of the bed canopy.

"Ugh, that beast took me... I wonder what he's done to me," she groaned, holding a hand to her forehead.

Her body didn't feel any different in any... Particular location. At the most, she was terribly lightheaded and tired. She could barely keep herself upright. She sighed, collapsing against the pillows. Even if she had been brought here unwillingly, she could at least enjoy the bed for a while. Better than her straw mattress. However, she started when she heard the door creak. She clutched the bedcovers to her face. Someone was coming in!

Devon entered the room, head cocked to one side. For a long moment he said nothing then, turning aside, he spoke. "I know not what spirit took you when you struck me, or afterward. I believe that for your protection, I shall have to insist you be my guest here. At least until Goody Greta and Father Bromley get a look at you."

He raised his hand to quell her objection. "Allow me to finish. You most probably have brought visions of my taking advantage of you to mind. This could explain some of your behavior, but not your sudden lack of strength. It would bode ill for me to allow you to simply return to your home, after my men have seen you, but I could not very well leave you unconscious in the woods, even after you struck me without provocation." Devon turned his head to show the fresh bruise on his temple. "I was forced to tell a fib to bring you here in a manner that would not bring disgrace on us both. I have told my men that I performed the first part of a exorcism upon you." He raised his hand at her outraged gasp.

"Worry not, the Father will be here in the morning and since you are obviously not possessed of a demon, merely a bad attitude and uncommon strength for a woman, you will be let go then."

The vampire walked up to her, looking down. "Food is being brought to you. A bath has been drawn in the next room. I present you with an offer of employment, Miss Lana, for I always have need of healers. Think it over this evening. Partake of the food I bring, the quarters you would have, and anything else you could wish for that is in my power. You have strength, and strength is to be rewarded."

One final pause then - "It is said that only those that are insane truly have the strength to prosper, and only those who prosper truly judge what is sane. You have proven your strength tonight, what you do with it is up to you."

Lana listened to the man's proposition attentively. Although she had half a mind to wring his neck here and now, she had not the strenth to sit up and do so. Instead, she focus her gaze on him with as much hatred and loathing as she could, and hoped he could tell it for what it was, and not just some strained, spent expression on the face of a weakened female peasant. Despite her terribly negetive feelings towards him, she admitted his offer sounded enticing. The bed, if anything, tempted her to stay a good, long while even if she had to claim she had a cold. If the food was any good, she might consider taking him up on it. What did she have back in the village anyway? Nothing. Nothing but her mother's ashes. But she could always call for them to be brought back to her. Still, she'd let the man squirm a bit before giving him an outright answer. Especially since he'd lied about her to everyone. Now, on top of everything else, the villagers would think she'd been possessed by a demon. If she ever made it back the village, they might actually try burning her at the stake. That, if anything, was reason enough to stay in this place.

"Do you swear, upon your lord's life and the grace of God, that you did not touch me in the way that an honorable man would shudder to think of?" Lana asked firmly, her brow creasing as she glared at him with malintent. "If you did so, I will kill you in your sleep. Your healher, eh? How do you know I will not poison you? I can, you know. I have the knowledge for it."

She crossed her arms, sniffing. Strength. He'd see what strength she had when the priest visited come morning. She'd throw her chamber pot at the old coot.

"I swear, in the presence of God, that your purity will not be sullied by any who reside in this castle. As for being poisoned... Well... you are not starting out as my personal healer, but we'll try you out on the livestock first. If you do well, then perhaps you can treat humans..." His mood went from somber to teasing, with a hint of a smile, during the course of that statement. "For now, take advantage of the hot bath in the next room. I hear Goody Greta making her way up the stairs now... I will hear your answer in the morning."

Devon bowed slightly and turned on his heel, as he heard the heavy clanking of Goody Greta's cane on the wooden staircase. He would wait until the Lana was asleep, and then draw the blood he needed from her. He would use one of his better excuses - The doctor bled you, to rid your body of the disease. Rest a few days and recover. He could almost hear himself saying this as he opened the door just in time to see a huffing and puffing Goody Greta, her bag of potions and lineaments over one shoulder, her gnarled cane gripped by the free hand.

"Take good care of her Goody Greta. She has been through much." Greta could only nod after taking the stairs up to Lana's room.

Lana, unfriendly as she was, opened her mouth to formulate a retort towards the damned knight. But he was saved by the presence of a fat old bat coming in with her bag of tricks to examine Lana who, as far as she concerned, was right as rain. She had her own special health potions to attest to that. Nonetheless, she allowed the elderly woman to look her over without complaint. Actually, she barely complied at all. The woman had to work to raise her arms, get her to sit up, move, do this or that. She made an honest effort to be as uncooperative as possible. Finally, exhausted enough by the stairs and Lana's irritability, Goody Greta could only sigh, stack up her things, and retreat from the chamber.

As soon as Lana heard the midwife's footsteps fading in the distance, and she'd sufficiently regained enough strength to stand, she ran over the door and tried the knob. She tugged at it, but it would not budge. She'd been locked in. As if she'd expected otherwise. She turned around, touseling her fiery hair, and wandered over to the doorway on the far side of the bed. Inside she found the bathing chamber, and a tub, filled with hot, steaming water. She had half the mind to boycott it, as peasants never had the luxury of bathing all too often either, but she simply could not resist. She'd been cold all morning, and the hot water would feel wonderful on her clammy skin.

Slipping off her nightgown (and of course, having nothing else on beneath it), she lowered herself into the water with a delighted sigh. The soap smelled like roses. She worked a lather onto her skin and into her hair. After soaking for a bit, she came out and dried herself off, finishing with some similarly-scented bath oils she discovered on the ground beside the soap. Lana decided that after the food came up, she would go back to bed.

Devon waited until after Cookie had sent up the food, about half an hour or so, before he returned up the stairs. Silently he waited until he was sure she was asleep. His vampiric senses could hear the calmer breathing, the slower heartbeat, the shuffling of skin on cloth. It would be an easy matter to keep her asleep while he fed.

He didn't know why he always made such a big production about this. He could just as easily, in fact easier for him to swear a serving girl to silence and feed off of her twice a month. Somehow, he had up until this point preferred feeding from people that he would not have to see on a daily basis.

In fact, all of this extensive preparation had brought Devon to a realization - it would be far easier to have a repetitive donor or two as opposed to what he had been doing.

Once he was sure she had been asleep for some time, he slipped in silently. Her face was so peaceful, a state he had not seen it in yet. He used his powers once more to keep her deeply asleep then lifted one of her arms. With a prayer to God and a pang of guilt, he bit into the woman's wrist.

The blood thrilled into him, and he began counting. He knew he could count to twenty before he stopped. Devon forced himself to stop when that number came up, and sealed the wound with his tongue. Apparently there was some sort of healing agent in his saliva now, as one could never find evidence of the bite marks after he was done.

He lowered her arm, stepped back then turned away in shame before he left the room. He would be good for another week or so with what he took tonight, and she would just take her weakness for a few days as a sign of her illness. More harm had been done to her when he loused up and brought her back across the back of his horse than he had just done to her now.

In her dream, she ran through the forest. Some unseen creature chased her from behind. She was panting, leaping over logs and scrambling to get around boulders in the stream bed. It was past midnight, there was a full moon above her, and next to it glittered thousands of stars. The darkness would have been soothing and serene had it not been for the terror that struck her. A promordial terror, one that cut her deep to the very fibre of her being. One that pierced the very depths of her soul.

The creature was gaining on her. As she turned a corner in the stream, she found herself trapped. A tall, sheer cliff face was barring any escapes. There was a crack that sent her sprawling into the rock. She hit her head. The world flickered. She saw a dark silhouette standing above her, something that resembled a person. It knelt, lifting her wrist to its lips. It bit into her. Searing pain.

Lana's eyelids sprang open. The blanket was tangled around her, and she was nearly hanging upside down from the side of the bed. Her dream was vivid in her mind. She could recall every detail. The smell of the trees, the wind in her hair. The feeling of her blood being drained from her arm. She wondered what had triggered such a horrible dream. Perhaps the rich food from the previous night had not agreed with her stomach... Either the quality of it or the quantity.

With a moan, she sat up. She felt a stab in her temple, and her hand flew to the side of her head. Such a headache! She doubled over in pain, gritting her teeth. She'd thought she'd feel better in the morning, but evidentially she was weaker than before!

"Heavens above, what is wrong with me?!" Lana cried. "I've never been sick this much for ten years!"

What sorcery was this knight Devon inflicting on her?!

There was a knock on the door, followed by a serving girl poking her head into the room. The girl disappeared, whispers were exchanged and the portly old Father Bromley ambled into the room. "Ahh, I see the doctor has been here already! Excellent!" The man's loose-fitting robe actually made flapping noises as he pointed to a shallow pan on the floor, still slightly bloodstained.

The clergyman grunted as he closed the door behind him. Any movement seemed to cause some sort of noise from this man, as if to validate his existence. "You must be Miss Lana. I am Father Bromley, here to see that you are truly recovered and not possessed of some unclean spirit. Jesus banished demons into pigs, today's doctors bleed them out of your body.... Well, sometimes that works." He almost seemed to roll as he walked over to drag up a heavy tall-backed chair to her bed. "Don't try to speak, dear, you need all of your strength! Now where was that...? Ah! Here it is!" The overweight pastor fished out a small scroll and began reading from it in Latin.

"O espírito mau dentro desta mulher deixa-a agora e retorna-o ao poço de que você saltado. O espírito mau dentro desta mulher deixa-a agora e retorna-o ao poço de que você saltado! O espírito mau dentro desta mulher deixa-a agora e retorna-o ao poço de que você saltado!!"

Then the Father stared at her for some time. "I think that the good Knight Devon and the doctor must have together chased the demon from you. You are a lucky woman... Lucky indeed..." He lingered, his eyes scanning her as if he was expecting her to explode.

Father Bromley began to rise from his chair...

Lana's eyes narrowed, staring the eccentric priest with heavy skepticism. She knew she had no demon possessing her body, although she would profess that the doctor that'd examined her had not done her any good. Her head throbbed. Oh, if only she could have her herbs! She'd have fixed herself in no time!

"Get out of here, you bumbling fool. There is no demon knocking around behind my eyes. Your precious knight merely harrassed me in the woods and I gave him a sound thrashing for not leaving me to myself."

She cracked her knuckles ominously, the corners of her mouth curling upwards in a wry smirk.

"Which I will do to you if you do not let me alone. I've an awful headache and your presence is only agitating it further."

Lana rolled over in bed, her back to the priest and the covers drawn up to her chin. This was the best way to make him feel unwelcome, by ignoring him altogether. She had a sneaking suspicion that the nosy priest would start asking annoying questions about what had happened between her and Devon in the local woodlands. No doubt he suspected something insidious and sinful, like any devout clergyman. Well, she would not tell him anything.

The Father actually chuckled a bit as he huffed and puffed his way out of the room. "No, you are no demon, but there are other words that would describe you. I have done my duty to the loyal knight of the realm, and now I will take my leave. Yes, that night is truly like the Good Samaritan along the road. You should be greatful." He said as the door began to close behind him. "Greatful!" his booming voice echoed from the hallway as he made his way downstairs.

Not long afterwards, a girl of no more than fifteen or so years arrived in the room, dragging a rather large case benind her. "Pardon, Mistress, but Lord Devon sent these clothes for you to pick from to wear to the ball this evening..." The girl stood, head down, at the foot of Lana's bed.

(( Darn Double Posting ))

"Ball?" Lana echoed, watching as the trunk was dumped at the foot of her bed. If Lana had been a normal woman, the servant would have offered to dress and plait her hair. She was correct in assuming that Lana could and would dress herself.The servant girl curtsied and said no more, probably not wanting to become Lana's scapegoat. She made a quick exit out the door and shut it. Lana heard the sound of a key being turned. Locked in again.

She crawled across the bed and leaned over, undoing the front of the heavy leather trunk. She began removing articles of clothing one after the other. Some delicate, white petticoats, recently made... A blue velvet gown... A red one... A violet one... All too elaborate and snooty for the peasan woman's taste.

"Why on earth does he want me to attend the ball?" she asked no one in particular, continuing to dig through the case. "Everyone despises me, and I them. He should know I will only embarrass him in front of his baron."

Then again, there wasn't any reason why the dashing knight Devon would ask Lana to accompany him to the ball. Perhaps she was simply to be there for show. He'd spend the majority of his time with real nobles. With refined young ladies. Her stomach gave a sickly twist. She dismissed it, believing herself simply disgusted by the thought rich people in general.

However, she did come across an emerald green dress, embroidered with gold thread. The thread was woven in intricate patters along the train of the dress, the v-neckline, and bell-ended sleeves. If the young knight opted to drag her from the room kicking and screaming, she supposed this dress would suffice for the occasion.

Devon was resting in his quarters as he was wont to do during daylight hours when he heard a knock on his door. The servants knew not to disturb him, so it must be important.

"What is it? I am in the midst of my Bible study." He called out, trying to sound insolent.

"Change is nigh, young one. I know more than you can glean from your holy book, Sir Knight..." An old, crackling voice called from beyond his chamber door.

It was Hortence. The old woman claimed to be possessed of the second sight. She had predicted a fire last spring, had him move a few prize horses to a different stable for a night, and that stable had burned down. She also predicted that he would be promoted by his cousin to be a landed noble. She predicted that on the day of his birth. Whether her gift was from God, or some other source, it was true.

"Come in, old woman, assuming your arms and legs still work." Devon stood and walked over to his desk, where his Bible lay open. There was a rattling and eventually the door swung open, the first thing visible being the end of the witch's walking stick. It was said that stick was the only unburnt branch on a tree struck by lightning and that it had magical properties. Devon personally had seen the blade of a barbarian's axe turned aside by the knobby end of the stick, though that could have been just a sloppy swing.

"Ah, still putting on pretenses, are we?" Hortence said as she hobbled into the room. "You are a creature of the night, and you cling to the light? Like a moth to the flame, you would have so much more power if you embraced your gift."

"If you have so much power, old woman, why do you hobble about as if you each step is your last?" His eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, they both laughed. "How are you, Grandmother? It has been some time!" Devon called out.

"I am as well as can be expected, and as far as my power, I can still rap your knuckles before you can drag them away from me, so watch out!" Hortence beamed through crooked but well cared for teeth.

"What brings you here on this fine day?" Devon pulled up a cushioned chair for his grandmother to sit on.

"The girl. The one you brought here last night. She will do. She will understand. Not right away, mind, but she will." Her eyes were staring into the distance, through him, through the very walls of the castle, it seemed.

"Hu.. Are you sure? Really?" Devon leaned forward a bit.

"It is plain to see. Do not let this one get away." Hortence's eyes cleared and she nodded.

"Well, then, I will follow your sage advice. How long will you be staying?" Devon cocked his head to one side.

"Oh, a week or so. There is a quilting party Tuesday next that I wish to be a part of. The servants have put me up in my usual room already." Hortence stood, and for a moment none of her age showed. Her movement was fluid and graceful and her eyes were briefly full of youth and sparkle. Then it faded.

"You do love your quilting, I recall. Excellent. Shall you be at the ball tonight?" Devon inquired, standing and crossing his arms behind his back.

"Oh no no! I am far too old for such fudgermugeon." She waved her hands dismissively. "I shall be sitting in front of the fire, reading my Alebard or Heloise."

"Fair enough. Living vicariously through those fruitful minds is exercise enough for you eh?" He made like he was going to elbow her but instead offered it. She wrapped one hand through the proffered arm and they walked downstairs, right past Lana's room, and out to the garden, which her room had a view of, if she cared to look.

Which she did. In fact, meanwhile Lana had succumbed to trying on the emerald gown. A full-length mirror in the far left hand corner of the allowed her to examine herself in it. Usually she wore too many layers for her figure to be properly displayed. But this dress enhanced her slender waist and brought focus to her full bust. The skirts fell in a dramatic cascade of crushed velvet, each crinkle in the fabric utilized the light to create a shimmering effect around her wide hips.

She was by no means a tall woman, and so the train, which would have already been a foot or so long behind regular women, dragged out to a few feet. Instead of looking silly, Lana felt as regal as any other of the guests who would be attending the Ball. The trick was to avoid stepping backwards, otherwise her boots would tear a hole in it...Or, God forbid, she would trip in public.

Lana had pinned up her hair, teasing out a few wayward curls to frame her face and dress up her bangs. She fancied herself a queen, and not a peasant. A witch peasant? No! She would be a sorceress queen. Maybe a prince of the Fair Folk would come a calling at the ball, intrigued by her wildness and not at all put off by her sharp tongue. He'd spirit her away to another place, far from the loathesome knight Devon Claymore.

In addition, she wasn't entirely sure she knew how to dance. She'd never been taught by anybody, considering she was often chased away from village festivals, feasts, and celebrations. She made an attempt to spin, holding out her arms as gracefully as she could, twirling in front of the open window.

Unfortunately, it had not occurred to her the curtains were not drawn, and by the time she wondered if anyone had seen her embarrassing herself, she noticed none other than the knight in the outside gardens. He was walking around an elderly woman by the arm, and at the precise moment of her pirouette, his gaze had been fixed on her window.

With a maddened blush, Lana had dived to the side of the window, pressing herself up against the stone in shock and horror. She inched as slowly as she could, careful not to reveal even an inch of herself as she peered around the edge. Still there. He'd returned to conversing with the strange old woman, but she couldn't help but notice that a simper that had not been there before played upon his lips as he did so.

Lana cursed under her breath.

"You were always right when it came to these things, Grandmother. I just had a vision of my own." Devon briefly jerked his head in the direction of the window and smiled a bit.

"Aha. See, see... I told you never to doubt me. God has given me an extra set of eyes that he lets me see through now and again." The woman leaned on her walking stick for a moment.

"Yes indeed. I listened with the horses last year, and you did say my cousin was going to give me my title." Devon commented. "Though you did not predict how."

"Bah! Who could predict he would bring such a scandal upon himself as to have to abdicate his land? Shameful, that was. Simply shameful." She shook her head disapprovingly, and straightened her dark red dress as she did.

"And here I was the only male next of kin qualified to take it over. How is Oscar doing by the by?" The knight inquired, looking for a moment at the window again and smiling.

"As well as one can do in the Tower of London! If he didn't have that title when he was caught h-" She began.

"His head would be on a pike. You've told this story before, Grandmother." Devon finished.

"What ho! Good Knight Claymore! Are you ready for the ball tonight?" A voice echoed across the courtyard.

The man walking towards the pair was at least a head taller than Devon, but that wasn't hard, really. He was wearing field armor with his bright green tabard as he strode toward them. His grizzled beard looked like it could conceal a beehive, his mother once said.

"Jeoffrey, you old devil! Not killed by the barbarians yet eh?" Devon clasped his friend in a slapping sort of gesture that was vaguely like a hug.

"Nor by their women!" Jeoffrey replied. "Though there was this one-"

"Ahem!" Hortence tapped her stick on the ground in irritation.

"Ah, I did not notice! You've brought your sister with you, Devon! Looking well I see!" He winked at the old woman with a wry chuckle.

"Oh pish posh! You know who I am!" But it was evident the flattery hit its mark, she blushed for a moment as the conversation continued.

"Here for the ball, I take it?" Devon inquired.

"Oh of course! I just happened to be in the area. Besides, I needed to see if you'd run this place into the ground yet." Jeoffrey Bainswallow was seldom tactful and rarely anything but boisterous.

"Well, come by tonight and you'll see what I've done. Drop by an hour before, I can share some of my uncle's spirits with you before the night goes into full swing." Devon punched his long-time friend in the shoulder playfully. "I must escort my lovely sister indoors now. She has a delicate porcelain complexion, she mustn't get burned you see."

"Oh!" Hortence blushed and looked downwards for a moment.

"Aha! Until then dear friend! Until then!" The Baron strode off, whistling some bar tune he'd heard long ago.

"I will never understand how that man became a Baron." Hortence said.

"He was the last living brother after the war, Grandmother." Devon replied.

"There are other families..." She tried to grouse.

"Admit it, you like him."

"Aye, that I do. but he is so informal for an aristocrat."