Luc versus Anastacia: A Good Title Here

[Cyrus the virus]

The breeze was slight, if it was to be felt at all - providing only a gentle nudging to the hair on Luc's head. It was a listless thing, perfectly defeated. Dominated. The wind belonged to the mage, was his possession to manipulate; it served him as fully as the most loyal knight served his king.

It was but one of several elements that personified the arena, all of which represented servitude to Luc Kraus. The perfect testament to his absolute control, and only he was aware of the symbolism the arena provided. That was all he needed to beam with pride, for he could sense the skittish nature of the land, the subservience.

Miles of flat earth stretched out before him. Jagged stones littered the ground as far as he could see, jutting out from the ground in every direction. Blackened on the surface, the soil had been charred by a rain of fire that long ago ceased. Though nature itself had bowed out, streams of water ran through cracks in the earth that were carved there.

Luc seemed a figure of solitude as he stood against the darkness, hands on his hips as he chewed the remains of a tobacco stub. His cape hung from his shoulders, reaching the brim of his boots. His emerald eyes were turned to the sky, dusky with a veiled, setting sun.

Only a few boulders obscured his vision of the entire arena, providing an opponent with little place to hide. With the firepower Luc could summon, it was a challenger's worst nightmare to constantly be in his range of sight. Just the way the mage liked it.

[The Sweetest Thing]

Sunlight filtered through the shade, lending the the room a soft pink glow. Small, rectangular, with bars on the window, it resembled a prison cell. But delicate homey touches displayed the positive mentality of the occupants. Charcoal sketches of flowers, trees, insects and animals decorated the walls wherever a tack could penetrate the wood. A willow basket brimming with dried roses sat on the sole chest of drawers. The two simple oaken single beds were pressed together, scratch marks showing on the floor where the sharp legs slid each time an inspection rolled around. Mistress Amoura, the matron of the Sisterhood, condoned independance. And what Mistress Amoura condoned was the law among her slaves. But the girls slept sounder in the familiar comfort of each others arms.

Anastacia Alliendra lay across both beds, her gold and cherry hair fanned across the downy pillow she buried her face in. Try as she might to stay relaxed, her roomate's talents caused her to twitch and giggle at odd intervals.

"Oh... Aimée... your fingers are divine. A little lower, my angel." The thick pillow muffled the nymph's throaty instruction, but her ever-attentive raven haired roomate complied immediately. A low moan that the pillow could not contain wracked the room. Stacia's eyes rolled behind closed lids as her friend attacked a new muscle group. Aimée's dark hands looked like coal amidst snow as she massaged a fragrant oil into Stacia's creamy skin. Her task finished, the brunette climbed off the bed and tickled one of her roomate's pale feet. Anastacia shrieked and rolled over, tucked her legs against her chest in defense against her friend's knowing fingers. The nymph's pink lips pouted, soundlessly asking why Aimée had ceased the massaging ministrations.

"You need to get dressed, Stacy," the dark skinned beauty admonished, crossing to the dresser. She pulled clothing from within as she went on. "Luc Kraus would be most disapointed if you arrived late for your appointement."

Stacia's blue eyes sparkled like a mountain stream at the mention of her impending meeting with the famed Dajas Pagoda warrior. She bit her lip as her roomate placed a color-coordianted outfit on the bed beside her. The girls had lived together long enough that Aimée could interpet her every movement. She spotted the hesitation in Stacia's posture and let the clothes lay. She knelt on the floor before Stacia, taking the nymph's pale hands in her own dark ones.

"What troubles you Stace? I know that look well. Tell me, or I'll tickle you again!" Her fingers crept like spiders for the vulnderable feet, mischief in her dark eyes.

"I'll tell you!" Stacia cried, seizing the girl's talented hands. She placed the ebony palms on her cheeks and held them their, basking in the familiar touch. "I am not troubled... for true!" She added hastily as the long fingers flexed menacingly. "Only... only... Aimée, only imagine. Mistress Amoura did say I can travel to Radasanth and work there for a time if I succeed. Aimée, can you only imagine seeing the city?"

The raven haired girl saw the faraway look in her best friend's eyes. Like a sailor who sees land on the horizon after months lost at sea. She took the other girl's face in her hands and kissed her gently on the forehead. All games had gone from her eyes.

"The most important thing, Anastacia Alliendra, is that you come back to me safe. I'll not survive alone here if you've gone." Stacia threw her arms around her roomate and the two shared a long embrace, a comfort their words could never have spoken. Finally they parted, and Stacia met the brown eyes with her own bright blue ones.

"Never fear for me, my sweet. When I go away from here, there's none I'd take with me sooner than you." A midnight finger wiped away the single tear that spilled onto her bleached cheek. Aimée pulled her to her feet, the voice of reason amidst so much emotion.

"Time to don your garb and meet Master Kraus." The dark skinned girl helped her dress in the soft pink light that permeated the drapes. Once ready, Anastacia set out for the Dajas Pagoda.

~~~

The girl stepped from behind a large boulder. The flat heels of her leather boots kneaded the barren land gently as she walked towards Luc Kraus. She hopped over a tiny fissure in the earth, her off-white dress flaring around cream colored thighs. The breeze felt like foreign fingers beneath her skirts, it sent a tingle up her spine to the very tips of her golden, cherry streaked hair. Roses impregnated the woven basket she carried, the dried lips of their delicate petals matching the highlights in her hair, and the woolen shawl that draped her shoulders.

She stopped a respectful ten yards from the resplendent figure of a man. Her free hand toyed shyly with the lacework of the shawl as she placed the basket on the ground before her. It looked appropriate there; dry as the desolate wasteland, bringing a touch of beauty to the unfertile earth. The girl kept her eyes downcast, staring at the geomancer's boots. Eyes unworthy to look upon his magnificence without express permission. She snuck a peek all the same, and shivered delicately as she returned to her passive position. Such grandeur radiated from his noble gaze. She yearned to feel it upon her.

Milky hands spread her skirts wide as she sank into a graceful curtsy, head bowed at a gentle angle. She stayed in the inclined position. She could stand like that all day, if the master desired it so. Her voice carried a pang of fear as it lilted in the tepid air.

"Master Kraus. I come with the compliments of Mistress Amoura from the Sisterhood. I--" the musical tone trembled, but only for a moment, "I offer any services you may desire, Master Kraus."

[Cyrus the virus]

Lord of the wasteland, caller of the sea and the earth, Luc Kraus stood triumphantly upon the blackened soil. His boots imprinted sternly in the surface, the mage relaxed amidst a quiet breeze that swerved into the warmest regions of his body.

Before receiving the call to return to the Pagoda, Luc was in Corone with Kially, the young boy the mage had taken a liking to. It couldn't have come at a better time, as he'd plenty of time to spare. A quick spar in the vast deadlands would do him well, he knew, given how much he had to hold back while in the boy's presence.

Eventually, a woman appeared, swerving about the corner of a boulder with the measured grace of a dancer. Luc caught the surprised breath before it could rush out of him, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes strolling over the woman's visage like tireless travelers. She was the picture of beauty, naturally stunning, but humble. Even her posture spoke volumes of her role in life, as a follower and a servant, perhaps having lost her independence long ago.

Her hair was the bright gold of the many coins Luc had stashed away at home, shining in the orange light provided by the sunless sky. It cast a shadow over her forehead and eyes, as her head was cast down, but the mage could see pouting, supple lips beyond - one of his many weaknesses concerning the greater sex.

She was a perfect contrast to him, he who stood with regal attention and posture, clothes and cape of royal quality covering all but the skin of his minuscule biceps. His facial expression -- rather, the lack thereof -- revealed the maturity he'd finally developed, much thanks to Kially's influence. Rather than openly salivating at the presence of such beauty, Luc's composure remained, and his eyes stayed cold as they watched Anastacia's face rise and fall. She'd given in to her curiosity, but for a mere moment.

He listened to her introduce herself, a gentle voice floating like spring lilacs shaken from a tree. It soothed him, aroused him slightly, but the only indication of such that he allowed was the relaxation of his arms, which he let fall to his sides.

"Services?" he repeated, speaking in a level, careful tone that was a mix of confusion and bafflement. "My presence here is for a singular purpose, to defend my position within this Dajas Pagoda. What service could you possibly offer to aid in that?"

It was a game he'd fallen for more than once, in years past. A mage with such a reputation was rarely approached head-on by an assassin, and Luc was well known for his lustful hobbies. It was an educated guess on his part that Anastacia was not who she seemed, or at the very least, did not offer any services that Luc was willing to accept.

And yet, he thought with a curious glare, how tremendous it would be if she was. He spat.

"Lift your face," he commanded, taking two long steps closer. "I would see it."

[The Sweetest Thing]

Stacia responded to the command smoothly, releasing skirts that settled around her legs like the wings of a landing butterfly. She straightened her posture, a diminutive sigh escaping her lips as the pain in her calves vanished. She lifted her bowed chin and met the geomancer's eyes. They penetrated her very being, hot as emerald fire, deep as a mighty forest. His mere presence overwhelmed her. His palatial garb and boyish figure commanded an allure of confidence that surpassed the vastness of the wasteland he called his arena. The aura of quiet radiance that Luc Kraus emanated was something that Stacia could not understand, only revere. Not for the coffers of a king could she hope to match the gaze of such a masterful man. She turned her head slightly, fixing her sapphire eyes on the soft, velvety folds of the mage's left ear. It peered from beneath his earthly hair, perhaps the only humble part of his body.

The girl's knees quaked momentarily as Luc Kraus stepped closer. A shy blush seeped into her cheeks as the mancer questioned her. Blue eyes still focused on his ear, she responded, fingers fiddling timidly with the tails of her shawl.

"I beg your pardon if I overstep myself, Master Kraus." Her voice floated fragilely over the tormented earth. "My Mistress knows of your great power and influence, and hopes to win your favor. And sir," her voice swelled in a rush of barely bridled enthusiasm, "if the stories I have heard are true, you need no help in defending your position." Unrestrained awe carried her tone to the curving lines of his majestic ear.

She grasped one of the dried roses from her basket and took a brave step towards him, then another. Her heart swelled with the closeness of their bodies. A forward fantasy filled as she wondered what feeling his scaled gloves would have on her creamy skin. Like the sprawling land itself perhaps, rough and dominating, endless and powerful. Her petite figure pressed against the off white dress as she inhaled deeply.

"I fear I may have wasted your time if I," a tiny tremor ran through her smooth throat, but she managed to speak through it. "If I displease you, sir. My Mistress begs leave only to place a portrait of your likeness in the hall of the Sisterhood." The girl gained some momentum, and her eyes sparkled like fresh spring water. "My Mistress says if we have your favor, none of the evil men in Scara Brae will harm me or my sisters again." A shadow of fear swept her features at the mention of evildoers. In the instant before the revering expression returned, her eyes told a thousand tales of the pain and suffering in her past. The girl swallowed nervously.

"Sending me to see you here was the only way my Mistress could think to find you. She says you travel all across Althanas, like a hero in the old stories." Her slim arms straightened as she offered the rose to him with both hands, allowing the scarlet shawl to fall to the crooks of her elbows. The neckline of her dress displayed a milky half crescent of flesh, like a miniature moon called from the skies, presented as a gift to Luc Kraus. The blush in her cheeks deepened until it matched the thread of her shawl.

"Is there anything else you would see, Master? I am to be yours, for as long as you'll have me."