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The Citadel.
Iriah stood in the middle of the grand set of stone stairs that led up to The Citadel, Althanas' great battle arena run by the Monks of Ai'Bron. She'd been here before, walked its halls before and fought within the confines of its illusionary worlds. It had been a life changing experience for the Falleni warrior. Her opponent had not taken his defeat well and had tracked her down in the streets of Radasanth to enact his revenge and kill her, permanently. He had almost succeeded, but something in his conscious had nagged him and in the end, forced the man named Malagen to save her from wounds inflicted by his own sword. She tracked him down after that and they spent some time together. Beyond their fighting, there was a natural attraction between the two of them and Iriah gave herself to the barbarian, the first man she'd ever been with. The only man she'd ever been with.
After that, they began a sordid and interesting relationship that led to them training on the icy plateau of a mountain together. Only to fall in love with one another.
Except the love had not been enough for Malagen. Being a man of ice, born and bred to be a killer, the feelings she had unleashed in him had been too much, and he had left her in the end. She could have stopped him. She could have turned his face back towards her and asked him to stay, perhaps even begged him. But Iriah had her own foolish pride and she would never beg, especially for a man. Perhaps if they'd been able to over look their own stubborn natures, things would have been different between them. But they hadn't. She regretted it. She wished she'd done it differently. She missed him terribly.
What am I doing here?
Her swirling, quicksilver eyes took in the magnificent peak of the stone roof, following the harsh, diagonal lines down to the huge, oak doors, plain in their decoration. The Citadel needed no artistic flare to invite people within it's walls. Everyone knew what they came there for. Everyone except her. Iriah had merely found her boot encased feet walking up the familiar weather worn steps, the slap of the hard soles lost amidst the chaos of dozens of people moving to and fro. Several of them bumped into her, jostling her in place. She ignored them and the looks they gave her, the foreigner with dark skin and purple hair, and clothes of a deep red colour. Her loose fitting beige pants shifting about her legs as she finally made the next step, taking her higher up that staircase. Her tight fitting top, cut short and revealing her stomach and the lines of hard won muscles covering it, as well as the white scars that marred it. She had many of those, too many to even bother counting nowadays. Some of them were even from Malagen.
At the top of the staircase, with the expanse of Radasanth behind her, Iriah paused. She didn't know if she wanted to go in. No, she knew she didn't want to go inside, but perhaps she needed to.
The heavy door in front of her opened, and the Falleni stepped aside as a man covered in leather armour came walking out, his eyes never even glancing her way. She quickly slipped within before the door closed and she could change her mind.
Within a coolness settled over her. There was no sun to stream into the building, The Citadel had no windows. There was just the cool darkness, broken by torches and lanterns and candles that created this soft, orange glow. Somehow it all chased away the pitch black until it lingered in the corners, overlooked by the vast majority of people that briskly walked within the large, stone halls from one location to the next.
She saw it though. Perhaps because that darkness lingered in the corners of her soul as well.
Moving past the desk, the lone monk behind it with his balding head and plain brown robe too busy to even notice her, Iriah slipped into the crowd of warriors. If one could call them warriors. Just like the last time she had graced this place, the denizens within had not changed at all. Men strutted around like peacocks, with the armour shimmering int he torchlight and their mammoth swords slung across their backs. They tried to emulate great warriors like Letho Ravenheart and Damon Kaosi, warriors that she knew and had fought alongside. Among many other that had yet to carve their names into the pages of history. Maybe one day, even her name would lay amongst theirs.
As her lithe form slipped through the lanky boys carrying borrowed swords from their fathers, arms shaking with nerves, the noble men with their pressed and colourful outfits and the brutes who only knew how to throw their mass around, Iriah spotted something she never thought she'd see again. A long, black coat amidst all the colour. It swept just above the dusty floor, kicking up little swirls of dirt as the hard, black soled boots moved with a set purpose. Her heart beat quickened within her chest as her eyes travelled up and between the roving bodies, she saw straight black hair on broad shoulders.
With a purpose now, Iriah pushed through the people. Some of the men grunted in surprise as her much smaller form shoved them aside with relative ease. Coming up behind him, she reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder, pulled him to a stop and back.
“Mala—” Her words were cut off as the man turned around. Instead of the hard, chiseled planes of a face she knew and loved, she saw a man she'd never seen before. What she originally thought to be long, black hair, was in front dark brown and unkempt. Even the trench coat was torn and stained and looked nothing like the pristine clothing that her barbarian had worn.
The man looked at her with muddy brown eyes.
“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
Before he could say anything to her, she slipped passed him and moved to a stone recess to collect her thoughts. A lone torch hung in the alcove, illuminating the grey walls and the worn, wooden benches. She sat down on one of them, shoulders slumped as her short purple hair fell forward to cover her face. What was she thinking? Malagen had left her and he wasn't coming back. Even if she ran into the barbarian, which she doubted she ever would again, he'd probably want nothing to do with her. She was alone. Like she'd always been. She needed to get over it. She needed to get over him.