Celia/MyriaStory

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Myria Kirei

Beginning

Beginning her life as little more than a street urchin and almost failed pickpocket, were it not for the kindness of a troupe member who was rather captivated by her beauty, Myria's story would be rather short. However, her first years were forgiven for the chance to learn the arts of theatre. It turned out that this particular troupe took an almost fanatical obsession with some longwinded deity that they haughtily liked to call the God of Ten Thousand Dances. Coincidentally, their troupe was the Ten Thousandth Dance, itself a rather puffy name. They were good at what they did, however, and under their guidance she grew up not only to be even more beautiful, but almost exceptionally skilled.

This skill dazzled audiences and won the troupe more than its fair share of coin as they traveled. Coin that was all but unseen by Myria, which continued to sour her as day after day she marched to another village or worked her legs off for barely a meal and a roof over her head. With this mounting inequity, finally she decided she would have no more, and in the middle of the night claimed all she could carry from the troupe's coffers, a bundle of clothing for her own, and struck out on her own. Being on her own, and unhindered by wagons, an entire troupe, horses, mules, and other animals and requirements of camp, she was able to cover distances far faster than the troupe had, arriving in the destination village a full two days ahead of her former compatriats. There, she proceeded to work her own kind of magic, and every coin that was showered upon her that day was her own to keep; a liberating feeling like none other she had felt before.

Meanwhile, however, the troupe was in not so high of spirits. Waking to find their cash cow gone, along with half the cash, soured their spirits. But she was but a little girl still, and they were seasoned experts; what could she do on her own, after all? Arriving in town days after Myria had already left, they found the populace still abuzz about the beautious wonder that had swept through soon before. Trying to turn this surprise to their advantage, they claimed to be her tutors, and that they would put on a real performance for the village. However, try as they might, the townsfolk were so disenchanted with their mediocre works that the troupe received not even enough to cover the costs expended travelling to that town, the recent theft not counted. Steeling themselves either to catch up to Myria or pass her in the night, they sped onward to the next town, then the next, and the next. Every turn they made, they encountered the same audience displeased with their lackluster performance, until finally their ire was enough to call to their home brew God for vengeance, and with a swirl of smoke and beating drums, he appeared to grant their wish for once.

For her part, Myria lived relatively peacefully. Unaware of this curse of vengeance out on her head, she simply drifted almost aimlessly from town to town, never staying too long to let the troupe catch up to her, but always staying long enough to learn a little something, a snippet of information, news of the area, what's been going on, legends of things around. These she took with her, carrying news of crops and occasionally simple messages from town to town, being at once a harbinger of joy and occasionally sorrow with the news she bore. Things she spoke not of, however, were the legends of each area of various artifacts, opting instead to coax such stories out of patrons through other means, using her assets of fair wealth or, when necessary, other base desires that allowed themselves to be exploited. These legends, tales, stories, and myths she catalouged in her brain, mapping out rough ideas of where certain artifacts may lie, strange focal points of energy, stashes of wealth, and other such wonders no man has yet discovered.

Exaltation

Her dancing had always been like a release for her, a feeling of great liberation and freedom, something she could ever throw herself in to without a care in the world, letting her song flow freely along with the movements of her body. It was during one such performance that a certain man caught her eye in the audience, a man who had been watching her for quite some time, and a face which she thought she'd remembered from several towns previous. She gave him but the faintest of smiles as she twirled about, though they both knew the unspoken agreement. After her routine finished, much to the applause and sound of coin being showered upon her, she took her bow, feeling far more exhilarated by her performance than normal, and the crowd seeming to have enjoyed it even more than they usually did. When she took the strange, though strikingly handsome man's arm in hers, though, the inn breathed a collective sigh of disappointment, the men watching her wander off to a private room longingly, the women with scorn and jealousy.

That first night was amazing. He was the first man she had met able to match her pace and appetite, even giving rise to her first cries of true and honest ecstasy as he surpassed her in some aspects. Their bodies writhed, squirming deep in to the night together, locked as one as her most hidden wishes of passion were fulfilled one after another. So long was their pleasure that it was the first time she lay panting afterwards, gasping for her breath when they finally stopped, coated with sweat and slickness, and letting the cool night air take her in to deep and lovely sleep. The next morning was just as passionate, as she awoke to the warm morning sun and yet more long hours of ecstasy, the long hours of constant writhing and sweat-slick love clouding her mind from more rational thought.

After that wondrous night and morning, he helped her up as a gentleman would, taking her to the bath and washing with her, gentle caresses and soothing words and touches over her tired and worn body. For what felt like the first time, she was tired and sore, but from the dancing or the lovemaking she was not sure which. Still, he acted the perfect gentleman for the duration of that first day, helping her dress and prepare for the travels of the day ahead, even carrying her equipment for her along the road. Together, the two of them covered a great distance in just one day, even surpassing the pace that she made alone, and every day it seemed that the passion grew between them, each night a new experience, fatiguing her ever more than the journey did.

Yet at length, she began to notice something odd. A cadre, as it were, trying to stay out of notice just behind the pair as they traveled. Their progress slowed noticeably, and his fervour of passion grew, almost as though trying to force her not to notice the passage of time. He began spinning subtle tales, trying to convince her that their progress was just as it had always been, and that there were no others, just the two of them. Yet even their supplies seemed to dwindle, and it was just the two of them traveling, even without proper camping equipment on them; yet every time they stopped to make camp, a tent and fire were already there for them. She began noticing this, questioning him every so often, yet each time he tried to convince her it was just her imagination.

However, she was not so stupid as to be duped, and she knew that they were weeks from any town, and it had been many days since she had seen signs of civilization. He began to notice this perception, too, and at length began to drop his act; his cadre began to show themselves more freely, and he tried to explain them away as guards that were hired in the last town they passed, that they'd been in town again just yesterday. Yet she would hear nothing of it, and that night, feigning sleep, she slipped away under cover of darkness and underbrush. It was not easy to escape notice from the guards, and indeed, her sight in the darkness had not been as refined as it could have been, to the point that she bumped straight in to the back of one of the sentries.

Having no skills in combat, she instead picked herself up rapidly and abandoned all stealth, running with all of her heart to put as much distance between herself and her pursuers as she could, even as she heard the cries of alarm from the guards, rousing everyone to the pursuit. She knew the route of the forest would be easier for her to lose the numerous men chasing her than an open plain, and spun sharply to throw herself deeper in to the impenetrable woods, crashing through brush, foliage and small trees alike in her search for somewhere they could not follow.

With no direction, no care for covering her passage, the sharp twigs and razor leaves left innumerable scrapes and cuts across her bare body, her passage becoming increasingly careless as her legs tired, stumbling and tripping over roots and bramble snags ever more. Yet despite this, it seemed as though her trail, clear as day, was being ignored by those who would give chase, almost as though some other power was shielding her passage just long enough for her to get by, to stumble finally and fall to the ground in a small clearing, panting and gasping for any breath possible. It was here that her thoughts turned to the fate that must surely await her when those following her caught up, yet as she slowly regained her breath, she heard nothing but herself, her own laboured breathing and pounding heartbeat. Nothing, save the soft, susurrant hiss of a snake in the brush.