It was raining... But it wasn't that soft, lulling pitter patter of fat droplets hitting the roof and rolling off. No, it was one of those rainy nights that brought old bones to rise. One of those nights where memories best left buried rose up to claim haunted souls of the living. Torrential downpour; that was the best way to describe it.

Lilliana hated heavy rains. No one would ever see her on such days... Ever.

On these days, the normally fiery, boisterous, amiable buxom would steal away into the seclusion of her rented room in the Red Dragon. Locked in with a few choice bottles and a meager scraping of food, liquor served as the primary sustenance for the witch on these dreary days. The normally flame kissed vibrance of her hair and brows were subdued in the overcast gloom of the heavy rains, as light that held the tone of graveyards and church funerals painted her bonny features pale and grim.

Today was one of those days....

"Dirty christian bastard." Came a half drunken, snarling cur from lush lips drawn thin with disgust. Glass lips met flesh ones then as a long, unhealthy swig was taken from a half drained whiskey bottle. Lips glistened, and a hand came up to roughly brush and remedy this.

Something ugly brewed behind those intense amber eyes, something dark enough to make their molten sheen swirl violently, as if a true fire were lit behind the lamp shine of them. If one looked deep enough, it was as if there were shapes spinning behind the flame of her eyes.

A story was forming, an explanation, a reason for all the dank dreariness that claimed the gypsy's normally bright soul.


"It all began the day I met your father, Lilli..."

Again that whiskey bottle went upwards, visions of screams she barely remembered haunting the violent torrent of roiling liquor inside the dwindling reflection of the bottle. Fingers traced the surface of the bottle listlessly, covering it up, as if her eyes bounced back some distortions from the past. Shutting it away wouldn't stop the replay that came though; nothing did.
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Hours had come to pass since the confrontation between the Caravan and the Christian Warrior party. Somehow during the fray, Aiden managed to claim what he'd come for; Lilliana. Melina wasn't far behind either, tethered to her child's horse, blindfolded and left to stumble along the uneven puddles and crags of the road. They'd been smart, binding not only her eyes, but the witch's mouth and hands. The child lay a little lump covered by an old horse blanket, her pale cheek painted with the fierce, new blossom of a bruise. A thin, dried trickle of blood had crept from her tiny rosebud lips.

They rode for hours like this, the small contingent's leader heading the way with his flame bright shock of hair catching each ray of sunlight that filtered through the overcast sky. Blue eyes still blazed, but this time with triumph and a contentment, as though a vision he'd long awaited was soon to come to fruition. Over a hill they crested, Aiden at the helm like some burning pyre, his hand rising as he swept his arm across the expanse of land they broached. It was a small city they approached, or a large town, depending on whose word you were taking."Two swifts down the line, tell the guards to prepare the stacks around the post and gather the council."

Brisk, cold, a voice that left no room for disrespect or question; the scouts obliged, their horses blurs down the line of the hill. It wasn't long before the rest of the party joined them, a few men and a few horses lighter than they'd started out. Their armor and gear bore the tell tale signs of a fierce skirmish and clever, well placed daggers. Even Aiden's shield bore the evidence of a more magical offensive, and his arm that bore the bracer was a bit raw and reddened from the impact of what one could only assume was fire. Only fire rended flesh like that.

There were no gates to this place, no form of outward protection, but if one spied the massive center of the town and noticed it's cathedral, there would be the answer. Holy rollers, Christians in their most zealous and devote of faith. Priests and nuns roamed the streets freely, baring whispers as the contingent passed with it's captives. The noon sun was high and already waning; their journey had been long, their pace tireless. Swords and armor clanked furiously as the men dismounted, one giving a well placed kick to the back of the blind Melina's legs; she gave a muffled shriek but did not fall, her bound hands clung to the broad flank of the horse she and her child were tied to.

"Enough! Don't touch the witch... Her presence alone is threat enough without contact, however entertaining." Disdain and malice were a thick, unbecoming note in Aiden's voice as he strode over to the scene and backhanded the soldier who'd struck the dark haired gypsy. The soldier held his jaw and scuttled back with apologies spilling like a murmured mantra beneath his breath. Blue fire narrowed tightly down at the man before Aiden aimed the well placed blow with the butt of his sword to Melina's skull, rendering the woman unconscious.

"There. Was that so hard? Take her to the center, bind her to the stake, ready the town's folk and bring the elders to the platform." More orders, swift and unquestionable; each man scattered to do a bit of the Christian warrior's bidding. "Take my child there as well, keep her quiet, bind her mouth if you have to should she wake, but just get them in place so the Lord's mercy can be dealt swiftly... This has taken far too long a time already!"

Away the men went, mother and child in tow; those that remained tethered the horses and readied the folk for the gathering... No one paid mind to the sleek, dark forms that crept along the edge of the hills that surrounded the town, no. The scouts that kept watch were long ago dispatched with deep, swift wounds to the neck or belly.

The Garridan Clan hovered, waiting.

Helpless in the face of such memorable fury, clearer images began to take hold of the drunken witch's eyes. Pictures in slow motion, hauntings from the past in the form of sparkling, rose tinted glass raining down upon a scattering crowd thick with the swarm of warriors; Gypsy and Knights alike.

The whiskey bottle was empty now, and it was a listless weight in her pale fingers, threatening to rain in liquor soaked bits to the floor she was neglecting to notice crept up to meet her empty. Lilliana paid the shatter no mind, for it was lost in the torrent of noise within her memories.
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Fire blazed, and sure as otherworldly presences existed; god or goddess, deities or creatures of power, all eyes were upon the glow of the battle that rose that night. Aiden, for all his stubborn worth, kept his fist clasped tight around his untamable daughter's dress. With the other hand he'd drawn a sword, and the flash of it in the face of fiery arrows was a fearsome thing that made the lepers behind him upon the stage collapse and scatter with fright. Their death-eaten forms disappeared into the growing darkness of night that swept across the valley like rampant wraiths.

Melina was awake now, struggling vigorously against her binds, fearing fire more than anything now with so many arrows and torches about. The skirmish was thick as the roars of combatants in their deadly dance of vengeance and defense mixed with the cries of the devote crowd; panick was a thing that was reaching new heights. The man who'd called out, with his ruddy curls and his booming voice, fought harder than most, and was currently cutting his way towards the raised platforms.

The Christian warrior's face was masked in a mix of rage and hate like never before, a mask that skewed his expression to a nature more befitting a craggy gargoyle?s than a man?s. Aiden realized the impending fight could not be won with his struggling daughter taking up one of his hands. With a mighty, body rending shake, he disposed of his burden with a rough toss to the side. A great grunt sounded in the man's throat as he leap from one platform to the other, using that newly freed hand to grab a still flaming arrow that'd lodged itself to a wayward plank. Ignoring the burn that licked his already reddened skin, Aiden aimed the point towards a bit of the mineral soaked kindling that decorated the stake's dais. His voice roared out to the curly headed gypsy that defied him earlier with a verse from his own lord's text.

"BLASPHEMER! Cut a bloody path to get here, slaughter all these pious people! By the time you get here, your clan's witch will be a memory!" Blind in his madness, the enraged Christian did not notice the small form that rose to her little feet. Molten eyes narrowed, glinting with a fierce light that no child's eyes should ever hold. Little hands found a discarded dagger, ripped from a belt in the fray and still sheathed. Lilliana saw her mother's death in the hands of a man who claimed himself as her father, and nothing but pure hatred hardened her soft features.

Everything was in motion; swords clashed, leather beaten chests and fists scrabbled, feet were a panicked pounding, voices rang in anger and retribution, an arrow lowered without hesitation towards the faggots that encircled Melina's stake. Lilliana?s young, haunted eyes drank in that current image of her mother and didn't let go. For the first time in her life she was witnessing something that nearly broke her heart; the beautiful, infallible strength of her mother, rendered a struggling and fearful thing. The pretty pale of her face painted with old blood and those dark eyes she loved so much, wide with death. It was the day she saw her mother as human and breakable.

Some children broke with such a sight, but not this gypsy child, no, the urge to act snapped something loose. Rage at such a young age was a new thing to combat with, and fire-bright child felt it swell like a dark dawn across a beautiful day; all encompassing and inextinguishable. Dark eyes, blazing ones, little limbs that suddenly found a strength they never knew... and just like back at the caravan.

It all happened so fast.

"Ya' will no' ever hurt m'mamma again!" Lilliana?s voice screeched, amber eyes glistening with furious tears as that fine sliver of blade sank deep and fast into Aiden?s heavy flesh. Though the initial stab was a fierce wound to the side in itself, someone had instructed the small girl well, because her wrists did not hesitate once when they twisted the blade in the wound it created. The motion scored that proud flesh further, opening it to a resemble some twisted, gaping maw of a toothless hell-beast's mouth. A mantra was slowly trembling to life, a breathy mumble on the small girl's lips as Aiden's wide, pain bright eyes turned down to the source of his mortality.

"Go away, go away, goddess take him away..." Crystal tears blossomed at the corners of those wide, molten eyes; tinged and vibrant from the flare of fire and turmoil that raged around the platform. And worst of all, Lilliana's small burst of rage-fed energy was dwindling fast, and those child's limbs were shaking with the weight of the dying man atop her blade. The man?s shock outweighed his screaming fury as that blade stole his blood, and while he tried to whirl with a mighty fist to smash the girl away, he'd faltered; stumbling in his speedy turn as he came crashing down with the eyes of a man in his last moments; disbelieving and broken.