VIII-Gli Inizi del Destino [Felicia]

[Nireva Hale]

Starfire, light up his unholy words!
Prophecy kept by the ancients! And then reveal the last fate of all!
The world needs to know!
Presenze insane! Vane verita'..! Spettri d'arcani mondi!
Cercano al di la'..!
______________________________Rhapsody Of Fire - "Crystal Moonlight"

"Hey, Niri..." Jenna sighed quietly as her hand lazily stroked the small of Nireva's back. Between her girlfriend's studies and volunteer work at the Jung Facility, the time the couple were able to spend together had grown infuriatingly scarce. However, when they were together, neither one of them wasted a moment. Dressed only from the waist down to help mitigate the California heat, the two women lounged on the bed, facing opposite directions. Sex was, as ever, an option but, up to now, neither of them had managed to summon the inclination to make good on the desire. Jenna, for one, simply wanted to talk. "When we first slept together..."

"Yeah?"

Nireva's head didn't move from where it lay, resting on her pillow as she gazed through the window. It wasn't often that Jenna was struck with the mood to be reminiscent but, with the day being in the midst of summer and unusually hot even by California's standards, the normal activities of many people were put on hold as they fought against the heat. "...I asked about these scars on your back." Now that Nireva had deemed Jenna worthy enough to learn the truth behind her existence, she had anticipated the focus of conversation shifting towards even one of the lies she'd told during the early days of their relationship. If anything, she was surprised it had taken this long. "They're, uh... not from surgery, are they?"

"Nope." Now that her girlfriend had joined the select fraternity of people who had learned of her secret, Nireva once again found herself in the position where she would have to field questions about her past; the centuries which had passed her by up to this point. "I was only half-lying. They're not from surgery, but I did get them as a kid..."

[ The Palazzo degli Uffizi ]
[ Florence, Italy ]
[ February 5th, 1580 ]

For nearly twenty years, a colossal building project had turned the banks of the Arno into a bustling hive of activity. Commissioned by the legendarily wealthy Medici family to serve as the working offices of the Florentine magistrates, the rising buildings had created a public thoroughfare between them; affording the pedestrians a path from the riverside to a variety of locations deeper in the city and, with the two wings now nearing their completion, the new landmark towered almost a hundred feet above all who passed between them.

Due to its immense size, many Florentines - both those who passed by it and those involved in the construction - had taken to calling it a palace. It probably hadn't been the Medici's aim to call the Uffizi a palace but, once the public opinion had sufficiently snowballed, there was little they could do to prevent the moniker from sticking.

At a little past one in the afternoon, many of the people present were engaged in some form of work. Young men of various shapes and sizes clutched satchels and sacks over their shoulders as they picked a route through the crowd, hoping to get their cargo to its destination before they were set upon by the undesirable elements of the city everyone knew to exist.

For larger loads, more muscular men - in the rugged, simplistic clothing befitting farmhands or other such occupations - carefully led a horse-drawn cart along the street, watching for any unforseen obstacles. They were, after all, cutting through what was effectively a building site and, while the exterior of the Uffizi was mostly devoid of craftsmen, it wasn't exactly encouraged for the public to walk so close to an incomplete building.

Of course, that didn't stop them and, with a need to keep the peace, the city guards had simply stretched their number to compensate. Announcements had been posted across the city stating the heightened potential for danger that the "Palazzo degli Uffizi" possessed and, with the knowledge in the public consciousness, the men and women of Florence were left to decide for themselves whether they should sacrifice a little bit of safety for the convenience of an expedited trip.

"Mamma!" Being a new building on the verge of completion, the Palazzo was already no stranger to onlookers. To sate their curiosity, many simply peered through one of the ground floor windows and peered at the opulence which lay within.

Many people in the city weren't in possession of wealth even comparable to the Medici and, as such, were often taken aback by just how much luxury they could see by looking through a simple window. The hallway was lined with decorative frescoes and paintings, while the furniture was, to many minds, fit even for the Papacy.

"Mamma, guarda!!" Lucia Cammeresi was one such person. Being only ten years old, she was still very much gripped by the wonder of youth; a state of being in which all aspects of the unfamiliar were in some way special. Having never set foot outside the city, there was a world of sights and stories which the adults embellished to impress children like her. Just to see a glimpse of such things was enough to cause her eyes to light up.

Even with the street partially shrouded from the sunlight by the Palazzo's opposite wing, Lucia could see the artwork which lay within. While she had seen her fair share of pictures before - being, as they were, a mainstay of just about every church and important building in Italy - it was how they were presented which impressed her the most. Pointing a finger at the one closest to where she stood, she glanced over her shoulder and waited for her mother to approach.

"Le cornici sono realizzate in oro!", she announced with a grin. To her, gold was a legendary precious metal; one held only by the wealthiest of kings and worn by the most beautiful and virtuous of princesses. Gold - at least in quantities large enough to forge a picture frame - had no place amongst the general citizenry, which served to make its presence all the more unusual. She didn't understand that the building was commissioned and paid for by a member of the wealthiest banking families in Italy, if not the whole of western Europe.

Although it was unusual for a family to embark on a grocery trip in the middle of the week, the sudden lack of various essentials at the Cammeresi family home had necessitated the outing. While her father was hard at work, Lucia's mother had been left with the duty and, with no desire to leave her unattended, had brought her daughter along.

Shopping for food was one of the things Lucia was expected to learn for later life; when she would hopefully marry an attractive man and begin the arduous and somewhat stressful task of raising a family of her own. Of course, innocence was protecting her from the underlying reasons why she was accompanying her mother on shopping trips and helping out with the household chores and, until she hit her mid-teens, she would hopefully continue to see it as a fun way to get closer to the woman who had given her the gift of life.

And, at the age of ten, she was very much a growing girl. "Ho fame, Mamma...", she commented, abruptly diverting the subject away from her discovery. "Posso avere una mela?"

[Felicia Soler]

The Palazzo degli Uffizi
Florence, Italy
February 5th, 1580

[dropcap]Florentine architecture was still relatively new to the world. She'd been raised in Buda under the reigns of at least a half-dozen different kings who helped build the magnificent fricz palotha. From across the Danube, it was a large and imposing fortress made of gray granite with walls that reached to the heavens. But even the palotha's sheer grandeur couldn't save the Hungarian empire from collapsing under the weight of the Ottoman Turks.

As the world changed and grew, their family emigrated from country to country. Before settling in Florence, they'd travelled across several kingdoms and were able to gain passage to the small island of Skiathos before moving to the Grecian mainland where her mother had ties to family. From there, the centuries had taken her back nearly to where she'd started, though she'd elected to move away from her mother and begin a new life for herself in Italy.

The name she'd chosen for herself during this lifetime was Magda Panzavecchia, though as was customary, when she married into the Cammeresi family, she took on her husband's name. Agostino Cammeresi was a relatively middle class man by Florentine standards. He worked in one of the Medici's foremost deposit and credit banks which streamlined trade between the kingdoms and ensured that one's money would always be safe under lock and key. While it didn't allow them to have an opulent standard of living like the bank's namesake family, they were comfortable enough.

Within a year of their marriage, Magda had given birth to a little girl. She'd named her Lucia, always knowing that even if she failed to be gifted in the ways that her foremothers were, that she would light up with world with her wit and beauty.

This morning in the market was just like any other morning, though rather than leave Lucia at home with one of her tutors, Magda had elected to take her along. The walk from their home just outside the city's centre was short and easy enough, and she could make a learning experience out of it for her daughter, pointing out the different buildings which comprised the city and naming which architects had built them.

"Mamma!" It had been a while since their last trip together outside the city, and as far as Magda could remember, it was her daughter's first trip to the impressive-looking Palazzo for which Florence had become so well-known. "Mamma, guarda!!" She paused to look through one of the windows she could reach given her small stature and Magda joined her, taking a moment to look at the paintings adorning the walls just beyond the window.

"Le cornici sono realizzate in oro!"

“E tutti dalla lavorazione del legno è fatto a mano.” The gilt gold frames had been shaped into a myriad of designs befitting the paintings contained within them. Many of the frames were etched with flowers and woodwork made to look like ribbons winding up the side.

A fruit cart across the street was all it took to draw Lucia's attention away from the opulent artwork inside the still growing Palazzo. "Ho fame, Mamma...Posso avere una mela?"

“Si possono avere le mele che si desidera.” She approached the vendor—a kindly old woman in neutral coloured clothing, wearing a headscarf to protect her scalp from the burning rays of the sun. While she always carried with her enough florins to possibly buy a shop of her own, she preferred to barter. Searching around in her bag, she came across a trio of fleece scarves she'd recently knit for the coming winter. “Vorrei darvi questi tre sciarpe per tre mele. L'inverno sta arrivando.” Magda passed the three long scarves to the much older woman over the expanse of fresh fruits she'd delivered for the day.

Signora Uffizi examined the scarves as they were handed to her. “Sei troppo giovane per essere in grado di lavorare a maglia questo bene,” she chuckled. Once she'd started having children, she'd needed to learn how to knit clothes for them almost as quickly as they grew. “Grazie per le sciarpe voi, Signora Cammeresi. Sono bellissimi.” Leaning over the cart, she selected three of her ripest apples and handed two of them to the young woman in front of her, saving one for her daughter. “Questo è stato il più maturo mela nel frutteto e ho scelto per te.” She waited for the young girl to take it before sending them on their way. “Dovrei avere un po di formaggio la settimana prossima, a Dio piacendo.”

Magda nodded a her and muttered a brief word of thanks before ushering her daughter down the small market road. She placed the two extra apples in the satchel at her side and held Lucia's hand as they made their way to the next of a handful of stops. She needed to stop at the butcher as well as at the blacksmith's for a small fencing sword Lucia had been bothering her about for months. Swordplay wasn't considered a sport becoming for a young woman by any means, but like her mother before her, she felt it was wise to teach her young daughter how to fight in men's games.

“Ti stai godendo la tua mela?”[/dropcap]

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ф ф Word count: 933
ф ф Mood: I need to go pee now.
ф ф Outfit: This--w/e so it's like Civil War era America, idc.
ф ф Lyrics / Quote: None because lazy.
ф ф Illustrations: None.
ф ф Comment / Informational links: Blllleeeehhh.

[Nireva Hale]

Burning here, in my room. Feeling that the walls are moving closer!
Silent scene! The dark takes me. Leads me me to the ending of another day.
I'm haunted!
Tell me who you are! I am spellbound! You cannot have this control on me.
Everywhere I go, I am spellbound. I will break the spell you've put on me!
______________________________Lacuna Coil - "Spellbound"

"Si possono avere le mele che si desidera."

Lucia's eyes lit up with delight as her mother acquiesced, leading her over to the fruit vendor. Although she had in fact been facing the wrong way, the glaring sunlight meant that she'd been forced to almost press her nose against the glass of the window in order to see inside. Simply by leaning back, her view changed to one of her reflection and a vague representation of the street behind her and, although the colours were somewhat muted, she was still more than old enough to know an apple when she saw one. While nowhere near as large as some of the stalls in the larger markets in the centre of the city, the fruit stall still carried a small variety of locally-grown fruit and vegetables.

It may not have been often that she was allowed to accompany her mother on a shopping trip, but one thing Lucia had already noticed with the way Magda conducted business was how rarely she actually used money. While, more often than not, utilising the requisite coinage to make purchases was the preferred method, Lucia's mother preferred to barter for the good she needed which, even by the standards of Renaissance Italy, was slightly archaic. With the advent of banking and the minting of coins, people had tried again and again to phase out the practice of material exchange but, like a recurring illness, it seemed reluctant to be fully eradicated from the mannerisms of the people. Lucia may have only been ten and not fully cognizant of how business actually worked but, to her, bartering was just like paying with money. Both parties got something in return.

But the fleece scarves she'd seen that morning? "Vorrei darvi questi tre sciarpe per tre mele. L'inverno sta arrivando." Having had her eye on the green one, she was a little unhappy to see them used in trade. But, for years, she'd seen her mother knitting various articles of clothing and, with her father being a banking assistant, the acquisition of money - and the myriad things they bought with it - wasn't much of a problem for them. There wasn't much stopping her mother from knitting another scarf for her if she asked for one. After all, with spring on the horizon, it wasn't as though she really needed one right now.

The vendor was a hardy, elderly woman, the type who looked like she was the matriarch of a farming family. The top of her head was covered with a simple scarf to block out the heat and her clothing was equally low-cost and built mostly for function and durability as opposed to looks. "Sei troppo giovane per essere in grado di lavorare a maglia questo bene," she mused with a brief chuckle. Knitting, like many forms of textile-based artisanry, was an art which, although easy to learn the basics, took decades to truly master. To Lucia, the woman behind the stall looked old enough to be her great-grandmother though, with a grandmother - a woman she had met only a couple of times on special occasions - whose hair hadn't yet turned gray, it was the only conclusion regarding her age to which she could arrive.

But, of course, she thought her mother was some sort of infallible superhuman. No matter how she felt or what she wanted, her mother was on hand to ensure she was happy. No-one else could really achieve such things. "Grazie per le sciarpe voi, Signora Cammeresi." Sounding genuinely appreciative of the scarves she'd been given, the older woman placed them into one of the bags behind the stall for safe keeping. "Sono bellissimi." As agreed, she leaned over the stall and plucked a trio of apples from where she'd laid them out earlier that morning. Handing them over one hand at a time, the old woman soon noticed the expectant eyes staring up at her from the little girl beside Magda. With there being another possible reason for the purchase beyond simple grocery shopping, she decided to afford the youngster a share of the luxury. "Questo è stato il più maturo mela nel frutteto e ho scelto per te."

"Grazie, Signora!" Following the tenets of her upbringing, Lucia thanked the fruit vendor before taking the purchased gift from her hands. Now that she had the apple she'd impulsively craved, she was happy and, as she took a bite from the slightly misshapen crimson ball of juicy flesh, she tuned out the talk of there possibly being cheese on the woman's stall the following week. Being something they ate relatively often, cheese wasn't as special to Lucia as a freshly-picked apple and, as she was ushered away by the hand, her eyes were still mostly on the apple as she slowly set about eating it.

"Ti stai godendo la tua mela?"

"Si, Mamma." Lucia's response was accompanied by a nod of the head and a mouthful of apple. Although the vast majority of Renaissance society didn't permit it, there was slight air of a tomboy beginning to form around Lucia as she approached her teenage years. As much as forces tried to curtail her personality and herd her preferences into what were considered more feminine pursuits, Lucia was finding herself captivated more and more by things the boys her age found fun; playing games outdoors instead of staying at home and learning how to do domestic chores. Although both of her parents had regaled her with various tales of how princesses were rescued from the clutches of some malevolent entity, Lucia was far more interested by the noble knight or whatever other masculine warrior figure actually did the rescuing. Swordplay and fearlessness just seemed far more fun to her than sitting in a tower. She'd seen the boys do some mock swordfighting with sticks and had insistently nagged her parents for a sword.

Understandably, her father had outright forbidden such things, saying that they were both dangerous and the tools of men. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed more understanding of her daughter's position. Although exceptionally rare, there were examples of women with a military background, such as the French martyr Joan of Arc over a century ago. While Lucia herself had little knowledge on which types of swords were suited best to each style of combat, her mother had convinced her to settle on a small-scale fencing sword. With its blade being slender and light, it was designed to be shifted and moved quickly, allowing for speedy assaults on an opponent. As well as being a method by which male nobles settled various disputes involving the tarnishing of their honour, fencing was beginning to come into its own as a competitive sport and a school for both disciplines was apparently well-known in the south of the country.

As she continued to eat, Lucia wondered if the sword was in fact the reason her mother had asked her to accompany her on the day's shopping errands. Making a sword, especially when it was a tailor-made commissioned piece for a child, took rather a lot of time and, with each corner they turned, she couldn't help but glance around at her surroundings for the distinctive glint of the sunlight on the blades which signalled the blacksmith's stall. "Mamma..?" She couldn't help but ask. But she was playing it safe and avoiding the specifics. Even at ten years old, she could be crafty when she wanted to be. "Che cosa altro abbiamo bisogno di comprare prima andare a casa?"

[Felicia Soler]

Ur mennozh en oa 'barzh e benn, 'drec'has ket Ludwig an Devod
Met pa varwas ar roue german, Nevenoe 'oa distaget
Breizh 'oa unanet hag aozet mat hag e youc'has : "Breizh dishual !"

The Palazzo degli Uffizi
Florence, Italy
February 5th, 1580

"Mamma..? Che cosa altro abbiamo bisogno di comprare prima andare a casa?"

Having been a mother several times in the past, she new a veiled question when one was asked of her. Yes, she had other reasons for bringing Lucia along with her to the market today. The sword she'd had made for her daughter had been completed. It had set her back roughly fifty florins, give or take. She was willing to pay up to 100 for it, but Signore De Fabbro had balked at that, stating it was far too much. Magda knew he was only saying that to be polite, and she was fully intending on giving him at least 75 for the sword.

She kept her money inside her boots; she figured she'd be able to feel a cutpurse slipping into her boots since they were flush against her leg. She'd sewn deep leather pockets into the lining of the boots which could be used to house a number of objects, including money and weapons. A small dagger was always something she kept on her person whenever she was out in public, and God help any man who attempted to persuade her otherwise.

The blacksmith's guild was easy enough to locate by sound alone. The din created by iron hammers forging red hot steel on an anvil was a very distinct noise, and grew louder with each step they took towards the small standalone shop. Built out of stone and mortar with large kilns and vats filled with molten metals of varying alloys, it was a sight to behold in its own right. From where they stood at the front of the shop, the could smell the coppery scent of metal as it bubbled in the cauldrons, set over ovens which required a constant supply of flammable material to stoke the fires.

A strong, surly-looking older man with wrinkled features approached the two of them after prying a new blade out of its mould to be fashioned into a double-edged dagger. Removing his thick, tarnished leather gloves, he greeted Magda and her daughter. While it was highly unorthodox for women to own blades of any sort, let alone a sword, he knew he didn't want to end up on the wrong side of the Cammerisi family. None of the family had ever shown him any ill will, but bankers by their very nature controlled the flow of money which kept both him and his family fed.

“Pleasure seeing you again, Signora Cammerisi, and your daughter was well.” Despite how his chosen profession had hardened his body over the years, he'd been told that he still had kind eyes. He smiled at Lucia and knelt down to her level. “Would you like to see what I've been making for you?”

There were racks of finished swords, daggers, maces, and other weaponry lining the walls, and he remembered the story behind each one of them. Arturo De Fabbro believed that every weapon was unique and had its own spirit and personality. When he was alone in the shop sometimes he could swear that the blades were talking to him, but he blamed that on his advancing years and from having inhaled so much smoke and fumes throughout his life.

Walking with Lucia and her mother to one particular rack well-hidden behind all of his and his apprentice's equipment, he gestured to a copper-coloured sword with a fine, thin blade, a weighty spherical pommel, and a lattice work of interlocking ring comprised the sword's fore and rear guard. The blade itself was marked with two fullers, and was punched and stamped with a combination of lines, dots, circles, and crosses.
Complex hilt of classic form, with two ring guards in front and crossing rear guard. Placing his hands underneath the flat of the blade, he lifted it up and presented it to Lucia for her inspection. It was, after all, going to be her sword. “What do you think of her?”

Lucia's name had been engraved at the grave, just beneath his own unique signature. Everyone in the city of Firenze was familiar with the handiwork of the De Fabbro family, and boasted about the quality of his blades. They'd been used to settle everything from wars to small skirmishes, to petty duels between men vying for the attention of a woman.

“I think she's beautiful.”

“As beautiful as the dagger I made for you a few years ago?” The dagger he'd made for her was a design he'd never attempted before. The blade of the dagger was forked every so slightly, and from the blade on either side of the split, he'd forged two hook-like protrusions on its outer edges. Slicing through flesh would have been incredibly easy. Yanking the blade out again was sure to wreak even more havoc on the innards of an attacker.

Magda lifted her dress slightly, revealing the dagger in its sheath on the inside of her ankle. “Almost.” Seating herself on a nearby stool, she pulled off her left boot and turned it upside down, emptying the contents (most of them, at least; she still had some things she needed to buy before heading home) into her lap. Slipping the boot back on again, she untied one of the small leather pouches from around her waist and filled it with the gold coins, then handed it to him.

Arturo shook his head at first. What he'd seen was nearly double what she'd agreed to pay him for the piece. On reputation alone, he knew she wouldn't leave until he took her money. “You are far too kind.”

“And you are far too talented for me to underpay.” Magda stood up and watched Lucia clumsily handle the new sword. It was a little too big for her, but she would grow into it. She could tell that the blade had already been sharpened; this was no dull blade for child's play; it was a true weapon that needed to be handled with respect.

“Who is going to teach her how to use it properly?” He watched Lucia with a careful eye as she practically danced with the sword, ready to grab her at a moment's notice if she came too close for comfort to the blades and other sharp implements hung about the shop which were still in the process of being given new life.

“I suppose it will fall to me. Her father doesn't much like the idea of a lady fighting, but my mother taught me. I thought I would pass that knowledge onto the second generation so to speak.”

He nodded his agreement. “Fencing and sword fighting classes won't take her as a pupil, and it would be best if she learned from someone she knew.”

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ф ф Word count: 1232
ф ф Mood: Tired.
ф ф Outfit: Same as previous posts.
ф ф Lyrics / Quote: Whatever the fuck this is, it sounds like Judas Priest being sung backwards in Gaelic.
ф ф Illustrations: Sword, but kid sized, obvs.
ф ф Comment / Informational links: I go bed now.

[Nireva Hale]

Now I'm near the altar; the secret inside!
As legend told! My beloved sun, light the dragon's eyes!
On the way to the glory, I'll honour my sword!
To serve right ideals and justice for all!
______________________________Rhapsody Of Fire - "Emerald Sword"

"Piacere di rivederla, signora Cammeresi!" Even before she and her mother had arrived at the forge run by the local blacksmith guild - the largest in the city, in fact - Lucia had been able to tell just where she was being taken. The sound of hammers pounding glowing hot metal into shape provided an unmistakable soundtrack which could be heard two streets away and the fixtures which allowed the men working within to perform their craft - cauldrons of molten metal ready to pour into moulds and the kiln-like ovens which contained the searing fires - generated a wall of dry heat so powerful at times that many people unaccustomed to it gave the building a wide berth unless they had business there.

The larger, simpler blades were hammered over an anvil, as they'd been for centuries. But, with the advent of the Renaissance, Italian blacksmiths had been more adventurous, discovering ways they could artistically produce their wares. By using moulds and heating the metal to the point at which it completely melted, they were easily able to arrange the normally unyielding material into far more intricate shapes. Even outside, their prowess was clearly evident; a series of simple shelves, racks and counters showing various weapons they'd made for purchase which stretched deep into the bowels of the building.

Lucia wasn't entirely sure what to make of the man who greeted them. Compared to her, Arturo de Fabbro was a mountain. Almost six feet tall, with his limbs burdened by muscles forged by decades of his craft, he was something of a scary sight, which made his friendly tone of voice all the more strange and dissonant. He looked like the kind of man who was a loving father to his children, while also an unyielding nightmare to his enemies. "E tua figlia anche!" Being so short compared to the adults, Arturo only caught sight of Lucia as he backed away from the anvil to meet her mother, his shifting viewpoint causing her to emerge from behind a rack of daggers torso-first.

The child's reaction to seeing so many weapons gathered in one place was somewhat expected; a face of inquisitive awe as they surveyed his handiwork. The fact that it was displayed by a ten year old girl, however..? That was something he wasn't going to get used to easily. With very few exceptions, his clientele was exclusively male; be they members of the common soldiery or a wealthy noble looking for something to exert his authority. When he was asked to make a sword for a woman, it was often at the behest of a man and, more often than not, the blade was a purely ceremonial piece, fit only for display as opposed to actual use. Magda Cammeresi was different, of course.

After pulling his thick-skinned hands out of his leather gloves, Arturo knelt down beside Lucia with a warm smile on his face. Were it any other family, he would have been far more apprehensive about making a sword for a child. Swords were, after all, weapons of war and far from suitable for such inexperienced hands. But, ever since meeting Magda a few years prior, he'd seen a certain something about her; something which, as crazy as it sounded, suggested that she was far older and wiser than anyone her age really should have been. Some people would have chalked it up to her schooling or wisdom inherited from her parents, but Arturo wasn't quite sure. He doubted the greatest scholars of the land would be able to put a finger on precisely what he saw in her, so why should he waste his life in trying?

Besides, there were far more important ways to pass the time. "Ti piacerebbe vedere quello che ho fatto per te?" He smiled as Lucia's eyes instantly lit up at the question, accompanied by her near-frantic nodding in response. Apparently, she'd had her mind set on owning a sword for quite some time and, now that she was actually getting one, she was quite elated. Deciding not to keep either of the Cammeresis waiting any longer, he hauled himself back to his feet and led them further into the shop. A rack located beside the main body of smithing equipment used by both him and his apprentice proudly displayed what Magda had come here to see; an elegant rapier made out of copper. Despite it not being made from steel, Arturo had ensured that it would last for a number of years regardless, taking the utmost care in its construction and ensuring that, even if Lucia might not have been strong enough to effectively wield it right now, it would withstand enough of her clumsiness to be more than usable when she could.

"Cosa ne pensi di lei..?" The question was directed at both Lucia and her mother. Holding out the sword in his hands, he knelt down once again and presented it to the younger Cammeresi. With it being hers, it was only fitting that she be the first to hold it. The maturity and intellect he'd seen in Magda, it seemed, had rubbed off on her daughter. Rather than snatch it away, she tentatively took hold of the sword's hilt and carefully lifted it clear of Arturo's hands, waiting until he was well away before twisting it around to examine the weapon's finer details. The handguard was made of a series of interlocking rings which swirled in and out of one another in a vague ball shape and, to her amazement, her name had been engraved on the blade!

It really was her sword! "Penso che lei è bella." Leaving Lucia to study her sword for herself, Magda fell into a conversation with the man who had created it, always keeping a watchful eye on her daughter in case she put herself in danger. "Bella come il pugnale che ho realizzato per voi alcuni anni fa?" Well, wasn't that quite the question? As much as she liked the look of the sword Arturo had made for her daughter, Magda was far too biased to rank it above the strange blade she'd had him make for her when they'd first met. Unlike normal daggers, which were simply straight pointed blades attached to an equally short hilt, the piece Magda had requested was quite the oddity in the Mediterranean. Like a snake's tongue, the blade forked outward at its tip, swooping into a pair of symmetrical hooked points. They were curved so that they would cause a wide wound when plunged into a victim's flesh, but cause even more damage when she pulled it back out again.

"...quasi." Yeah, she wasn't about to allow her daughter's sword to win this contest. As well as her dagger, Magda had taken to hiding her money inside her boots; both a deterrent and an early-warning system in case someone tried to steal from her. Having spent a good portion of the conversation sat on a nearby stool, it was only when she stood herself back up that she took a small pouch of coins from her belt and handed them over. Arturo only needed a cursory glance at its contents to know that there was more inside than the price they'd agreed upon. "Lei è troppo gentile." There was no way in hell he was going to admonish her for giving him too much money. This was Lucia Cammeresi, after all. Even after a minimum price had been agreed, she often paid according to the quality of the service provided. She wasn't going to get off his back until he'd accepted her gesture.

"E tu sei troppo talento per me di pagare di meno," she immediately shot back. Both of them had a compelling argument but, as ever, Magda came away with the victory. The way she saw it, Arturo had been paid for a service rendered and her daughter was happy. It didn't really matter that she'd given him a bonus for a job well done. As far as she was concerned, he deserved every bit of it. As her attention shifted back towards Lucia, she watched her daughter clumsily handling her new sword. Although the sword itself was balanced, its sheer weight - especially since a rapier was intended to be wielded one-handed - was causing the blade to fall forward in Lucia's small hand. Whenever she thrust the sword forward, it took quite a lot of effort for her to recover without dropping the thing to the floor. But she was enjoying herself immensely, and that was what mattered.

"Chi le insegnerà ad usarlo correttamente?" It was a fair question. Unless Magda knew of someone willing to offer Lucia tuition, having her taught to use a sword in this day and age was next to impossible. As much as the youngster seemed to want to, women in general simply weren't taught to fight in the sixteenth century.

Magda herself knew of the social structure of the age. Of course, she was also a woman who didn't seem to care. If anyone was going to dictate the upbringing of her daughter, it was going to be her. "Suppongo che sarò io," she sighed. She knew that Arturo wasn't trying to give offence, but it was still something which needed answering. "Suo padre non approva l'idea di un combattimento signora, ma mia madre mi ha insegnato. Ho pensato di passare la mia conoscenza a un'altra generazione."

"Classi di scherma e combattimento con la spada non lei volere prenderanno come allievo. Sarebbe meglio se fosse stato insegnato da qualcuno lei conosceva."

"Mamma, guarda!" Oblivious to the conversation happening in her midst, Lucia turned to her mother and waved her free hand to get her attention. Satisfied that Magda was looking her way, she did her best to hold her new sword in some semblance of a ready stance. "Sono Signora Lucia, Cavaliere di Firenze!" All she needed now was a suit of elegant armour to wear and her transformation would be complete! Then again, after managing to get a sword of her very own, perhaps a suit of armour was pushing it. Giggling at her introduction, she strode back over to Arturo and held the sword up for him in much the same way he'd done for her. "Grazie, signore. Mi piace veramente la spada voi forgiato per me."

Leaving him and her mother to deal with the task of packing the sword up for the journey home, Lucia headed outside in order to escape the brunt of the heat from the forge. Unlike the Palazzo at which she'd received her apple, the street which housed the blacksmith stall was bustling and crowded. Leading to a bridge which crossed the River Arno, it was one of the only routes from one half of Florence to the other. But, even through the crowd, Lucia could tell something wasn't quite right. In the distance, she suddenly heard a series of bellowing voices commanding someone - or something - to stop, followed by surprised yelps from the citizens as they were cast aside.

A short distance away, on the other side of the river, a gang of robbers had vandalised a series of market stalls and, with their ill-gotten spoils firmly in hand, the trio were making their escape, trying to evade the armed city guards by crossing over to the northern half of the city and vanishing in the more plentiful alleyways and side streets. Annoyingly, the pedestrian traffic heading the other way was making things difficult, especially for Ettore. By far the largest man of the three, at least sixty pounds heavier than either of his companions, he was often brought along because of his size and usefulness in a fight. Unlike his peers, who liked to skulk in the shadows at night, he was more prone to employing brute force to get his way. Unfortunately, his size came with an inherent drawback in the form of his lack of overall mobility.

"Rapidamente, Ettore!!" Lucia had no idea who Ettore was, but she could hear the yelling from one of the robbers as they effortlessly slithered through the crowd. There was enough camaraderie between them to at least shout for their companion to move more quickly but, were he to be caught, they would have just left him to his fate. Breaking him out of jail would have been a risk they didn't need, after all. As the far more agile front runners ducked down an alleyway and vanished from sight, Lucia was eyeing the crowd with interest, wondering just what had happened to provoke such commotion.

She was so preoccupied with what had just passed her by that she barely noticed the thirty-something man barreling into her until it was far too late to move. Although she was floored by the sudden impact, the man who had run into her seemed to come off worse, landing flat on his face as his left foot caught Lucia's thigh. The sack he'd been carrying spilled out over the ground, revealing a variety of valuables; coin pouches and products that, to anyone else, would have looked just like a regular shopping trip. But, after what she'd heard over the past minute or so, this was far too much of a coincidence. This must have been a robber, she thought. Part of her wanted to call out for her mother and Arturo. Being much larger than her, they would have been able to subdue this rather large man before he could get away. But there wasn't any time.

"Le guardie vi faranno dare quei indietro!" So intimidation might not have been her strong point. But, after dusting herself off, Lucia stepped over to where the robber's spoils had fallen and began to collect them in order to put them to one side when the guards finally caught up. Once they were here, they could set about returning everything to their rightful owners. Having a strong sense of justice from her mother, all Lucia thought about was trying to help however she could. However, when the robber rose to his feet, it was something she started to regret.

"Che diavolo è questo?!" Ettore Accardi couldn't help but laugh as he turned to see the person intent on bringing justice against him. While the law-enforcing efforts of the guards were often laughable in their own right, this fell on the border of being outright embarrassing. Whether deliberately or otherwise, this youngster had tripped him up and was trying to bring his crime spree to an end on her own. "Una bambina cercando di arrestarmi e salvare il giorno?" But it was when he thought about her possibility of success that the laughing stopped. Like many criminals, Ettore's sense of morality was woeful at best, and he wasn't about to suffer the embarrassment of being foiled by a girl one third his size. "Si potrebbe desiderare di pensare a dare quelli indietro."

Now dwarfed by the robber, Lucia could feel the fear setting in. But she remained defiant. Stealing was wrong and she doubted she would have been able to live with herself if she'd knowingly helped someone get away. She may have only been ten years old, but she was already her mother's daughter to some extent. "Mai! Non ti aiuterò!"

He wasn't going to stand for this. The guards were drawing closer with each passing moment and, while she wasn't able to physically stop him, she was still keeping him where he didn't want to be. "Bene..." Lucia shrieked as Ettore's hand shot forward, grasping her by the arm and effortlessly hoisting her aloft. Instinctively, her legs began to flail around as she tried to kick the robber in the chest. Ettore wasn't exactly known for his anger management skills and, with one sweeping movement, he demonstrated just why he was such a valuable asset to the pair who had left him behind. "Quindi uscire dalla mia strada!"

By hurling Lucia directly into the rack of weapons. To him, she was quite literally a ragdoll; not something that was remotely difficult to throw around and, with the noise as a distraction, he grabbed his sack of stolen goods and resumed his escape. Sure enough, the chaotic noise of Lucia's body smashing into the collection of wood and metal caused a sizeable proportion of the crowd to turn towards the blacksmith stall. They'd just witnessed the abhorrent act of a man hurling a child into a wooden rack in order to evade capture and were, understandably, shocked by what they'd seen.

The shock only magnified when they saw Lucia crawling her way free from the mess, a pair of stiletto daggers lodged in the small of her back.

Ignoring the gasps of shock, disgust, concern and fright, Lucia forced her hand to reach out for the stone ground of the street and hauled her aching body out into the sunlight. Although she could feel the tears in her eyes, the pain wracking her body was far too intense for her to actually cry out; not for her mother or anyone else. Having discovered that, for some reason, her legs simply weren't working, she'd resorted to crawling out from under the splintered wood and fallen weapons. By the time she slumped down onto the ground, now completely exhausted from her short-lived defiant standoff, and gazed off towards the river, she'd travelled a distance of only a few feet. She had no idea that the fall had lodged some of Arturo's expertly-made weapons in her back. All she did know was that her whole body hurt.

...and she wanted her mother to find her.

[Felicia Soler]

Long tall beautiful people fallen lifeless to the ground.
Headless scattered still graceful bodies.
Blood coloured the white snow all around.
Through the dark deep woods to the mountains
towering to the sky.
The wind carries the quest for revenge
and the tale of Blood on Ice.

The Palazzo degli Uffizi
Florence, Italy
February 5th, 1580

"Sono Signora Lucia, Cavaliere di Firenze!"

Magda couldn't help but chuckle as her daughter attempted to wield the slightly large sword like a true guardian. Perhaps for her birthday she'd ask Arturo to fashion Lucia a suit of armour appropriate for her size. It wasn't like she'd be running off into battle. When she was done posing, she walked up to the skilled blacksmith and thanked him for the fruits of his labour. "Grazie, signore. Mi piace veramente la spada voi forgiato per me."

Magda gestured for her daughter to wait by the entrance while the sword was paid for and packaged. Lucia knew well enough to stay near to her in the city as it was all too easy to get swallowed up in the crowds. Once the sword was wrapped into a protective casing for the trek home, she turned around to find that Lucia wasn't there. Well, that was to be expected. She was an adventurous child who could never stay in the same place for long. Her daughter's absence didn't worry her at first.

Until she heard the yelling and the various sounds of surprise and annoyance being made by the crowd in the large square as they were jostled about by a group of men who were obviously in a hurry to blend in and make an escape.

Pushing her way through the crowd to reach the centre of the action was nearly impossible as the more she struggled, the more the crowd closed in on her. “Lucia?” she called, though she doubted that her daughter would have been able to hear her over the din.

"Le guardie vi faranno dare quei indietro!"

Her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest when she heard Lucia's voice. “Lucia!” She pounded her fists into whomever happened to be in front of her, effectively restricting her from getting to her daughter when she knew that Lucia was in danger. Little by little with brute force not belied by her insignificant frame, she managed to fight her way through the crowd. She never saw the man's hand as it flashed across her face and sent her reeling sideways. The hit left her dazed for several seconds and she lay there on the cobbled street, staring up at the sky as she waited for the haze of pain to leave her body. She hadn't been able to identify the man who'd slapped her, though she assumed it must have been out of pure reflex. Cutpurses were adept at tricking people like that, using one person as bait to draw the victim's attention while the other thief robbed them blind. Physical altercations were quite normal, though she'd never expected to have her nose broken while on a simple shopping excursion.

Lifting her hands to her face, she winced as she pushed her nose back to its proper position and felt the effects of her ability mend whatever damage had been done. She'd bled down her lips and her chin and had blood speckled over the bodice of her dress. Before she had a chance to regain enough dignity to bring herself back to her feet, she felt two strong hands lift her by the shoulders and turn her around, holding her in a firm but not harmful grip.

“Dov'è la tua figlia?” He kept a watchful eye over her shoulder, looking for any sign of the brown-haired girl.

Magda squinted her eyes shut and waited for her vision to correct itself. “Lei è in mezzo alla folla!”

"Che diavolo è questo?!"

Arturo led her through a small break in the crowd just in front of the blacksmith's guild. He made no attempt to subdue her and released the grip he'd had on her when he was certain that she wouldn't run off and get herself killed. Then again, a mother's protective instincts knew no bounds.

"Una bambina cercando di arrestarmi e salvare il giorno? Si potrebbe desiderare di pensare a dare quelli indietro." The bandit was several times larger than her daughter and in the midst of her fear, Magda felt proud that Lucia was willing to stand her ground. The proudness she felt, however, was to be short-lived.

"Mai! Non ti aiuterò!"

In a span of seconds—or perhaps it had been minutes or even hours—she watched as the man named Ettore picked up her daughter like she were little more than a sack of flour and threw her into the weapon rack in the storefront of Arturo's guild. The rest of the crowd reacted to the violent act that had just been visited upon the small child by forming a protective barrier around her as she snake-crawled her way into the sunlight. Magda was the first to come to her daughter's aid with Arturo following behind. He'd already dispatched a handful of his apprentices to chase down the man who obviously wasn't a man at all. No one but the Devil Himself would have performed an act of such cruelty against a child.

Magda's breath caught in her throat as she took in Lucia's condition. “Per favore, Dio, no.” Two finely-crafted stiletto daggers were deeply embedded into Lucia's flesh. She'd had far too many of her children die in this lifetime and she was convinced that she was witnessing the death of another before her eyes. None of her children had inherited the God-given ability that she'd had since birth which allowed her to heal injuries almost instantly. Unfortunately, there was only one way for her to find out whether Lucia had been born with a similar gift.

Leaning close to Lucia's face, she whispered in her ear. “Mi dispiace, bambina.” Closing her hands around the twin hilts protruding from the young girl's back, she pulled them out quickly and threw them aside, then gathered Lucia into her arms, supporting her under the knees with one arm and her shoulders with the other. Half of her mind was with her daughter; the other was crying out for revenge in the form of blood and death. When the guards caught up to Ettore as she knew they would, he would most likely be put in a gaol on the outskirts of Florence. If she paid the gaolers enough florin to keep them fed for a week with money to spare on a courtesan, they would have no other recourse than to look the other way and deny that she'd ever been there. Nor would the be able to explain how Ettore's spleen had met its end after being ripped from his body and how all of his appendages had been torn off and strewn asunder. She'd make sure they'd never be able to find his head as she planned on beating his skull into a powder and feeding it to her dogs.

“Sono qui, bambina. Solo Dio può salvare ora, e io prego che Egli vi darà la forza di tornare.”

Довести до белого каления.

ф ф Word count: 1295
ф ф Mood: There, I posted.
ф ф Outfit: Same as previous posts.
ф ф Lyrics / Quote: Blood on Ice, Bathory
ф ф Illustrations: None.
ф ф Comment / Informational links: None.

[Nireva Hale]

Come waste your millions here. Secretly, she sneers.
Another corporate show. A guilty conscience grows.
And I'll feel a guilty conscience grow.
She burns like the sun and I can't look away!
She'll burn our horizons, make no mistake!
______________________________Muse - "Sunburn"

Although her eyes were very much open, Lucia may as well have been blind to the world around her. As well as still being stunned from being hurled through the air, the wind had well and truly been knocked out of her with the sudden arrival of a pair of stiletto daggers in her back. Even when her body shifted slightly, she could feel the chilling metal, sheathed in her own blood, begin to dig around in her flesh, resigning her to a more stationary fate. Dozens of pairs of feet encircled her like monoliths, their owners gazing upon her in shock at what had just happened. While many of them had stood by and done nothing to stop the thieves as they'd passed by the blacksmith's stall, they had watched as a ten year old child had done her best to uphold the law in the stead of the pursuing guards.

And now, it was almost a certainty that she would end up dying out on the street. The shelf into which Lucia had been thrown, rather luckily for her, had been used to showcase small-bladed implements; knives used for everything from concealable weaponry all the way to the dining table and, with the exception of the daggers in her back, everything else which had been meticulously laid out on the shelf had simply clattered to the floor in a chaotic mess. The shelf adjacent to it had been used to display a series of inexpensive shortswords, weapons which would have likely run the young girl through had she fallen against them in a similar fashion. With the need to remain by his friend's side, Arturo had sent a trio of his apprentices in pursuit of the thieves. Their ill-gotten gains were of no consequence to him but, after having assaulted a child and leaving her for dead, his noble conscience could no longer permit him to stand idly by.

"Per favore, Dio, no..!"

The despairing voice of her mother might as well have been on the other side of the galaxy. Even when she knew full well who owned the voice, Lucia was unable to summon enough strength or wherewithal to promote it beyond a distant call. It was as if she had been caught in a glacial landslide. Little by little, she was being swept away from everything she knew and, try as she might, there was nothing she could do to cling on. The very concept of death and mortality was something to which a ten year old should never have to have been introduced; to do so was simply wrong on so many levels but, whether due to tragic accident, illness or something completely beyond her like this, it was still a fact of existence for an unfortunate few.

As futile as it may have seemed to her, Lucia didn't want her existence to end. It was a wish commonly held by the young to never grow old; to never die. But, here she lay, about to meet her end by a cruel twist of fate. In that instant, she regretted her decision. She regretted how she'd stood defiantly before a man three times her size and wasn't at all surprised that Ettore had squashed her flat. If she had kept hold of the sword rather than hand it back to the blacksmith, she might have been able to make a better show of force. But what was the point now? What was the point of anything now? Why should she have taken any stock in what might have been when, in a matter of minutes, she'd find herself among the heavens?

"Mi dispiace, bambina." Her whimpering turned into a weak sobbing as her mother tore the daggers free from her back. The sensation of finely crafted metal tearing against her flesh as the blades were forced to retreat only served to compound her torturous agony and, as her open wounds became exposed to the afternoon air, the pain simply refused to end. But her mother was sorry. Why? Couldn't she save her? With the daggers free from her back, Magda was then able to scoop her daughter into her arms, supporting her knees and shoulders with her forearms. There really was nothing more she could do. Doctors were too far away and, even if they were able to patch up her daughter's wounds, there was a significant chance that she would still be prone to infection. Renaissance Italy might have been cleaner than many places, but they were still very far from sanitary.

"Sono qui, bambina."

"Ma-... mma." Her voice was little more than a croaking whisper; the most she could muster in her current state. Blood was weeping from her wounds and, with the damage the daggers had done to her lower organs, she was starting to feel light-headed and nauseous. This, she surmised, was probably what it felt like to die; to slowly have every last scrap of energy wasting itself away as her body gradually gave out. Lying on her back, Lucia could just about make out her mother's face, her eyes glistening with tears as she found herself at a loss as to what to do. "Solo Dio può salvare ora, e io prego che Egli vi darà la forza di tornare." She was praying for her. And, as she fought to keep her gaze locked on that of her mother, the pleading was the last thing she heard. Lucia felt her head become heavy and the light grow too bright for her to keep her eyes open. So she did what anyone would have done. She allowed her neck muscles to relax and slid her eyes shut.

And that was it.

She'd held on for almost four minutes but, for a ten year old girl, that was already far more than anyone standing there today could have expected from her. All that remained in the centre of the crowd was a mother cradling her recently deceased daughter; a lamentable sight, to be sure. Realising that the girl's struggle had come to an end, many of the crowd either turned away with tears in their eyes or offered quiet prayers of their own. The bloodstained dress Lucia was wearing would obviously be exchanged for something more fitting when the time of her funeral arrived and, like her attire, she would no doubt be cleaned up by whoever was tasked with overseeing the preparations; made to look her best for any who decided to offer their condolences.

But things weren't so simple. If Lucia was dead... then why could she still feel her body? Nothing may have been working, but she could still feel her own dead weight as it lay there in her mother's arms. It felt so odd, to be aware of what had happened to her like this. But it was nothing compared to what she could feel in her back. The agony which had heralded the end of her life just moments before was somehow starting to subside, as if her mother's praying had actually found sympathetic ears. Although she couldn't see what was happening - or anything else - her imagination was more than enough to fill in the blanks. Her body was mending itself.

Starting from the inside, the organs were the first to be repaired; the sections of cloven tissue beginning to knit itself together as the function was restored to her kidneys and the upper edges of her intestinal tract. Moving outward, the multitude of severed blood vessels were the next to find themselves being healed. Although the blood Lucia had lost was unable to return to her body, the mysterious power that was gradually mending her injuries was restoring everything to an earlier equilibrium; restoring what blood she'd lost so that her recovery could continue. After the blood vessels were stitched together by unseen hands, the wounds began to close themselves up, turning from inch-wide chasms of flesh into a pair of identical scars on the small of her back. And last, but not least...

...her dormant heart suddenly started to beat.

And, once her heart was beating, the rest of her body began to respond. Although she knew full well what had just happened, it felt as though she had started to awaken from a lengthy night's sleep. Squirming around with a groan, Lucia's eyes eventually opened to see that she was still lying in her mother's arms. She had no idea how much time had passed since she'd died but, where she had descended into her slumber as a fearless child with a moral code well in excess of her years, she had awoken as nothing short of a miracle. "Mamma," she began quietly. Whatever had just happened had sapped most of her strength, leaving her unable - or at least unwilling - to make an effort to leave the confines of her mother's grasp. "Mi sento stanco..."