Zariel knew she could not return to the clan hall looking as she did. It would arrouse to much curiosity from her clan family. She cautiously made her way through the busy streets of Westbridge, trying to hide in the shadows as much as she could. The pawn merchant might have some cleaner robes in which she would be able to appear before the Guardians. If not he, then perhaps the Guildmaster would be able to help her. Her hands trembled as she opened the door to the busy store, which happened to be empty at this moment. Zariel uttered a prayer of thanks to Silvanus and entered the shop. The pawn merchant smiled his oily smile at her and waited for the young girl to look around.

A movement outside caught her attention as a tall man with shining armor strode to the door. Zariel quickly retreated to a back corner of the shop where the human might easily miss her presence. But fate intended otherwise. "Hello, my Lady," he greeted her warmly, bowing to kiss her hand. "I am Sylus, at your service." Zariel quickly drew her hand back, hiding it within the folds of her cloak, before he could notice the brand burned into her flesh. "Hail, m'Lord," she replied quietly, dropping a small curtsey, casting her eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry if I offend you, my Lady." "Nay, m'Lord" Zariel answered too quickly. "I... I just amnae used to such attention," she finished lamely. "One such as yourself will surely receive many compliments, my Lady," he smiled reassuringly. Zariel felt the color rise in her cheeks and quickly looked for a distraction. "The robe," she thought. "I need a new robe."

Zariel quickly moved away from the stranger, and spotting a clean-looking garment, reached high above her head, straining to catch an edge of it. As she leaned back, her cloaks parted and fell away from her neck. Sylus, noticing her struggle, offered his assistance in retrieving the robe from it's high shelf and bowed once again, his eyes traveling up to meet hers. But there he stopped. Studying her neck carefully, he met her gaze. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, fingering the collar. Zariel fumbled with her cloaks trying to conceal the fear in her eyes as well as the collar. She shook her head in warning, but he persisted. "Thee are a slave!" he exclaimed. Zariel tried to silence him. "Nay, m'Lord, please," she pleaded. "They w' hear ye." Zariel glanced about the shop nervously, her face growing pale. "Then it's true." He gritted his teeth together to contain his rage. "I will not stand for this."

Zariel cried and crouched down in a corner as a black mist swirled up, heralding the arrival of Democritus. She began to whimper softly, praying that he might forgive her carelessness in allowing herself to draw such attention. "What is the meaning of this?" Sylus demanded angrily. The suave Drow cast a curious glance in the direction of the elven girl before answering the accusation. Democritus shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "It would appear that she is afraid for some reason," he replied nonchalantly. "You figure it out. I have business to attend to." With that, he turned his full attention to the pawn merchant and began to haggle over items and money. Zariel took advantage of both men's preoccupation to silently sneak out the door, fleeing far into the forests of Haon Dor.

She was sure that they would hear her, but Zariel could not help herself. Fervently grasping the worn bible in her small hands, she pleaded with Silvanus for some miracle, that she might be spared further encounters with Master and Misstress. Her back still ached with each false move, further reminder of the dangers of disobedience. "Why?" she asked no one in particular. "Why d' they make more trouble for me?" She sat in the elbow of an ancient tree's roots, doing her best to remain invisible to any who might happen along her hiding place.

Once again the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach warned Zariel that she was being summoned. A moment later she found herself standing in a large church dedicated to the celestial orbs. The stranger, Sylus, she reminded herself looked at her in concern. "Are you alright, my Lady? Please don't be afraid. I mean you no harm."

Zariel grew deathly pale and cowered in the nearest corner as the black mists swirled up around Democritus.

"What's going on here?" Sylus asked. "I want an answer." "I'm a Drow. I'm not much liked. What can I say?" Democritus shrugged off the question. "It's a stigma against my race." He cast a pointed look at Zariel planting an order in her mind. "Tell him nothing is wrong." Zariel tried to bite back a sob. "I am confused," Sylus said. "I harbor no such hatreds." "Naything be wrong, m'Lord," Zariel managed in a scared whisper. "Can someone explain what is going on here?" Sylus asked in consternation. "I'm sure I can provide an answer," Democritus sneered. "What's going on is that we are standing in the middle of Selune's church uninvited." "I am always invited," Sylus shot back. "Naything be wrong, M'Lord," Zariel repeated quietly. "Perhaps we could move this somewhere else," Democritus suggested. "Very well," Sylus agreed. "Are you familiar with the bar known as Nisstyre's Tavern?" "No," Sylus answered after a moment's thought. "Very well, then. Meet me at the Market Square in Westbridge and I will lead you there." The two men teleported away, but Zariel hung back in the church, hoping that she might receive sanctuary there.

Sylus' voice interrupted her thoughts. "What is going on, dear?" She wanted to tell him the truth, everything that had been happening, but Zariel knew well that her thoughts and words were carefully monitored. It was a chance she could not take, even with freedom hanging in the balance. "Naything be the matter, m'Lord," she answered flatly, trying to contain her fear.

There was the tightness in her stomach, and Zariel found herself in a dimly-lit tavern somewhere in Westbridge. Democritus, playing the grand host, offered Sylus a seat at his regular table, but Sylus refused, wishing to be prepared for any tricks the Drow might have planned. He nudged Zariel lightly, offering her a seat and something to drink, but that only heightened her fear. Sylus noticed her obvious terror at the Drow's proximity and called an end to the charade.

"Enough!" he thundered. "Why does she react so?" Democritus calmly evaded the question. "She's a faerie elf. I'm a Drow. Like I said, it's a natural stigma against my race." "I've seen the reaction and it is not hate. This is fear," Sylus persisted. "Maybe Drow are to be feared," Democritus returned evenly, a malevolent sneer creasing his otherwise emotionless face. "I'm waiting," Sylus demanded. "Waiting for what?" Democritus arched an eyebrow at the lich. "You wanted to know, and I told you."

Sylus remained unshaken. "Oh I sense a much bigger story here. The slave collar..." Democritus studied Zariel closely. "Hmmm. The anklets are pretty obvious too, aren't they?" "And you seemed to show up just when she feared you would," Sylus continued. Democritus shrugged. "So she's a slave. Congrats, sleuth." Zariel prayed silently that she might disappear, her form now shaking visibly at the attention the stranger had drawn upon her. Sylus's aura began to glow a bright red as his anger rose. "Tell me the truth," he demanded angrily. "Why do you care? You've already figured the blatantly obvious. She's a slave to a Drowish house." Democritus was growing more impatient. "Marcus, tell him what he wins!" Democritus mocked. "I care for all who suffer!" Sylus broke in. Zariel sobbed fearfully, backing further into the corner.

"If she is a slave, I take it as my responsibility to right this wrong," Sylus spoke calmly. "How?" Democritus challenged. "By killing me? in a major bar with witnesses?" "Doesn't that make you her slavemaster?" Sylus asked. Democritus chuckled at the simplicity of the question. "I am of House Masjader. Her items say House Entenaka. You're a bright boy. Figure it out." "Then why do I have to kill you to free her?" Sylus asked, becoming perplexed. Democritus gave a snort. "You tell me. You've taken a liking to threatening me somewhat." "I haven't threatened anyone. I warned," Sylus replied.

Zariel, unable to contain herself any longer, cried out for mercy. "I didnae say anathing, Master, I swear, I didnae!" She crouched down in the corner sobbing. Sylus whispered to her mind, "Do you like being a slave?" She answered mindlessly, by rote, "Naything be wrong, m'Lord."

"And Sylus," Democritus interrupted, "I suggest you stop speaking to her in ways you think I can't hear. Bad things happen to people who interfere with Drowish business. That isn't a threat. That isn't a warning. It's a promise. Now, I suggest you turn around and walk out of that door and pretend that nothing has happened - for the good of you both."

Sylus stood there many long minutes trying to figure how to handle the Drow. He knew that the harder he made things for Democritus, the worse Zariel would be treated for it. There was no other choice but to concede the Drow's victory - for now at least. With a final glance at the trembling girl, Sylus left the tavern, already planning how he would end her nightmare.