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Alysa nods slowly as he mentions her home, "I was born in Damora, but there is nothing there for me now, I left when I was young and have not been back. Viktoron is more my home than Damora shall ever be again".

She wonders if she will ever see the fresh start he speaks of, for she knows that once he finds out she is telling the truth, her options will be limited, that is if she can survive the curse that Mira has given her. She looks up at Moldon as she drains the water from her cup in a single swallow, pouring more quickly.

"Never thought I'd be so happy to see water" she says matter of factly "and yet after these past days I think I have lost all taste for wine!" If she never sees another glass of crimson wine she feels it shall be too soon, for the moment water is sufficient and perhaps in time she may attempt rum once again, but she knows that wine will never again cross her lips.

'Everything in moderation,' Moldon answers as he glances back at Alysa from the doorway. 'I shall consider the matters we have discussed and I shall tell you my decision forthwith. Until then, rest and recover, my child.'

He closes the door behind him and Alysa can hear him locking her in. It is likely nothing she cannot overcome, even without her lockpicks. It may then occur to her that she is without any of her earthly possessions. Her rapier, her pistols and the rest of her belongings were left behind at the manor and it is unlikely that her rescuers had bothered to retrieve them. From the sound of it, they had barely escaped themselves.

Still, she has her life and that is something.

Alysa nods as he leaves, at least to herself she has proven that Mira was wrong, she is not cruel and she is not remorseless like the monster who held her. Even the loss of her belongings pales in comparison to the price she almost paid for her arrogance.

Whether he meant to or not Moldon has given her hope that perhaps her fate will not be as dire as she once believed and as the fresh water fills her parched mouth she thinks that perhaps she may be able to live with whatever decision is made, as long as she is able to keep her life.

She is still weak but she acknowledges that the lawgiver is right, she must eat something before there will even be a possibility of regaining her strength. She tears off a chunk of the fluffy bread and rips into it with a hunger unlike anything she ever thought possible, though two days laying unconscious can do strange things to even the strongest man.

That evening, an old woman with a gentle smile on her soft features brings Alysa a small pot of stew that entirely unlike anything she had at Redclyffe. In fact, it reminds her more of her former home in Damora. It is a savory fish dish loaded with shrimp and scallops and it fills her with a wonderful warmth that ushers her off to a pleasant sleep.

By the next day, Alysa should feel strong enough to walk and another justice, this one a grim faced woman, dark haired with streaks of silver in it, offers to escort her around the grounds. Prior to this, Alysa had spent very little time in Ganelon. It had merely been where she had stowed aboard the train to Viktoron. Not as large as the capital city, Ganelon is, neverthless, a beautiful place. It is somewhat less orderly, with more artistic architecture as people of southern Angalon tend to place more value on such frivolous pursuits.

Alas, Alysa can only see so much of the city from the walkways along the high walls of the shrine, itself a white square building with domed rooftops crowned with brass. The buildings in Ganelon are not as tall and so she can see how the city sprawls out along the edges of the wide bay upon which it is built. Somewhere, just to the east, lies Damora.

The lawgiver, who gives her name as Justice Khane, is willing to allow Alysa to spend as much time as she likes exploring the grounds, though she politely dissuades the woman from intruding in the cloisers or ascending the bell tower. There are kitchens, gardens and all manner of facilities as the halls are intended to be self sufficient and even shelter the populace during times of strife. The main altar chamber is vast, with a high ceiling upon which are painted images of the hallowed Arcadians or celestines who are said to shepherd the good and just when they are in need. Alysa need not wonder why none came to her aid.

In the dining hall, Alysa is permitted to receive breakfast from the kitchen, which is staffed, as usual, by pentinents. Service to the shrines is but one sentence that criminals may be assigned. This morning, it is a hearty meal of boiled wheat served with honey and butter as well as thin sheets of dough with fruit rolled inside. Another facet of life in southern Angalon is the food, which is known to be richer and more decadent than the fare found in the north.

The blonde rogue finds herself relieved that the stew consists of fish, for she is not sure she would be able to stomach anything resembling a meat stew. It is all she can do to keep a shudder from running through her body as she thinks about it. Between the warmth spreading through her body and the exhaustion she still feels, it is not long before she is alseep.

The next day Alysa spends much time wandering the grounds, almost basking in the sun as she does. She realizes she has no idea how long she spent in Redclyffe, the days and nights seemed to blend into a single unending nightmare of darkness. This place is such a stark contrast that somehow, despite the things hanging over her head, she feels safe. She dd not believe that one could miss the sun as much as she did during the dark days with Mira, but as the heat radiates through her skin she realizes she was wrong, as much as a flower or tree could wilt and die without the life giving rays, so could a human being.

Her appetite seems to be improving and she finds the food here is not entirely bad, even if it does remind her of home, the painful memories kept at bay only by the sheer force of her will to keep them away. She cannot afford to dissolve into tears right now, she has more than enough recovering to do and there is something entirely different driving her now. She wants revenge, against Mira and Dakrom and whoever else from her nightmares she can get her hands on. She once promised Mira that she would give the woman everything she deserved, that will go double now, though in the blonde's eyes the only thing that monster deserves is a sword through her heart.

If anything of this place reminds Alysa of Redclyffe, it is the constant scrutiny under which she must conduct herself. She is never permitted to walk about unescorted, even once she is easily strong enough to move on her own. After five days of hospice, she is mostly mended and, given that she has every reason to believe the lawgivers applied their hallowed healing upon her, it shall be a sobering reminder of just how close to death, or worse, she came.The justices shall reveal frustratingly little about what repercussions await the denizens of Redclyffe or what actions might be taken against them as well as any information about her own crimes and their consequences.

Nevertheless, Alysa shall find Moldon to be more forthcoming than Justice Khane or Justice Ferrand, the later of which is a handsome, mustached gentleman who gives Alysa the distinct impression, with only gestures and glances, that she is not worth his time. Moldon, however, is older than either of them and, while not a high ranking justice among his fellow lawgivers, has greater experience than most and a willingness and patience to listen.

Alysa has healed physically, but her mind is another matter. She has been driven by thoughts of revenge, something that even for a mind unburdened by the strain of her ordeal could push someone towards the edge. It seems to Alysa that her only hope to get the revenge she so eagerly seeks is to speak more with Moldon, find out what, if anything he knows of her captors and perhaps even their weaknesses. Perhaps if she shows that she is willing to use her talents once again for the greater good of the people of Angalon she may avoid a harsh sentence for her crime.

She decides then to seek him out, waiting until she is alone to begin thinking of just what she will say and how she will say it to sway the lawgivers into her favor. She wants blood, payment for the torments she suffered and for the deceit and trickery that lured her there. She wants her life back but something inside her tells her that as long as Mira lives she will hunt her beauty and that this time, Alysa may not escape.

She has taken to wearing her hair down, unable to abide the feeling of pinning it up after the night Dakrom did so. But today is different, with her newly regained strength she tears a strip of material from her clothing, enough to use to bind something. She then plaits her hair in the style she used to in the days when she was with Jothan, she was no longer a stalker but she was preparing for battle once again.

Her long golden locks are folded into a thick plait that hangs over her shoulder and her blue eyes glint like the murderous edge of a razor's blade. It is time to do what she must do, to pledge herself once again into the service of the lawgivers and to pray they will accept her one last time.