She was cold. 

It wasn't the ordinary sort of cold. Not the kind of cold one feels when stepping outside in the brisk of winter, not the the chill of the whirling air, nor the dance of the wraith like snow, nor the very draw of warmth from your body as if your very soul was being sucked from your pores.

No. It certainly wasn't that cold. 

Through her white fur she felt the soft disdain of azure grass, the oppressive darkness that pushed through to her skin, the shiver of her muscles as fear rippled through her body. The world wasn't bright. The world wasn't hopeful. 

It was simply cold. 

Though the world wasn't infested with creatures of madness, demons of the plane of death, Ciscera knew she was dreaming. And even in the complete darkness, she knew exactly where she was. 

It seemed like months, years ago that she had first been here. Back when her worries were relatively simple, when the only foes were personified in the howls of bandit assaults, cries of the tribal attacks, swirls of Tunay'rukian magic. Her life was not easy back then, but it was a life she was proud to live, severing the souls from the bodies of those who dared to oppose the Riversladian Kingdom. 

But then she encountered Colonel Shar. It was a minor battle, a skirmish really, with her superior troops and armaments encountering his company on their way to the front lines. She burned his sanctuary around him, extinguished the vulgarity of his sorcerers, and killed, injured, or captured his men. As his world literally burned down around him, he cried out to her honor, calling a challenge against her in front of the forces of both armies. At the time, she had laughed. She had killed his uncle a few years before, and slain Tunay'rukian officers of a much higher ranking than he. Riding on the seat of victory, how could she not accept?

The Bladed Fist, the Arduous Arrow accepted his duel, a battle to the death. She was one of the most established armsmen of her country – he the best swordsman of his. The battle was ferociously even, blood shed on either side. But the cur broke the rules, using magic to send them both into the land of darkness she sat within now. His sorcery filled her mind with the illusion of some prophecy, but, though his power was great, she was able to overpower the wolf upon awakening, claiming victory and life, and taking the whelp prisoner. 

Though he claimed that the spectral plane was not of his creation, it was impossible for it to be fabricated by any other, given that magic was banned in her own society and no cursed members of his lived. Nevertheless, her world had gone to the 6 rings of hell since his capture. Every night, strange creatures slaughtered her in her dreams. The legendary visage of a gryphon, her own symbol, revealed himself as her familiar, striking a deal with her to keep the cur alive and follow his quest for the power to remove his kind from the earth, though he'd done more to hamper her than help her at this point. And above all, her own country was seeking her on charge of treason, making even her own territory unsafe. 

She now slept in a brothel for safety, the scoundrel having already succumbed to his masculine interests by taking a broad, and time slowly seeping away from both of them. She couldn't expect the gryphon to protect them, nor did she want him to; yet, even as she sat in her perfect darkness, she could not identify an answer. 

Suddenly, the touch of another interrupted her thoughts, though she couldn't help but feel thankful that the interruption occurred before a demon appeared. Her eyes opened to the warmth and brightness of a lit room...the colors of the fabricated elegance....

And the face of Shar looming over her. 

Ciscera brushed his hand off her shoulder in disgust, drawing herself out of the bed with feline grace. “Do. Not. Touch me.” She spat, the soft rumble of a growl fading in her throat as she stretched, always keeping one arm within reach of the knife in her belt. The colonel began to talk, her own ponderings mimicked in his speech, but she ignored his words for now. He still dared to believe he had control of her. He thought wrong. 

He was finishing his lecture as she grabbed her cloak, bringing the hood back over her head as she left the room, walking down to where the leopard whore had greeted them last night. There was a wolf there now, her very body language dripping with the seduction typical of such institutions. The tables were occupied with broads like the one who had spent the night with the colonel, a thought that still brought a revolted curl to her lips. The canine lifted her head as she approached, having apparently been informed of the rather large transaction made the previous day. “Is there anything I can do for you ma'am,” she asked, her voice musical, almost whimsical. “Perhaps additional entertainment I can provide?” 

Ciscera responded simply, her voice far darker in comparison. “Send two of your women to bring us meals three times a day from this point on,” she demanded, eyes flashing at the pettiness of the other females. The leopard nodded, her only reply a lowly “anything else?” 

Ciscera began to shake her head when she thought of Shar, and the fact that she would have to work with the scoundrel. She sighed, then added “Bring a replacement vixen to the room,” waving her hand as she turned around to return to the room, preparing herself to, unfortunately, deal with the arrogant slug.