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Lachheim was a city that couldn't decide who or what it was.

The name of the city came from the dozens of tiny runoff lakes that dotted the landscape, fed by splintered tributaries and creeks that split off the Espree River. The 'Land of Lakes' became known for its intensely fertile fields, fantastic harvests, and rolling hills - thus Lachheim had been born. A need for a neutral breadbasket between the two competing empires of Darrowmere and Reikstand had led to both the Heartland's creation as a nation - and also it's capital city's dueling identities.

Darrowmite and Reiklander influences were rife in the sprawling trade emporium's design, warring and mixing in equal amounts that gave the buildings and people themselves something of a dual identity. Huge cottages built on Reikstand wood-slatted frames were topped with the massive vaulting roofs and buttresses that were the keystone of the Darrowmere architectural diet. The people themselves reflected it, equal parts busy traders and hagglers with wide smiles and cunning eyes, and homey tradesmen with warm faces and firm handshakes - both groups interspersed liberally with hard-nosed men at arms. They said Lachheim was the city where everyone knew your name, and that name was 'friend' - Or at least customer. It spread in a wide blanket of white-walled houses that poured across the horizon beyond the Kingsroad like a blanket of glimmering snow. Their travel into the outer ring of town proper was halted by a small line of other trading caravans, forming an orderly queue into the city's grounds proper. From his horse, Bart could easily see over the rest of the town.

It, like many hubs of its nature in the Northsea Confederation, had been built around a lazy bend in the Ruhrk River, and more so it was near where the Ruhrk terminated into the wide and continent-spanning Espree River to which it was a tributary of. Fed by the northern glaciers and pouring its massive, snaking length in a lazy trail to the Northsea itself, the Espree was the blood pumping from the great heart of their territories, and the primary reason the Kingsroad had been built - a straight line that cut through the middle of the winding path of the Espree. Indeed, one of Lachheim's greatest features was the massive center channel it was built around, splitting the entire town between two halves of the Espree with an enormous trade district to either side. Truly, it was more of a capital city of the Heartlands than a town, and the largest settlement Bart had ever been to -- and the second-largest neutral trade hub in Northsea.

"Ah, Lachheim, a lovely jewel in this homey little land." Nazir crooned as he settled back on his horse, looking through a sheaf of small papers, clearly legal documents. "it's almost like a little slice of home here so far away."

"Al-Reza is like this?" Bart asked, undoing the buckles on his helmet and hanging it from his saddle-bow with his gauntlets -- this close to the town he could easily see the Confederation Guard insignia flapping in the breeze, even Wendigo-maddened raiders would be beyond idiotic to attack anyone within a short ride's distance of this place.

"In a way, we do not have many tiny hamlets like you do, Al-Reza is a land of extremes." Nazir mused out loud, opening a scroll and scanning it with his eyes as he spoke. "Oasis and inlets from the delta are the only places you can find a great deal of water or life in general, the sands of the south or the arid scrublands more east are quite inhospitable for human life long-term," he continued on, rolling it back up and looking to Bart, casting a hand at the city.

"So we huddle together in great knots much like this, decadent trade hubs and wonderful cosmopolitan cities. I would adore bringing your innocent eyes to the City of Brass, Khorrit," Nazir concluded, eyes aflame with nationalist zeal. "No more beautiful place on earth or beyond it, even in a place like this its shining domes tug at my heart, begging I come home."

Bart smiled at his friend, but a cold chill ran down his spine as they slowly advanced in the queue. He felt eyes on his back, a creeping sense of being watched. Turning in his saddle, the big man realized their position had put the foggy silhouette of the Ossuary of Man directly at their backs, the impossible structure stretching up into the clouds behind them, its jagged, twisted spire hazy in the distance but unmistakable. He stared at it a long moment, feeling the sensation slowly abate... leaving him anxious and eager to be in the city's walls -- was it just his imagination? Surely the Empty Queen in her Tombthrone had far better things to do than peer down at one newly-minted Knight-Brother on Pilgrimage.

They made their way through the mess and by late evening they were passing the gate, each of them paying a minor toll -- which Bart was surprised to find waved for him.

"No toll for the Radiant Order." the guardsman explained, pushing Bart's purse away. "May the Lady's light shine upon you, Ser." he said, and Bart moved past in an odd daze.

"Unusual?" Nazir asked, and Bart shrugged.

"I have been here before, my father and I always had to pay a penny a head. He never balked at it, said good tolls made good roads," he explained as he tucked his admittedly slim money pouch away. "It feels odd to be exempt from it."

"Rank has its privileges, my friend." Nazir chortled.

"Ser Knight." another guardsman said; "The Radiant Order barracks are to the north in the Keep, if you like I can send word ahead for you?" the young man in his pot helm and halberd asked, looking at the others. "The rest of your party I fear, will have to find their own lodgings."

Bart again had not considered this option, he had planned to stay at the Mythril Mare Inn as he and his father always had. Nazir cut in with a smile.

"It will be no trouble at all good guardsman, I have long ahead of time secured us quite comfortable accommodations, my dear friend Ser Mueller would be delighted if you did so," he crooned, Bart shooting him something of a chagrined expression as the guardsman turned, dispatching a runner.

"What? It is a perfect chance to speak of the men who accosted us on the road, I heard you and Rashid talking. Dark things, those. The Order should know of them, yes?" Nazir responded... and Bart immediately saw the wisdom of his words, Nazir was far smarter and sharper than his dandy appearance let on, clearly a calculated ruse.

They traveled together a short while longer, Nazir and Naima breaking off to direct the workmen and the carts towards their trade distract berths, Nazir turned in his saddle to Bart.

"Ah, this is where we part ways my dear friend, but not forever! I will settle in, we are at the Larkscall Lounge on the northern trade pier, do you intend to go further north still?" he asked, the big knight furrowed his brow.

"I suppose so, I know that I need to go as far as the Sidhelands borders at least, our garrison at Fort Ivory waits for me," he said, Nazir blew a low whistle, eyebrows going up.

"The Sidhelands! I have always wanted to see them. Perhaps I will... dither a bit after we are done here, surely there is trade to be made father north?" he gushed, and Naima's eyes lit aflame behind him.

"Oh no you don't Nazir, brother or not we cannot hare off on another one of your adventures whenever a whim takes you!" she fumed, crossing her arms, the dandy trader grinning at her the whole wile.

"Sister dearest to my heart, it's clearly a wonderful opportunity, you see how the locals treat with our good friend Bart here, think of the opportunities open to us with such a nascent hero in our midst to open doors!" he countered, Bart stiffening visibly upright at that and turning to Nazir.

"Do I not get a sa-" He began, but Naima's terse voice cut him off.

"You are incorrigible brother!" she fumed, blowing a lock of hair from her face in irritation; "Father expects us home by the honey harvest, what will you tell him when we're not?" she challenged, to which Bart realized she'd been baited perfectly. Nazir's grin turned absolutely cat-like and he turned to her.

"Well, We'll tell him how we were the first traders from Khorrit to bring back wonders from the Sidhelands! Maybe the Erlking himself will take a fancy to our spices, how will we know unless we try?" he asked, and Naima visibly fumed -- but she knew he had her, their father was well-off and deeply entrenched in Khorrits political scene, he would trade far greater on any influence gained than mere coin.

"Think of it sister: Dear Bartholomus here can take us safely to the citadels of the Radiant Order, you can glimpse their writings, their tomes -- perhaps even the White Lady herself! They say the wood she lives in herself is a host of Absolute Materials, a cutting from a tree alone could revolutionize Rezarian Alchemy for generations!"

She visibly paused at that, her eyes distant, flicking to and fro as she made internal calculations, Nazir's sweet buttery voice lowering as he nudged his horse closer to her.

"They say the hives of the wood grow fat as melons, drones the size of your thumb that sing alongside pixies for nectar. Imagine that -- being able to talk to a queen and ask her how to make her hive happy as the Bee Peoples do?" he purred at her, and the woman bit her lip in thought, visibly breaking as she relented, shooting a venomous glare at her brother.

"You're a serpent, brother mine; if we had not come out of the womb together I would swear a harpy crept in and left her babe in the crib with me!" she huffed, and turned to herself, muttering darkly, Rashid's face was serene, taking in the city's skyline as the sun sank low. This must happen quite often, Bart thought.

"Ah, it seems we'll be having a little adventure yet!" he grinned, looking back at Bart as his sister and the caravan moved past, towards their temporary homes in the fading light. "Truth be told, Brother Bart -- I care little for coin, I am young yet and will have plenty of time in my twilight years to count stacks of gold and peddle stocks of honey and spices," he said, his eyes alight as he looked at him. "I would rather be able to wile those hours of wealth away with stories of grand adventure, with friends made from faraway places."

Bart smiled incredulously, the trader's ambitions were sizable and proud - he would have the world in his hands if only long enough to feel its shape. He could respect that, the trader extended his hand.

"A brief goodbye, we'll meet along the way!" he crowed, and Bart shook it firmly.

"God be with you, Lady keep you my friend." the big knight intoned. With that they separated, the forked road taking them down the sloping path to the docks, and Bart uphill towards the proud keep that stood on a massive island in the middle of the river. The people thinned out as he rode, it was late in the evening - a lamplighter moved along the street, bringing the warm luminescence of flame to the cool spring night on its way. Bart lost himself in his thoughts, thinking of home, his friends back at the Abbey, and how he'd already had such surprises he could never have expected.

"Ah, Bartholomus! A pleasure to see you again."

He snapped out of his reverie, realizing he had somehow missed the clop of additional hooves, beside him rode a familiar lean frame, peering from beneath a deep cowl was another familiar face, too-wide mouth grinning. Parias.

"I said we'd chance a meeting along the way, I had no idea it'd be so soon." the dark-cowled man rasped quietly, matching Bart's pace on the cobblestone street. The light cast a better view on him, his attire, and his horse -- a massive black draft beast with ill-tempered eyes and a veritable web of scars on its hide. Parias himself in better light was exceedingly well-armored, his gear enameled black and bronze and battered with clearly years, possibly decades of use. It was the same kind of highly articulated, superheavy armor that Bowen favored. Sleek interlocking spaulders and a deeply-fluted cuirass and tassets offered unsurpassed protection and mobility, and dangling at his hip was a long-bladed sword with a wide crosspiece in the Darrowmite style. It looked at first like a typical longsword - but its blade terminated in a graceful curve and a needle-like clipped point more like a falchion, giving it an elegant brutality that suited the equally brutal-looking man.

"Parias." Bart answered in acknowledgment, his entire body language changing immediately as he turned his gaze about himself quite openly; "Where is little Ishtar?"

"Oh, she's about. Likely playing somewhere near our lodgings. I saw a familiar outline and spurred off to meet you. Such chance encounters on the road are to be savored and not missed." The older man explained, and indeed Bart felt a pressure of years about the grim soldier. His nostrils flared a little, and he looked at his harness and kit. "Is that blood I smell, friend?"

Bart blinked and looked down at himself, he had cleaned himself yes but had not bathed properly, there were small spatters still here and there on his surcoat but... surely they had dried now? His eyes flicked back up to the old soldier, whose mouth had parted slightly in a silent 'ah' with a dip of his head.

"Encounter trouble on the road? This close to Lachheim?" he asked, a tone of incredulity in his gravelly voice. "Surely no bandits are so foolish."

"Indeed they were," Bart replied in a cold tone, snapping his eyes to the fore as still-fresh, still-healing emotional wounds stung him. "Driven by some kind of madness. Some darkness rode them."

"Darkness you say," Parias remarked slowly, rolling his tongue along the words. "Yes, I imagine that's how it would look to you," he continued, causing Bart's head to twist around and look at the black-armored man. Parias seemed bemused, distant. As a man remembering long-past childhood foibles.

"There's a whole world of possibilities out there, my young friend. Places beyond light and darkness. There's a twilight realm of needs, hungers, and demands that many men are forced to dwell in." he continued, his voice turning wry and mocking; "Displaced by the mockeries of birth, class, or belief -- aye there's a darkness there. It's the part they don't tell young soldiers, the part where you grow numb to the killing, to the death, where it becomes a simple exchange. A transaction." he said, leaning back in his saddle, seeming to relax as he settled into the words he spoke like a warm bath.

"Taking a man's life isn't a 'transaction'." Bart hedged, his back stiffening. Parias' chuckle cut like a knife.

"Everything is a transaction boy. Breathing. Fucking. Eating. All a transaction, a cost to be paid for a service rendered, be it a blade or your cock or some high-minded ideal, everything is bought." he snapped, his voice suddenly ferocious, dangerous. Bart looked at him and found Parias staring back at him, ice-blue eyes luminous as the growing lamplight crept beneath his cowl. "The payment in gold or blood, it's all the same."

Bart felt that tension again, his back loosening and his shoulders going somewhat slack in a loose sort of readiness. He realized at that moment in their own ways, both of them were tensed for a fight - Parias' eyes flicked about him like a hunting beast, Bart's own gaze boring into the man with a single-minded focus. As before, the darker man broke first -- a smile splitting his face, those exceptional teeth gleaming in the lamplight.

"Forgive me, boy. The mercenary lifestyle is a harsh one," he added softly, his tone apologetic and almost crooning, his eyes turning to the road as they trod along, reigning slightly closer to Bart's own horse. "There is always a war on somewhere, the great kingdoms make a show of unity, but dig past their borders and there's ages-old enmities being aired out as brushfire conflicts. Proxy wars fought by men like me in the shadows for coin and their daily bread."

"We have men like you in the Order." Bart countered, his tone cool as his insides twisted around the comparison between Parias' grim outlook and the Master-Of-Arms' view. "They are rough men. Hard ones. But there's a softness to them, a hope." he said, shaking his head. "I must disagree with your statement, perhaps it is who you've chosen to serve who has colored your sight."

Parias' eyes grew cold, and his face drained of expression, a deadness to his tone as he responded; "Bold for a green branch like you to make such judgments. I've killed men like you in scores before lunch, ideals and all." he croaked in a gravel tone cold as the grave, but he turned his head away, a... vulnerability showing on his face for a moment; "... But there's a truth there I suppose. We are our choices, and who we serve marks us." he said, lifting his free hand from his saddle-bow to trace the outline of his mouth, running his hands across a day-old stubble.

"I choose to serve something greater than I." Bart spoke unbidden, the moment of softness from the grisly soldier drawing something from himself; "I am a small thing, muscles and bone put aside, I am not a man of power, or title or substance. I am small." he said, taking in a breath as he examined his own motivations deeply, looking out at the fading sunset -- Parias' eyes were upon him, searching - a concern in them he could not fathom.

"However... that seems important. Small things serve that which is much greater, what is the chapel without the brick that makes the steps to enter?" he asked the man, introspection bringing something up from deep inside he'd never put into words before, not even in the presence of his teachers.

"I do not want to be great. I want to be small, the cog that guides the millstone, the brick that holds up the chapel, the buckle that secures the soldier's shield. I want to serve, I want the toil of it. I want the burdens." he said looking up at the slowly darkening skies. "I ask for broad shoulders, so I can carry one more sack of grain for Mother."

Parias stared at him, the moment of clarity shared between two very different men hung in the air, and anguish seemed to pass through the seasoned sellsword, his face rippling between emotions so fast Bart couldn't even note it before he spoke.

"But what of power? Prestige? You are mighty, you could rise greatly in your order." Parias pressed, an urgency in his voice, his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips, Bart shrugged.

"I never sought them out for their own sake. I am... uncomfortable in the spotlight, Master Bowen wears that mantle well, The Lord Protector as well. They have the bearing of heroes, and they wear it well." he replied, idly touching his holy symbol as he spoke, Parias' eyes falling to the sigil with its rampant unicorn, eyes flat.

"What of desires? Have you none? Did your cock fall off halfway through training? Hunger? I smelled your cooking, you know aught of hunger at least!" he badgered him, and Bart grew more alarmed at the man's intensity, his eyes like blue flames of burning spirits.

"I feel that's a touch personal..." Bart began but Parias scoffed, leaning over his saddle.

"We are all soldiers here, I can see it in your eyes, you've killed since we last met. You've tasted the thrill of battle, of conquest. You tell me you have no desires of mastery, over man, woman, or beast?" Parias hissed, his eyes alight with almost a kind of madness. "The elixir of war, it is a heady brew is it not? The feeling of the weapon in your hands, the cut of the blade -- the power!" he barked the last word with a flex of his arms, raising him up in his saddle. Bart recoiled, and uncertainty ran through him as sure as any blade.

"I... I do not know. I would prefer not to think of it." Bart responded, but Parias leveled a finger at him, his gnarled digit like a spear aimed at Bart's spirit.

"Think of it, boy. Do not shy away from that feeling, it is what makes men like us. We begin small, we are just meat for the grinder until we take the handle, grasp it, and become masters of our own fate." he hissed as they came upon a round courtyard. Before them stood the guardposts and drawbridge of the keep, the sound of the river lapping lazily at the banks clear to their ears - and as they approached, sentries at the windlass visibly took note of them. Parias' voice raised to a fever pitch.

"Think on it, boy. Are you to be the meat or the hand turning the grinder?" he hissed again, his eyes wild, the smile on his lips was smug and he pulled his reins.

"I look forward to seeing your progress, Bartholomus." he said, his tone suddenly warm; "I believe I'll see you again up ahead, my contract is far to the north -- may our crossing paths continue to be so... interesting." he purred, and with a low chuckle, wheeled his horse away and down a side-street, vanishing from sight, once again leaving Bart uneasy and on his back-foot -- feeling more as if he'd been attacked than if the grisly soldier had drawn that cruel blade on him. Gathering himself, he touched his holy symbol again... he did not know what to make of the clearly dangerous man... he seemed to in some way have an interest in Bart's welfare, but he was confusing, erratic. Would he be like that as well, twenty summers hence? More? He shivered at both the thought, and the crisping spring air and spurred his horse towards the guard post.

~ ~ ~

He found stabling his horse and unloading his gear an oddly mechanical experience, he was leagues from the Abbey, but one fortress seemed like another, and his body went through the motions nigh-autonomously. The sentries had verified that he'd been expected by the runner, his newly-waxed mustache had been a clear descriptor, he thought to thank Naima again later for inadvertently speeding up the finding of his bunk. A knock on the stable door as he rubbed down the brawny stallion before he left caught his attention, turning with brush in hand.

"Ser?" it was a young soldier; sallet, bevor, and mail hauberk of a man-at-arms marking his vocation clear as day, the face behind it no older than his own. Bart nodded for him to continue, the younger man saluting briefly. "The Commander wishes to speak to you before you bed down for the night." Bart nodded, still feeling oddly... detached, drained from his conversation with Parias. He turned back to the horse, currying the beast's coat with the comb with practiced ease -- the soldier cleared his throat again.

"Uh, Ser." he stated, Bart's head slowly turning back to him; "We have grooms who can manage your horse, the Commander is waiting."

A brief surge of irritation that was wholly unlike him raged through Bart like a jet of fire, and his hand gripped the comb with crushing force, the leather-wrapped handle creaked beneath the strain.

"S-Ser?" the words jolted his attention back, the young soldier looked taken aback at the intensity, Bart cast his eyes downward, touching his head... what was that? Clearly, the fatigue from the battle and the previous knight was getting to him.

"Yes, sorry. I prefer to do this myself. It will take just a minute more." he replied, clearing his throat and turning back to his task, finishing the comb-down and laying a comfortable blanket across the horse's back. "Good lad," he murmured, patting the horse's nose and pouring it some oats before hoisting his saddlebags up on one shoulder, his axe thrust through them like an ox yoke.

"Lead the way, neighbor," he said in as soft a tone as he could manage, still seeking to banish the dark undercurrent of anger that nipped at his mind. Had Parias' words shaken him so?

The Fortress didn't have a name he knew, but it was old and well-made; its flagstones well-worn with age and many generations of feet. The stout building lacked much of the Abbey's homey feel, instead, it was pure, ruthless business -- brutal walls lined with murderholes and ballistae on each of the four turrets projected the Order's strength far beyond the reach of just the outpost's walls. It was a defensive fortification, and on their passage through it, Bart noticed many empty dwellings, rough and spartan barracks at best -- clearly the idea was that the weak, sick, young, and old of the city would retreat here in the closing of battle, putting the bulk of the Order's might between them and assailants.

"This way, Ser." the soldier said, gesturing up a central flight of stairs that lead to the central tower. "Commander Viconia awaits you." Bart nodded, his armor felt like it was made of granite, dragging on his shoulders, exhaustion creeping up on him - had this truly been but one day? He ascended the steps and quietly knocked on the door -- or rather tried to, the rap came off with a hollow boom under his meaty fist and he winced -- what was the matter with him?

"Enter." Came a clipped, feminine voice. Bart was let in by the armsman who remained by the door, presenting himself with a salute.

"Commander, Sir!" he announced formally; "Ser Bartholomus Mueller of the Radiant Order."

"That will be all, corporal." the voice came again, its owner behind a desk that was as brisk and sturdy as she herself was. Somewhere older than her thirtieth summer, she looked up at him from a sheaf of reports - her armor gleamed dully in the light of a dozen candles arrayed around the room, giving the spartan office a soft warmth. Her features were hard as carved marble, astoundingly symmetrical, her Reiklander heritage plain on her face, and tightly-braided blonde hair. Unrouged cheeks and bare lips; the latter kept in a tight line despite its bow shape, her face was still beautiful in much the way a freshly-sharpened blade was- clean, neat, and straight. In spite of that - half her face was a mess of wicked scars, her left eye stared at him milky and sightless while the right was a bright robin's egg blue, clear as glass and just as sharp. She rose after a moment and saluted Bart, which... mightily confused the tired knight-brother.

"Commander?" he asked, returning the salute awkwardly.

"You are green, Ser." she responded, sitting back at her table; "You outrank me. Commander is a notch below 'Ser'," she explained, gesturing downwards with her hand, going back to her sheaf of reports. Bart colored brightly as his tired mind took in her attire anew, no surcoat, rank insignia on her gorget.

"Oh, you are a Man-At-arms." he breathed dumbly and she responded with a curt nod, "Apologies, it has been a long day."

"Indeed, the Radiant Order does not anoint female paladins. The White Lady prefers men, it seems," she remarked and Bart immediately stiffened with a faint note of shame, she looked up at him and her hard mouth curved in a light smile. "Be at ease, I am not bitter about it. My command is distinguished and my faith is strong. Sit, you look like someone beat you with an oar." she answered his unspoken discomfort, thrusting her foot from under the desk to kick a careworn chair toward him. He gratefully sat, the heavy-shod seat creaking but clearly designed with armored soldiers in mind.

"Now, care to tell me why there's a funeral pyre burning half a league outside my city?" Bart's eyes widened and she smirked; "My sentries are very good at their jobs, and my scouts are better. Now, details Ser." she insisted, he might technically outrank her but here - that was an extreme technicality. This was her citadel, her city - that much was clear.

Bart quite tiredly went over the day's events in full, the Commander listening, her eyes on him and her paper, a quill scratching dutifully away as he spoke. When he finished she cleared her throat, wasting little time.

"So, not common brigands then. Some sort of cannibal cult," she said, frowning -- the expression almost made her cute how her small, bow-shaped mouth pouted, but the thin, aggressive slits of her eyes robbed anyone of that notion forthwith.

"That's the theory, Commander." Bart agreed, shaking his head at the madness of it.

"Hell of a first day for a pilgrimage," she replied, quickly rolling the report and pouring hot wax from one of the candles -- whose constant presence suddenly made a great deal more sense - before she inverted a ring on her right and pressed it into a seal of the Radiant Order.

"Corporal!" she barked, and the door opened, the young soldier coming in and saluting.

"Get this to the messenger hawks, the Lord Protector will want to be kept abreast of this." she paused, looking at the man. "Then get to bed, Sigmund. You've been on duty since dawn," she stated, her jaw set firm. "Stop taking Dane's shifts, he can either stop drinking or patrol hungover."

"Yes Sir, Commander sir!" the young man responded with a grateful sort of smile as he saluted, turning on his heel and marched back out the door, closing it gently behind him. Bart watched the exchange with a casual expression, meeting her hard eyes afterward.

"Is there anything else I need to know, Ser?" she asked, and Bart felt another wash of irritation -- how dare she interrogate him? Hadn't he been through enough? He realized after a moment that his lip had curled back in a scowl, more so because the Commander's gaze had narrowed further.

"Beg your pardon, Ser," she added pointedly, and Bart shook his head again -- he was definitely overtired, he rubbed a hand across his face.

"No, no Commander I am just... it has been a full day," he sighed, his voice haggard, she nodded curtly, understanding in her eyes as she penned out another writ, fold and sealed again, like a machine. Scratch. Shuffle. Thump. She set it on the outgoing stack on her desk, tapping it with one hand.

"This is a dispatch to our next stronghold towards the north, they'll be told to expect you and keep an eye out for these 'Hungry Bandits'," she said, shuffling papers about and ordering her desk as she picked up a pipe that had been sitting nearby, pulling at it as she sat back. The sweet scent of the leaf filled the room as she blew a needle-like jet of smoke from the side of her mouth, tapping the long-stemmed device on her cheek as she looked at him with that steely gaze.

"I have no command over you unless war comes to my door in the next ten minutes, so consider this advice instead," she sighed, standing up and quietly beginning to snuff some candles. "Get a bath, then get something to eat at the kitchens, you look like hell and you likely feel worse," she said, snuffing the last candle, only the torches in the corners casting a gloomy crackling light over the two of them.

"There is more I would speak with you on before you go, but not when you are dead on your feet. Go wash up, and rest. I'd rather get home to my husband anyways, Ser Knight." the commander stated plainly, causing Bart to blink at that. He felt a brief wash of shame, he'd assumed she was some complete maiden of ice to be so stern and respected. Quite the opposite it seemed.

She gave a salute as she collected her effects and gestured him to follow, he all but shambled out the door after her, she turned to him as he followed.

"It's been a while since a Pilgrimage has come our way, I remember the last one," she said, good eye still sharp as they rounded corners, she had a cautious air about her that only made her seem all the more formidable. Bart smiled as he remembered that.

"Knight-Brother Tectus," he responded, remembering the wide-smile and happy laugh of the rangy knight, a man born to the saddle with a lance in his hand. She nodded.

"He was enthusiastic and that nose of his preceded him into a room by a solid half-span. Did he make it?" she asked as they walked together; "He did not pass through again." Bart nodded, tiredly.

"Yes, he sent word back. He opted to stay at some small hamlet near the Sidhewood west of Fort Ivory - he said the locals appealed to him and the air agreed with him. As far as I know, he remains there, a local fixture of the Order." At this, Commander Viconia smiled - a genuine expression.

"Good. I liked him."

They walked in silence for a long while, the fortress' narrow passages barely letting them walk abreast by design. The silence was... nice, he found her presence oddly comforting in that regard. She had no need to make small talk without a question to ask, it was soothing in a military manner.

"Here we part." she said, as they met at a fork, she flagged down a porter, clearly a local workman; "Heat the baths for the Knight-Brother, thank you," she ordered curtly, the young peasant man nodding crisply and moving along with purpose, he again noticed how quickly and easily the local men accepted her command. It spoke well of her, even through his strange veil of irritability. She looked into his eyes, and he realized then in his tired haze she was eye-level with him in height. Imposing.

"Eat. The kitchen will tend to you, Madam Abella does not sleep til midnight just in case someone needs... anything, really," she said, drawing her arm up in a salute again.

"Good night, Ser," she intoned, and as soon as he returned the salute, she turned on her heel with a click of boots and left at a brisk pace down the walk. Bart was left with yet again, another shattered set of preconceptions about his ears, and an odd touch of pride. Her dutiful bearing was infectious.

It took him longer than he'd care to admit making his way to the kitchen, the true fatigue of the day settling onto him like a yoke - literally, in fact - he was still even carrying his saddlebags and axe, plus his armor. The smells lead him there before much else, and he found it to be a cozy place with a brick oven and a smokey interior full of the heady aroma of herbs and spices. He didn't remember much of his visit, a generous woman of middle years met him, fussing over his state in a grandmotherly fashion - his brain so fogged that it was more a general haze of soft words and doting. She sat him right at the prep table in the middle of the kitchen, and ladled a huge portion of stew into a bowl, handing him a thick half of crusty bread and cheese. He ate mechanically, barely tasting the otherwise delicious food at first but wolfing down an easy double portion much to the matron's delight. He felt as if he was bottomless, but the taste of the food was like ambrosia after his brain had caught up to his tongue. At some point, an armsman took his saddlebags and weapons and directed his fatigued body toward the baths.

He didn't have another cogent thought until some time later, his head a spinning dead zone of sensation and sound. He awoke from a doze in a large, round bathtub, the steaming water sapping weariness from his muscles and replacing the tightness with a warm stretching relaxation that threatened to drag him back under sleep's waves -- and the water alike. He stretched out, looking around, his armor lay stuffed into a burlap satchel nearby, and fresh clothes from his saddlebags were folded nearby. He didn't remember undressing, and embarrassment and irritation flooded him at the thought of being 'helped'. He was tired, not an invalid. However, he had not realized the depths of his exhaustion, his body protesting the minor effort of sitting up to pour hot water through his hair. A sudden surge of anger ignited in his heart as a sort spot leftover from the battle twinged in his back, he snarled and banged his fist into the side of the tub - he felt oddly off balance. Wrong.

"This is ridiculous, I just need proper sleep." he mused out loud, rubbing his face beneath his calloused hands. He climbed from the tub with some effort, struggling into clothing after toweling off. He picked his way blearily to where he'd seen the barracks before, dropping his gear in one corner, he pitched into the straw mattress and was practically asleep before he'd found the blankets. His last waking thought was a vague curse at his stomach, panging him again with hunger...

~ ~ ~

"Bartholomus! This way!" the voice called him from his bed, he shook his head, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes. His mind was groggy but he felt... better. Light and rested, his stomach growled immediately and hunger struck him again, his mouth watering as the scent of some frying meat drew his attention - wafting in through the barracks door.

"Bartholomus, are you coming?" it was Naima's voice; "Nazir has made us a marvelous breakfast." he perked up at that, surely the dandy merchant had some curious, exotic fare prepared for him - it seemed like the man. Bart pulled himself out of bed, following the scent and sound of Naima's voice towards the kitchen. The walk through the central yard on the way showered him in the spring sunlight, the glare made him wince for a moment, pushing him back under the walk as he found himself growing more and more ravenous the closer he got to the kitchens. He really must have overworked himself yesterday -- the downsides of being a big man.

"Ah Bartholomus!" came the warm, matronly voice of Madam Abella - her lined, round face gleeful as she bustled him through the kitchens; "Now, now no snacking, dear Nazir provided us with such a lovely meal through there, in the dining room." she crooned and pushed him quite forcefully through the door, he paused to muse that seemed far more aggressive than he'd read her the previous evening but the smell and din of conversation caught him.

"Oh, its Bartholomus! Awake at last, are we?" Rashid boomed, also here for the breakfast it seemed; clapping Bart on the back and leading him towards the table - its contents obscured by the milling forms of Naima, Fahad, Salim, and several knights. Commander Viconia herself seated at the table with a plate of bread, cheese, and some exotically-spiced meat who's mouth-watering aroma called to him as she cut into it.

"Make sure you get your share." The commander purred, forking a dripping bite of the lean-looking cutlet into her mouth; chewing almost rapturously; "Food this good almost makes me want to put in for a transfer to the Al-Reza border." she moaned around the mouthful, similar scenes were playing out in the other tables around the dining hall. It dawned on him a moment that it looked an awful lot like the dining hall back at the Abbey, though he expected most military buildings tended to look like another.

"Your brother makes a fine meal," Rashid agreed as he set down with a plate of his own, the milling knights breaking up as Bart picked up a plate to serve himself, pushing through the last remaining men moving away, he was struck dumb by the sight.

"Doesn't he? I think it's all the sun. A good tan adds such a lovely texture to the meat."

Laid out on the table was Nazir's gutted, dressed body. His lean frame flayed, chopped, and rendered into a variety of cutlets and portions, sauteed organ meats in a dish on one side, a whole leg removed and carved into a ham on another. The whole scene rife with the smokey scent of spices and charred meat - the homey feel of wooden spoons, crockery plates, and simple dressings oddly clashing with Nazir's finely-dissected carcass. The centerpiece stared at him: Nazir's own decapitated head, lips slack, golden eyes dull and staring -- free of the light they'd had in life.

"Bartholomus, go on. You don't want it to get cold. Nazir provided so much for us." Naima cooed, raising a fork full of the dripping organ meats pulled from her brother's body to her mouth, her sumptuous dark lips wrapping around the morsel in a sensuous display of culinary bliss.

Bart felt his guts clench like he'd grabbed a handful of his own insides and twisted - twisted, and pulled.

"This is madness, what unholy curse has taken you!?" he raged suddenly, anger, horror, disgust, and worst of all -- desire and hunger warred within him. All surged through him like white-hot metal in a casting mold, pouring out of him as red-faced, tendon-snapping fury. He fumbled around as the others stared at him in disbelief, finding a man-at-arms and dragging the sword from the seemingly bemused man's belt. He wasn't very good with a longsword, but he was still a trained knight -- and that made him better than most. He lashed out, swinging the blade blindly at the table with his friend's gutted body on it. The clash of metal as he did so was loud, the shock from it rocking up his arm.

"Now, now. Let's not ruin this delightful spread." Commander Viconia's sword stood between his, her arm extended almost casually, she rose, her hips swaying as she did... had he noticed that before? She was a lovely woman, of a size with him, powerful... ripe. Her body even in its mail armor sang promises of sinewy curves and soft flesh. He'd never considered anything in life but his training. Dalliances, girls, and love? He simply hadn't put much thought into it; part of him though did so out of fear -- local girls were so small, he felt like a massive, clumsy brute around them. He'd been so afraid that his first tumble with a girl would hurt her, break her in some way...

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that with me." Viconia purred, her scarred face didn't detract from her loveliness, if anything it heightened it - gave her the presence of years and made him shudder with the idea of such experience showing him every delight he could wish for. "For I am sturdy, strong, and more than able to handle anything you have to give me." she continued advancing, their blades crossing lower until they were loosely held between them -- that pink, bow-like mouth pouting mere inches from his own.

"Anything." she all but growled, and her free hand roughly cupped his groin, brazenly looping her fingers around him through the thin cloth of his hose. Fire flowed through his veins, the others looked on upon him, and he didn't care for just that moment... why shouldn't he indulge? He was strong, right? The Strong take for themselves...

"That's right... just a little bit won't hurt, I'll be gentle..." She dipped her mouth towards his, and a final moment of clarity screamed through his mind, the scene laid bare to every sense he had, the smell of blood, the charred stench of burned flesh, the ravening sounds of his would-be companions as they feasted -- the lie laid bare to him as cold hatred grasped his heart, he clenched his teeth at the wrongness of it, bit down hard enough to make his jaw creak as she smiled wide, revealing dripping black fangs...

~ ~ ~

Bart snapped awake with a scream, hurling his pillow across the room, where it clipped a water jug off the table with a crash. Painted in sweat, his chest heaved -- lungs unable to find air as his hoarse throat rasped. He steadied himself as he looked around... sun streamed in from the outside day, a lovely spring morning. He was in the barracks guest room he'd been assigned, his armor lay in the sack it'd been stuffed in, and the axe nearby. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, smoothing his mustaches with one hand out of habit - it was a dream. A horrible, terrible dream. He nearly shouted when a knock came at his door, his heart hammering his sternum as if it wished to vacate its residence, but he swallowed the shock quickly.

"Ser, Madam Abella said to see that you came for breakfast." it was one of the armsmen, he let out a breath, relaxing instantly. Relief was a drug and he eagerly wallowed in it.

"Thank you, brother. I will make my way." he replied, looking over at his armor again.

Oh yes. Definitely that. He'd feel much better when he was clad in steel.

~ ~ ~

"The Commander? Eat with us? Milord, that's a laugh and a quarter." The words were from a young armsman, eagerly stuffing his mouth with rashers of bacon and a hearty porridge of oats and honey.

"Oh? She too good for you?" he asked with a chuckle, they'd eaten more or less communally back at the Abbey - even the Lord Protector could be seen on feast days - but the young man snorted derisively at that.

"Hardly, she'll even use the communal baths during tournaments. She ain't a shy lass or some high-minded noble," he said, and then another soldier leaned in and added;

"Y'see Milord, it's her husband. He makes her breakfast every morning, he's some kind of miracle worker in the kitchen, and owns a tavern down on Clover Street called the Four-Leaf." Bart chuckled at that.

"Clever," he added, the men nodded.

"We like it."

"Anyways." the other began; "Her husband see, he's some kinda gourmet, does all the cooking. Wee little lad though, half your height, maybe a bit taller. Built like a hunting bird, real lean and sleek and stuff. But he never misses a morning, and she never misses a meal." he said, smirking wryly.

"Aye, Commander's living the dream. She earned it though, never had a fairer posting." came a third man from the table, Bart leaning back in his chair with his own bowl, eating eagerly, his hunger from the previous night abating slowly.

"She treats you well then? I got a sense of it meeting her last evening." Bart offered, baiting the conversation to disabuse himself of the last dregs of that horrific nightmare.

"She's tough, but she's fair. She'll notice little things and call you on them." he grinned, turning slightly to a table behind them and raising his voice; "Isn't that right Dane? How's the headache?" he shouted, getting a groan and a rude gesture in return from one soldier, raucous laughter from the others in response -- it seemed Dane had indeed made his shift today, quite hungover.

"She's basically everyone's big sister." the first armsman agreed, sipping at a mug. "We'd follow her into hell, and hold her cloak while she kicked down the gates."

"Aye, I'm game for that. Hell is due a good assault." another added. Laughter and cheers reigned in the dining hall, and Bart couldn't find it in himself to resist the good cheer, the darkness of the dream banished in the warm glow of comrades in arms.

Bart finished his meal, his mind on the day's itinerary. He didn't need to rush too much, the Pilgrimage was as much about the journey as the destination. The entire point of such a thing, the Abbey being placed in Fairharbour was to make newly-christened Knights walk the length of Northsea, that he may lend his might to noble causes and the needy on his way. They didn't always succeed, more than a handful of brothers had met their end on the way - or chosen not to continue for other reasons. He knew of one who met a local shepherd and could not imagine life without them, as far as he knew they still lived in a quiet cottage in the south of Reikstand.

First off, he decided as he secured his armor and effects, he'd go seek out Nazir and his caravan. The lingering darkness of the dream was dispelled but he still found he would feel better laying eyes on the man himself. Passing his room with his saddlebags, he hesitated over his war axe. The stout two-handed haft was hardly subtle, however, the previous days' events gave him pause at being unarmed. After a moment he snatched the weapon up, thrusting its haft into its spot horizontally along his lower back. He was a Knight-Brother of the Radiant Order, one of the few real privileges it offered him was the right to bear arms at all times, in all but the most holy of places. Even a King was sore-pressed to deny a member of the Order his weapons, for they were the Swords of God.

He opted to give his horse a rest, and instead, helmet dangling from his belt with his gauntlets tucked in tow - he set out on foot. A walk would do him good, and being honest -- his backside was pleased to be away from the saddle already. The streets of Lachheim's primary trade district were well-known to him, and it took him little time at all to wend his way among the wood-framed houses with their massive shingled roofs and stooping awnings, rife with grotesques and family crests of one sort or another. The city's mixed architecture gave it a stoic quality he found homey, everything felt solid and heavy, mosses and climbing vines wreathing the buildings, dampening the sounds of the city and only adding to the sensation that they were invincible monoliths of human culture.

Early as it was, the town was already busy, trade waited for no man, and trade was Lachheim's chief concern. Guards were already posted, and hawkers and street merchants of all kinds bawled and barked their wares the closer you got to the canal, where it seemed to get both more controlled and chaotic all at once. Crossing the bridge to the offloading side of the docks, which itself was a massive white-granite structure that arched smoothly over the river, one was beset by a veritable seven-nation siege on the senses. Exotic spices and perfumes waged a two-pronged assault on Bart's nose, while his eyes were raked to and fro by a fusillade of ribald colors and gleaming textures. The markets were half open trade, half sales floor; the various merchants both openly traded what stock they had on hand while also making deals for greater shipments in bulk. A variety of men and women walked elbow-to-elbow, from the stewards of rich lords to common bakers and breadmakers peering in at wares from far-off lands.

Taking his axe from his belt, the blade covered by its leather scabbard, he began to thread his way through the crowd - applying the weapon's haft as a useful walking stick for the benefit of the close quarters. He spied a dozen people at least from various towns, Lachheim was the largest city in the Heartlands, and it showed as he pushed and found his way along the massive double-wide cobblestone street - People from as far as the Coldmourn Coast of Mistport and the Al-Rezan river delta plied their trade here. Mistfall Harbor, the trade hub of the eponymously named nation of Mistport might be larger thanks to being a port city, but Lachheim was nigh on its equal - spread out into a wide, yawning wheel that spooled out from the central keep and the river it perched upon.

"Sir, sir a man of your stature can clearly use my rare muscle tonics! Sir!"

"Fresh Sausage, made locally and smoked over woods imported from the Sidhelands, taste the magic in the meat!

"Hot Nuts! Hot, Salty nuts! Get them now and wash them down with some nice cool beer!"

Bart's eyes as always, tried to be in a hundred places at once, taking in everything by reflex. Food was always towards the outer edge, vendors trying to get merchants and shoppers alike to grab a bite as they browsed. He pushed further, eyes scanning the horizon as he passed a vendor in almost ridiculously traditional Reikstand finery selling a variety of cured meats while a pudgy man in suspenders ground away on a hurdy-gurdy with an infectious smile. His height served him well, peering over the crowd he spied the familiar flash of cornflower yellow on vivid blue and saw Rashid's titanic form. They'd set up in the canal side of things, opening a double-sided venue with the massive carts they had, each one folding open and out from the sides to form stalls dangling with all manner of spices and alchemical goods. Naima's petite form was behind a counter - as she was in deep conversation with a small cadre of men wearing church cassocks, her hands holding one of her pots of miracle healing unguent. Ghosting up behind them, immediately spotted by Rashid and Naima, he held a finger to his lips in a quiet gesture for silence as the dark-skinned woman looked at him quizzically.

"Are we sure this is a reasonable buy? I know Rezarian Alchemy is without peer, but to replace our poultices and unguents with something so exotic..." the leader of the clergymen hedged, a thin man with a kind face and tired eyes.

"I can vouch for it, personally," he said, his deep voice startling the collection of Darrowmite Acolytes, the clergymen turning in alarm before the Eye-and-Horn device on his surcoat caught their eyes.

"Truly, Ser?" the lead man asked, his demeanor shifting noticeably. Bart nodded and flexed his shoulder, pointing a thumb to the still-present divot in his brigandine where the broadhead had struck him.

"Made a half-span bruise ugly as Reikstand blood pudding fade in minutes, gone in hours," he explained, Naima's face stoic and professional, but Rashid was grinning with a great deal of teeth. The three clergymen leaned in and murmured to each other animatedly for a long moment at this new development.

"Well, if it's good enough for the Radiant Order's valiants, it can't hurt to have a little bit on hand for emergencies. Thank you, Ser!" the tall man concluded with a genuine smile, gold changing hands as they took several heavy pots of the unguent with them.

"You very likely just saved several dozen people's lives, Ser Bart." Naima said after they were out of earshot, a smug smile on her lips; "Those men run a clinic near the Darrowmere border, one for the needy and poor. My medicines will do God's work in such a place." she asserted proudly and smoothed her dress, leaning on the table as Bart blushed.

"Ah, my friend has the very silver tongue of the Merchant Princes themselves!" crowed Nazir, morphing out of the hustle and bustle of the market like a ghost -- he was even MORE gaudily dressed today, with a scintillating mix of purples and reds with gold accents complimenting his cinnamon complexion, his khol-lined eyes upturned with a grin as he clasped Bart's arm.

"With us but a scant moment, and already made his first sale! Perhaps if the holy warrior career does not pan out, you come and work for us?" Nazir teased, smiling at his new friend with such an openness you would think they'd known each other for years instead of just a day.

"I just told the truth," Bart hedged humbly, squeezing his friend's arm gently, looking around at their stall and its honestly staggering variety of goods. The far side was strewn with silks and textiles, the fore medicines, spices, and exotic herbs, the whole while Rashid was perched between, keeping a watch out.

"Ah but what else is a good haggle but the truth with spice?" Nazir crooned at the man as he looked over their wares, leaning his arm heavily on his axe as he peered in, Naima spread her hands as if showing it off.

"Everything a growing warrior needs to put himself back together in a hurry, from hurt muscles to sucking chest wounds - and for you Ser; I'll even give you the family discount," she purred with a canny wink. Bart sighed, shaking his head at her.

"You are a predator, Naima. An absolute she-wolf on the hunt," he grated, and the woman's eyes glittered with dangerous pride.

It was then that a shout went up behind them, and a small figure smashed into Bart from the broadside as a rolling cart veered wildly, shouting curses at the tiny frame, Nazir dancing back from the collision. The big knight was solid but he still gave under the impact out of instinct -- one did not grow accustomed to wearing armor without growing accustomed as well to how soft and delicate people who did NOT wear it were, and you developed a habit of yielding against them lest you abrade flesh or break bones.

"N'mnhf! M'sorry m'lord." came the muffled reply from the small frame as Bart caught his own stumble on the edge of Naima's stall, Bart turning to see a small, boyish figure in haphazard leathers and tunic push back into the crowd, a shock of red hair under an equally crimson cowl all he saw as they went. Rashid was on his feet in a moment, barking something in his native tongue and Nazir frowned.

"Well looks like your initiations are coming one after another, Brother Bart," Nazir said after he cleared the small traffic snarl, frowning at his friend.

"What do you mean?" Bart asked, and immediately as he turned, something felt off. His belt was lighter. His money pouch!

"Ah. One of Lachheim's local professionals appears to have done a transaction with you," he chortled wryly, Rashid craning his head and swearing sulfurously in their musical tongue, Bart ran his hands over his body, his purse was gone, and so was his satchel.

"There aren't any thieves in Lachheim!" he argued incredulously, which Nazir laughed at openly.

"Brother mine, there are thieves everywhere," he added as Bart's eyes went wide, his hip-satchel, his father's book, the tome! He snapped his head around immediately, looking down the street he'd seen the figure heading, by sheer chance he saw a flash of red hair and the bright red cowl bob up in the crowd. Grasping his axe, the young knight's face twisted into a stoic mask and he took off at a dead sprint, Nazir spreading his arms.

"Where are you going?" he called.

"He's going down Connerburgh Street, which only lets out on Miller's Lane, he can't go any other way unless he sprouts wings!" He barked pulling his helmet on and clapping down the visor, tugging his gauntlets on as Nazir spread his arms, shouting as people lunged out of the way of the charging knight's pounding boot steps:

"What am I to do?"

"Go down and cover the other side of Miller's Lane! It dead ends into the canal on the left!" Bart shouted and the crowd swallowed him, leaving Nazir floundering, letting his arms drop helplessly as he looked at Rashid and Naima, who shrugged in unison.

Bart's armor rattled a staccato din as he pounded down the pavement, the big man gaining speed like a charging bull as he leaned into his sprint. Despite the considerable weight and mass of his armor -- it was surprisingly well distributed across his body, once he got up to speed it did little to limit his mobility in a rush. A cry went up ahead of him as the sight of a charging man in full panoply filtered down the crowd, and merchants and locals began to split off and yaw away from his path. It was about halfway down the street that the clearing crowd once again revealed the red-hooded cutpurse, who twisted to see the commotion and almost fell over himself as they laid eyes on the rapidly approaching knight. The chase was on then - the thief gathered himself and turned, giving a good account of himself as he rapidly sprang ahead of Bart - but the smaller man had hesitated too long to truly lose his pursuer.

"Stop, thief!" Bart roared, causing a murmur of alarm to ripple through the crowd, but none in the throng offered their aid and if anything - only got out of the way faster. Bart cursed under his breath and banked hard as they both reached the end of the street, the smaller, lighter thief turning with aplomb where it was here that Bart's greater bulk and encumbrance hindered him - forcing him to turn wide - his boots and armor skidding slightly with his momentum. The red-headed cutpurse shot ahead of him down Miller's Lane, the heady smell of oats and grain filling the air in a sticky cloud that clung to the tongue and nostrils as they ran. Bart closed in on the straight away, the nimble thief ducking around and under workmen carrying sacks of grain, forcing Bart's much less agile form to slow to juke around them, winding around heavily-encumbered locals in oblique curves.

"Stop that boy!" he barked as he collided with a throng of men with armloads of rope, entangling the entire snarl of bodies in a fusillade of swearing and curses as he rolled off the impact and found his feet again, accelerating after the hooded youth, who snapped their head back to stare incredulously at Bart's tenacity. Once again Bart's cries landed on deaf ears as the men and women of Miller's Lane just watched the chase - he clenched his teeth and set his resolve, barreling forward now with no remorse. The thief's eyes widened, big as dinner plates as the cry went up and he was given a view of Bart physically bulling his way past the crowd now, bodies being violently jostled away as the armored knight stopped being subtle and simply charged through.

A two-wheeled cart loomed suddenly out of the throng, two men loading and unloading it, the thief accelerated towards it, the narrowing gap behind him and Bart pushing him to drive harder, faster -- and impressively the little cutpurse hurdled the chest-high cart with a graceful handspring, turning a neat half-twist midair and landing on his feet at a dead run, turning back with a smug grin... that rapidly turned to horror.

Bart just didn't stop. Anger had taken hold. That ugly black fury surged within him and the big knight merely dropped his shoulder and tucked his face - leading with helmed head and armored shoulder - and he hit the chest-high handcart at full speed. The crash was so loud that it silenced the din of the streets for a moment, cabbages flew into the air as the armored warrior shouldered the obstacle out of his way with such violence it skidded across the paving stones in a shower of sparks as its low axles bottomed out. The roar that exited his lips was barely human with its anger -- a snap judgment had him snatch up one of the bouncing green sprouts in his meaty fist, and with a loping wind up that cost him but a moment's speed - he hurled it overhand.

"My cabbages!" the trader wailed behind him as the green leafy projectile arched smoothly, and crashed into the back of the thief's head with deadly accuracy, causing a cry of surprise more than pain, sending him tumbling head over heels into a heap. Bart snarled an affirmation, pumping his fist and pouring on more speed as the cutpurse gathered himself with admirable quickness and resumed his escape.

"Whoa, whoa lad!" It was Nazir having appeared at the end of the street, holding his arms out as if to block the way, the redhead let out a scream of frustration as the crush of people funneled him towards the dandy merchant, and surprising both Bart and most certainly Nazir -- he opted instead to go through - through and over. With a short hop to gather momentum, the lithe cutpurse kicked off a bending workman's back and planted his leather-shod foot directly into Nazir's pretty face, shoving the dandy down with a savage thrust of his leg and kicking off into a tight forward flip and not even losing pace. Nazir rolled in a heap with the momentum, coming up with a bloody nose - spitting curses with venom.

"No, no, get the little bastard!" he snarled, wiping blood from his nose as Bart came thundering past, waving him on as he found his feet.

"Who is this man?!" Bart roared in furious awe as they turned after him down the main street, heading towards the crowded canals, having cut a complete circle now, the thief was making for the bridge Bart had crossed, aiming to vanish into the warrens of the Residential areas.

"Where are the city guards?!" Bart barked, Nazir had caught up, the dandy surprisingly fleet of foot.

"Where they always are when you need them, somewhere else!" Nazir laughed, blood pouring down his face and a look of murder in his golden eyes as he pulled ahead of Bart slightly. The two of them spread out to cover two angles, still bumping and bulling past people as the crowd on the bridge thinned -- but the cutpurse had gained on them enough that he made the bridge first, and seemed triumphant - yet he came up short all the sudden, digging in his heels and coming to a skidding stop. Bart and Nazir came over the peak of the bridge to see what had halted the pickpocket.

Rashid stood at the other end of the bridge, his face a thundercloud and his gruesomely curved sword in hand - weaving it back and forth in front of him in a dangerously slow figure-eight pattern, functionally becoming a wall of sharpened steel. There was zero chance that even the nimble brigand could slip past viper-quick Rashid without leaving a limb behind, and he clearly knew it.

"Give it up!" Bart barked, coming up short of the thief, who flicked his eyes back and forth, his face and head partially wrapped up in that bright red hood and mantle.

"Do not test my brother, friend." Nazir cautioned, pointing down the path to Rashid; "He takes a dim view of thievery." The cutpurse's eyes widened again as he looked back, his whip-like body tensing as he looked back over the rail.

"Don't." Bart hissed in a low, dangerous tone, moving towards him; "Just give me back what you took and we will finish this with the city guard." he said, extending his hand. Suddenly, a bell chimed beneath them, and the pickpocket's eyes hardened - and he turned sharply. Bart swore a vile oath as he watched the thief take off at a dead sprint, kicking up on the waist-high railing, and do another neat flip over the edge.

"God's Teeth!" Nazir swore out loud, and Rashid spat to the side... and both of them stared dumbfounded as Bart came barreling past them at full tilt. He knew what the bell was as much as the sneak thief did.

"Bart, no!" Nazir wailed, but was too late as the big knight, axe in hand sailed off the side of the bridge -- the world seeming to slow down as the drop presented itself to him, he didn't think - there was no time. He had to get that book back, God's blood he had to!

Bart dropped out of sight, the two-story drop to the water would crack bones and drown even strong swimmers, Rashid and Nazir rushed to the railing in wild concern.

And were met with a blasting puff of flour and grain. Bart and his thieving quarry had heard the docking chime of a trader's barge, and both of them had landed in a large, and fairly soft bedding of loose grain and sacks of flour. Bart however - landed like a stone, burying himself to the waist in an open cartload of hops.

"Thank you, O Lord. Thank you, Lady Mine." He breathed, eyes heavenward. Above him he heard Nazir's maniacal laughter, looking up to see the lean man pump his fist skyward, jumping up and down.

"You are amazing, friend Bart! Quick! He's getting his feet!" Nazir jabbed a finger towards the prow of the barge, where the thief himself - clearly shaken by the drop - was halfway out of the same bin of grains, eyes staring back in complete shock at Bart. The big knight set his teeth and dragged himself upright, causing the thief to scrabble like a mad thing over the edge, his pursuer having to wade through the slick, shifting pallet of hops to find his own edge - hoisting himself out and over. Both of them hit the deck of the barge with a clatter within moments of each other - the crew throwing themselves out of the way as Bart took off like a one-man stampede - the thief running like mad, scrabbling at unattended objects, dumping anything not tied down into Bart's path as they ran around one edge of the boat to another.

Bart didn't waste words, he knew now he'd have to grab the cutpurse or nothing. To that effect - he came within hands-reach several times - snatching at him again and again and barely coming away missing, clearly shocking the smaller figure, whose eyes were wide and dilated with fear and excitement as they danced around the ship. Until, finally - Bart seemed to have him cornered. No words were had, the two of them staring each other down. Bart shifted his axe to his offhand, freeing his strong side up as he slowly advanced, the cutpurse's eyes scanning desperately for a new avenue of escape. Bart lunged - and desperately the thief leaped - kicking off the central cargo box of the barge and leaping onto the railing, barely evading the big knight's grab, the lithe youth skipping back on the slender beam, his footing barely wider than his own thighs. Bart snarled something under his breath, his vision red with rage now as the thief was wildly casting about for an avenue of escape.

Then, there was another bell. Bart looked up, and so did the thief. A second barge came by in close quarters, and both men knew exactly what was about to happen. Bart's eyes behind his visor were flat agates of fury - the cutpurse's similarly cowled gaze a mask of smugness as he ran impossibly nimble across the narrow beam towards the prow. Bart scrambled after him as both ships crossed under a loading crane, its reinforced arm swung out over the channel. The thief ran out onto the narrow end of the prow, the wooden beam bending and flexing dangerously even under his slight weight - and he turned and blew Bart a smarmy kiss. Ignoring the frothing rage, he bounced on the prow multiple times, forcing it to bend before tucking his knees and kicking off the flexible post like a springboard -- launching himself at an angle to the oncoming ship. Miraculously - the rake landed on it, popping up straight and waving gaily at Bart as he swore from the other barge, slamming his fists into the railing - he cast about for a way across... and then looked up. He saw the loading crane with its dangling block and tackle again, slowly coming into reach. That berserker gleam shone in Bart's eyes as he formulated an equally mad idea.

He'd only get one shot at this. Pulling his helmet down snugly, and tugging on his gauntlets for grip - the big man stepped back for room. He kept time with his heart's pound on his chest, taking his axe in both his hands, ripping the leather cover from it, and stuffing it into his belt - the blade gleamed wickedly as he looked up.

"Three... two... one." he took off at a sprint, running up a stack of tar kegs as necessary height, and he leapt, kicking hard off the top keg and sailing a solid four spans above the railing, the thief laughed, and the onlooking crowd gasped -- there was no way he'd make it, he'd come up short. His arc took him right under the oncoming barge's unyielding keel...

Bart's battle cry rang out like a brazen battle horn, and at the peak of his leap - he swung his axe at full extension. Hooking the blade's beard into the ring along the side of the block-and-tackle on the overhanging crane, the entire assembly groaned under the sudden jarring impact - but it easily supported his weight as it spun gamely on its axis. Out it went, swinging Bart by his axe along merrily - directly into the path of the oncoming barge. The thief screamed in wordless disbelief and palpable frustration as the big knight, legs leading forward, ripped downwards with both arms, roaring in defiance at the effort. The block and tackle buckled as the axe tore free - ripping the retaining ring out with it and releasing Bart in a terminal arc. Driving both feet forward, the churchman crashed into the deck, tucking his upper body into a neat roll and coming up with a clatter of plates, a dozen new smarting bruises - and his axe at the ready.

"Your move, neighbor." he growled, axe blade gleaming eagerly.

The thief seemed desperate now, no more passing barges and the nearest dock was some ways away. He was obviously puffing and heaving breaths - Bart's conditioning winning out over the street rat's scrappiness - he was ready for two more rounds, nowhere near exhausted yet. The cutpurse turned and ran again, but Bart was this time faster off the mark -- his heavy armor shattering the moment of silence in a din of plates and mail as he lunged forward, the thief tucking and leaping again - aiming to run along the railing, clearly looking to get height over his pursuer.

He never got there. Bart's faster reaction put him in arm's reach, and as the lean thief cleared the ground, Bart's meaty hand wrapped in steel lashed out and grabbed true - clamping around the boy's upper thigh with a grip of iron, causing a cry of surprise. Bart's anger flared as the two met gazes at that intimate distance. Fear in one set of eyes, fury in the other.

The Knight-Brother swung his body with all his might, twisting at the hips, roaring like a beast of war -- he slammed the thief down bodily, spine-first into the deck with a bone-shaking impact that drove the wind out of the boy's lungs in a squelched wheeze of pain, eyes rolling at the shock. He didn't even have a moment to recover - Bart's heavy, hobnailed boot stomping down on the boy's chest, pinning him down to the deck, axe raised over his head.

"No, wait please!" the cutpurse wailed as the blade descended with grim alacrity, there was a scream as it drove down with a gruesome thunk... and buried itself mere inches to the side of the thief's face, pinning the length of his red mantle to the deck.

"Stay still." Bart rasped, raising his visor to bare his mustached, broken-nosed visage. A mask of ire on his face as around him the crew gathered up, holding improvised weapons and cask mallets. Bart clenched his teeth, but the panic and fear in the green eyes looking up at him tempered the anger, stilling the boiling black hatred into simple, icy resolve.

"Do me a favor, neighbors," Bart called, raising his head to pull his holy symbol out and let it lay over his emblazoned surcoat as identification beyond question. "Put us to that next dock up there, if you would be so kind."

The thief struggled, and Bart reached down and casually doffed him on the crown with one hand. "Quiet, or I'll break a rib," he growled, pointedly leaning his weight down on the struggling boy, who wheezed and gasped for breath, flailing piteously at Bart's completely immobile boot.

They put into the dock, and Bart disembarked, leading the thief ahead of him, bound up in greasy baling wire from the kegs on the ship, quite uncomfortable for sure. They were met at the pier by Rashid and Nazir, who crowed like in victory, spreading his hands.

"You were magnificent, brother mine!" he cheered, laughing in practical ecstasy in spite of his blood-streaked face, "Such prowess, such tenacity, it was a sight to behold!" his exuberance was muted by Rashid, who just grinned and nodded, taking custody of the tiny thief as Bart peeled off his helmet and gauntlets, breathing heavily.

"I should have stretched this morning, oh I am gonna be sore," he said, wincing as he rolled his shoulders and shook out his feet.

"Let's see who our little acrobat is, and where your property resides," Nazir said, walking up to the struggling thief, who hissed and spit from behind his cowl as Nazir felt about his hips and waist, and his eyes widened a little, Rashid tilted his head curiously as Nazir jerked his hands back suddenly.

"What, did the lad bite you?" Bart asked and Nazir seemed even more put out, if that was possible.

"This is no lad we've got here!" he exclaimed, ripping open the cloak and cowl around the 'boy's' face - revealing a thin, bow-shaped mouth, large green eyes, an upturned nose, and a lean, muscled torso with wide hips, a flat stomach and two small but very obvious breasts bound tightly down under a brief, closely wound top.

"A girl?" Bart balked, and Rashid launched into a deep belly laugh as she glared defiantly at them both.

"Aye, I'm a girl ye daft bloody gits." she snarled with venom and a lilting accent that pegged her - or at least her family - as from the highland shepherd's territory. Her face was lean and sharp, framed by vivid red hair chopped off short, her body similarly blade-like, covered in thin, faded scars -- trophies of years on the street. Her freckled face was defiant and clearly smudged in ways to further conceal her gender -- and identity, heavy around her eyes and the bridge of her nose. "An' I still beat all ye great, big men-at-arms until this crazy bastard decided he couldn't just give up a few coins!" she crowed with both pride and frustration. Bart walked up to her, his face a grim mask as he roughly shoved his hands into her belt, finding both his purse and satchel there, ripping them away from her with more roughness than was objectively needed, but it made him feel better.

"It was more than a few coins, since when are there thieves in Lachheim?" he asked, and she barked out a laugh.

"Since when has there been walls?" she mocked him, spitting at his feet defiantly. "Ye high-minded paladins think everyone's as pure as ye are, pfeh." Bart narrowed his eyes at her.

"I've been coming here for my entire life, as has my father. We delivered grains and bread every harvest from the mills." And just like that, the girl's bravado went out and she groaned.

"Wait... ye're a miller's son?" she asked, and Bart nodded and she swore venomously, struggling in Rashid's iron grip.

"Fook an' Damnation, Kull's goin' to skin me alive." she murmured with genuine fear in her voice. Bart raised an eyebrow and waved Rashid off, he loosened his grip a bit as Bart dropped to one knee.

"I'm not so certain I won't still do that myself, but indulge me. Who is this Kull and why is he going to harm you?" he asked, and she looked panicked, clearly in a bind, she looked around in pure desperation.

"Look I cannae tell ye, but let's jus' say if I'm a rat, he's the biggest one, an' he makes the rules. Rule one: we never steal from common folk." she explained halfheartedly, looking up at him with sunken eyes. "No Commoners, no Clergy. We can steal from ye knights, guardsmen, merchants an' gov'ment types -- but we don't touch the healers or the wee folk."

"Honor among thieves." Nazir said with a little chortle, getting him an eye roll from the bound girl.

"Would I not be excepted, being a Knight-Brother of the Order?" he asked, and she made a bit of a face; "I am a member of the clergy." he argued, he was. In many ways Bart was more of a Monk than a soldier. The little rogue rolled her eyes.

"Real clergy, ye fookin' walkin' ironworks. Nay big'un brutes with high ideals and itchy sword arms."

"Fair," Bart agreed tersely, raising an eyebrow; "Does that not also then except me from the common folk as well?"

"Iffin' ye'd never mentioned it, ye," she hissed through clenched teeth; "But ye caught me, and ye've spilled yer guts all over the place, an' nary a shite anyone's gonna care now that it's out."

"So, wait," Nazir cut in, wincing as the talking made his flattened nose throb, pinching it gently; "Your entire code of ethics is based upon ignorance of your target beyond their appearance?" he asked incredulously and the lithe cutpurse groaned tiredly, meeting his gaze with flat eyes.

"Why, yes ye fookin' sawn-off lil' twerp. Th' code o' thievin' encourages us tae lie, cheat and steal." she spat acidly, hawking to the side; "Only counts if we're caught -- by ye, or our own. Ne'er know who's watchin', so long as it looks good, 'tis good." she spat, turning her eyes back to Bart, "Yer knights first, we ain't supposed tae ask from where." she finished, and went coldly silent, turning her face away from the group.

"Not much of an ethos," Nazir grumbled with a fresh wince, Rashid raised an eyebrow.

"They are thieves, Little Brother," he replied in a stolid tone. Nazir simply rolled his own eyes and walked off. Bart fell silent a moment, contemplating.

"What's your name?" Bart asked after a spell, and she thrust he chin up at him;

"Why should I tell ye?"

"Because it's better than 'thieving bitch' for a tombstone." Rashid provided in a laconic tone, and Bart shook his head, though the girl paled a bit at that.

"Let's try this again, here." He began and fished the small book from the satchel. "This is very important to me, you took it. I have it back now. God teaches forgiveness, and I may not be perfect, but there is nobility in the effort." he said, and she sighed heavily.

"Lidia." She replied shortly, struggling a bit. "Lidia Shaw." she peered over at him, her possible grim fate seemingly forgotten a moment. "What's a teeny book so important for? Naught never had any of ye run me down like that for gold before." she drawled, grimacing at her bound hands, shooting Rashid a glare again.

"History," Bart answered, looking down at the tiny tome. "Call it... a family tree of sorts," he said, his ire bleeding out of him as he was able to put a face to his aggressor. Tucking his satchel back into place, he put the tome and his money purse into his surcoat instead, eyeing the girl warily.

"Aye, alright. I guess that would light a wee fire under ye arse tae come after me." she agreed with a shrug of her shoulders, nodding and seeming more accepting of her fate; "Cannae blame me though, ye just were standin' there all shinin' and glorious. I cannae help myself with targets like that." she grinned, eyes gleaming with a renewed fire like he'd seen during the chase. She looked up at him and shrugged a little, her bravado making her look almost a foot taller as a crooked smirk split her lips. "Ye were asking for it."

"You act like you are pleased I ran you down," Bart observed with a touch of bitterness at the idea of being so... oblivious.

"Maybe I am." She asserted, a growing tone of that same smugness in her voice; "I ain't never managed to get a rise out o' any of ye brethren. I guess that's why Kull thinks ye are fair game." she said, tilting her head back. "All them vows o' mercy and whatnot. Pfeh. Pity." she added, looking up at the big knight, eyes glittering with eager satisfaction "Ye got right lit, came out screamin' and chuggin' like ah hard-bit warhorse, twas a real proper gaff."

"I can think of safer ways to get your thrills." Bart responded dryly, getting a chuckle and a wink from the young girl.

"So, shall we turn her over to the guards?" Nazir asked, shrugging. Bart bobbed his own shoulders, unsure.

"In Al-Reza, we'd take her right hand." Rashid offered casually, looking down at her. "We find it discourages putting the remaining one in places it doesn't belong." The young girl paled a bit at that, but set her jaw defiantly. Blowing out a breath she shrugged fatalistically:

"Do ye worst then, Kull's just gonna tie me to an outgoing barge, ridin' the anchor." she said grimly, her shoulders slumping; "At least I got bested by a Paladin. Ya'll are all magic an' shite." she added, smiling to herself, at which Bart coughed indelicately.

"I ah, am not a paladin yet." he admitted, and Lidia froze -- her bold posture visibly slumping as she looked up, her eyes dead.

"What."

"A Knight-Brother. I am only just now on my pilgrimage to seek my blessing." he explained, and the young woman's body seemed to sag into itself, her eyes dull.

"Oh. I was beaten down by a fookin' wee scunner on his first day out o' the crib." she lamented and laughed darkly. Snorting a little between giggles, a hint of madness in the sound "Oh don't that just beat-all." she said, shaking her head and elbowing Rashid in the belly.

"Oy, big stack. Cannae just kill me now? It'll save me the slow pain o' dyin' o' embarrassment."

"I hate to interrupt this truly noble conversation, but we're drawing a crowd." Nazir said, wiping his nose again, the bleeding seemingly having stopped at last, pinching the bridge of his nose, which was a touch... askew. "Ach, it looks like you and I may end up a matched set after all." The dandy said in a flat, nasal tone to Bart as they pushed through the gathering crowd, heading back towards Naima's stalls, pulling the defeated cutpurse with them.

"How did you break that, anyways?" Rashid asked, looking at Bart's slightly crooked, flat nose. The big man rubbed at it fondly, moving with a little bit of a limp, his knees screaming at him from the hard impacts of the chase now that the adrenaline tapered off.

"I lost a fight when I was young, before I joined the order." He replied, looking at the others, shrugging a little. "Boys are often cruel, they were such a way to a good friend of mine. I took issue with it, there were four of them and one of me," he said, smiling a little.

"So four boys beat you up and broke your nose in defense of a friend?" Nazir asked, Rashid chuckling a bit, Bart shook his head.

"Oh no, I won that fight. It was ten minutes later when one came back with his big brother that was five summers older than I." he said, wincing at the memory of the genuine thrashing he'd gotten from the ugly older boy.

"Unsporting." Rashid added laconically, and Bart just shrugged it off.

"We were kids, it never healed right. Mother wasn't particularly great at setting bones and my father wasn't much better. Reminds me forever there's always a bigger fist."

"You mean 'Always a bigger fish'." Nazir countered.

"No. No, I do not."

Naima seemed to be entirely nonplussed at the entire tableaux as the three men returned, new member in tow - weirdly to Bart's perceptions: neither did anyone else. It didn't sit well with him at all. Rashid shoved Lidia, who'd grown quiet and sullen after a fashion into a corner and all but sat on her with his oppressive proximity, Naima looking over Nazir with open disappointment.

"Look at what you did to our mother's nose." she scolded him, and he glared at her as she probed around it with her fingers rather roughly, Bart cringing at his memory of the alchemist's less than stellar bedside manner when she was annoyed, Nazir groaning and wincing the whole while.

"I did nothing to it other than follow our dear Knight-Brother's orders!" Nazir protested, giving a sudden shout as the woman rather crisply twisted her fingers, resetting the bones in his nasal bridge with an audible crunch. Nazir's head whipped back, spilling a venomous stream of curses in his native tongue that put a wicked grin on Rashid's face.

"By the Brass Domes of Khorrit and the Sultan's Brass balls!" he swore, spitting blood on the pavestones, tears streaming black lines down his cheek from his kohl-lined eyes. Naima smirked, completely unfazed by her brother's performance as she uncorked a pot of unguent and beckoned him back over.

"You should be more careful, leave the heroism to Rashid and Bart, they're built for it." she chided him warmly as she wiped his kohl-stained tears away, gently daubing the unguent around the swollen mess that was his nose, the magical energies immediately reducing the swelling and bruising as they made contact.

"It is even grander than I keep pace then!" he protested merrily, wincing less as Naima seemed content he learned from the experience. Bart pointedly edged away from her to sit next to Lidia, who looked up at him with dead eyes.

"Wot." she grumbled at him, tucking her head a bit as more of the crowd seemed to leer at her as they passed, a sideshow.

"I was curious why you chose to steal from me," he asked, honestly. Burying the sudden, unusual and irrational surge of anger he felt at the mere idea that someone found him fit to target for something so personal. "I'm clearly not an easy target."

"I told ye already." she groused in a gloomy tone; "Ye were a good target, and ye gave me a bit o' sport." she muttered, but her heart wasn't in it anymore, the excuse of 'a bit of fun' ringing hollow as the dull gleam in her eyes.

"I think there's more to it than that," he said. "You don't seem stupid."

"Pfeh." She spat, her entire body language different, lethargic and weak. She leaned her head against the nearby barrel, staring off the pier into the water. "Ye wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

She looked up at him for that a moment, then back to the water. Seeming to weigh how much she felt like telling the man.

"I like th' challenge," she said after a bit. "It's a game a'sorts. Pickin' pockets, beggin', second story work. All takes a special sort o' moxie to pull off." she explained, looking up with those dead eyes, a glimmer of pride in them a moment. "I'm the best."

"The best, hm?" Bart asked, his tone pointedly neutral. His temper flaring a little, his well-rooted sense of justice coiling with that irrational, black rage in a poisonous mixture of righteous indignation he had to fall silent to stifle.

"Aye, the best. I can run th' fastest, Jump clean o'er a carthorse, run barefoot 'cross a fencepost silent as a mouse. Lightfoot Lidia, Lidia the Ghost, Little Lifter Lidia they call me all o' it 'cause its the truth." she chirped, her chest swelling up a moment before she looked back down. "I wanna stay th' best. So I gotta do big stuff, hard stuff. Always tryin' to challenge meself." she said, meeting Bart's eyes again. A fierce pride gleaming in them, "They was gon' tell stories o' me. Bandit-Queen Lidia. A legend I was tae be."

She trailed back off, looking away; "Or... was. Kull's gonna put me in the drink, and er'ryone else'll strike me off. Nobody even gonna remember my name." she mourned, "Or worse -- they'll turn me whole name inta a curse, a grotty lesson for wee scunners."

"All because you were caught?" Bart asked, incredulously. She snorted, hawking up a wad of plhem and spitting it into the water in a most unladylike fashion.

"Ye really are some hayseed, aren't ye." she said with a heavy sigh; " Yes, jus' cause o' that. Code's important, keeps er'ry thing workin' and all o' us alive and not knifin' each other for bread." she groaned and looked at him glumly. "Whole world under yer nose, and you can't see it past that ridiculous mustache."

"Yes, apologies. I understand my upbringing is a bit... sheltered. That's the whole point of this." he said, spreading his hands at his regalia. "Go out in the world, see it. Live in it. Learn what troubles its peoples. Do right by them." he continued, and she nodded. She was clearly sharp.

"Ye, we know. Kull thinks its all real cute, makes you great targets when you show up. After all ye're here to protect the wee folk, and we're just dirty parasites in yer eyes."

"The order does take a dim view of thievery." Bart agreed.

"Right. So Kull makes ye open season, not like yer gonna give us the time o' day, just three feet o' steel, or a short drop an' a sudden stop." she said, bitterness making her voice harsh.

"An' for girls like me, thievin' or whorin's all we can do." she spat, setting her teeth; "An' I ain't 'bout to let anyone pay a coin tae spread me legs."

"Surely you can better yourself, we have women in the Radiant Order even -- your local Commander Viconia is one." Bart protested, the idea that someone as capable as this cutpurse had no other options seemed laughable.

"Aye yes, the Great Big Bitch-Queen of Lachheim and her Little Bird. Sure, iffin' ye are as blessed as she was tae be big as o' man and twice as mean, and pure ol' Reiklander too for the wee palates of the nonces about." she spat venomously, looking away. "Might as well be askin' me tae sprout wings and fly messages for the army."

"Hardly, surely you can find a place if you just applied yourself, you are quite skilled." Bart disagreed, his voice hard and unforgiving.

"Oh yea?" She snarled, whipping around at him with such violence that Rashid's blade leaped to her face, which she ignored, banging her heels on the paving stones. "Look me in th' eyes an' say that again ye fookin' hayseed." she snarled, eyes wide and full of old, smoldering anger. He indulged her, meeting her gaze long and hard, both of them staring unblinkingly.

Then her gaze shimmered as it was fully exposed to the light, previously hidden somewhat beneath her hood. A pearlescent glow from behind their bright, gleaming, slitted green pools like the eyes of a cat or wolf -- large, round, and almost luminous. Startled, both men jerked back in surprise, Rashid hissing out in response:

"Sidheborn."

The oddities of her appearance all fell into place. Too lean, too sharp, too symmetrical. She was almost doll-like now at a glance, everything in equal, almost sculpted perfection -- even her freckles as of now, were so evenly dusted across her nose as to be put there by a skilled painter.

"Where's all yer high-minded talk now, hayseed?" she snarled, tears brimming her eyes for a moment, her gaze never wavering in spite of them -- her teeth bared then, and the gap between humanity widened. Her front teeth were flat and true, but her canines and secondary incisors were sharp, pointed, and vicious like an animal, "Oh aye, anyone can be anything. Except when yer not human enough for it. So go on. Preach at me some more ye fookin' oaf. Or just have Big Stack there lop me head clean, but dinnae be pretendin' to know about what I can do wit' me life." she turned back away from them, curling her knees to her chest.

"Kull cared, he was harsh but he cared. Dinnae make me spread my legs for nobody, dinnae make me eat from different barrels or sit outside wit' th' animals. So fook off wit' all ye proselytizin' about 'doin' me best'. I heard it 'afore." she wailed in a hollow voice.

Rashid looked at him, even the big man who seemed so made of stone had an uneasy look in his eyes, Bart more so, openly stricken by the girl's plight. He looked over to Naima and Nazir, who'd been listening in as she gently bandaged his nose.

"Her tale isn't one I am unfamiliar with." the dandy merchant admitted. "You go far enough north and they say half-breeds are so common among the wild Erlkin barbarians that they breed true themselves."

"Commoners still do not trust the Sidhe." Naima continued, her delicate touch carefully securing an odd glue-like paste to her brother's nose which she layered the bandage over. "And for good reason, the Debts of Order owed to the Triune are a personal one to the Holy Beasts and Man as a concept more than individuals, and it makes them wildly unpredictable and dangerous."

"Surely it isn't so bad, ask a woodsy Reiklander about a backwoods Darrowite and they'll say similar things." Bart countered, but Rashid shook his head.

"No, the Sidhe aren't people. Not like we are. Some of them don't even have the forms of men or the minds of them. We can call them allies in war and strife, but in life we are still to some of them, prey animals or playthings." the big man's resonant voice was sad as he spoke.

"You make them sound like monsters." Bart hedged, and the three Rezarians shrugged in unison.

"Some of them are. Trolls are definitely monsters, Redcaps and Nuckalevee are the same. The Sidhelands are someplace... else, the Sidhe themselves something else. its a well-founded fear, if one that hurts the sad scions of those who see beauty in the bestial, and vice versa." Naima said with an oddly motherly tone to her voice, all three looking at the young woman curled up in the corner.

"Lidia," Bart asked after a dead moment's pregnant pause. "How old are you?"

"twenty-four summers. Maybe more, I cannae keep count from me wee years so good." she replied, making everyone balk, making her potentially older than Bart.

"You barely look older than a lass of seventeen seasons." Bart blurted in slack-jawed disbelief.

"Sidheblood." Rashid reminded him in a sage-like tone, the girl snorting derisively.

"I wasn't aware of the... struggles, of those with fae lineage," Bart admitted, but Lidia turned away from him, her bound hands clenched in fists as she showed her back to the group, hunched and huddled in the hollow between two barrels under Rashid's watchful eye. Bart looked up to Nazir and Naima, the two's expressions carefully neutral.

"We can't just leave her to die." he declared with stony finality. The other two sighed and Nazir threw up his arms.

"She isn't a child, Brother Bart. She made her choices, and society demands she atones for them." Nazir said, and Bart frowned at that, his face an ugly thundercloud of disappointment.

"Some choices she made, die in the wilderness or live beneath the notice of authority." he spat bitterly, his innate sense of justice rankling at the idea of such... unfairness. He knew of course that the world was not fair, but it was one thing to consider it from the distance of the Abbey, looking at the world from a page -- a wholly different thing to be shown a living soul in torment by it.

"The grim calculus of existence, friend Bart." Rashid said, his face stoic as he looked down at the young woman. "It is rarely fair, and rarely just. But we cannot provide for every hard case, every fickle twist of fate. We are but men, not Gods."

Bart's hands curled into fists, that black rage boiling up in his guts again, lips peeling back from his teeth as his vision blurred and he snapped his head at Rashid; "No, I am just God's bloody messenger, put on this earth, sworn oaths to bear His Light to those in need." he spat at the man with uncharacteristic venom, enough to make the broad swordsman lean back in surprise. Slamming his fist into his greaves, the smash of steel causing Lidia's curled form to tense and Naima to shrink back a bit.

"What's it for? If I embark on this meaningless quest to some far-away creature to gain a power that will allow me to fight -- for what?!" he raved, coming to his feet, fists curled into meaty hammers, seeking something to pound -- to destroy. "Fight to let women die nameless because of an accident of birth? Fight for an arrangement of nobility that lets predators live beneath my feet and notice, eating the weak and unfortunate to swell its lurid guts?" he snarled, froth flecking his lips as he lashed out at the nearby empty crates, kicking one with such force that it skittered down the pier and flipped end-wise into the canal, floating downstream.

"Brother Bart." Nazir's voice was soft, as he came upon the raging man carefully, Bart whipping around to face him. His eyes were dilated to points of fury, his chest heaving with anger. "Perhaps this is what you are supposed to see. Perhaps there is more you can do knowing this? I am no holy man, I say my prayers. Give coin to the donation plate, but I do not profess to be living a holy life... yet I don't believe that your Order would have you turn a blind eye to such things, would it?"

Like that, the irrational fury left him, bleeding away like wax melting from a too-hot candle. He covered his face in shame, leaning over one of the barrels to avoid Nazir's eyes.

"But two days we've known each other, and yet you see through me so easily." Bart lamented, shaking his head, feeling suddenly shaky, unsure -- his body reminding him all at once of every ache, pain, and scuffed knee or bruised joint from the chase. He touched the inner pocket in his surcoat, felt the tiny tome living there.

"It would be a poor footnote, 'I am Bartholomus Mueller, I left a woman to die for this book'." he mused bitterly, to nobody in particular. Snapping his eyes closed as he made a choice.

"Get up." he barked at Lidia, kicking her boots as he knelt by her curled form. She looked up at him with dead eyes, tear-streaked face hollow. His hands worked the twist of wire around her wrists free, and as he pulled them away it became clear they'd cut bloody gashes into her arms where she'd struggled.

"Wot is it you fookin' git, just leave me be." she groused, but seemed relieved to have her hands free again.

"You're a dead woman either way, I turn you into the guards and they hang you, I let you go and this 'Kull' eventually does you in as well, yes?" he said counting each out on his fingers, and she nodded with those empty green eyes.

"What if I gave you a third choice?" he asked, raising his thumb. She looked openly confused.

"Your fate's in my hands now. Either way this goes, ultimately I control when and where you die, so that's the deal. Your life is mine, I'll call it a debt." he continued, and her lips curled up in a sneer and she spat at him like a cat:

"I already told ye I wouldn't spread me legs for coin, what makes ye think I'd do it for me life?!" she hissed, her chin thrust towards the sky defiantly; "Some holy man ye are."

Bart felt the anger surge up in him again, it demanded he slap her, box her ears. Punish her - but instead, he closed his eyes, swallowed, and counted to three.

"A debt would make a bondsman of you, yes - and like any liege lord your welfare is my concern as well. You must put aside your lawless ways, swear me an oath of obedience and I will take you from this place when I leave, put you beneath mine protection and that of God," he said, and she shook her head, teeth set.

"Is a trick, we've seen big men do that before. Promise lots, then when the girls agree, clap 'em in irons and send 'em off somewhere dark ne'er to be seen again," she growled

"You're bleeding," Bart said, looking up he waved Naima over, who seemed to key in on what Bart was getting at, bringing her unguents and bandages.

"Let me see your hands, Lidia." Naima asked softly, holding out her hands for the sidheborn lass, there was a long wait, the girl cornered like a rat, flicking her eyes back and forth, but finally giving in and slowly extending her hands. Naima examined them a moment with a trained eye, her frown only deepening, "God, you men are such brutes. Did you not have anything softer?" she scolded them, eyeing Rashid particularly harshly. Her husband did not flinch from her gaze.

"Wire has a way of educating would-be escapees to do otherwise." the big man answered her, and she sighed, gently wiping and cleaning the girl's wrists, even as she winced and swore softly.

"Let me rephrase this." Bart continued; "You owe me a debt now, for the trouble of catching you and for the services rendered. Namely, saving your life." he explained, and she looked at him through her lashes, eyes hard. "I intend for you to work off that debt, but not with your backside, but rather your back, and your brain."

"Wot, ye gonna make me a proper upstandin' member of society?" she sneered, Naima daubing her wounds in unguent.

"Something like that." Bart agreed.

"What if I run off in the night?" she countered; "Cut yer throat and leave with yer gold."

"You could do that." Bart agreed, eyes looking up to Rashid a moment, the big man's steely gaze seemed to indicate he'd had a similar thought; "To what end though? You'd seal your fate. Would you live in the woods? Hope nobody recognizes you, from my side of the world or yours -- ever again? Sounds lonesome." he offered, and his words clearly struck a chord, the young woman casting her eyes downwards, teeth gritted.

"You swear me an oath, and in return perhaps I... deal with this 'Kull', settle accounts," he said, and she shook her head suddenly.

"Kull'll kill you dead before you can do that, you may be fairly stupendous on foot, but ye're only one man." she protested, and Bart shrugged a little.

"God will protect me. Besides, I feel like this 'Kull' might be persuaded by other means than those of violence. What's one cutpurse's life compared to potential gains otherwise?" She seemed to balk at this.

"Ye... are gonna bargain with Kull? Are ye fookin' nutty?" she asked him incredulously, suddenly gasping and pulling her hands back reflexively as Naima wrapped bandages around her torn wrists, earning her a swat on the head for it.

"Stop that, you've clearly had worse than this." the alchemist chided her, and the girl -- to the shock of everyone else, clearly her as well - subsided with a quiet response of "Yes ma'am."

"I think I can make a reasonable case." Bart hedged, and Lidia laughed at him openly.

"Aye, ye sure." she chortled, her tone initially mocking... yet after a moment, seeming to think the whole thing over; "You... you just might at that tin-man." she said, eyes distant, flicking rapidly as her mind raced, turning things over.

"Kull might jus' be willin' to listen tae ye out of sheer brass-balled novelty iffin' naught else." she said, and seemed to cling fast to a lifeline she'd seen, she held out her hands in a slowing gesture; "Now waitin' a wee skip, what're ye planning to offer?"

Bart paused for a minute and shrugged; "Well I figured I would simply tell a little white lie, and claim I was a noble scion or some such." he said, the young woman looked at him directly, and spread her hands in an abrupt, dismissive motion.

"That's ah terrible fookin' plan." She stated so bluntly that it actually drew a snort of laughter from Nazir to Bart's mild irritation, "Kull'd check you out anyways. I'd have been safe if ye hadn't caught me , 'cause nobody'd have a fookin' reason tae look at you close, but iffin' Kull has to bail one o' us ass out o' noose he makes sure we weren't doin' anything unkind."

"That's still amazingly dishonest, you're violating your own rules out of convenience." Bart protested mildly and Lidia groaned, dragging her hands down her face before pointing directly at herself.

"Thief, 'member? Th' code is really... guidelines really, shuddup. Listen." she said, eyes flicking back and forth.

"Kull's got a problem. Mayhap ye big fookin' heroes instead... solve it for him, and I don't 'ave to hang or ride the barge out keel-first."

"Very well." Bart said, folding his arms across his chest. "Let's hear it." The young sidheborn woman nodded curtly, smoothing her hands back through her messy hair.

"Alright, this is gon' twist ye balls a bit, but try tae listen." she began, taking a deep breath. "So, Kull and us nickers 'ave a sort o' deal with the Magistrate and his wee stewards and functionaries. I shouldn't tell ye this but fook it eh, dead either way." she said.

"So, corruption," Naima said frankly, folding her arms under her breasts as she had finished re-packing her supplies.

"Aye, a big o' welter o' it." Lidia confirmed with a grin; "S'not so bad really. We do a service o' sorts, lots o' guards dinnae 'ave to worry 'bout bein' shanked up in an alley iffin' they never get orders to go sniff around." she said, sniffing loudly; "Accidents 'appen though. Always a few honest men abouts. Anyways, local Magistrate's been a real grotty piece o' shite lately, demandin' lots and lots o' concessions tae our territory and the waterways, which we staked out on our own fair n' square." she said, puffing out her cheeks in consternation. "It's been a real gaff, lemme tell ye. Ne'er knowin' iffin' ye gonna turn a corner into a bunch o' jackboots who ain't slick with the way ye walking, iffin' ye get my drift."

"So this Magistrate's playing his own game, and it's cutting into Kull's operations." Nazir summarized, which Bart appreciated -- even as woodsy as he was, Lidia's thick accent frequently gave him pause, the lithe cutpurse nodded, pointing at him.

"Serve one up for the pretty lad." she agreed; "it's a real problem 'cause now'n we're getting disappearances on top o' jackboots and locked doors wherein' there shouldn't be." She said, her voice turning grim. "Kids, mostly. Lil' ones. Th' sorts who shine ye shoes or do runner work for a penny." Bart and Nazir traded a glance at that, a certain degree of steel coming into the Knight's posture.

"Are they simply missing, or do you have evidence of some sort?" he asked, eyes distant as he began arranging the facts in his mind, Lidia seemed grateful he asked, blowing out a breath as she hugged herself, clearly disturbed at the memory she dredged up.

""Nary a lot. But some. Blood once, an' we find odd things now and again. A favorite toy. A shoe." she said, grimacing and looking away, pale in the face. Rashid's face grew dark at that, and Nazir as well seemed sober -- it was clear what that meant.

"Very well. Count me in." Bart said, quite decisively. The others looked at him with concern, but Lidia seemed hopeful.

"I'm coming with you." Nazir volunteered, and Lidia shook her head, holding up her hands

"No ye fookin' aren't. I walk up in there with Tinman here already and its gonna be a right fookin' mobbin', all o' you outland sorts an' they'll just pull up stakes and make us both vanish." she said, looking up at Bart and setting her lips in a hard line; "Ye gon' 'ave to trust me." she said, and Bart snorted.

"I don't. However, I trust in God. He put me on this path and I will follow it." Nazir furrowed his brow, looking over at his friend.

"Brother, are you sure this is wise?" he asked, and Bart shook his head with a laugh full of nervousness.

"I have no idea, but I have faith... it is better to do something than merely pass off the burden to some authority. Mayhaps this is where my pilgrimage ends, but perchance I find the means to save one child?" he said, looking down at Lidia, looking into her shimmering inhuman eyes without hesitation.

"Aye, I'll risk it." he said, reaching out and grasping Nazir's shoulder fondly; "You stay here, you have a business to attend to, and I will be full glad to know you three are safe within each other's reach," he said, and Nazir seemed primed to argue... but instead nodded, and closed his mouth. Grasping his friend's hand fiercely. Naima on the other hand, was rummaging around in her cart.

"I have only just met yo,." she said, bustling over with a small belt of sorts; "But I am fond of you, and were anything to happen to you, I would be very cross," she continued and reached around him, belting the strap around the waist of his armor, sitting alongside his poniard and pouches. He looked down at it, it was a bandoleer of sorts, and a series of heavy, bulb-bottomed phials hung off it in formed leather slots.

"My best work." she said, tapping the side of the bottles, five of them stuffed into padded slots; "Healing Draughts, much stronger than the unguents I used on you, dangerously so. They will close even mortal wounds but they are in return, taxing on the body," she said, looking him in the eyes. "If not for you then for... others less hardy. Come back." she said, and then quite brazenly reached into his surcoat... and took his money pouch.

"Hey!" Bart protested, Lidia gave Naima an appraising look at how deftly she slipped from Bart's grasp as she stepped back.

"Healing draughts are expensive to produce, and you ARE going to a den of thieves. Consider it collateral, if you don't drink any, I won't charge you!" she said smugly, and Bart's face set in a hard smile as her eyes sparkled at him.

"You're a cutthroat, Naima. You should have gone into piracy," he groused, and she chuckled.

"I get seasick, so I settled for business."

Rashid as usual, was a man of few words and exchanged a simple clasp of hands with Bart, murmured something in his tongue, and then translated in his resonant basso; "Go with God." it was enough. Soon Lidia and Bart were traveling down the street together, Bart's aches and pains washing away under the focus of his task, axe in hand he strode alongside her, Holy symbol worn openly. Purpose in his stride.

"Hey, tinman." Lidia said as they left, Bart tugged his helmet free and glanced at her inquisitively.

"I dinnae swear oaths tae Churchfolk, but will ye take a promise I'll try me best tae get us both out o' this alive?" she offered quietly.

"It's a start." Bart agreed with a nod.

Lidia smiled, and for the first time it was genuine. Bart thought it rather suited her.