Spirits of the Earth

It had been a long, long journey sailing through the frozen sea of the North, all the way to the port of Cerenis. Niamh had lost track of the days and nights, but could tell they were getting closer to their destination when the freezing cold gave way to a more bearable cool. There were no icecaps where they were going, no seasons of darkness followed by seasons of daylight. Where they were going, she'd been told, day and night both came daily.

Niamh could hardly believe it--but then the daylight hours shortened along their journey until, before long, they shared equal time. It was jarring at first--where were her days of light?--but after a few days, she came to like it. The daytime hours might be shorter, but didn't that also mean this land didn't experience the months of darkness like her home did?

Maybe...maybe she could get used to this.

A number of their people already had.

When they docked at Cerenis, they were welcomed by more of their people, missionaries who had come in the years before. They had even built a small temple there years ago--which they had to rebuild and repair now and again due to vandalism. Not everyone was receptive to their message, it seemed.

That was fine. They were secure in their righteousness. And with time, their numbers would only continue to grow, and their message would continue to spread. If anywhere was a good place to grow roots and spread the word, it was Cerenis. They weren't too out of place among all the other foreign travelers, and people were always coming and going, which meant they could reach more people.

Which was exactly why she was here. To educate. To spread the Living Sun's message.

After a few days of rest, to recover from the long journey (Niamh had quickly discovered that she and ships and long trips did not agree!), it was time to get to work and brave the new wilds of heathen lands. It was...definitely a new experience here. So many strange creatures--so many not even human! Women who bore so much skin. People honoring false gods and showing more interest in material things rather than the gifts all around them, gambling away their money and their souls. It was...startling.

But if she could save at least a few souls, it would be something.

Niamh stepped out of the temple that morning in fresh clothes that didn't smell of fish or salt, white-blond hair gleaming in the dawn. She had ditched her furs in favor of cool robes and sturdy boots; it was nice and cool here, but not cool enough that the furs didn't make her sweat. But even in thinner layers, her palms felt clammy with nerves. She was a stranger in this land, and it was strange to her, but...no, she couldn't hesitate. She had been brought here to do the Living Sun's work--had chosen and fought to come here for this purpose!--and so it was time for her to put her faith in action, and pay for her passage with holy service.

And so, nervous though she was, she walked tall and proud and straight-backed. The Light was with her and she had nothing to be ashamed of, and now was the time to prove herself a true believer, faithful through and through. She found a corner on a street that seemed well-worn and well-traveled, right in front of a shop selling curios (plenty of false, foreign idols, from what she could see of the inside), so it seemed like a good place to start.

Clearing her throat, Niamh began to speak.

"Blessed is the Sun, our guide in the darkness, He who shines Light upon the world. Cast yourselves away from the false gods of this world and bask in His glory, for it is He who makes the lands fertile and rich and heed my warning--He will burn the unbelievers to ash and smoke and abandon them to darkness..."

        A decent amount of time had passed since Niamh had begun preaching to the people walking the streets of Cerenis. Occasionally folks would stop and listen, but most paid her no head. Aside from an occasional dirty look, or a laugh, or a look of pity, the day was mostly uneventful. At least until a man, dressed quite well and with a well armed bodyguard approached her. He pulled out a scroll and read it over while he listened to the religious rant that Niamh was giving. He looked at the shop front, taking note of the name and the type of merchandise sold their. Rolling the scroll back up and slipping it into his satchel, he pulled out a small piece of parchment, jotted some notes down on it, then put up a finger to interupt Niamh.
        "Miss, I'm going to need you to stop your non-permitted orating, and to sign this ticket. Failing to cease and or sign the ticket will result in Sue here," the well dressed man gestured to the large man behind him, "arresting you for refusal to comply with provincial mandates." He held out the parchment, and his stick of coal, for Niamh to make her mark. "I'll also need your name for documentation. In the case that you can't write or spell, a cross mark will due for your signature."

"Excuse me? Non-permitted orating?" Niamh snapped a look between the two men, her spine going rigid and shoulders drawing up with indignation. Of course she'd heard this might happen. Not this situation, exactly; she'd just been warned that many of the heathens were resistant to the truth and might try to silence her or mock her. But throwing a ticket in her face was quite another thing!

"What are you talking about? I've done nothing wrong here. I've got a right to be here! One doesn't need permission to spread the truth! Would you rather people live lies?"

        The bureaucrats eyebrows climbed his forehead as Niamh responded with indignation. Then an amused smirk and an eye roll followed. Too often he had to deal with newcomers that didn't know the law. Too often cults and missionaries alike failed to communicate with new arrivals the importance of permits. With the Lord of Whitesands missing, bureaucrats had for the most part taken control of the running of the province. Bureaucrats lived for bureaucracy, lived for permits and legal paperwork. It gave them power, and control. Of course Meknis knew that at the heart of Whitesands was the hand of the Soot Wolves in command, but the Red Wolf had let the paper pushers make the day to day decisions. Meknis was low on the totem pole, but he was still a paper pusher.
        "Miss, I don't care what you think, or feel, or believe. Serendipity is a country of religious freedom. But in Whitesands, especially here in Cerenis, you must have a permit to address the crowds in this manner. Now if you will sign your ticket acknowledging your fine, you can go back to your temple unmolested. Others in your cult pay for their permits before they make displays. I suggest you do the same, or Sue will be happy to put you in the stocks." Meknis shook the ticket with some insistence. He preferred things not get violent. Sue on the other hand was hoping he could make that pretty face, a little less pretty, maybe rub it in the dirt.

"Fine?!" Niamh's face first went pale with horror--how much of a fine?--then pink with anger. No. No way. He had to be messing with her! Trying to take advantage of her because she was a foreigner and a girl. These people would try something like this!

"No one told me anything about any of that!" she said, but shot a wary look at Sue as soon as she did. He was...a big man, and had a far too hungry look in his eyes. Between that and the threat of the stocks, it was enough to sober her a little, but not enough to back down completely.

"I mean, how do I even know any of that's true? How do I know you're really with the city and not just trying to swindle a foreign girl? I never heard anything about a Fire-damned permit! But I did hear there were plenty of snakes and sinners here!"

        The amusement was quickly wearing off and Meknis was losing his patience. Why were the religious ones so damn stubborn? He'd met devils that weren't such a pain. His hands fell to his sides and a clear expression of frustration appeared on his face before quickly making way to annoyance.
        "You'll find that the ticket is legitimate when you arrive at town hall to pay your fine," Meknis explained. "I will not be taking any money from you now. Now give me your signature and tell me your name," he thrust the ticket back at Niamh one last time, "or I will have Sue do what is necessary."

With a huff of anger, Niamh snatched the ticket and the stick up. "Fine! But this is ridiculous! You're just doing this to take advantage of the faithful. Really, how dare you! Whoever heard of having to pay to spread the truth? But whatever. You heathens would try to squeeze money from rocks if you could! Do you treat your own priests and priestesses this poorly? It's disgusting!"

She slashed an X on the ticket to sign, nearly punching through the parchment. "It's Niamh to you," she snapped as she shoved it back at the man. "And you are the worst. You, too!" she added with a glare at the larger man. "What kind of a name is Sue, anyway?"

        Sue did not like being insulted, especially over a name that he despised. He used a different name in the Soot Wolves, Knuckles, but the bureaucrats insisted that his real name be used for his official position. His hands came together, the sound of his cracking fingers loud as he pressed on them. He only took one step though before Meknis brought up his hand to stop the mountain of a bodyguard.
        "Everyone must have their permits in order," said Meknis, "otherwise, it would be pure chaos. There are hundreds of organizations that want to cry to the people for various reasons. If we let you all just run about as you desired, there would be clogged streets and brawls everywhere." He took the ticket back from Niamh, and wrote her name on it. N-E-A-V-E "Please be sure to pay your fine promptly. If it takes you more than three days, you will begin to accrue late fees, and after two weeks, a decree will be issued authorizing your arrest." He tore off one of a matching pair of glyphs from the parchment and handed it to Niamh. "That will make it easier to find your ticket. Without it, you could be in town hall all day waiting your turn." With that, the bureaucrat turned and walked away, his bodyguard following with a look of slight disappointment.

It was the sound of Sue's popping knuckles that sobered Niamh again, and she had time only to snap a startled look at him--would he really hit a girl?--before the bureaucrat stopped him. She sucked in a steadying breath but didn't take her eyes off him after that, even as the well-dressed man prattled on about infuriating and unfair things.

And then, just like that, the two were off, and she was left standing there with a piece of parchment in hand, not even knowing how much money she would have to rustle up.

She hated this city already.

When she returned to the temple shortly after, and thrust the paper into the face of her friend, Sven, he winced. Apparently, her companions had thought she'd already been told, and of course they had their permits, and none of them were sure how much the fee was, so the most helpful (yeah, right) response they could give her was to go to town hall and settle the matter. It couldn't be that much. Anyway, they were busy, so she would have to handle it alone. And she should hurry. Didn't want to accrue those fees, did she?

Welcome to Cerenis. Yeah, right.

And so Niamh scraped together her meager coin and marched out into the wilds of the city, cursing loudly (but in her head!), and asked around until someone could point her in the right direction. It was past noon by the time she found the place, and she strode inside stiffly, trying hard to hold in her anger--until she stepped inside into a room filled with seats and people, all anxiously waiting their turn.

"You have got to be kidding!" she groaned, pressing her hand to her face.

Her two weeks would be up by the time she got through this.

        The front office was packed with people, from those waiting to apply for permits or pay fines, to people filing complaints or petitioning for review of their claims. Bureaucracy was in full swing in White Sands, and Cerenis was the home of that driving force. The smell of parchment, ink, and hot wax mixed with the odor of unwashed peasants. A few months ago, the heat of the day would have been stifling, the smell unbearable. New magical devices, aquamarine air coolers, were being installed in all the government buildings. Some of the more wealthy residents of the city, and businesses had also invested in the silver boxes. They were just one of many new magical creations that were sweeping the city, the Province, bringing in a new age of magical creation. A new satellite location for the great Magic University of Arca had opened, the large unused building next to the Niamh now waited in, being re-purposed for magical experimentation.
        It just took three hours for Niamh to have her number called. The withered green elf with wispy earthen brown hair calling her to the counter. As Niamh approached the woman reached out for her ticket, and simply asked, "Your name and purpose for your visit?" That was when an explosion from next door shook the very foundation of the building. A few people toppled over, but nobody paid it much attention and moved on as if nothing had happened at all.

Somewhere into the third hour, Niamh thought that maybe she should have picked a fight with those bureaucratic assholes. The stocks couldn't have been more boring than this!

She kept to herself as she waited, counting cracks in the ceiling, and blatantly ignoring attempts at conversation. She didn't want to be here around all these unwashed heretics, she just wanted to be back at the temple where things made sense again. She was tired, she was irate, and God did no one in Serendipity bathe?

Finally, though, her turn came. With an exasperated huff, Niamh marched to the counter and thrust the ticket into the woman's hand with a scowl. "Niamh Mera. I'm here to pay this stupid tick--"

Boom! The building shuddered and Niamh let out a cry and grabbed onto the counter for support. She whipped a look around, eyes wide, but...no one else was reacting? Aside from a few people stumbling or even the couple that fell, no one was bothered? And even the ones that toppled just got right back up like nothing happened. What the...?

She shot the elf woman a look. "The hell just happened?!"

        The elf was clearly bored and cared very little for Niamh's annoyance or her surprise at the tremors caused by some experiment gone wrong. Her eyebrow quirked up, and she looked at Niamh with some poorly feigned interest. "New in town it seems. That would be the Magic school next door. No need to worry, every government building has been magically reinforced. The school most of all. Only the tremors are felt from the occasional explosion. No damage ever occurs."
        "Now as for your ticket," the clerk drew Niamh's attention back down to the parchment in front of them. "It seems your temple failed to inform you of the need for permits. As you are new to town and your purpose is religious, which is a protected right under the new bureaucracy, we'll be lenient and cut your fine down to the cost of the proper permit, and we will also issue you that permit, giving out a one month pass to orate to the masses." The clerk was writing on forms and stamping seals into hot wax as she said all this. "Please initial here, here, and here, and sign here. That'll be five copper pennies." The clerk turned the scroll to Niamh and handed her a proper quill to write with.

"Five copper pennies?! That's robbery!" Niamh said, spine stiffening. "I shouldn't have to pay to 'orate'. The Living Sun is real. You can feel Him, see Him! I shouldn't have to pay to speak the truth—unless you Serenians are just afraid of the truth!"

The elf was even less amused with Niamh now that she was ranting about her sun god. Her deadpan glare was easily recognized as annoyance. "The truth?" The elf asked with indignation. "The truth is there are many cults and religions that have worshiped the sun. Even my people worshiped the sun with some great amount of fervor, thousands of years before your cult was even a glimmer of an idea." She proffered the quill with greater insistence.
        "Serendipity is a place of many people with many religions, that are free of persecution from the governing bodies. The Queen cares not for what you worship and allows the preaching of any religion as long as it is tolerant of others doing the same." The elf tapped her finger hard on the parchment before her.
        "Now if you give me any more trouble, the reduction of your fine and the leniency of this office will be revoked, and you will have to pay the full amount of one full Sun. Yes our highest denomination gold coins are suns. Plus you will not receive the permit to orate," the elf said with finality.

Niamh opened her mouth, about to retort--but even she knew it was a bad, bad idea. A "Sun" sounded like an awful lot to pay, and she certainly didn't have any denomination so high. She'd never even seen one of those before. Ah, yes, of course they would put the Sun on a coin and appropriate it like that.

She let her breath out in a soft huff. "How blasphemous, to put Father Sun on a money," she muttered from between her teeth as she snatched up the quill and signed with a dark, blotchy X. She shoved the quill back at the elf, then reached into her coin purse and scattered the coin onto the counter.

"There."

        The old wispy elf woman rolled her eyes at Niamh's blatantly rude behavior and swiped up the coins. Then she tore off a section of the parchment and handed it to Niamh. "This is your permit. It's valid for thirty-one days from today, to ensure you get the full thirty days. Now if you'll please step away from the counter there are many people waiting for their turn. Good day."

"So ridiculous," Niamh said under her breath as she snatched up the permit and stuffed it away into her coin purse. "Whoever heard of needing a permit to spread the truth? What are you Serenians so afraid of?"

With a huff, she spun on her heel and stormed past the others waiting their turn, stomping her way out of the building and back out into the sunlight.

        Only a few steps out into the sunlight and Niamh was jostled by the thick masses that crowded the streets. The neighboring magic school was releasing students from afternoon classes, and the early dinner rush toward the restaurant district was underway as well. It wasn't long before Niamh experienced unseen hands grope her behind. When she predictably looked for the culprit, another hand reached out to fondle her bosoms. Her anger or fear or any other emotions that the assaults might cause in her were the perfect distraction for when a young man came pushing through the crowd to collide with her. They both tumbled to the ground, but quick hands reached down to help the man up. Away he dashed, with his newly acquired coin purse. One that had just moments ago belonged to Niamh, and currently held her permit to orate.

The throng of people around her were almost suffocating, and worse, they were preventing her from getting where she wanted to be, when she wanted to be there. Niamh grumbled and shoved her way through the crowds as best as she could, using her elbows where she had to, and using her slim size to squeeze between bodies and under arms. What a waste of time that had been. The day was almost through! And what a rip off! A permit that was only good for a month, and then she'd have to pay again?

Of course heathens would be scammers, too. She bet this permit rule only applied to her people!

She was still grouching in her head, grumpy and tired, when someone grabbed her bottom. Not an accidental brushing, oh no, that was definitely a two handed grab and squeeze. Niamh squeaked in alarm and whirled around, heart in her throat but fists curled and ready to deck whoever had done it, but she could see no one obvious through the press of people. And as she was still looking behind her, someone grabbed her breasts.

Niamh gasped and covered herself, a fresh panic rising within her; she had heard of women being assaulted in plain daylight, even being dragged from a crowd without anyone noticing. She opened her mouth to yell--

But all that came out was a yelp as another body slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. She landed hard on her hip, pain shooting through her, and the crowd around her scattered to avoid the collision--didn't even try to help! Momentarily dazed, panic rising in her chest, she scrambled back away from the man even as his friends helped him up, for a moment fearing they would grab her, too.

But then they were off, and the crowd pressed back in, and she had to snatch her hands to her chest so they didn't get stepped on.

What...had just happened...?

Sucking in a breath, trying hard to control her trembling--from rage and fear both--she climbed back to her feet with a grimace and dusted herself off.

And that was when she noticed her purse was missing.

"Wha...hey!"

Those men! The man that had knocked her down! Had he--?! Was that what that was?!

"H-hey! Wait! That's my money!" she yelled, and darted off in the direction he'd run, wincing as her bruise smarted with every step.

        Zipper was not ironically named. The young man was fast. He was however also not great at maneuvering. Set him to go in a straight line and nobody could beat him without a little magic or racial advantage. In the zigzags of the streets he had a little more trouble, in a crowd, he was downright pitiful. The mark had been signaled to him, and the other nearby Soot Wolves gave him the go. The woman was distracted, she looked downright panicked. All he had to do was walk past, do a little sleight of hand on her purse and move past on fleet feet.
        His feet had betrayed him, tangling up as he became unbalanced. A simple pass had become a collision, a fall, and if not for a little support, he'd likely still be tangled up with the woman. Instead Zipper was attempting to navigate the crowd at high speed. He bumped and jostled many people as he passed, leaving a wake of disgruntled grumbles. Every time he'd try to pick up his pace, another collision would slow him. He was not making good time, or distance on the pursuing Niamh
         Niamh's cries for assistance went mostly ignored, but a nearby city guardsman heard the call. He saw the signals of Soot Wolves, knew this was their work. They were the rulers of the city in all but name, but they had interesting rules. One of those was that guards were to do their jobs. If a Wolf was too unskilled to get away with their deeds, then it was better the law cull them. So Guardsman Reid began to pursue the man creating chaos in his flight.

At first, it seemed hopeless. How was she supposed to find the thief in the thick of the crowd? She hadn't even gotten a clear look at what he looked at, just enough to make out his hair and skin color, and the clothes he wore. He could slip away and be gone in a flash--he was probably already far from her. But Niamh didn't know what else to do, and hated feeling helpless, so she did the only thing she could do.

Ran, and hoped for a clue.

That clue came quicker than expected, in the form of swearing and stumbling bystanders--and a desperately running man where everyone else was walking.

"HEY!" she shouted, louder, and dashed after him. She might not be as fast as him, but she knew how to maneuver through a crowd, how to watch far ahead of her and anticipate openings, how to plan a few paces ahead. The fear had faded with the rush of adrenaline, and now that she saw her attacker, she was just pissed. Was he the one that had groped her?

Ohhh, he was going to be sorry.

"You better pray I don't catch you!"

        Guardsman Reid could see the thief now. Barely a man, the youth had jet black hair, bronze skin, and clearly had a Scavenger Wolf marker on his back. From what he'd heard, this was the only city that the Soot Wolves wore their insignia publicly. Everywhere else in Serendipity, the organization was secret and underground. Here they had helped rebuild after the war with the Mountain Cats. They had kept peace and enforced laws while the city became organized again. When the city had mended its wounds, the Soot Wolves had relinquished control back to those appointed by the Queen. The rogues still held all the real power, but at least on the surface, Cerenis was the Queens strong harbor once again.
        This Wolf was not very good at being a thief though. Reid wondered if the boy would make it as a Scavenger, or if getting caught today would mean being weeded out. He felt a bit of pity for the cutpurse. The guardsman hitched his shield to his back and began to trot after the boy.
        "Make way for the Guard," Reid called, and the chaotic crowd began to part, giving him an open path toward the thief. The young man caught wind of what was happening and turned back, with fear in his eyes, to look through he parting mass of people. Then someone caught the boys arm and drew his attention away. A whispered exchange later, and the thief's eyes took on a look of determination.
        Zipper had just been given a tip, and once he knew the plan, his eyes scanned the crowd. He was fast, and it was time to show  everyone, just how fast. Instead of continuing through the mass of bodies, Zipper turned to face the approaching guardsman full on. Then he did something unexpected, he ran straight at him.
        Reid was taken aback for a moment, a little confused by the Zipper's change of direction. Zipper knew what he was doing, he had a plan, and when Reid hunkered down to brace for impact, Zipper knew this had been the right choice. With amazing speed and grace, Zipper leaped over the crouching Reid and continued running.
        Guardsman Reid turned, and gave chase.

"Make way for the Guard," a voice called, and the crowd parted before Niamh's eyes. It was only then that she saw the guardsman up ahead, and a wave of relief washed over her. At least someone was doing their job today!

And as the crowd parted, it also revealed the thief. Abandoned and exposed, he was as good as done for, and her possessions were as good as in her hands. But it wasn't just the guard who was surprised when the thief turned around and ran at him. Niamh blinked in surprise. Was he genuinely nuts? Or was he stronger and more confident than he looked? She paused, a good few yards from the action and standing back with the rubbernecking crowd, and watched as...

...As he sailed effortlessly over the guardsman's head.

Oh Light! At this rate he was going to escape! Just leave it to the heathen's guardsmen to be utterly incompetent!

But the thief was now running in her direction, so in a desperate final bid to catch him, Niamh lunged out from the crowd as he drew closer, and threw herself at him. She grunted as their bodies collided and grabbed onto whatever she could latch onto, his clothes, his hair, and held on for dear life.

She just had to hold on until the guard caught up.

"Give me back my stuff, you cur!"

         Zipper had his goal in sight. A window sill with a small overhang above it. He could leap his way to the roof tops and get above the crowds. Then he could disappear. Just a few more strides and he’d be home free. There was no way that guard was catching him.
        “Oof,” Zipper grunted as he was tackled to the ground. “Give me back my stuff, you cur!” The Mark had her arms wrapped around him, and she was not letting go. Zipper pushed, and tried to kick the woman off, but the angle was wrong. He swung back an elbow, but it didn’t really connect right. No matter how he scrambled he wasn’t getting loose, at least not before that guard caught up.
        Guardsman Reid caught up quickly. He liked to keep fit, not like many of the other slack off guards that were growing fat under the Soot Wolves. Reid reached down picking up Niamh and Zipper, making sure to keep a good grip on the thief.
        “You know the drill Scavenger, give the woman her things.” At Reid’s command Zipper handed over the coin purse. “Good, now give me your marker and your name.” Zipper rooted around for a wooden token, painted brown and marked with a Wolf insignia, and gave it to Reid.
        “They call me Zipper, on accoun’ o’ me bein’ so fast.” The boy inflated with a bit of pride, even as Reid glared at him.
        “Not so fast today now were ya?” Reid pointed out. Zipper visibly deflated. “Well, get outta here Zipper, hope this failure doesn’t cost you too much.” With that, he let the Scavenger Wolf go. Zipper was up to the roof in moments and gone from sight. Had he not been a Wolf, Reid would have taken him to the guard house. Bad things happened to non-Wolves operating in Wolf territory. Then Reid turned to the disheveled Niamh.
        “The goddess has smiled on you today it seems. It’s not often that a Scavenger is caught. If you follow me to my post we have a healer.”

Niamh snatched back her coin purse and tucked it away, glaring all the while at the thief. It was a good thing the guardsman had showed up when he did; Niamh had been dying to bloody the thief's face for what he'd put her through. And had he been the one who groped her? She felt tainted still, more angry about that than even her coin purse.

She figured the thief was busted, fit to be punished for his crime--lose a hand, maybe--but to her shock, the guardsman let him go. Her jaw dropped as the thief, Zipper, zipped away and was gone, and she whirled on the guardsman, staring at him in horror.

"Smiled on me? If that is your idea of some fake idol smiling on me, she sounds like a sick goddess, indeed!" she snapped, bristling. "He assaulted me! He...he touched me places not fit for mention! And you're just letting him go? So he can just do it again?! You may as well not have helped at all!"

"Best you keep words like that to yourself," Reid said. He looked back at Niamh, with an expression that showed little patience. "The freedom to practice and preach any religion you want is perfectly fine by us, but if you start insulting people's deities you're likely to find yourself with a sharp object in your soft places." Reid continued the short walk to the post-building. A circle free of milling bodies could be seen. Like a zone of quiet in a chaotic sea. "Our healer uses divine magic that is granted through her prayer and belief in the goddess. So if you don't dull the sharp edge of that tongue, you're likely to go home worse than you are now."
        The small building was of fine craftsmanship. The bricks that made up the outside were carved in runes that protected against all sorts of different magics and elements. Two large glass windows were also etched in runes around their edges. The other "windows" were nothing more than slits in the wall that could be fired through by the guards inside. On top of the small structure sat what appeared to be a large wooden basin, reminiscent of a ships crows nest. A ladder inside led up through a hatch in the roof that gave access to the crows nest, though it was unclear to Niamh how it would be useful, since it was not very high up, and couldn't give the guard sitting in it much of a better view.
        A woman wearing a mix of heavy plate armor and clerics robes stood at the door holding a large metal shield, emblazoned with the symbol of Kia's religion in Serendipity. In her other hand she wielded a large repeating crossbow. If she needed to, she could fire three large bolts in quick succession before having to reload. It was more likely however that the crossbow would be discarded for the heavy bladed mace that hung at her hip. The image on the shield was repeated on her breastplate in greater detail, and her cleric robes did little to hide the pauldrons and greaves she wore beneath them.
        "Ho Reid," the woman called, her silver eyes scanning over Niamh before returning to the crowds. "What have you brought us?" At her words two heads peaked out from the door behind the armored cleric. One, nearly as dark as the woman, and the other, of an olive tone found in Essyrn, belonged to the remaining members of this guard squad. The two men stepped out from inside the post.
        The darker one, and clearly youngest of the group, was tall and gangly. He wore very thin leather armor over most of his body. On his back he carried a cluster of javelins, his left arm was heavily armored with a galerus at his shoulder, and a bundled net hung at his hip. He held a visored helmet loosely in his hands as he stepped out. He seemed to be deciding if he should put it on, or if it was acceptable to keep it off. A glance from his compatriot decided it for him and he pushed his bald head into it. Only his violet eyes could be seen through the front.
        The much older olive skinned man was armored similarly to Reid. A mix of leather, chain, a sturdy breastplate and a skull cap. Where Reid had a heavy shield and a broadsword, this man had a light shield and a short sword. A short bow on his back and a quiver at his hip, made it likely that he was the one to take the post on the roof. He also carried a baton, whereas Reid had a sap.
        The older man was decorated, his distinguished service cord plain to see. The young soldier beside him, took the veterans lead, but the cleric didn't even look to the other men as Reid and Niamh approached. She knew her duty, and she was strict in her adherence to it. Though her face could have been attractive, she wore a scowl and some wicked scars. Neither of which endeared her to the locals.
        "As you were squad," Reid said, "this woman caught herself a Scavenger." All three heads turned to appraise Niamh now. The cleric had already noted the religious robes, but now she saw the dirt and the limp.
        "I'm surprised she's not bleeding out in the gutter," the older soldier said. The younger man was shaking his head.
        "The kid was young. I hope his punishment isn't too severe. He really just needs someone to put him on the right path, but that won't happen in this town." Reid pulled off his skull cap and rubbed at his cinnamon colored hair for a moment before placing the helmet back on his head. "His name was Zipper." Reid flipped the marker to the older man. "She did get a little banged up," Reid motioned to Niamh. "If you could heal her up Bert." The cleric grunted and nodded in response. She turned to follow the other two guards inside, and Reid took up the post outside the door once again.

This was...terribly awkward.

Niamh didn't really want to be here, among these people and their false gods. She didn't want to be touched by their magic, either, and as the rough-looking cleric turned to lead her inside, Niamh reluctantly followed. She really just wanted to turn and head on home, but she wasn't sure she could. Would they stop her? Surrounded by so many militant looking folk, she didn't really feel...safe...disengaging, especially since the guardsman hadn't really given her much choice to begin with.

And the other "official" folk she'd met so far had been nothing if not intimidating and brutish.

"Healing isn't necessary," she said. "I'm not that bad off. Scrapes just need a little cleaning, that's all. Uh...just...don't use magic on me, alright? I'm fine, really!" Divine magic granted her by their..."goddess". Sure.

No doubt it was demonic.

        Bert stopped as she lead Niamh to turn and look at her oddly. She noted again the religious robes and decided there must be something in her beliefs to prevent the receipt of healing magic. As unreasonable as walking home with injuries was, Bert was never one to deny the merits of strong beliefs.
        "Well that's fine girl," Bert said with her ever present scowl. "Have a seat and Ptolemy will fix you up. The old warhorse was a battlefield medic in a Connlaothian merc band before he joined Serendipities military." Bert moved a chair close to Niamh for her to rest in.
        The younger soldier fetched a medic bag while Ptolemy set his sword and shield aside and removed his helm. When the young man brought the bag over Ptolemy immediately went to work. He poured a strong smelling alcohol on a soft cloth and moved to clean the scrapes. "This will sting a bit," he told Niamh, "but it will keep rot from taking hold."

Niamh took the seat and pushed back her sleeves, showing the scrapes and bruises on her palms and elbows. There were cuts on her knees, too, and some other minor bangs and bruises from her tumble, but those were in places she'd rather not reveal.

"Rot? I don't think these are bad enough to rot," she said, eyebrow raised. "It was just a little tumble, that's all." They were acting so strange! Like she'd done something unusual or extraordinary. Was she missing something? She shifted awkwardly. All she really wanted to do was get back to her people after a long and trying day, but instead she was being fussed over in some...religious compound of some sort.

Looking at the man, Ptolemy, in confusion, she frowned. "Am I missing something? Everyone's acting like tackling some scrawny pickpocket is some big deal."

        Bert quirked an eyebrow at Niamh, scowl not changing. Ptolemy grinned at Niamh's confusion as he idly touched the Holy Sword of Ansgar that hung from his neck. He silently thanked his god for tiny miracles. This woman could have been killed by her ignorance, but escaped with just a few scrapes. Many found it odd that a soldier and ex sell sword was such a devout Ansgarite. Ptolemy found it strange that others, especially soldiers, lacked faith. When you specialize in death it's best to know where you're heading.
        "This city looks and operates like any other," Ptolemy began, as he cleaned Niamh's scrapes. He was using clean linen strips dipped in a strong smelling potato alcohol. The method was taken from Connlaoth, a land without healing magic. "The well known secret is that Cerenis, and most of White Sands, is under the control of the Soot Wolves."
        "They're a huge criminal group," cut in the younger guard, drawing looks from his superiors. "Sorry."
        "Aye, Quib has the right of it," Ptolemy continued. Quibilah looked a bit sheepish from his silent admonishing. Ptolemy carried on cleaning as he explained further. "Some think they run the whole country. I'm sure the Queen, God keep her, doesn't like that. They do run Cerenis though, and that boy was a Scavenger. A member of a group within the Soot Wolves. He could have easily gut you, and the crowd would have helped him escape."

Niamh stared back at the three. Were they serious? So they were saying that this backwater town was basically overrun by criminals and crime--that the country was overrun by this group!--and that even their Queen was helpless against them. That this town was so lawless they would have allowed a murder to take place in broad daylight in the middle of a crowd!

And they were talking like this was totally normal!

Her stare broke when Ptolemy started to clean her scrapes. She flinched, sucking in a hissed breath, and fought the urge to jerk away. But she'd collected enough scrapes and bruises over her life to know she just needed to endure and focus elsewhere.

"And so your guard just let him go?" Niamh said, and flinched again when Ptolemy moved on to different scrapes. "Knowing all this? Seems like if it's such a problem, you'd be locking them up one by one!"

She shook her head, scoffing. "Especially after I went to the trouble of catching him. He was the only one truly in danger, really. I would have beat him in that scuffle if we hadn't been broken up--ow!"

        All three guards began laughing immediately. Even the serious looking Bert was left in stitches. Ptolemy was the first to get control of himself. "Sorry lass, we don't mean to have a laugh at your expense. If Reid hadn't been there you'd likely be dead or badly injured. The boy probably had several hidden weapons and allies in the crowd. Count your blessings. God was surely looking over you."
        Bert and Quib scoffed at that remark in unison. Bert resumed her scowling while Quib spoke up again. "Don't mind the Ansgarite and his god," he said. As for the Soot Wolves, we don't lock up or arrest them if they can give us a marker," he explained. "We file a report and turn in the marker and the official Soot Wolf liaison handles it. The guard or squad gets a reward, and either the Soot Wolf that was caught is turned over for punishment, or..." The statement was left unfinished. Nobody really knew what happened or how the internal punishments were decided. There were rumors, but the only real confirmation was when a body was found. Branded with a the Soot Wolf mark that had a slash through it.

"So you all just let criminals run rampant and are totally okay with it," Niamh concluded with a scowl, though her face was still flushed with embarrassment. No, she didn't appreciate being laughed at at all.

She hunched her shoulders. "Great. I feel real safe here. Day one and I've already been molested and robbed."

The rest of the encounter progressed mostly in silence. Ptolemy cleaned Niamh up, while Bert and Quib returned to their duties. After he was done, Ptolemy gave Niamh a bit of clean linen and a small glass flask of alcohol. "I don't know your bathing habits," he said. "Every culture has their own ideas about it. So I'll tell you to use this to clean your scrapes every night before bed as to prevent angry pink wounds and stinking pus. Once there are strong scabs you only need to use it if the scabs get broken or split." With that he bid her farewell and sent her on her way.

What a day. The day was basically done by the time she was through, between the hours of bureaucracy, her run in with a thief, and getting fussed over by those...heathens. Niamh was exhausted and sore (now the aches and pains were settling in; she'd taken more of a beating than she'd thought) and more than ready to just end the day so she could start over the next.

Tomorrow couldn't be worse, right?

Trudging back through the streets toward the temple, the only thing that stopped her was the marketplace, which was starting to wind down. Her stomach rumbled, and she felt a little shaky, a reminder that she hadn't eaten since the morning. So she paused to use some of her meager coin to buy bread and cheese, and ducked into an alley to down a few bites.

        An alley in Cerenis was not the smartest place for a small woman, alone in the evening, to go to eat her food. No sooner than after taking her first bite, Niamh was blocked in by a large tough. Her only escape would be deeper into the alley, but there was movement there too. She was definitely not alone.
        A Shadow Wolf stepped out and approached the Missionary, sword in hand. She pulled down her dark hood to reveal a beautiful dark skinned face. A sapphire blue eye scanned Niamh from above an angular, slightly upturned nose and full lips. A black eye patch covered her right eye, a deep scar passing beneath it. The patch was decorated with an eye that looked remarkably like her real one, though it's gaze was fixed. Under her dark cloak she wore deep black, obdurite studded leathers. Soft leather boots muffled the woman's steps so well, Niamh would not have known she were approaching if she hadn't wanted exactly that.
        "It's your first day in our city," the woman began, without introductions. "Your actions did not go unnoticed by us, and they earn you a month of protection from Scavenger actions." The woman pulled out a coin pouch and tossed it at Niamh's feet. "That is two weeks pay for Zipper, and his punishment for being caught today. You'll also find him cleaning your temple for the next month. It's already been worked out with your superiors." The woman turned to go but first she gave Niamh a small bit of advice. "If you're going to survive your stay here, I suggest you learn to swallow your pride and show respect to everyone around you. You never know who might be a Wolf."

Shakily, Niamh picked up the pouch, her heart still pounding furiously. She had frozen up completely when the two Wolves blocked her in, and even after the woman left, it had taken a moment for her limbs to cooperate. For a moment, she had thought the woman had been sent to rough her up or even kill her for what had happened with Zipper--and even though the woman had clarified, even paid her, it left her feeling unsettled and unsafe and sick. For how long had she been followed, been watched?

And now the thief was in her temple? The one safe space she had to look forward to, and now that thief was there. The same thief that soldier had warned could have gutted her. How could she go back there now?

How...awkward.

Thoroughly shaken, hands trembling as she put away the pouch and her meal, Niamh bolted out of the alley as soon as the woman was gone. Nope. Nope. She hadn't been here a day, and already she was done with this city and ready to go home. Except not even home was safe.

Day one: threatened by the law, molested, robbed, assaulted, threatened again by thugs.

She hated this city.

By the time she made it back to the temple, a small building that was still unfinished, but livable, angry tears were burning her eyes. She slammed the door behind her as she entered and Mikeil--the leader of this damned expedition--snapped a look up from the desk where he was currently writing. With white-blond hair going gray in streaks, and sun-tanned skin dimpled with scars, he was senior among the group, and he flashed Niamh a look both tired and irritated.

"Fruitful first day, I see--"

"We're housing thieves, now?!" Niamh snapped, and Mikeil sighed.

"Good evening to you, too. And mind your tone," he warned, setting his quill down. "Don't jump to conclusions, girl. The boy was offered up to us, and we agreed he could serve penance for his crime."

"Are you mad? He's--"

"Quiet. And listen," Mikeil cut in, cutting her with a warning look. "The Light works in mysterious ways. Perhaps this is an opportunity for him. Perhaps even for you. It could be a chance at reform, at change."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She stared at Mikeil, and he shook his head. "This city isn't like the others. If we want to make a change, we have to start small. So start small."

        Outside the office Todorka listened. After melting into the shadows, she had followed Niamh closely. The woman had no sense that she was being followed, but then again, most normal folk didn't. She smirked at the way Mikeil cut off the complaints. He was strong in his faith, and worthy of the respect of his peers. After all, he was the only one that had refused all the bribes that was also without dark secrets that could be used for blackmail. The Soot Wolves would persist, and they would use manipulation, and the other missionaries would be further corrupted. Opulence was a powerful tool.
        Tod slipped back into the shadows, her cloak summoning the darkness around her, reducing the illumination in the corridor as she clung to the ceiling. There she waited. She'd follow Niamh back to her room, and then she'd learn all she could of the woman. Perhaps she'd call the dream walker to send her into the uptight woman's dreams. This was an interesting development in the assignment she'd been given.

Niamh stared at Mikeil a moment longer, and he returned her look mildly, unfazed. Finally, seeing this was going nowhere, Niamh threw her hands up with an exasperated sound and spun on her heel.

"Whatever. I'm too tired for this shit," she growled as she stomped away, not waiting for his response. Mikeil be damned! He could reprimand her for that later if he chose! But in that moment, she was done. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and forget the day ever happened, so that's exactly what she did.

She marched to the tiny room serving as her temporary lodging and threw her things down to the side of her modest cot. Then she just let herself fall onto it, because somehow throwing herself down onto a bed when she was upset just felt more satisfying. She buried her face in her pillow and screamed into it in frustration, before those screams tapered off into sobs. Maybe this was all a giant mistake. Maybe she shouldn't have come. But if she'd stayed home, she knew what waited her there--a marriage she didn't want, a life she didn't want. None of that was her. But maybe this would be worse, if this was how her first day was going to be. She'd thought she was ready, but she'd had no idea how difficult or different it would actually be. She missed home, her parents...

This was all so stupid.

When she finally calmed down, she couldn't be fussed to get back up. There was a proper way to go about things; she needed to clean herself, clean her teeth, say her nighttime prayers, and actually undress. But she didn't have the energy to even remove her boots. Exhaustion, emotional and physical, had settled in, and soon she had drifted off into a fitful sleep.

        Todorka dropped silently from the ceiling and shadowed Niamh back to her room. She waited until she heard the soft snoring within before easing the door open and slipping inside. The missionary slept restlessly, and Tod felt the circumstances were right to peak on her dreams. She took out a small piece of paper and drew her finger across it in a very precise pattern. The paper folded itself into a little mouse and scurried away to fetch the Dream Walker. In the mean time Tod could do the usual information gathering. She rifled through Niamh's things, searching for notes to read, or any objects that stood out. She counted her sets of clothing and noted the type of undergarments she wore. She checked the wear on her boots, and for patches on her clothing. There was no piece of information too small. Everything could be useful.
        By the time Tod was finished, the paper mouse returned and the door slowly crept open to admit a mountain of a man. He stepped silently into the small room, barely leaving any room for Tod, and closed the door behind himself. From a pouch a grabbed a pinch of sparkling powder and sprinkled it on Niamh. Next he turned to Tod and held out his hand. She offered her own, and the Dream Walker pricked her finger drawing forth a single drop of blood. He mixed the blood with more of the powder, and once again sprinkled it on Niamh. Then he blew some in Tod's face, and the Shadow Wolf sat down cross-legged to prepare. Soon she was falling asleep, and linked as she was to Niamh, through the magic of the Dream Walker, she'd be able to watch Niamh's dreams like a play at the theater.

Niamh's dreams were not peaceful. She dreamed of a cold, icy place that was blanketed white for as far as the eye could see, and in this place she stood in the middle of a vast, frozen lake. She didn't know why or how she got there, but in the dream it made sense, and it also made sense that she was afraid. But she had to be out there, she had a mission to do, and so she inched carefully along, step by cautious step, mindful of the ice crunching ominously beneath her boots.

From behind her, she heard someone call her name, and when she looked over her shoulder she recognized the distant figure of her mother. And she wanted to go to her, she did, and her heart ached at the sight of her, but she knew she had to keep going forward. Away from her.

And then, suddenly, the ice beneath her burst open and so many hands grabbed her, pulling her down. But it wasn't into water—just into darkness and confusion, and the harder she struggled, the tighter they gripped her, hands all over her, touching everywhere even as she panicked and fought and tried to scream, though no sound came out.

        Todorka entered Niamh's dreams just as they were beginning. She was above, like a wispy spectator. She saw the missionary out on that ice, and she saw the woman that called to her. This place looked like hell to Tod. So much cold. It was the opposite of her birthplace Essyrn. This was that seemingly mythical place she was told of as a child. The frozen north, Hyoite. Tod's father had come from Connlaoth, and he knew of the cold. He'd promised to take her there some day. He ended up in the coliseum instead, killed for the petty crime of smiling at the wrong mans wife. Her mother, native to Essyrn, had fled north to Adela. It wasn't a bad life, but her mother grew sick and Tod had become a thief to help make ends meet. Eventually her mother died, and Tod moved on. She never made it Connlaoth, and had never seen Hyoite. But what other place had so much ice?
        When the ice gave way to hands and darkness Tod descended closer to watch. This was an interesting nightmare. Niamh had moved away from the woman who had lovingly called to her, and now that decision had led to fear and darkness. It was time for Tod to play into those fears. She stood above, on the edge of the broken ice. The sun was illuminating her brightly. She made herself visible to Niamh, and she smiled in a most sinister way. Then she dropped to one knee and reached out her hand, offering Niamh a way back up into the light of the sun. That sun that she worshipped.

Deeper and deeper she was pulled, into darkness thick and cloying, and no matter how she struggled, it made no difference. She shouldn't have come here! She should have gone back! Tears filled her eyes and sobs caught in her throat, choking her, and she glance up one last time—

And saw a figure there, illuminated by the sun.

At first, she could see only her black silhouette, but the she snapped into focus—and Niamh recognized her. The swordswoman from the alley. A sense of wrongness filled her, and a new kind of fear, but as the woman stretched out her hand...God, what choice did she have? But that smile wasn't friendly; was it a trap? wreathed in Light, she could have been a servant of God if she wasn't smiling like a snake.

But the hands were pulling her further, and one had snakes around her throat, squeezing, and another covered her mouth. More hands crept over her, pulling at her clothes, moving to pin her arms—and in a panic, Niamh squirmed enough to free one arm and thrust it up at the woman, desperation making her decision for her.

        Todorka grabbed Niamh and pulled her up out of the grasping darkness. She stood before the visibly shaken dreamer, smiling in the radiance if the sun.
        “It’s amazing,” the dark clad assassin said, “the warmth of the sun, it’s light.” She turned, bathing in the light that now illuminated them both. "It’s a gift from god. That’s my name,” she stopped turning to face Niamh. “Todorka. It means gift from god.” A bright friendly smile spread across her face as she said the words. “God gave me to this world as a gift.” Suddenly her face grew very serious as she glared at Niamh.
        “Try to remember that the shadows at your back  only grow longer and darker the closer you stand to the light.” Then she was gone. Todorka had willed herself out of the dream. Magic cast on Niamh would ensure that she not forget her dreams this night but she would wake long after those in her room were gone.

Niamh felt strange when she woke that morning, sitting up groggily and running fingers through her messy, bed-head hair. Her dreams had been odd and left her feeling like she hadn't rested at all--and strangest of all, they felt so real, so intense. She guessed it shouldn't be too surprising, after the day she'd had; she just hadn't realized that woman in the alley had scared her as much as she had.

She shuddered. Todorka. That wasn't really her name, of course; it was just something her mind had latched onto during the day. Probably. She couldn't remember ever hearing such a name, but Serendipity was full of strange new names. She'd probably overheard it somewhere. Huh.

What a weird dream.

Gift from God.

Another chill slithered along her spine and prompted her to get up, so she rose and washed herself quickly, then dressed in fresh clothes. It was later in the day than she realized--noon, at least--and she had long since missed breakfast, so she pocketed a few coins and headed out for the day without a word to her boss. She was still upset with him, and she wasn't really in a mood to linger around much while one of those thieves was under their roof.

        Zipper was already about his work before the sun had risen. Sweeping the whole building out was not exciting, and he was not looking forward to the religious lessons he was going to have to endure, or polishing those sun mosaics. At least the Mikeil fellow had been pleasant. It would have been quite unfortunate if his interim boss was a total, prick pudding. He was having to call the man "Elder" but that wasn't so terrible. Zipper was more worried that Tod might get angry with him again. This was a slap on the wrist compared to the slit throat he was expecting. He knew better than to run though. Better a quick death than the torture endured by traitors and cowards. It was completely and entirely a coincidence that Zipper was near Niamh's door when she came out of her room. After all, he didn't know what room was hers.

Niamh came to an abrupt stop, her back going stiff and rigid the instant her eyes fell on...on...

"You!" she snapped, pointing at Zipper as though there was any ambiguity as to which "you" she was referring to.

        Zipper's expression bored, turned to alarm when Niamh accused him of existing with her pointed finger. Then he just scowled at her and returned to his labors. He did not want to deal with her. He just had to keep his head down and finish his work, then he'd find time to pick a few pockets on the street. For now he just swept faster, doing his best to ignore that glare from the woman that got him stuck in this shitty situation.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Niamh marched after him, just a few feet behind. "You got a lot of apologizing to do for what you did!"

        "Leave me alone," Zipper said to the angry missionary. "I'm trying to get my work done." He turned away from Niamh and continued his sweeping. He did not want this, but he was definitely not apologizing to that bitch for not gutting her like he should have.

"And I was just trying to get home when you attacked me!" Niamh shot back. "But you didn't care, so why should I care? Oops."

She passed a table upon which a potted plant sat, reached in, and scooped a handful of dirt. She dropped it onto the ground behind Zipper.

"Missed a spot."

        Zipper scowled at Niamh. Turned and began sweeping the dirt she'd dropped. "You best be careful neophyte," he hissed at her now that she was close enough to hear him whisper. "I may be sworn to work here, but there are others that aren't. I hope Todorka guts you in an alley."

Niamh rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to speak—but then her blood went cold.

"Wait. What did you just say? Todorka? Did you just say Todorka?"

        Zipper smirked at Niamh, "So you've not been here long, but you've heard of her. Good." He went back to his sweeping. Moving away from Niamh as he did so. "Todorka leads the Shadows in Cerenis, and some say she's even more ruthless than the Red Wolf himself. Cross her and you're sure to end up dead."

"I...I know of her," Niamh said slowly, a sick feeling coiling in her belly as ice spread through her veins. Her already pale face had gone a good few shades lighter as the blood drained away.

"I guess. Kind of? Maybe. But I haven't crossed her! I don't think. I mean, I wouldn't! I've got no business with you people, I didn't ask to get mugged!" She paused. "How do you know if you've crossed her?"

        "I don't think anyone ever knows they crossed Tod," Zipper laughed. "At least not for long. Most times you probably just end up dead." The look of fear on Niamh's face was satisfying for him. He had his grudge because of the trouble she got him into by not knowing how things worked around Cerenis. It wasn't until she came out and yelled at him accusatory first thing in the morning that he had really decided he hated this bitch as he now thought of her. Hopefully Todorka really would kill her. Then he could sweep this stupid temple in peace.

That sickening feeling only intensified.

"And, ah, what does this Todorka look like? Not that I'm worried that I've seen her or anything."

        Zipper turned back to look at Niamh, to take in her fear. “She’s as gorgeous as she is deadly,” Zipper told her. “Dark skin, dark hair, and a piercing blue eye.” He took a step closer as he whispered a last bit of description to Niamh. “Some people say that under that eye patch she wears is a magical eye that can see all your worst fears.” He smiled, wickedly hoping Niamh would have nightmares as he returned to his sweeping. “Have a good day, and don’t anger any blood thirsty assassins.”

“Yeah, whatever. Try not to molest any women today,” Niamh snapped, but her voice lacked venom and her face was pale. She spun on her heel and stormed out of the building—just so she wasn’t in the same space as that brat.

And so that he couldn’t see how much he had spooked her.

For his description matched what she had seen perfectly, and the idea that she could see one’s worst fears?  No, he had to be messing with her. He couldn’t be serious. She had let her guard down for one second and in that second he had seen her nervousness and taken advantage of it with some crazy story. That was all.

Right?

Because it made no sense! Why would some scary assassin be interested in her? Yeah, she had gotten in a tussle with some thief, but did that warrant attention from someone like that? Surely a murderous criminal like that had bigger fish to fry.

...Right?

Either way, she wasn’t going to let the scum win! They wanted to scare her, and she wasn’t about to let them think they had cowed her. She had money now, so she would go out and use it.

Todorka didn't have time to watch every notable, or in this case, annoying person in Cerenis while she ran the city from the shadows. Who knew there was so much damn bureaucratic bullshit involved in running a gang? Not to mention the city  and by extension, most of the province. When they had sent the Lord of Whitesands on his extended vacation, Tod had no idea her work load would be increasing so much. Did Rufus have to do this much paperwork back in Arca? With her time so thoroughly filled with going over reports, and other such nonsense, Todorka had put a Scavenger and a Shadow on tailing Niamh.
        The Scavenger was the charming grifter type. A handsome northerner, barely a Connlaothian in manner but entirely in looks. His blonde hair and blue eyes were the picture of an Ansgarite son, but his faith was as pale as his skin. His frequent manipulation of the women, and some men, of the Ansgarite cathedral he was raised in, had him excommunicated by the Shepherd, his own father, to cold Hyoite. There he ran with all sorts of rejects and criminals that had fled into the safety of the snow. Life was a struggle and he learned to survive with more than just his wits and charm. Strength and endurance are a requirement of such a deadly environment.
        The Shadow was a very common looking woman, with mousy brown hair, light tan skin and brown eyes. A shadow needed to blend into her surroundings. At night that took dark clothes and sticking to lightless alcoves. During the bright day in the crowded streets of a port town, it required being unnoteworthy. She had that down to a specialized skill. Her clothes were plain and simple, her hair done up in an easy bun common to working class women. The slightly dirty apron easily hid her small sap, and a few daggers. Her soft smile hid the fact that her darting eyes only met those of other wolves, and that they took measure of everyone around her.
        The two of them knew their task and followed Niamh as she left the temple. They wouldn't lose her, or miss anything she said and did.

With the crowd on the streets pressed all around her, Niamh was oblivious to her two new "friends". It wasn't that she was being careless; after all the drama of the other day, she made sure to watch her surroundings extra carefully, and keep an eye out for shady characters. Perhaps that was the problem.

The two following her certainly didn't look shady.

She had no real destination in mind. The city was new for her, so she wasn't sure where everything was. An armory, maybe. She had a bladed staff back at the temple and she knew how to use it, but she needed something smaller, a dagger or something that she could carry with her at all times for protection. She would need it in this lawless place, if her first couple days here had taught her anything.

Now, where did they keep such a place in this maze of a city?

Cerenis was larger than any town she was used to. Her own village had been small enough to know everyone's name and everyone's business, but this place was filled with strangers and more strangers. A few days ago, she had been feeling fairly confident and excited about being in a new place with a fresh start, but now? Her run in with criminals and bureaucrats had taken their toll, made her feel a little less safe, made her realize how indifferent the people here were. A tussle had broken out in the street and no one had even paused! Well, except the guard.

No matter. These heathens here were not her friends, and she would just have to take care of herself. And so she kept her eyes and ears open and continued on her way, too proud to ask for directions. Besides, she had to get a feel for the city somehow, and what better way than through exploration?

A building in the distance caught her eye, one with a sign depicting a sword in a sheath. Well! That at least looked promising. Picking up her pace, Niamh darted across the street and into the building--

Which was...very strange for an armory.

Incense filled her nose, and smoke filled her eyes as she stared about the dimly lit building. When her vision adjusted, she saw that there were people there, too, lounging in chairs and settees in a room just beyond her, and...

...Were those half-naked ladies?

Those were half-naked ladies, seated in the laps of dressed-down men.

With a small squeak, her face bursting into flames to rival her God, Niamh did a swift about-face and ran right into the burly chest of a man she hadn't known was there.

"Hey there, sweetheart. You lookin' for a job?" he asked as she jerked back in horror.

        "I don't know if we could use her Danny." A thin, dark skinned whore, with narrow hips and small tits had a disapproving look as she circled Niamh, plucking at her religious garb. Another whore, with pale skin and paler hair approached from the other side. Her large, unbound breasts jiggled lightly as she circled Niamh, reaching out to touch her hair and skin. "Some men like that whole prudish religious thing, and she has good hygiene." A third whore, clearly older, but still a stunning beauty, with bronze skin and bright green hair and eyes, blew pungent smoke at Niamh as she eyed the girl. "I think the little trollop is just lost, probably thought we actually sold swords here. Should I fetch the Madam missy, or are you going to skidaddle?"
        It was at this moment that a regular customer walked in and saw Niamh. He definitely liked the look of her. She was definitely his type. "Wow! New girl? She's pretty! I like the religious theme. How much? Do you have a private room, or do you use the communal theater. I'm okay with either, but I do prefer the private rooms. That robe looks so authentic. I love it!"

"It IS authentic!" Niamh blurted out, at a loss for what else to even say, much less low to react. How did this have anything to do with weapons?! Why were there so many naked people? Was this guy hitting on her? Oh God, he was propositioning her, wasn't he? Communal theater? Private room? What the...

What the fuck even was this den of iniquity?

Face red, Niamh tried to maneuver herself away from the three whores and the man, and did her best not to brush against the women as she did, as though afraid of their nudity. Which she was. She did her best to look only at their faces. "I...I...what the one lady said," she managed to sputter. "The part about swords. I thought...I thought you had, um, swords." An awkward glance at the man. "Steel swords. The kind that slice."

        The first whore laughed at Niamh's response and the second one looked disappointed. The third and older whore rolled her eyes and tossed her hair before motioning at the regular with her pipe. Danny quickly caught on and separated the man from Niamh, the two younger whores pulling the client further into the brothel. The older whore took another long drag from her long slender pipe, holding it in her lungs before blowing the smoke in Niamh's direction again. The pungent, almost sour smelling smoke, seemed to wind its way around Niamh, clinging to her clothes and hair, seeking to enter her nose and mouth.
        "You're in the wrong part of town little mouse," the woman said, leaning close to Niamh. Her teeth were in surprisingly good condition, and her breath though smoky, didn't have the usual decay one expected from a lifelong smoker. "You're in the part of the city where people look for escape from their lives. If you want the tools to take a life, you'll need to go a few streets over. Toward the garrison. She sucked on her pipe again, reveling in the high it gave her, her smile growing more deranged. She let the smoke out slowly, and again it swirled around Niamh in an almost mystical way. "Danny, give the girl directions."
        "Yes Fanny," the big man said, leading Niamh outside. He gave her some easy directions to follow, and sent the girl on her way.

Niamh couldn't have left fast enough. As soon as the man finished giving her directions, she squeaked out a quick, "Thanks!" and practically bolted away from the vile place, as though staying longer would infect her. She brushed and smacked at her clothes as she went; she could smell the stench of whatever that lady was smoking as it clung to her clothes and hair. Disgusting. So gross. She could feel its sourness in her throat and she coughed, knowing she was probably overreacting, but her skin felt itchy and everything felt wrong.

This city was a nightmare. She would never be able to let her guard down here, with how easy it was to stumble from one debauched situation to another. She had to stay on her toes, keep alert.

...She kind of even wanted to go home.

But there was no way she could give up, and there was nothing for her back home but a life she didn't want. This was all a test. She was being tested, and she just had to persevere. That was all. She could do this. Though she wasn't quite sure what "this" was anymore. Everyone here seemed so beyond reaching.

Danny's instructions, thankfully, were simple enough, and she soon found the garrison and nearby, a smithy. Picking up her pace, and praying to the Light that this was the correct place and not another hidden brothel or something (she could see a smoking forge and an anvil, and there were weapons, but who knows!), she stepped up and looked about for the blacksmith. "Ah, hello?"

        The ringing of hammer on anvil in the forge room did not cease as a large man with a steel mask came through a curtain that separated the showroom from the workspace. He was nearly two and a half meters tall and had to stoop to get under the doorway. He wore a dark brown long sleeved shirt and what appeared to be leather overalls. More smock than apron, the covering protected the entirety of the shoulders and chest all the way down to mid calf. His boots were a dark leather that still had a decent amount of shine, though they were covered in scuffs and burns. The iron plates on their soles clicked across the slate floor as he walked, and the exterior steel toe looked dangerous for any unprotected shins. His hands were protected by thick leather gloves that looked to have seen a fair amount of use. The tools stowed in the pockets of his apron though smudged from recent use, looked much better maintained than his attire, and the small adamantite hammer that he set on the counter, small in comparison to the man's massive hands, gleamed as though it were a display piece, rather than the well used tool it was.
        "Welcome to Big Mac's Weapon Emporium," the man's voice came out in a low and slow tumble, that evoked the feeling of boulders settling into place. From behind the protective mask his booming voice echoed metallically. "How can we be of service." The droning sound of hammer to metal paused momentarily, only to continue shortly after.

...Holy Light.

Here she thought many of her own people grew tall, but this man was a mountain, and he sounded like one, too.

Niamh took a step back without realizing it, instinctively putting a bit more space between them so she felt a little less loomed over. The guy didn't even have to try to loom, he just did. He may not have been trying to look intimidating (or maybe he was), but between his sheer size and the mask, it was a little uncomfortable.

She stared for a moment, realized she was staring, and cleared her throat and puffed out her chest. Right. Weapons. She was here for a weapon, so she needed to act like she could actually use one. "I've come for a knife," she said, then winced at how stupid that sounded. "I mean, a dagger. You sell those here, right? Actual daggers and swords and things, like real ones? Not the innuendo sort but real physical ones you stab things with?"

She felt she needed to be perfectly clear on this, so there was zero room for misinterpretation.

        The giant of a man didn't notice Niamh take a step back. What he did notice was her stumbling over her need to buy a dagger. And what was that about innuendo? He was thoroughly confused by her rambling, and a tilt of his head was all that signaled that confusion. He didn't linger on it though, instead moving out from behind the counter into the showroom proper, that Niamh was standing in. All around them were swords and daggers and hammers and axes and halberds and maces and, you get the picture. It was a proper weapon showroom, with every sort of death implement you could imagine. There were even some spiked gauntlets and bladed shields in the mix, but no armor. Big Mac didn't make armor, just the finest arms a prospective wielder of weapons could want.
        The man led Niamh to a nearby display that held a wide assortment of small pointed stabby implements one might call a dagger. Some were more shiv like, others a bit more like a kunai, some dirks, and even long knives. Here there were also more traditional daggers, made from a wide array of materials, with different hilt types and different cross guards or pommels. It was a veritable cornucopia of slicing, dicing, and stabbing tools.
        "If anything catches the eye, I'll be happy to give you a detailed description of the weapons specifications." The large man stepped back to give Niamh more space but in doing so he bumped a display of halberds that created a chain reaction of weapons falling, and a cacophony of bangs and clangs. The big man froze up, in apparent anxiety and began quickly trying to clean his mess, but the banging on the anvil in the back had stopped. Soon after a large hammer came lumbering out of the forge room, or so it appeared from an angle where you couldn't see over the counter. As the hammer rounded the corner it was seen to be wielded by a diminutive woman half its size. She hung it in a yoke on the wall and continued over toward the mountain of a man. Up close Niamh could see that the bite size woman had a fuming expression on her cherubim face. Her golden hair was pulled up in a tight bun and covered with a net. Her purple eyes had a sharp gaze as she glared at the man, and her forge tanned skin shown with sweat from working her forge.
        "What in the Five Steps of Torment have you done Melvin," the woman's squeeky voice came out almost cute but mostly shrill. "This is the third time this month! The third time! And it's only six days into it!"
        "I'm sorry Mac," the big man said defeated. "It was an accident."
        "Of course it was an accident! If I thought you knocked over my displays on purpose you'd be out on your ass so fast you'd see visions of the Nine Voids." Big Mac stood tapping her toe, looking up at Melvin. "And take that mask off when you're taking care of the customers." As she said this, Melvin reached up to remove his protective shield, revealing the large singular eye of a cyclops. "If you weren't so great at working a forge, I wouldn't keep a klutz like you around Melvin. But you're a genius and I'll make you the best to ever live, as long as you don't knock the place down first. Now off with you. Finish that piece. It's been cooling far too long." As Melvin the cyclops lumbered off to the forge, picking up his little hammer on the way, the half a meter tall "Big" Mac turned her attention toward Niamh. With a better look at her, it was easy to see that under all that soot, she was delightfully pretty. With a slight pink tinge to her skin and slightly pointed winged ears. Her tiny nose twitched, almost rodent like, and a welcoming smile spread across her face.
        "Sorry about all that," Big Mac said in a delightfully tinkling voice. It was like the gentle flow of a stream across pebbles. So much different than the staccato she had berated Melvin with. I'm Mackenzie Surestrike, owner and proprietor of this fine establishment." As she spoke a few assistants came out and began cleaning Melvins mess. A dwarf, an elf, and two humans, they only spared Niamh a momentary glance as they went about their work. "What is it that I can help you with today?"

CRASH!

Niamh hadn't had long to examine all the stabby things when the placed exploded into noise. She let out a yelp and flinched back, covering her ears, and stared in wide-eyed horror as one of the displays clattered to the ground and knocked over other displays with it. It was quite lucky no one was close enough for anything to fall onto them, otherwise the mess would have been a little more...red.

Oh, Light, just what she needed, extra attention. She may not have been the one to cause the mess, but judging by the sudden silence in the other room, she was about to bear witness to a reckoning--a thought which was confirmed by the hammer that came marching out--

Which belonged to a tiny, tiny woman who indeed unleashed her wrath onto the big man.

...THAT was "Big Mac"? That little woman had the big guy cowed? A woman so tiny Niamh had at first mistaken her for a child. She couldn't be human--and yet for her size, she had to be strong to wield a hammer that was like twice her size.

Like an ant carrying ten times its body weight.

Awkwardly, Niamh shifted back toward the daggers, feeling like a kid who had walked in on her parents having an argument she wasn't supposed to see. And it was clear who the patriarch in this relationship was--or matriarch, rather. Still, like any horrific accident, it was hard not to watch and so she kept sneaking glances as the big one got a tongue-lashing.

And so it was that she looked back over at the two when Mac ordered the big one to take off his helmet--and she sucked in a breath when she saw he had one eye centered where two eyes should be.

A cyclops?

She had heard legends of such creatures existing, and in those legends they usually ate people.

Awkward.

The woman addressed her then, snapping her from her thoughts, and she swung back around to face her. "Oh, uh, hey," she said with a little wave. "You made all this? It's really nice work. I'm not really looking for anything too fancy, though, just a dagger. Something easy to use for, say...self defense against, y'know, potential stalkers?" She scratched the back of her neck. "Hypothetically speaking."

        Mac listened to the awkward explanation of why her new patron needed a dagger, she took in the religious garb of the woman in front of her, and she knew what would suit Niamh best. "I understand your need," Mac said in her delightful voice, "and I have just the thing." She led Niamh over to a table display, and stepped up on a stool that was set beside it. "I have several different styles here, depending on your taste. I have them in varying materials depending on your need, and budget. And I have a deal with the leather crafter next door, so you can get a discount on a arm sheath so you can keep the blade inside the sleeve of your robes for quick and easy access." Mac picked up a small simple knife, made of steel, sharp on only one side and held it for Niamh to view. "This is my recommendation for someone unfamiliar with weapons. Having a blade on only one side makes it harder to accidentally cut yourself, but the point makes it still useful for stabbing."

"I'll take it," Niamh said, barely giving Mac time to finish. "That and the sheath. How much?"

It would work. Nice and unassuming, easy to conceal. That was exactly what she needed, and just the sight of it was enough to relieve her, just a little. It was small enough to tuck it under her pillow at night, too, as an added bonus—because with the thief in her Temple and Todorka in her dreams, she wouldn't be sleeping otherwise.

She pulled out her coin purse, ready to dish out coin. "And, uh, on a totally unrelated side note...how much do you know about the 'Wolves'...?"