[b] “Boiled rat! Get ya boiled rat, right ‘ere!”[/b] 

[b] “Coppa’ bands! We’re sellin’ tha’ finnest coppa’ bands in all of Tzieania!” [/b] 

[b]”Swords, ‘un axes, ‘un spears! All the best metal for stickin’ ya foes with!” [/b] 

For a people who supposedly despised order so zealously, the Chainless were very good at imposing their own primitive laws upon little pockets of Tzieania; with the [i]Free Man’s Bazaar[/i] being a prime example. 

The marketplace itself was hollowed out of a cavern in the side of a crumbling cliff-face, with stalls and stores assembled from pieces of old boats, or fallen watchtowers. Faded bedsheets and old world flags had been recoloured with homemade dyes in order to bring a bit more colour to the bazaar; hanging from flagpoles, or draping over one of the larger emporiums of scavenged junk. 

The armoured thugs that served as so called soldiers in the Chainless “army” were dotted about the place, their eyes fixed to wherever the largest cluster of shoppers was. There was no established uniform for these guardsmen, so they garbed themselves in whatever rusted scrap was on offer; wielding makeshift polearms, or old rapiers that were mottled with fat blotches of rust. 

Louise Couriere moved cautiously through the buzzing rabble of Tzieanian, a dark blue bandana pulled over her head, in order to hide her tell-tail red hair. She was dressed in tattered scraps of linen, with a sword belt that held a modest-looking saber strapped around her waist. 

“Next time, feel free to take Vincent on whatever deadly suicide mission into enemy territory you have planned,” Laurent hissed from over her shoulder, as the two undercover Sentinels tried their best to navigate through the bustling crowd without incident “as much as I want Tzieania back in the hands of the right people, I’d quite like to be alive long enough to see it, if that’s all the same to you, madame general.” 

“Getting cold feet, Laurent?” The general asked with a wry smile “You seemed a lot more keen a few hours ago.” 

“Yeah, well I couldn’t let Vincent show me up in front of Elodie…” he grumbled, going slightly red in the face.

Louise laughed inwardly. She’d learned long ago that a pair of teats was the perfect motivator for most of the male Sentinels (and a few of the lady Sentinels, too). 

“If we make it out of this deadly suicide mission mission into enemy territory unscathed, then I’ll be sure to put in a good word with Elodie, for you.” 

“You said that last time!” 

“Eh. she’s great bait.” 

The pair slipped out of the horde of browsers, and over to a small wooden den that sat away from the central hustle and bustle of the Free Man’s Bazar. The den itself looked to be made from bits of an old sail boat, with a curved roof that resembled the ship’s bow, and a motley curtain strung together from hole-ridden bits of the mainsail. 

A well-built man with a hard jaw guarded the entrance, dressed from head-to-toe in scale mail armour, with a curved sword dangling from his leather belt. 

“You get lost, lil’ girl?” The guard stared down at at Louise, mocking her in his gruff drawl. 

“The land of ash is sinking, drowning like my heart.” Louise said calmly. 

“But a fire inside is blazing, to wash away the blackest of arts,” The guard said slowly, raising one eyebrow. 

“The broken chain shall be mended, and the usurpers kingdom struck down.” Louise continued. 

“The line of old shall be restored, and the pureheart shall claim the crown.” The guard mumbled. 

He paused, considering Louise for a moment. 

“You go inside,” her grunted “the boy stays out here.” 

“Will you be alright, my lady?” Laurent shot her a look of concern. 

“I’ll be fine, Laurent.” She said with a warm smile, before brushing her way past the mainsail curtain, and wandering into the dark room which lay beyond.