It always felt odd to travel by land for Alaric. His family was a seafaring one, which meant he had primarily used the ocean to travel for most of his life. Where most people were prone to nausea or losing their balance on a ship, he’d possessed a solid pair of sea legs since he was four years old. The trade off, however, was that he was very out of his element on horseback. The way the animal jostled him up and down with every step if it went any faster than a leisurely walk was unnerving even on the best days, and he was half certain something in his supplies would break as a result of it. Perhaps, at the end of the day it was simply because he didn’t like not having his own legs under him. And the fact that Kotori, his childhood friend turned Guardian, had a penchant for things such as leaning halfway off of her steed to snatch something off the ground before righting herself as though it were nothing did not help. Still, it was something he would have to live with; the town they had been dispatched to in Valeal was too far away for simple walking. And this way, he would save his own strength; Feral Mages were always regarded as dangerous entities, and while Kotori and Tegan would be immune to much of his or her arsenal, he would have to outfox or overpower the mage with his own magic. He reached down to his belt and gently patted one of the ceramic gourds that hung there. They were filled with water that he could call upon with his magic to do battle, and if push came to shove… He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. He had enough to busy himself with without adding dread of the possible future to the list. As they neared the town itself, one of his companions called out as they indicated a plume of smoke rising in the distance. As Alaric snapped his head around to look at it, his ears picked up a growing sound of a great group of people, all shouting in near unison. Something was very, very wrong. With a nod exchanged between the three of them, they kicked their horses into a faster pace to reach the town sooner and see what was happening. Once they made it to the town square, what greeted Alaric’s eyes was something he could not have predicted. And it disgusted him to his core. Disgust is a powerful emotion. Most would hesitate to equate it with the likes of joy, sorrow, or rage, but only because they have yet to experience disgust in its purest form. It is not as trivial as decreeing something as less than pleasant to observe, nor is it as simple as expressing a desire to vomit. True disgust, pure disgust, manifests only when a person witnesses something that sickens them by the second, something that defies everything they love, know, and live for by its very existence; something that they would give anything to halt, to undo, to see it never happen again, but can do nothing about. That is antipathy, revulsion, disgust. And that is the emotion that rang through Alaric’s fibers and bones as he beheld the Order of the Rose’s men and what they had done. They had expected hostility to some degree when they planned the journey. Valeal was, after all, a nest of ever growing discontent with the magically inclined. They had expected it, and they had planned for it. Nondescript clothing, nothing showing the mark of the Circle openly, and he had even taken to drinking from the gourds tied at his waist every now and then. But something like this… it far exceeded anything he could have possibly prepared himself for. He’d heard tell and tale of the Order ’s extremism, but to see it firsthand was another matter entirely. Not only had they set people, innocent people he was prepared to bet, to the flame, but they had also taken it upon themselves to sentence the parents, a mother and father who had done nothing wrong, to the same punishment. Moreover, he noted, they had saved them for last, forced them to watch their family perish. And they reveled in it. That was when he particularly noticed the still smoldering corpses next to them. Something had seemed off about them since he first laid eyes on them, but he hadn’t been able to place it. Then it struck him like a thunderbolt on a clear day at sea. “Children…” he hissed vehemently just barely above his breath, so that only Kotori and Tegan could hear, “They burned [i]children[/i] at the stake.” The rage in his voice was almost palpable. Alaric’s teeth ground together as his eyes narrowed and his breath came out in a snarl. It was no longer a matter of the Order of the Rose, or even whether or not the victims had truly been mages. These people, these monsters had slaughtered little kids, forced them to endure the unimaginable pain of being burned alive, all while their parents had been no more than ten feet away, helpless to do anything but watch. One of the gourds at his side began to tremble as the water inside, influenced by his magic, reacted to his emotional state. A few moments more and he might have lashed out, had a firm grip on his right forearm not accosted his attention. A look to his right showed that the grip belonged to Kotori, ever the faithful Guardian, as she reached out to steady him with her flesh and blood hand. He couldn’t make out her expression behind the mask she wore, but he could see her eyes through it. There was pain and sadness present in her gaze, but there was also resolve and caution. She abhorred the sight just as much as he did, but she still had a duty to perform and a responsibility to uphold. As did he, he remembered, as he closed his eyes for a moment. With a great, deep intake of air he forced his emotions to quiet themselves and willed his magic to settle once again. When he opened his eyes again, he was calm and collected once more. And he was watching the spectacle before him unfold. He wished he could turn away, but the memory of a conversation he had held with his uncle Vardos prevented him from doing so. It had been just after they had witnessed a merchant ship fall prey to a gang of pirates as they were escorting his father to a meeting with Thomas Briar. The pirates dared not attack the Vastille fleet, but the merchant ship had not been so lucky. “Uncle,” Alaric had asked, “Why did you not help them?” “Sometimes, there are people beyond your help” had been his response. “But you could’ve saved them easily!” “Possibly. But remember what we are doing out here. My brother- your father- is on board, and if I had gone to fight those pirates his life would have been in danger. Listen carefully, Alaric- it may be our House’s policy to protect and save those in need, but we must take care that we do not forsake our responsibilities to do so. Right now, my responsibility is to make sure Ouren Vastille gets to his meeting safely. Much as I would I could have intervened, I would have done so with my duty and my charge at risk.” “Isn’t there anything we can do for them?” “There is one thing; we can watch. We can bear witness to their end when all other men turn away. We can burn their final moments into our memories when all others would forget. We can watch, and hope that when they reach Meros, they will know that more than just their enemies bore witness to their end, and that they are not forgotten.” Alaric had watched the burning of the merchant ship as his uncle said. And he watched the burning of these innocent people just the same. A squeeze on his arm gave him further reassurance as Kotori withdrew her hand. A voice from nearby then called his attention to a frightened and hiding old man. He nodded to his compatriots, signaling to keep their eyes open, and pulled his horse over closer to the house. He kept his eyes on the burning spectacle, but made as if to get to the shade- the less attention he attracted the better- and soft as he dared spoke to the old man. “What happened here? How did it become like this? Who was it that these… men have just executed?”