An old vendor emerged from his colourful stall with what looked to be poorly-made jewelry strung across both his arms.  He rushed towards Nima, extending his hands in a sort of display of his wears. “Finest jewelry in the southeastern markets, I make it all right here, materials bought new and uncut.  Fine metal, I tell you, finest in the southeastern markets.” The slave-soldier didn’t react, which seemed to irritate the tradesman. “Just four arums for a piece. Fine metal, you’ll take one home for your wife?” Nima forced the man out of his way, which caused the vendor to curse and give up on his sale. Viarosa was an unorganized beast, poverty and wealth all overlapping and catching on each other.  Mansions and tenant buildings, ramshackle apartments surrounded by homeless, priests distributing bread and criminals standing shirtless with all their markings on display.  The grand markets were patrolled by the mafia rather than the guardsmen, but the exotic goods that made the coastal city so famous were still being sold in their droves. Grandmaster Lucian had let the refugees rest under the watchful eyes of some priests while he and his disciple bought supplies for them. The hunter and his woman were elsewhere, probably buying blood and other magical necessities. Nima walked a short distance behind the pair of holy knights while they bought food and chatted amiably - he thought it would be uncomfortable for the Samothaur if he did not keep a respectful distance.

Every step was fairly painful, due to the injuries that he had sustained during the battle several days prior, but he continued dutifully.  The manticore had offered to heal his wounds, but he had explained that it would not be right without a purified flame present.  She had argued with him for a short while, but eventually relented.  Now that he was in Viarosa, a major city, he could find someone that could properly assist him.  Someone on the Path, preferably a red zealot, could make the correct fire and heal his wounds. If he couldn’t find any eastern ecclesiastic, then he would be forced to summon the Flame himself.

As the slave-soldier wandered the market, Lucian took notice of his pains. At the time he was discussing future plans with Kinara as the two purchased arrows and fletching materials for her. And as the salesman exchanged arrow bundle for coin purse, Lucian patted her on the arm and whispered something to her, gesturing back towards the hostel they had left the refugees. She nodded courteously and sauntered off with the arrows, leaving him with Nima. He quickly caught up to the Eastern warrior and called for his attention.

"Aye, Nima," he began, "I could not help but to notice that you are still nursing your wounds from the village incident. Have you not found a Zealot by which you can accept treatment?"

The soldier pressed his fist to his chest in salute before he spoke to the grandmaster.  “I do not think there are Zealots still in this city after all that has happened between west and east.  Now, the few that travel to these lands do so only under the standard.”  Nima paused.  “If you would give me leave, I will find my own way to right myself.”

"With all respect, soldier, you may be able to summon your flame, but you can provide no healing for yourself after first aid," Lucian replied. To illustrate his point, he raised an armored hand, a golden mist dancing about his extremities and over the palm, before he waved it away. "If you would permit me, should we find no zealot, I can enhance your recovery once the proper fire is burning?"

“Very well.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Allen sat hunched over in the middle of the group of refugees, wondering what would become of them. He'd only been in Tiraști for a week when was attacked, so he was only vaguely aquainted with the people sitting around him. Allen thought about the battle and made a list in his head of the notable fighters that participated; much to his chagrin, he couldn't include himself on that list. He suddenly sat upright, realizing something about one of the fighters. Though he couldn't read, Allen had seen a picture of the tall, blond man in full plate in a book when he was young. The [i]Mač[/i] that had adopted him told him stories about this man, and the influence that he'd had on stategy and swordsmanship. 

No sooner did he realise this than the Samothauress, whom he had seen leave with the man he was interested in, came back into the one roomed hostel with her arms full of parcels.

Allen leapt to his feet, addressing the Samothauress. "Here, let me help you with those."

As the boy ran up with his arms reaching for the bags and boxes, Kinara smiled and offered them over, letting him take what he could carry. Given her inhuman strength, the packages weren't as much a burden for their weight as much as they were for how much space they took up, making the load fairly cumbersome. So she was glad to receive any measure of assistance nonetheless.

When his own arms were full, she curtseyed politely to him and said, "Thank you kindly, sir."

After the packages were placed down in an orderly fashion, Allen turned to Kinara. "One of the men you left with, before. He wouldn't happen to be Ser Aquila, would he?"

"Why yes, actually," she replied, crouching down to open one of the bags, revealing it to be filled with foodstuffs, presumably for either the hostel to use or for the road, once the travelers set back out. "He is my Grandmaster, and I his Apostle." The Samothauress plucked a peach from the bag and paused, subtly offering the fruit to the boy.

Allen accepted the peach gratefully, it had been a long time since he'd had a fresh fruit. "You wouldn't be able to tell me where he went, would you?" Allen inquired, "I um... Want to ask him a couple of questions."

"Oh! Are you interested in joining the Order?" Kinara asked, smiling brightly. "I'm certain he'd be delighted to have you with us! He just left the market, headed east with that slave-soldier, probably to have him patched up after Tiraști," she added, raising an arm to gesture in the proper direction.

"Thanks!" Allen yelled, dashing out of the room without a second word leaving the Samothauress without warning.

Blinking repeatedly, Kinara briefly processed what had happened before letting out a quiet, delighted chuckle, before resuming her duties.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Not in my city, understand?  The good lord cast the tinders out, made a mockery of them.  He should’ve done with you too, eastern murderer.” The shopkeeper waved the two men away with a dismissive flick of his wrist, going back to chopping his cuts of beef and pork.  Nima looked to Lucian, a restrained expression on his face.  The grandmaster nodded to the Viarosan, exiting the small butchery and stepping back onto the street.  Nima followed dutifully.  

“Even if there are [i]Da’avi[/i] in this city, which I doubt, we will not find them,”  The slave-soldier remarked dejectedly.  “I must make the fire myself.”

"So be it then, but with what would we do so?" Lucian asked, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "And must it be living, or deceased?"

“The Flame can only be called with sacrifice.  We must find something that lives and I must burn it.”  Nima paused.  “Legionnaires in the field use vermin to worship before a battle, if they are separated from those on the Path.  There are rats in this city, yes?"

"There should be plenty, though they would be drawn more towards the poor districts. The challenge is catching one alive," Lucian replied, scanning the cobblestone streets as he walked alongside Nima. "In your condition it would be unwise to reopen your wound or risk infection in the more decrepit alleyways. Nevertheless, keep an eye out for me, if it pleases you?"

Nima looked at the grandmaster strangely. “You cannot taint the vermin with your magic.  Once you have it, we will need to make a fire, again without your magic.”

"No, I would not require magic to capture one. Unless that is to say that I cannot so much as touch it?" he inquired, leading the soldier back behind the butchery, watching carefully to see if any had witnessed him. "Anyway, if we cannot acquire anything live from inside the butchery, we are certain to find scavengers picking off the man's refuse [i]near[/i] the butchery. Without alerting the butcher, shall we look around?"

"You can touch it.  It cannot be tainted with anything unnatural."  Nima followed the grandmaster behind the shop, careful to avoid any windows through which the butcher could see them.  They walked into the alleyway that connected the near of several buildings, immediately noticing the piles of filth that had gathered in several areas.  The scraps of rotting meat and decaying garbage were swarming with flies and plagued by a company of rodents who scurried into darker parts of the street as soon as the two men came near.  "Rats will do," remarked Nima, watching the vermin intently.

Lucian fixed his gaze on one of three rats currently gnawing on a slab of rejected venison, each attempting to wrest control of it from the other two. Slowly inching closer and closer to the rodents, Lucian flexed his fingers slowly, mentally preparing himself for the pounce. They seemed to pay him no mind even as he drew nearer. And finally, without a word or sound to announce himself, he dived for the middle rat.

Instantly, the other two scurried away as Lucian collapsed on top of the rotting clump of flesh, just barely missing the rat's tail as it ran away. He scrambled up, trying to rise to his feet again, sliding on the slick refuse. He snapped up the rat by its tail, only for it to curl up and slip from his grasp. To the Paladin's credit, it struck its head on the cobblestone, and as it attempted to flee, it moved much slower and more erratically.

Nima limped forward surprisingly quickly, bringing his sole down on the rodent's tail as it struggled to escape.  The rat squealed in confused pain as Nima bent down and grasped it firmly in both his hands.  He looked to Lucian, who was busy wiping filth from his fine clothes.  "Grandmaster," He said.  "Could you hold the rat?  I must summon the Flame."

Lucian stared up from the ground and at the rat in Nima's hands. Brushing it off like he hadn't just gotten his ass kicked by a rat, he rose up to his feet and attempted to dust off his surcoat in as dignified a manner as he could make the gesture. "Aye, you get started on that then," he replied, taking hold of the rodent in both of his hands, holding it stiff as it squeaked angrily.

The Easterner reached into a pouch and produced a tinderbox, kicking around a few loose, trashed items on the ground into a pile. When enough flammable material had been collected, he crouched down, wincing through the pain in his side, and with the tinderbox sparked a small fire, uttering a prayer in his native tongue as he cultivated the fire. The flame crackled to life, and as soon as it was stable, Lucian knelt down and, making the Solanian Sigil over his heart, he stuck the rat into the fire. He tried not to listen to its screeching as the fire burned away its fur and flesh.

Within moments the rodent had perished, its body now fuel for the fire. "The Flame is here with us," Nima remarked breathlessly, nodding to Lucian. "You may now heal me, by magic or by medicine." Punctuating this point, he reached for his cuirass and unbuckled the leather straps, removing the damaged armor before lifting his tunic, gesturing to the location of the wounds he had received in Tirasti. The linen was matted with a terrific amount of dried blood, discolouring the regular crimson into a darker shade. "By the Light of the Gods, man," Lucian said, eyes fixed on the gash as he removed the spent bandages that had covered the wound. "Be it by your iron will or the hand of destiny, for you to survive such a loss of blood is inconceivable. Let us get this taken care of."

At that moment, Allen walked around the corner of the butcher's shop, having found his way there from Kinara's directions. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared with wide eyes at the two men, who were absorbed in their task. The he recognised to be Ser Lucian Aquila, who was currently placing his hands against the side of the other; from his discarded armour, Allen could see the man came from the East. To top it all off, the smell of singed hair and burning flesh filled the air, emanating from a smouldering rat the two had apparently ignited.

The palm of Lucian's hand began to emit a faint, golden light that grew more powerful as the seconds ticked by. He hovered his hand over the wound,crossing the other hand over the back of it, as if pressing the magical energy over the open flesh. "Minions of Hargash are known for being more brutal and unclean than they are efficient killers. So it isn't so much luck that they missed your vitals as it was force of habit for such repulsive creatures of the Infernum. Had they been Lotec's spawn, you would already be long dead, most likely in two halves," he stated, rather bluntly. He lifted a finger, eyeing him sternly. "And what they lack in accuracy they make up for in foul magics, stable-guard. Count yourself blessed that this did not develop into an otherworldly disease. I have seen limbs grow black and pulpy, like the flesh of a rotted fruit, falling apart with the bone. Pustular blisters that consume the face entirely, disfiguring permanently one's countenance. Worse still, but I will spare you the details. You should have had this treated long ago when the Krossaviker had offered her aid, and made do with a small flame such as this."

"Your orders were clear, and delaying them with minor injuries would be insubordinate.  The retreat was tactically far more important than my blood."  Nima pulled his tunic down, covering the now fully-healed wound.  His gaze was locked onto the newcomer that Lucian had not yet turned to notice.  "Grandmaster," he reported matter-of-factly.  "A boy."  The easterner knelt downwards, whispering another prayer and putting out the fire with a few waves of his hand.  All the while, he kept an eye on the young man.

Lucian turned to see the young man standing before them, now rising to his feet. "You there, are you with the butcher?" he asked, glancing towards the back door of the butchery. "An apprentice, of sor--" he stopped, falling quiet as he looked the boy up and down. His eyes narrowed, and a thoughtful expression appeared on his features. "No, I recognize you somewhat. You were with the refugees, were you not?"

The direct address snapped Allen back to reality. He nodded his head, then took a deep breath. "Are you Ser Aquila? I'm Allen. I helped to protect the all the sick and the old and the children at Tiraşti. I was kind of hiding though. I know how to fight, but I've never fought anything other than humans before, but you fought like it was nothing. Will you teach me? Was that magic? Why are you hiding in the trash? Are people looking for you? Why was that rat on fire? It smells bad out here," Allen left barely any space between his words, let alone enough for a response to be given. Finally, Allen pointed at Nima, without taking his eyes off of Lucian. "And why was that man taking off his clothes?"

The Paladin cocked an eyebrow, his lips parted as he waited for a point to interject. When none came, he instead waited until the kid ran out of breath. Pausing for a solid five seconds to ensure he had nothing else to say, he slowly lifted his hand to gesture for Allen to wait before he responded. "Boy," he said, "I will be honest in saying that I did not understand the majority of what you have asked unto me. Breathe, and ask one at a time, that I may properly answer you. From what I gathered, you asked my name, and why the Easterner here had lifted his tunic. The man was wounded severely, and required healing. And though I adhere not to the Path of the Flame, his survival is necessary for my companions and I, and thus I had to acquiesce to his need for a burnt offering to summon his Flame," he explained.

"Now, I ask you, slow down, and clarify for me, who did you say you were?"

"I'm Allen. I was with the refugees, like you said. What were those... Things? Did one of them hurt your friend?"

"Aye, several of them in fact," Lucian replied, glancing back at Nima. "Were it not for the Krossaviker and Apostle Kinara, he'd have surely perished under the claws of those that had him pinned down in Tiraşti. The fact that he survived as long as he did speaks of his strength to me." He turned back to face Allen and offered his hand. "Pleasant to meet you Allen." He stopped and looked down at his hand, remembering it had been on both the rat and the filth-covered ground. He retracted his hand and awkwardly wiped the palm on his tabard, bowing to Allen instead. "Apologies. I wish we could meet under better, cleaner circumstances than these."

Allen nodded, though he hadn't really registered what had been said. "You look completely different than in the picture my [i]Mač[/i] showed me of you. In the book you looked all old and scarred; your armour is the same though, and your... sword." Allen pronounced the word with some reverance, as his gaze shifted to the distinctive blade. "Is that the same one you first did the Aquila Absetzen with?" He was of course referring to an obscure parry allegedly developed by the man standing in front of him.

Lucian chuckled goodnaturedly, waving a hand dismissively towards the boy. "Ah, Evroult Thévenet. Father pardon that man's departed soul, alas so much of the content of his De Universo is false. To include his article on myself and my Order in Volume VII; the Aesernian Church and Heretical Sects," he explained. "And indeed," he said, gesturing to the wing-shaped crossguard of his sword, "I've had this blade about four years now. And I assume the 'Aquila Absetzen' refers to my duel with Merodach? Your [i]Mač[/i] is a knowledgeable man, to know of that battle. Was he with the Order then, perhaps?"

Before Allen could respond, several men appeared at the entryway of the alley, blocking any chance of exit.  All were dressed in the armour of Viarosan guardsmen except for the man at the head of the loose formation, who Lucian and Nima both recognized as the butcher that they had met earlier.  “There they are!” He jabbed a finger at the smouldering rat. “Caught trying to burn my shop to the ground, all for the honour of their eastern god!”  He turned to one of the guardsmen, his face twisting with disgust.  “You know how these people are with fire.  They can’t be allowed to run free; they’ll set the city ablaze!”

The guard drew his sword, prompting the rest of his men to do the same.  “They’re not going anywhere.”  He levelled his blade at Lucian. “For attempting to do harm against a good citizen of Viarosa, and for spitting in the face of the true gods, I am putting you all under arrest. Throw down your arms.”

Lucian stood his ground, glaring at the butcher. "I tell you, this once proud bastion of learning and culture has become a doomed by its own hand. Truly, I know not what I expected other than false piety and treachery," he said, cocking his head to the side. "I told you in your shop, the Easterner was severely wounded and in need of treatment, which thankfully I have provided when you were unwilling to obey the commandments of the Gods you invoke." He faced the guardsman and added, "I do not follow the Path of the Flame, but the moral law of my Father who is in Heaven. You would do well to be warned, that it is by neither my hand nor the armies of the East that this den of iniquity will be burned."

He took a deep breath, calmly letting it go. "I will go quietly, but spare the boy, here. He only just got here, and was not involved in the burning of that rodent there. Investigate the area, see that there is no property damage. Nima, we will not resist. Hither, then, and we will take our case to whomever shall be our judge."