"I am certain his priests would assure me that Sigmar is everywhere," she responded ironically.

Emmaline sank gratefully onto one of the worn cushions. It had been a long and grueling day and her muscles felt like they were turning to water. Charmon still raged around her under the malign influence of the Chaos Moon and there was more than one scream or strange cry that carried to her ears alone. She knew that right now Araybian cults to the Dark Gods must be meeting and that strange and fell things might stalk the sandy wastes, but it seemed somehow less threatening without the tall ramparts of mighty forests closing in all around.

“Well, whatever your motives, I thank you,” she told the handsome stranger truthfully. Running through a strange city at night was an excellent way to get cornered and there was no guarantee she could have escaped the Satrap’s guards and while she might have used magic, she was less confident in her abilities after a year of disuse. Taking a plain knife from the top of a table she cut the grapefruit into four quarters, then sliced the half moon of pinkish red flesh away from one section and began popping sections into her mouth.

“My name is Emmaline Elspeth Von Morganstern,” she told her rescuer, the Arabic preamble clashing with the guttural consonants the Imperial name. She ignored his comment about all Imperials having thick skulls, particularly as the Imperial sterotype of all Araybians being unwashed thieves was being demonstrated at this very moment. During her apprenticeship she had seen the tools of this particular trade often enough to recognize them

The fruit was tart and delicious and the citrus burned her sinuses slightly. She finished one piece and began on the next, pondering whether there was any advantage into lying to her rescuer. Eventually she decided there was not.

“I was a slave to Emir Omar until this evening,” she admitted, wiping juice from her chin with the sleeve of her stolen garment.

“I killed him and fled his palace,” she went on, a slight smile crossing her lips at the feeling of his neck cracking beneath her silken garotte. She didn’t consider herself to be brave and tried to live her life by the maxim that she who fought and ran away, lived to run away another day, but a certain satisfaction was undeniable.