[center][h3]An Oak in the Middle of the Ocean[/h3][/center]
[hr]

A grey wind buffeted Persius as he walked alone. The skies above were closed with pregnant clouds, and their offspring kept the grassy fields on either side of the road foggy and screened. The dirt of the road squelched under Persius’ boots, his mighty height and weight aiding in squeezing out droplets of last night's rain and soaking into his saturated boots. He could feel sores forming on the bottom of his feet, a creaking ache in his knees. The heft of his bronze hauberk and mighty sword (much too big for most) adding only to the downward pull of each labored step. 

Hanging on his belt and getting caught in the wind were four scalps tied by the hair. Their edges were crisp with dried skin, any gore long knocked clean -- and as crude as they were, they served a noble purpose, at least in the service of Persius. The slap of the brutal trophies against his thighs, the reanimation of them in the wind; all things related to them gave no comfort to Persius or vindication for taking them, save for one... that noble purpose. He grunted at the recent memory of why he took them, a decision made right after the death of his horse and loss of most of his supplies -- the start of his foot sores and knee creaks. After that run in with the previous owners of the scalps, he had decided that they could serve as a ward or warning to any potential and future would-be troublemakers -- and so far there had been none. Was it justified, did it work? Persius couldn’t say, but he did call forth five prayers every time the scalps slapped his leg -- one for each bandit and one for his own soul.  

The wear was not isolated on his limbs and soul, however, as with each step he loosened a pocket of hunger in his stomach -- knocking free angry bubbles and gurgles from his gut. Each snarl from his belly traveled up his spine hot and angry, giving him a strange itch in his muscles and pressuring a headache into the fore of his brain. His meaty left hand fell gingerly to his stomach, as if inspecting a wound. A deep frown formed on his bearded face -- his bronze skin wrinkling. A sixth prayer for each stomach gurgle; the walls of Ketrefa were in the distance -- along with his vindication from the journey and from hunger. 

At the gates of the famed city, his fluttering white cloak marked with the golden scallop shell of his order caught more attention than the scalps on his belt. A bored captain scowled at him from behind two poor looking men armed with spears. The shuffle of everyone else not picked from the inflow of people into the city drowned out most of the unpleasant whispers, but not the captains -- he made sure Persius heard his distaste.

“Do you want to damn the city?” The captain all but shouted, his voice bouncing between the stone pillars and impressive arches that held the walls of Ketrefa’s gatehouse together. The thickness of the defenses meant that where Persius was standing was cooled by perpetual shade, the soil freezing his soaked feet -- the only thing that kept him warm was his mutual hatred of the captain and subsequent prayer for humility. Persius swallowed his pride and hung his head.

“Please sir, I require entry.” Persius’ own voice was dusty and deep. It was the voice of a man who could likely pluck the captain from his spot and pop his head open with only a thumb and index finger. The captain, however, held his scowl.

“Your kind are no good. You can’t come in here.”

“Please, sir.”

“Let’s dispose of the ‘sir,' ' The captain narrowed his eyes, a wicked smile forming, “Let’s not pretend that we are even close to being on the same hierarchy. “You’re a beast, I’m a man.”

Persius kept his gaze down, and his prayers humming in his head -- quelling a rising flame. The captain’s smile grew, “Say beast? You want in, right?” Silence. “Wear your cloak inside out.”

The giant knight looked at the captain quizzical for a moment, bringing his fingers to loosen the toggle of his cloak, “If that is what-”

“And give me your sword.”

Persius froze, “But sir-”

“What did I say!?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you my weapon,” Persius let his fingers fall from his toggle, one brushing the belt that strapped his mighty blade to his back (for ease of travel).

“And I can’t let you in.”

That fire was rising again. Persius shook his head, “I’ll reverse my cloak, duck my head, not speak a word -- I just need to get in.”

“Not good enough.” The captain quickly spat, “I can’t let a beast run around with a weapon such as that.” Each word seemed to drip with poison, and each word set off a gong in Persius’ starving, exhausted, tired chest. His prayers began to slip into unintelligible fuzz. He gaped wordlessly, letting out little puffs of air as he tried to find reason.

The captain sucked in a mocking breath, “What’s the matter [i]beast[/i]-”

KA-RACK! Persius’ right came swinging down like a hammer, knocking the captain so cleanly off his feet, his body froze rigid before he even hit the ground -- eyes rolled in the back of his head. The other two guards jumped at the strike, a hot breath steaming from Persius’ nostrils. “Entry.” The other two guards were as frozen as their unconscious and possibly deceased captain, allowing Persius to pay them with a hard stare, a flip of his cloak and a quick prayer as he marched inwards to the streets of the city. 

Winding streets and dizzying alleyways fell under his feet as crowds of people stepped aside and parted to give way. The initial unease from the gate spread like a plague through the anxious and busy citizens of the city. Worried glances cast at his weapons, at the strange cloak, at the very foreign essence within him that somehow marked him as an outsider to these people milling about behind their walls. Ever so often he caught the glare of a patrol, relentless spears-for-hire who trailed after him almost as if expecting him to make trouble for himself. Those same patrols were shaking down market stalls, integrating with the populace, or just lazing on street corners. All the while, Persius bore witness to street brawls, screaming, and general disarray on his journey through the giant city. Ketrefa had little left of honor, though it seemed such had not yet caught up with its citizens.

Such became even clearer when he took a turn along the street and found himself walking through thinner and thinner crowds. The bustle and life clung to his back, fading into the background with each step, and Persius found himself inside the eye of the storm - a lull in the anthill that was Ketrefa. 

It wasn’t so much the chill in the air as much as the chill in the people that made Persius pull his cloak tighter around him. His nose was wrinkled at the smell of the inner city, and his thoughts were wondering if any of his brothers and sisters of the faith could really be found in such a place. Slowly his eyes drifted over the dirty and ragged people he passed -- neglected children, drunken oafs, whoring women. He felt a pin of sadness, topped with a desire of justice for these people, but all he could really do for them was hope.

People would look, turn, and leave; save for one set of eyes -- for a while at least. Behind a rotting barral a skinny looking man wearing a soiled yellow scarf was staring hard at Persius, enough to make the massive man stop and turn to stare back. The pair held their gaze for a while before the man with the scarf slowly turned away and slipped into an alleyway. Persius let out a huff of air from his nostrils, dismissing the man, and continued on his walk. 

Finally the winding back alleys and rotting roads led to a forgotten square of sorts. It wasn’t clear if it was made purposely or if a by-product of poorly planned buildings and misused market stands, but Persius found himself in it. There wasn’t much hawking, the general feel of the square being as wallowing as the rest of this forsaken district. A few more steps brought him before what must once have been a majestic shrine - a centrepiece of the square as forgotten as the rest. With stonework and copper embellishments wrapped in delicate spirals to honor the Goddess of Flame, it must have been a sight to behold in its heyday. Now it was covered with dried paint, dye, and refuse. Someone had gone to great lengths to deface as much of this ancient monument as they could, with arcane symbols of swirls in dizzying patterns, crude pictograms of horns and debauchery, and random defilement of paint and dirt covering most - if not all - of this once proud shrine to one of the highlands five main deities. Persius shot out a breath from his nostrils, be it mixed with disgust or amusement.

The longer Persius had to take in his surroundings, the more he noticed this defacement in the rest of the squalid square. On walls, above doors, wherever they might fit many of the symbols present on the shrine reappeared. The harder he looked, the more he found - old and new alike. A clatter of wood and metal brought his attention further down the forlorn district; a small line of ragged peasants stood lined up at a sturdier market stall in the midst of the largest street. The stall - complete with a regal awning of red and gold, looked freshly out of place in a derelict area like this. Each of the peasant’s approached in an orderly manner, receiving a bowl from a dark-haired woman in finery befitting her stall, and bowing their head deeply. From afar, it looked almost like a religious procession.

Persius remembered his own stomach at the sight -- the burn of an empty gut swirling back. Swallowing what pride he had crumbs of, he bowed his head deeply and found the end of the line. Immediately a fuzz entered his head and he wasn’t too sure what he was expecting -- to find food, or to find direction to food that wouldn’t be taken away from another hungry mouth... perhaps the latter -- only he was just as broke as those around him. He let his thoughts swim unconcluded as he walked with the procession. The line proved longer than it had looked from afar - or perhaps that was simply his stomach talking - and it moved at a slow pace, many of the people ahead being afforded a great deal of time to speak before receiving their gift and moving out of the line for another to take their place.

Finally, when only one remained ahead of him, the scent of stew broke it’s way through muck and filth to tempt his nostrils with a promise of release from hunger. The commoner ahead of Persius greeted the woman humbly, but by name - Mira - and they spoke in a calm and graceful tone about the man’s family, a possible chance for work, and future prospects of the city and the district. Even from the half-conversation Persius caught, it was clear there was some kinship at play. Eventually, the peasant bowed even further, and the woman spoke a last time. The man repeated the phrase, “Praise the Goddess, and her eternal love,” and shifted out of the line to file away between debris and an entryway to living spaces some ten paces away, leaving space to be filled between Persius and the woman. At last, he had his chance at food, or at least, direction. “Approach, please.” the dark-haired woman said with a soft tone of voice.

Persius shuffled forward, the sudden slap of a scalp prompting him to pull his cloak over his belt in an attempt to appear less violent. He kept his head bowed and his vision low, clearing his dust coated throat with a “Greetings, Sister.” 

There was a charged pause of silence; not a long one, but enough for Persius to know her eyes roamed over him and his apparel without needing to look up. “Please, call me Mira, friend,” the woman returned to break the silence, with no discernible contempt in her voice. “We are all equals before the Goddess.” Her feet fidgeted and shifted under her dress, lilting her pose on the small box she stood on. “Have I seen you here before? I thought I knew everyone, by now.”

“No. No, you see I am a traveler from Yalin.” He lifted his face to meet hers, “and I don’t want to deprive those behind me of a meal, but I am afraid I am as ragged. If you would know where I could find another meal elsewhere, or perhaps where I may find any brothers or sisters of the Golden Light.” He held out empty palms in gesture with his story.

He found her watching him with big, brown eyes and a graceful smile befitting her station as a sanctuary of the filth that had been the rest of Ketrefa. She lifted her own hand demurely to gesture down the line. “You may not be from here, traveler, but you are no less entitled to a full stomach and a happy life than any other. The Goddess sees and cares for all, and expects only a true heart in return.” Mira smiled at him with a comely expression, then twisted to gesture behind her stall, where three large cauldrons and a fair few modestly dressed - but nevertheless  clean - men and women toiled to prepare more food. “The Golden Light I do not know,” she finally professed as she looked back to Persius, though remained as warm and welcoming as before. “Though I do not doubt my husband or cousin would. They are far more knowledgeable than I. But first,” Mira turned, and one of the others raised a bowl from the side in offering. The woman grasped the bowl gently, and simply turned to offer it to Persius. “Eat. Praise the Goddess, friend, and her eternal love.”

“An act of charity is not forgotten, Sist- Mira,” Persius bowed his head again and put his fingers around the bowl, “A prayer for this food and for your Goddess, may an emissary she be.” He looked back up and hesitated a moment, as if asking a question -- a slow pull of the bowl towards himself. Mira simply smiled and relinquished the bowl to him without contest or comment, the stone in Persius’ stomach fading into relief. It took him the rest of his will to not devour the bowl like the starved animal he felt he was right then and there -- opting instead to bow out of line, a sly finger dipped in the mush to give himself a taste. 

Only when his back was finally to the others did he bite the tip of his glove and rip it off -- using his palm to shovel the gruel into his mouth. Hopes that his shoulders veiled his actions faded into hindsight as his primal hunger took over his mind, blank and starving. It wasn’t until his teeth accidentally bit deep into the wooden edge of the bowl did he realize he had finished. A sizable burp expanded his cheeks. “Praise be, so says.” He exhaled. As the procession continued behind him in relative peace still, it appeared the only witness had been the particularly crude mural of a horned woman on the wall of the domicile in front of him. Persius gave the mural a nod, turning to return the defiled bowl.

Mira seemed deep in an affectionate discussion with an older woman at the head of the line, though after a few moments of scrutiny he located a table with an assortment of poorly stacked bowls - the telltale mark of a place to return your kitchenware. There wasn’t much to do but skim along the side of the stall to place his own among the others. About to perform this minor gratitude, a hand slammed down on his shoulder with enough power to halt any warrior in their tracks. Persius was no exception, a cringe stiffening his back and he jumped to attention. His eyes widened as they darted back and forth in search of the source, a vision of the massacre of Yalin filming over his sight. The shock and vision faded and he was met with the gaze of a young man, handsome in that way that suggested he had never seen combat and had servants looking after him, a dark pool of blood was pouring out of his mouth -- Persius blinked -- the blood was gone. The man smiled at him with the same oblivious and welcoming heat that Mira had. “Didn’t mean to scare you, there!” he offered with a confident and friendly breath. “Are you new here, friend?”

Sucking in a shaky breath and finding his footing, Persius nodded. Grit returned to his voice and he faced the man squarely, “I am in search of the brothers and sisters of the Golden Light who reside in the city, do you know of them?”

The man continued to smile as his gaze wandered down over Persius, the same sort of pause he had experienced before. He drew his hand away from his shoulder, only to clap his arm twice and squeeze it before chuckling. “Ah, the Golden Light! I have heard of them, yes,” He proffered with a flippant tone. “Are you kindred of theirs? You have a rugged look to you, friend.”

Persius couldn’t help a smile, his eyes slightly wet. What energy he had lost seemed to seep back into his cold limbs, “Where are they?” He didn’t mean to brush away the questions, so he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but where are they?” 

The man grew sadder in his smile, his eyes gliding down over Persius again. At last he retracted his hand. “Alas, this I cannot say without first looking into it. Our wondrous city is quite the sprawl, my friend.” Almost if he expected to be able to interrupt, he paused for a few moments before continuing. “But worry not, yes? My wife may be the generous one, but I am not without mercy myself. Eh?” He lashed out with a gentle tap of Persius' shoulder again, brimming with confidence.

Persius winced, “I understand.” He rubbed a hand over where the man had touched him and took a step back, “I must find a place to await news, then. I fear my time in this city is already on borrowed time.”

    “Ah, no!” He called out. “You misunderstand me, friend. Hah! The perils of miscommunication, I fear. I am saying I will help you! I am an Akellos noble, there is nothing we cannot find out with some jostling and favours, yes? So I can offer you a trade, perhaps.”

    “Trade?” Persius cocked his head, “What sort?” 

    The man grinned back at him with a knowing, but friendly, smile. “Well. Quite a simple trade, as a matter of fact. You are a rugged man, that much is clear. We are but humble servants of the Goddess. Not all places in Ketrefa are as calm as these. Help us, and we help you. Simple, no?”

    “I’m not sure if causing trouble in a city where I am hardly wanted would do either of us much good,” Persius countered, but the man was already shaking his head.

    “Please! It is not trouble, it is for the safety of me and mine. We shall feed, house, and,” he tugged ever so slightly on his smile, “...bathe you, and I will personally find your kin for you. In return, you help kind servants of the Goddess give some love back to the city and her hopefuls. We must always pay what we receive forward, do you not agree, my friend?” The man leant over towards the table, adjusting the precarious yet small tower of bowls.

Silence stood between the two for an uncomfortable amount of time before a grunt came from Persius. The mighty man reached behind him and untangled his scabbard from his back. With a metallic thud he let the sharpened bar of metal that was his blade drive into the ground, marking a boundary between the two. Looking over the weapon, Persius held out the scalps in one hand, the other on the pommel of the sword, "Let me say now that all the blood I spill, all the bones I will break; all the fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters I will slaughter will be laid at your feet. If you want this on your hands, so be it, but know that you and your Goddess will hold the consequences. I do not take joy in giving a curse in exchange for a blessing like the one you had shown me, but that is what you are asking. If this is what you truly desire in return." Persius shook the scalps, asking the man to take them from him, "Then I will do it in innocence."

The man was visibly taken aback by the scalps, but still put on the best smile he could muster. With a pause of his own, he eventually extended his hand to take the offered ‘gift’ and accept his verbal curse. “Let us hope that it does not come to that, yes?” He offered with another attempt at a winning smile. “When we are done here, tell Yesua back there-” he twisted on the spot to point at a black-haired man in modest clothes, stirring a cauldron. “That Kalet sent you to help with tomorrow’s service. He will offer you whatever you need. After work you come back to me at our home, and hopefully I shall have good news for you.”

"Where do you live?" Persius was wiping his hands against his cloak, eyes on Yesua. He can't say he liked the sound of any of this, but he also can't say he has liked much as of late anyways. Yesua seemed to cut out of sturdier stock than most of these preened and well-dressed cooks, giving the impression of a man as much out of place as Persius himself was among the ragged masses. Still, he seemed content to be working the cauldron, smiling jovially at his comrades.

In front of Persius, the young man chuckled and reached forward to give his arm a gentle and brief touch -- the brush making Persius’ skin twitch even well hidden under his armor. “Do not worry yourself, yes? Yesua will show you all you need to know. If you get lost, my friend, you can simply ask for House Akellos. Our fame in Ketrefa stretches many generations back, you cannot lose track of us!” He smiled warmly, giving an ample nod in the same motion as he retracted his hand. 

“Very well,” Persius took a step out of reach, “Goodness within you, Kalet... I think I’ll speak to Yesua right away.”

Kalet simply nodded. With a final smile, he stepped aside and returned to the bowls, allowing Persius the freedom that came with not having eyes on his every move. Openly at least; he certainly still felt like they were all keenly aware of his presence -- but in their defense... as small as it may be... he himself was having trouble remembering what it was like before paranoia took over his mind. 

“Yesua?” He felt his voice leave him before he was even aware he was speaking. He felt slightly foolish addressing the man so directly, especially upon realizing he still had his weapon out. Slowly he tucked it behind him, “Kalet had sent me your way.”

The man gave a gruff grunt as he released his ladle, which was quickly snapped up by his comrade at the cauldron, and looked up at Persius. In another life, he could’ve been out there, fighting battles of his own. Yesua nodded slowly and brushed a hand through his thick but groomed beard. “Excellent, excellent. I’m glad he’s taking the Narrowtown issue seriously. You got a name?”

“Persius of Yalin.” ‘

“Well, Persius of Yalin,” the man grunted out as a growing warmth spread on his features. Eventually, he too smiled like the others had, welcoming and without judgement. “Grab a few bowls and let’s finish this service. After that, I’ll show you to our quarters.”

[hr]

The promise of lodgings turned out to be true; a modest bedroom in a family house a fair distance away from the district he’d first met all of them. Everything was laid out within an hour of his arrival. Fresh clothes - almost identical to what Yesua and the other workers had worn -  more food, a small tub to climb into and get clean. Yesua had made himself scarce after sending him to his room, giving Persius only basic directions about when and where to meet up in the morning. There had been no real room for questions, and by the time Persius was situated in his new room, the bearded man was gone for the evening. 

Persius was not left alone for long, however. Yesua’s presence was rapidly replaced by a comely young woman, with soft features that seemed to dust with a blush simply by looking in Persius' general direction. Still, she smiled with the same warmth that Kalet and Mira had, and when she swept across the small room to direct Persius towards the tub, she touched his arm with the same exploratory squeeze that Kalet had. Again a cringe chilled over his skin, the great man wincing. This time, however, he gently removed her hand off his mailed arm and offered her a simple nod for explanation.

The woman respected his boundaries only in the most technical sense, insistently remaining in the room to help him bathe. Eventually, when words were finally the last solution, she spoke a simple utterance. "Allow me to show you the love of the Goddess."

Persius stared at her for a long time, his hands tangled in the straps of his armor. With a loud clang, his hauberk and cloak fell to the ground, an inconspicious pouch tied to his belt. His muddied once white shirt came next, then his bries. Finally the man stood bare, his body mottled with grotesque blue lesions and black bruises from recent slaughters. He cleared his throat and gave a slow nod, "Fine..." Taking a few steps forward he thrusted his laundry into her arms, "But be careful with them, I'm afraid they are more torn than myself from the journey." She accepted his laundry with a considerable amount of confusion. Confusion turned to indignance, even frustration, and for just a moment the facade of a pleasant and shy attendant fell away. The woman caught herself in the act, and offered Persius a warm smile and a nod soon after, leaving the room with his clothes. The door slammed shut, and for the first time in a long time, a giddy smile was plastered on Persius' face.

No one came to bother him again that night, finally allowing the traveler some rest. He found himself scrubbing quickly in the bath, so fast the water didn't have time to turn mild - all for his grand plan that he had been cooking up since he first saw the room.

Hopping out and tightening a towel around himself, he immediately leapt into the bed -- asleep before his head hit the pillow.


[hr]


Narrowtown was a descriptive name in every possible way. Doubtfully an actual district of the city, it seemed to be a winding set of alleyways crisscrossing the back ways of a few larger districts in a dizzying pattern. Glassless windows opened straight out onto the street as much as doors and arches, and in many places the opposite sides of the alley stretched so close to each other that any well-built man would struggle to press through; likewise, it wasn’t hard to imagine people climbing into each other's buildings from open windows that were a mere arm’s length apart. This cramped space apparently did not dissuade people from living here, nor did it have any fewer citizens lounging and hawking wares than any other set of streets Persius had experienced in Ketrefa. It was a maddening experience - a veritable sea of unwashed masses squirming and fighting amongst each other in a stink Persius only noticed because of the cleanliness that had been forced on him the night before.

Led by Yesua, a small expedition of hopefuls from the day before had set up camp along the broadest of these alleyways, a single cauldron and enough bowls to feed but a considerable minority of the populace, even with the inclusion of bread. It’d naturally be all but impossible to build the stall from yesterday here, but the alternative still seemed like folly at best. Persius had been given the task of lugging ingredients, which proved no tougher than an honest day’s training in Yalin. Finally rid of the last weight in the throes of preparation, Yesua finally deigned to speak to him. “Alright, Persius of Yalin. Any of them try to get what ain’t theirs, or hurt any of us, we’re relying on you.”

Persius sniffed, regretting it instantly but replying with a resigned sigh. He had hoped they would have forgotten his violent abilities and let him simply ladle soup for a day. Tucking a cheek he nodded, "If that's what you want, then by all means."

That seemed to be all they needed. A few moments of preparation followed as the cooking began, and a nearby resident dragged out planks and barrels to set up a makeshift table for Yesua and a second man to stand behind. They gestured for Persius to take up a position at the tableside, and it seemed two of the men who came along busied themselves entirely by taking up guard posts of their own at the back of the procession. 

Soon enough, the scent of dirt and filth in the alley was being pushed aside by the promising aroma of warm food. It was enough to stir the nearby crowd into slow action, a few who had been eyeing the stand ducking into their homes before reappearing to weave through the crowd. Others climbed straight out of windows as word began to spread, and within half-an-hour of cooking beginning in earnest, Narrowtown had become an anthill of activity. These commoners, however, did not have the grace or respect of their peers from yesterday. The attempt to form a line was haphazard at best, and those foolish enough to follow the leader were quickly swallowed by the crowd of interested citizens. Within minutes, men and women alike were pressing up against the table, and against Persius -- sending a strange heat to his belly and a coldness to his head. It only took another few moments before the first man tried to squeeze past him on the side, only dissuaded when Persius failed to budge, a twitch forming in his eye. Clamoring voices overpowered each other, all urging Yesua and the other man to heed them first. The sounds seemed to saturate in Persius’ ears, the thud of the wooden bowls turning to clangs of metal -- the shouts for food... just plain screams. 

It swiftly became apparent that today's service was nothing like the one Persius had personally experienced. Not only was there disorganized chaos among the populace, but the process had its own rules. A ragged man in the masses raised his hand into the sky, showcasing some sort of basic medallion in the shape of a heart with six horns around it. Yesua pointed at him, and he forced his way forward, assisted by the few in the crowd who wanted some semblance of order. Reaching the front, he received a portion of bread and made himself scarce just as quickly. This pattern repeated again a while later, another person battling their way through the crowd to show off the same insignia and receive their share of bread, all the while an increasingly indignant mass of people argued and begged for Yesua's attention, rattled the table by pushing each other, and tugged at Persius’ cloak, causing Persius’ heartbeat to rapidly increase seemingly against his will. Another few moments and a third person came out of the woodwork with a medallion and received their bread.

Then the pattern changed. A woman in dark rags elbowed her way to the front of the table, forced to fight for her right at the front. A shining piece of metal clattered onto the wooden planks - a polished and embellished symbol of the Sun Mother. Yesua gripped the piece, investigated it briefly and then nodded to the other man. The woman received a bowl of stew, and a heart medallion, before she vanished back into the crowd. The symbol of Oraelia vanished into a sack by Yesua's side. After another few bread rations being passed out to commoners appearing in the crowd with medallions, another artifact clattered onto the table. A well-tended scepter, unmistakably embellished with insignias honoring Tekret. That too vanished into the sack in exchange for a bowl of stew and a medallion, confirming the pattern that was to be today's service of food. Kindness and love seemed considerably more absent here, to the point that it barely even resembled what Mira had offered the hopeful on the day before. 

The whole scene seemed to blur to Persius, his fingers tightening around the grip of his weapon -- his weapon, he couldn’t remember when he had drawn it. The shoving, the screaming, the clash of metal. Persius’ chest began to heave with deep laboured breaths. His eyes darted between the faces of the crowd -- their features melting into strange shadows. He felt like their empty faces were staring at him, how and why, he didn’t know but they were looking right at him -- they all were. The knight’s fingers went numb, his right arm shaking. At that moment a man bumped into him and a sharp blanket of needles and pins washed over Persius. His heart thumped heavy against his ribcage and he threw out a massive arm -- slamming the intruder backwards. “Back!” Persius’ barked with a shaking rage. Hot air was huffing out of his nostrils -- people starting to give him space as he leveled his weapon between himself and the crowd. They all looked familiar; a sweat ringed Persius’ head, they all looked like the enemy.

 From his side he heard the distant gurgle of Yesua’s voice, as if Persius’ was underwater, “Yeah, stay calm, you dogs! There’s food for everyone who does the work of the Goddess!” It was a hollow reaffirmation of his own rage, but other than that, Persius was alone in a sea of madness. The world seemed to spin, Persius dropping instinctually into a low guard, when something caught his eye. 

It glimmered briefly in the sun, just enough to pull Persius a little ways back to shore. It was a brass scallop shell being held up by a hungry man. Persius’ brow knitted, the blood flowed back into his fingers and with adrenaline and purpose, he began a powerful walk into the crowd. His body knocked away the hungry initially, then it was their own fear. His eyes were narrow on the pendant -- pointing a gloved hand, “Where did you get that!” He shouted, more people leaping out of his way. “Where did you get that?”

The man in question was shaking, eyes wide as the monster of a man came stomping towards him. A hand from one of the cultists came out to stop Persius, maybe even offer a reassuring squeeze but the knight batted it away with a heavy hand. Finally the hungry man was in front of Persius, knees bent and hands raised. Between the two was the pendant. Persius plucked it from the man, “Where did you get this?” He growled.

“I found it-”

Persius’ arm slammed into the man like a metal bar, smashing him into the soup table -- bowls spilling and clattering everywhere as the whole ensemble tipped from the weight. Persius kept the man pinned. “Where...?” The voice was low and gravely, but all the man could muster up was a hoarse cough. Adding more weight into Persius’ pinning arm, the hungry man’s back began to creak and pop. “Where!?”

“Persius,” a distant voice cut in, the growl of Yesua at his most frustrated thus far. “Persius! Not on the table! Someone get this lout in line, already.” Around him, much of the panicked crowd had begun to press back, but they were swiftly replaced by the cooks and lookouts that Yesua counted among his compatriots. Hands reached out for Persius from all sides. 

Spinning to meet the hands, Persius’ felt his head swirl. He could hear the screams. He gritted his teeth, putting his weapon between him and the cooks. A stiff tension rose as both parties processed. Some people in the crowd were crying, the man on the table was coughing madly -- and Persius’ own heartbeat wracked in his head. 

“Stand down dogs of Neiya,” The voice wasn’t Persius’. The crowd gasped, Persius dizzily spinning again to find the owner of the voice. Behind the cooks, threading through the crowd, even appearing behind the table -- men and women in yellow scarfs. They greatly outnumbered the cooks -- the crowd showcasing obedience to them. At the head of the group was a ratty looking man, who the burgers and beggars both looked at with a sense of respect and fear.

The ratty man spoke again, a lopsided smile on his face, “This isn’t your turf.” He parted his long yellow beige coat to showcase a shiny blade, but it was the brass scallop shell hanging under his neck that caught Persius’ eyes. With a nod from the gang leader, three other scarf wearing members began to push stubborn stew stirrers away from the table and to inspect the pots -- one pilfering the sack of tokens.

“Where did you-” Persius pointed at the ratty gang leader.

“So says, Brotha.” 

The words filled Persius with a cathartic glow -- steeling his expression and refocusing on the cultists with a new burn. The leader tilted his head, eyes flashing over the tense cultists as if surprised to still be seeing them, "Lovewhores, you deaf? I said beat it.. As in leave, before I send you back to the Holy Cunt myself."

Outnumbered and outmatched, the cooks and helpers didn’t appear all that enthused to do anything but remain, guarded and unsure. Yesua, initially overwhelmed by the chaos unfolding all around him, turned towards the table - his gaze immediately fixating on the sack now firmly out of his reach. When the situation finally seemed to entirely dawn on him, his face twisted into one of almost manic anger. “You have committed a grave mistake today,” he pressed out between gritted teeth, fist balling up despite the odds. One of the cooks touched at his shoulder, and it seemed to be enough to at least bring some sense into him. Yesua glowered at both the leader of the scarved reinforcements, and at Persius, before he finally began to walk away, inspiring the other cultists to finally move. Like that, the food procession was officially over with, and the cooks began to scatter in different directions through Narrowtown.

"I commit a grave mistake everyday," The Leader turned to Persius' the smile of a predator still on his lips.

"Best way to learn grave lessons," Persius found his breath, the comfort of Brotherhood leaking in. "I cannot thank you enough... I've spent a terrible forty eight hours looking for you all."

"Please," The leader kept his confident smile, one a lot more genuine than any Persius had seen in a few days. The leader gestured for Persius to follow, "I'm sure you have a lot to tell me."

"That is no exaggeration, Brother." Persius clutched at a small pouch hidden on his belt. The leader cocked his head.

"Call me Justinian."

[hr]

[Hider=Summary]
Persius, one of the surviving men from Yalin, travels north and reaches Ketrefa to continue the search for other members of his order. The Walled City is not quite so welcoming as he had hoped, however, and the guards do their best to deprive him of all honor and protection. After some aggressive negotiations, Persius finally enters Ketrefa to continue his journey. The experience is a dizzying and unpleasant experience of crowds and labyrinthine architecture.

Persius eventually finds himself in the Court of Flames after an encounter with a yellow-scarfed beggar, which has been thoroughly defaced with arcane symbols, refuse and images of the horned goddess, throwing the already decrepit district further into defilement. There he comes about a food service conducted by the Cult of the Horned Goddess - Mira and Kalet are still doling out food as a religious service to the hungry commoners. Persius swallows his pride and stands in line for a chance at food, and after a short interaction with Mira, is given the chance to eat something after his long journey. While he tries to return the bowl, Kalet scouts him out for work, and digs into his story and reason for being in Ketrefa. Persius fights with his inner demons. He hires Persius for another food service the next day in return for helping him find the Order of the Golden Light.

The Cult of the Horned Goddess offers him lodging and a bath, and do their best to make his stay more pleasant than he desires, and Persius manages to find some peace despite their best attempts.

The following day, Persius follows a group of cultists led by a man named Yesua into Narrowtown; a set of alleys and back streets rather than a district of it’s own, famed for being so narrow in places that people can climb across buildings through their windows. He stands guard while the Cult perform another version of their food service - in Narrowtown, people only receive food if they either have a cult medallion, or if they have religious artifacts to trade for one. Persius struggles to keep his memories of the slaughter of Yalin at bay in the massive crowd, and it eventually culminates in chaos as Persius spots a familiar artifact amongst those being pawned off.

The Cult try to get him under control, but out of the crowd and nooks and crannies of Narrowtown a whole band of yellow-scarfed individuals leap to his defense. They scare off Yesua and his cultist friends, with threats from both sides. Persius realizes that the band are actually part of his faith, and he is reunited with his allies, the leader of whom is named Justinian.


[/hider]

[hider=MP/DP]
Don’t be silly!
[/hider]

Predtige: cult of the horny goddess 9+5=14

Collaboration with Enzayne