[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/FerK0mX.jpg[/img][/center] [center] [sup][h1] [color=black]PILGRIMAGE OF A FORGOTTEN SOUL [/color] [color=white]PILGRIMAGE OF A FORGOTTEN SOUL[/color] [/h1][/sup] [/center] Braska bows her head to the guard that judges her as she enters the heart of the crusade. She doesn't answer him, merely passing when he gives her permission to. Only Braska knows the stepping stones that have lead her to the doors of Zyon. For a few seconds, she stands still; blocking the way until people forcefully shove her aside. She doesn't mind much, eyes reflecting only the area she had just entered. High buildings, of a gorgeous design; the streets they surround protected from Egypt's sun by the shade of trees in so many shades of green, Braska wasn't sure she could name half of them. The grandiosity of it all, the sheer amount of gifted people walking together, made her feel small. There was much, yet, to learn and the fight, which she had hopefully considered almost over, hadn't even begun. Without guidance to follow, Braska let her feet take her wherever looked most curious at the moment. She had no money to spend at the market, but a kind stranger offered her a candied apple as she took her time perusing the stalls and the items they carried. There were various different trinkets that caught her eye, like that candle that sparked fireworks instead of a flame when lit, but the clothes on her back and the lamp attached to her waist were all she needed. A few books caught her attention, old tomes describing the enemies of mankind. A guide of sorts, it seemed, scribbled on and nearly falling apart; a few pages already seemed to be missing as well. It was bound in thick leather that had already seen better days, an intricate design carved into the front cover. “Interested, are ya?” The voluptuous woman behind the stall caught on to Braska’s interest like a hawk spots a rabbit. Her accent was thick. “It’s dated back to the First Crusade, ya see?” The woman tears the journal off Braska’s hand and opens it in such a lousy manner that the girl can’t help but wince. Meanwhile, the woman had already opened to one of the first pages and shoved it against Braska’s face. “That is Captain Montoya’s signature right there. This was his journal back then. Might prove useful for a small thing like yaself.” Braska didn’t care who it had belonged to but she had to admit the contents were enticing. [color=MediumAquamarine]“I’m sorry, I don’t have any money though.”[/color] In the blink of an eye, the woman’s entire attitude swerved 180 degrees south, frowning condescendingly at Braska. “[b]Ain’t no money, ain’t no business. Run along, girl, ya taking up room.[/b]” The woman’s boisterous voice called the attention of various surrounding people and Braska looked down at her feet with scorching cheeks. She wasn’t expecting such unkindness and it turned bitter even the sweet after taste of the candied apple. She quickly ran away from the market, rising her hood up to cover her red face. Somehow that old lady had an attitude more foul than any of the enemies or wounds Braska had faced in her life. Thankfully, a call from above gave her a breather, beckoning her to the castle. And, like a sheep, she followed the herd.