I gazed up at the great walls, but luck was not with me at that particular moment. The sun was in my eyes, and I missed a sight I would come to appreciate later on. It was a burden I had gotten used to. I had immeasurable skills, but the most dreadful luck. Well, perhaps not in games of chance, but often in life. Sigmar help me, it's true. A prime example is forthcoming. 

At Chamberlain Schulz's insistence and my gentle reminding, we set off through the open gates. The crowd parted around us, our soldiers elbowing any that got too close or could not flee quickly enough. It somewhat soured my attempts at looking congenial, though Hortiman paid little attention. He was positively gleeful at all the colorful people and the distinct architecture. The shops and homes were lovely, built with travertine and covered with stucco, and men and women of olive complexion and dark features waved and sashayed this way and that. A couple of duelists with swept mustaches watched us with a mild disdain, pipes in their mouths and long rapiers at their hips. 

We got quite the view of a few of the larger villas, and to my surprise and interest, I spotted various works of art adorning archways and sprinkled amongst larger columns, and I believe I even spied rescued and refurbished works of old Khemri, a conceit many of the more wealthy merchants were keen to own. As we crested a hill, making our way towards the bridge, I felt the spray of the sea on the air. I missed it, I realized with sudden clarity. It somehow reminded me of a home I never knew. 

I was at the head of the caravan, treating it more like a procession. The Cult of Sigmar admires strong leadership, and though I was in an advisory role, my current official was busying himself with saying hello to the crowd and asking our captain when he theorized dinner was, and so I marched ahead. I was swathed in a surcoat of black and warm red, wearing dark breeches and shoes fit for the road. In my hand was a staff with an iron, eight pointed star at its apex adorned in bronze to grant it a fiery quality.

As we passed a street adorned with the trappings of a festival, with spearmen in the livery of the triumerate, I saw a woman poking her head out from behind a column, one of the soldiers chatting her up. No, it looked like one of the many mercenaries or a condotiarii off-duty. She seemed to be paying him a mild, bemused amount of her attention, and she looked my way curiously. She was a woman I would grow quite familiar with soon, but at the moment I did not know her name. 

I am embarrassed to say my jaw hit the floor. 

Oh yes, I had seen many pretty women before, and truth be told her features were not too dissimilar to many of the ladies eyeing us with interest, though she was a tad more blessed than most in terms of proportions and her face was fit for a painting. But I had never seen a girl who mastered both beauty and grace the way she had. Don't ask me how I knew; perhaps it was the way she stood, or the lithe, subtle movements she made as she peered past the pillar at me. Maybe it was the intelligence that glittered in her eyes. I still wonder to this day. 

I gave her a handsome smile, and a subtle wink. I was very good at regaining my dignity and playing it cool in public, despite being flummoxed. I had thought not only had I saved face, but I had caught her interest as she had caught mine. 

Of course, that was when Hortiman Schulz bumbled into me from behind. He was a short man but his form was as round as an ale barrel. He had been too busy waving, and he rammed right into me from behind and sent my legs buckling, and I felt my soul leave my body as I hit the stone street in front of hundreds of eyes and that particularly lovely woman. 

"Gracious me, herr priest. Are you quite alright?" The fat man asked, laying atop me as if I were a couch he had deigned to lay upon. 

"Yes," I croaked. "Are you?" I didn't have the heart to yell at him, and truth be told, it took a lot to stoke my wrath. I just looked past the fringe of hair in my eyes and saw the woman chortling, and so I sighed, and once the good chamberlain had decided to roll off me, I got to my feet, dusted myself off, and walked forward as if nothing unbecoming had occurred, though I made certain not to look that woman's way again. Unfortunately for me, I would learn going to the meeting chamber and presenting myself before the ambitious Marco Telli was not an escape from her. 

It was only the beginning.