It would be remiss of me to begin this account without asserting my innocence. You no doubt know that my part of this expedition was not merely because of my fluency in the Tilean language or my short time at the university of Verezzo, but my alleged hand in the debacle concerning Father Bierschenk and his sham of a scheme. I would never be so callous as to be complicit in such a low-brow scheme as selling a faux artifact in the Altdorf Auction and finding a mark to perform the so-called Estalian-Prisoner’s Scam. ‘Sigmar’s Girdle’ does not even sound real.

But alas, I was suspected with absolutely no evidence. In fact, I am accused of having relations with the Countess Droessler the very same day, another alleged malfeasance of which there is no evidence, save my comment I apparently uttered before the arch-lector. The esteemed elder can barely hear, I simply do not see how he could have overheard my wishes to ‘ride her like a brettonian destrier’ but, it seems with two crimes at the same moment with, again, no evidence for either, saved my proverbial hide.

But enough of my past, needless to say I am quite happy with how things turned out, despite the perils on the road and what mayhem transpired in the ostentatiously palladian city-state of Remas. I recalled it as vividly as if it were yesterday.

The yawning gates of the Republic of Remas were as welcome a sight as a breath of air to a drowning man. Its three great walls enclosing the docks, the city, and even the lagoon were monuments to the genius of Leonardo De Miragliano. The gate, now bustling with rural tileans from Ciarascura to Catrazza, almost leaned over the expansive moat. Its ornate towers were made with an ingenious seven pointed star design, granting virtually no weak points in its defense, allowing interwoven fire from all angles and granting little purchase to any cannons attempting to topple the lofty spires.

“Magnificent,” The fat chamberlain breathed in gathered awe. Hortiman Schulz was a simple man blessed with good fortune. He wore a cap of the finest doeskin to hide his bald head, his impressive white beard covering all his lower face save his rosy cheeks, and his paunch was resplendently adorned with the finest satin coat and breeches. Upon his thick neck and the swell of his chest was a livery collar made of gilded steel, emblazoned at the end with a griffon that represented the greatest house in all the empire. Yes, Hortiman Schulz was an esteemed courtier to Orcbane, the Prince of Reikland, the illustrious ruler of our great empire, Karl Franz. How that occurred I still do not know, but evidently our sovereign trusted him a great deal. I found I trusted his earnestness, I suppose, but he was a bit slow on the uptake and a little bumbling in countenance. He practically bounced as he looked to myself and the grim captain Muller. “Isn’t it so?”

“I never tire of Tilean architecture,” I told him with a smile. Despite my lack of confidence in his abilities, he was a jovial man and hard to dislike. Muller merely grunted, eyeing the commonfolk passing through the gate with suspicion, almost scorn. I found Chamberlain Schulz was easy to sway, but Harold Muller was the living embodiment of the term “stubborn as a mule.” He did not trust easily, and I found he liked my company not at all. The twenty four reikland state troops under his command were fine men, now spread out as sentries overlooking our baggage train. They and I were on fine terms. I drank with them, joked with them, even prayed with them when asked, but their commander was a bit too conservative with his ideas of priesthood. He had heard of my alleged crimes and made certain I was under no pretenses on what he thought of the validity of my innocence.

“You have been here before, haven’t you herr Cran’Darrack?” He asked, and then realigned his phrasing. “I mean herr Priest.”
“No, but I was in a city much like this before my induction into the priesthood of our blessed lord Sigmar. Luckily I was able to procure a map when we passed through Monte Negro a week prior.”

“By gambling,” Muller growled disapprovingly.

I hide my grin heroically, providing a solemn, pious look upon my visage. “I simply made a deal with my brothers from the Fellowship of the Shroud. If holy men of different faiths cannot break bread and deal with one another on their terms, then I fear chaos truly has won.”

“Now don’t fight you two. Let us go in and meet with the princes!” The good chamberlain suggested, his simplicity sometimes perilously close to wisdom.

“Remember, they are the triumvirate of Remas.” I said guardedly, leaning down to give sincerity to my caution. “There are three of them, and we should gather our gifts to the front to be presented immediately. Do you have the scroll?”

“The scroll? Oh yes, yes.” Schulz said, reaching into his coat pocket and producing a roll of parchment with the imperial seal unbroken upon it. If I could have held it for him, I would have. But by Imperial law it was his burden to carry. No doubt I would still provide the brunt of the dialogue with whichever of the three rulers we happened to meet, whether by way of translation or by means of elucidation.

I was often given such tasks by my peers, it was almost second nature now. I had a smooth cadence to my voice that people enjoyed listening to, and my education provided me with a vocabulary most cannot match on the fly.

Ah yes, and I will add without shame that I am extremely attractive. It’s not a boast, merely a fact. I am tall and lean, fit but not bulky. My face is finely featured, and my dark tousled hair fashionably tied at the nape of my neck. I was blessed with dark eyes of blue and a sculpted nose of perfect proportion. Despite my fair skin, I look much unlike most of the heavily bearded stoutly built men of the empire. I don’t remember my childhood very well, but evidently I was taken into an orphanage in Marienburg after being found on the beach by a sailor. Upon my neck was a torque with a script of my name in crude riekspeil upon it. My colleagues believe I am from Albion, and I concur out of habit, but I could not tell you.

And now, a supposed son of Albion found himself standing at the breadth of the great city-state of Remas to broker a deal between the triumvirate and the Empire. I suppose if I thought about it, I could turn that into a joke. But it had been a long road and honestly, I just wanted a fucking drink.
@Penny

Dearest Ariadne,

That is an irritating way to begin a letter, as you are neither dear to me or actually named Ariadne. Still I acknowledge that I am in debt to you and that these letters form part of the payment that is owed. I shall attempt therefore to address you in the tone of a dutiful pupil, which, in my own way, I suppose I am.

I arrived at Remas a month ago, coming from Trantio with Lucio Telli, one of the younger cousins of the Triumvir. He is more vapid and empty headed than most men, interested only in hawking, hunting, and women. We are, I am afraid, a distant third in the equation, Lucio being much more interested in chasing stags than chasing does. The journey south was an unpleasant one, though we managed to avoid becoming entangled in the border disputes by hugging the coast, a region in which smuggling is so prevalent and control so uncertain that no one much bothers with it.

According to Lucio most of Remas' troops are in the south fighting against Verezzo, but I think it just as likely that he was embarrassed by his city's demonstrable lack of control and was making that up. By the time we reached the city we were all throughrouly sick of each other.

Lucio set out for his hunting lodge within less than a day in the city, having no doubt had the pleasure of telling his cousin that the mission to Trantio had been a failure and that peace had not broken out. Doubtless Marco, who is much less of an idiot than Lucio, never really intended it to and was simply looking to save face and get his dim witted cousin out of the city long enough that the economy might shudder with relief at his decreased dissipation of the public funds.

In Lucio's absence I was required to find my own quarters. Fortunately this was easily achieved as I was approached by one of the court artists on my first day in town who immediately declared that if I ever had need of him I need but call. Fabrio is his name, and he extolled at some length the virtues of my fine skin, my wavy chestnut hair, my flashing brown eyes. Probably he also appreciated my generous bosom and shapely bottom, but he was too refined to come right out and say it. Fabrio was more than willing to offer me lodging with him as one of his models, much to the irritation of his current model, a cattish thing who claimed to be from Sartosa but whose accent screams of a local village in a nasal and unpleasant way. And so I ensured a room for the cost of a few hours of posing for oils each week.

The court here is very corrupt in absolute terms but funnily enough this is somewhat less of the case in relative terms. There are, in effect, three courts, one for each Triumvir and as a matter of policy they agree on nothing, save the machinations of the other two must be stopped at any cost. Such mutual antipathy prevents the level of graft from growing too high, as at least two people are always willing to blow the whistle on anyone too obvious about sating his or her needs.

I had been busily making friends at court for several weeks, waiting for the Lucinni emissaries to arrive when the strangest thing happened. An Embassy from the unwashed potato eaters arrived ahead of the expected peace delegation. Quite the grim faced, bewhiskered bunch they looked too, all scowls and marching boots. I was on the walls to see them arrive and remarked on it. One of the hired swords beside me grunted. He mentioned having been to a place called Bonhoften where he had seen Imperials fight, and should not like to see that happen again. Given the normal swagger of a condotiarii around a pretty woman, I was inclined to believe him.

Speaking of pretty. There was on particularly striking man with them. Some kind of official I think, though of what sort or function I do not yet know. I will be sure to write further once I know more.

Your Dutiful Friend Daughter Ward Minion,
Camilla

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.

Court was a chaotic affair. The great hall was an impressive room in the Palace of the People on the hill of Palas. It's focal point was a large dias which held three identical thrones. Despite being identical in every way, the thrones were always a source of contention between the Triumvirs, who wrangled constantly over who would sit in the central throne on any given day. I was still snickering about the handsome Imperial's misfortune when I arrived. I had dressed quickly in one of the gowns Fabrio had provided me with, cream and red slashed silk with a handsome bustier of rich brown leather.

"Camilla you said you would sit for me!" Fabio complained as I hurried out.

"Later, later!" I called back, eager to be there when the delegation arrived. Access to the throne room was easy enough, the guards unwilling to turn away a well dressed woman. Afterall, there was no way for them to keep track of who was who in the various Trimvuir's retinues. I was bustling across the pillared hall when a handsome woman with dark eyes emerged from one of the side doors.

"You! Come here!" she called. I had not met Imelda Mondo before, but of course I knew her from various broadsheets posted around the city. She bore less resemblance to the dirty grafitti that depicted her in a variety of unlikely sexual positions. Several senior member of her faction stood around her, looking grim faced and determined.

"You came with Lucio yes?" she asked, surprising me with the fact she knew who I was. I dipped into a slight curtsey. Reman society imagined itself as more egalitarian than the rest of Tilea, and thus didn't require much in the way of obesiance.

"You will stand with me today," she declared and then hurried across the room, reaching the thrones a moment before Marco and his entourage entered the hall. No one actually swore, but there was a tense moment as Imelda took her seat ahead of her rival, favoring him with a patronizing smile.

"Do you know anything of the delegation we are to recieve?" Imelda asked. It took me a moment to realize the comment was directed at me. Judging from the look I was getting from Marco, this whole performance had been orchastrated to make him think I was an agent of Imelda's who had been spying on his cousin. That was fine, the more intrigue I had swiriling around me, the harder it would be for people to ignore me.

"I know they have a priest with them, a handsome one," I told her.

"Of what God?" Imelda asked. I wracked my brain trying to remember what I could of Imperial iconography.

"Sigmoor?" I suggested tentatively.

We left our carts of goods and the majority of our men within the 'bailey,' if one could conceivable call such a spacious and lavish courtyard that, within the Palace of the People. Many often applauded my oratory, but it was here where I was at my best, simultaneously treating with the high condotiarii of the palace, convincing my chamberlain on our next move, and allaying the fears of the captain while switching between Tilean and Imperial like a verbal gymnast.

To this day I couldn't tell you all that was said, it happened so quickly, but within minutes we were swiftly greeted and lead to the great hall by Duca Moretti, the oldest member of the council, and the man who had presided over the seats of the triumvirate twelve times in his forty odd years of service. It was actually quite an honor to be greeted by him, as he was quite well known across Tilea from his heroic exploits in his younger years and his achievements of state in his golden years. I wished to speak to him personally, but I would have time for that later. The Chamberlain and myself followed him through the corridors, flanked by two imperial greatswords I had known for a few years, Hans and Werner. We had gotten drunk together on more than one occasion, and I was fond of them.

I was glad they were by my side when the great doors made of cypress opened to the large hall beyond. I hadn't exactly expected a private affair, but there must have been three hundred court officials, courtiers, courtesans, and nobles in a rough crowd lining both sides, populating the pillars that held up the ceiling, adorned by an intricate mosaic of unrivaled beauty. It depicted Omilio Mondo, the last prince of Remas, defending the city before the hordes of araby. The fact the crusades launched against the men of the south were centuries apart from Mondo's rule was of little consequence. Before us, upon the dias, were the three triumverates watching with varying degrees of patience. On the left was Marco Telli, a short, slim man with dangerous eyes and a look of interest. On the right sat Imelda Mondo, a handsome woman with her dark hair tied high and full lips, who gazed between I and the chamberlain as if deciding which was better to use. In the center was Alfeo Romeo, a famed romantic but not without intelligence, if my quick scan revealed anything accurate about the colorfully dressed fellow.

"Vi presento il ciambellano Hortiman Schulz del grande impero del nord, mio ​​onorato triumverato." The Duca Moretti said with a bow, stepping aside so that we may step forward. It was a simple introduction, one anyone could recognize even if they did not speak tilean. A few seconds went by, and I bumped the chamberlain with my staff, eliciting a surprised 'oh!' from the dwarf-like man. A small ripple of chuckles flowed around the room, and I willed myself not to sigh. Reaching into his coat, he produced the scroll Karl Franz himself had granted him, breaking the seal. He sneezed and dropped the scroll, but managed to snatch it back up from the ground and unroll it before him.

"Greetings, honored friends of Remas. Your achievements are a marvel, known across the old world from mountain to coast. It is our hope we remain allies in these times of doubt and war, and we seek your assistance in keeping the Stretto Pass free of greenskins, and even worse, brettonians. We come here bearing gifts from the breadth of the Empire, to solidify the unity of our great states, and to ease the ailments of your people after a most horrible plague. One hundred thousand golden krowns, one hundred thousand pieces of silver, spices from caravans of far cathay, medicine for your sick, and three daggers forged of gromril, wrought by our staunch allies in the World's Edge Mountains to wear as badges of office and honor."

The chamberlain spoke the words to the best degree he could, but I translated in tilean before the crowd and admittedly spoke over him, using the smoothest cadence I had, which is quite something I am told. (I also admit to adding that bit about the brettonians) As the small speech turned to a close, I produced the daggers myself, opening a ornate wooden case interlaced with velvet. Some in the crowd gasped and many peered around to see the three long knives on display. Of course, they were sheathed, but their hilts were carved from wutroth, and the rare wood alone cost nearly as much as the gromril in the blades. In my studies I am told the dwarfs prize that tree above all others, and small groves of the endangered trees are tended by dwarfen gardeners with the utmost care.

"So, your emperor seeks to buy our favor?" Marco Telli asked as Alfeo Romeo bade me come closer so they might gaze at the daggers more closely. As I moved forward, their honored pikemen lowered their weapons at me. I understood, it was mere protocol. I eyed the gleaming spear-points for but a moment, unconcerned as a man could be. "Does he think we the people of Remas are so cheap?" His courtiers lifted their heads to peer down at me past their noses in assistance to their princely meal-ticket.

Alfeo laughed, though to my relief he was laughing at his fellow and not at myself. "You would not trust a dog if you trained it yourself, my illustrious Prince Marco. Emperor Franz has given us a great gift, and only to guard a pass that we already wish to keep safe! Is that not right, erm... are you an official, honored sir? You are not of us, but your accent is wonderful."

"He is a priest, and my, the rumors are true. If young men in the Empire look like you, I might move north when the year is up." Imelda added with a gleam in her eyes. "We thank you for the gifts. Prince Marco merely feels great grief for the suffering of our people. If I might ask, where did you learn to speak our tongue so well?"

I could not get a word in edgewise, my eyes rapidly moving between the three sovereigns as I became the object of discussion and not the very expensive daggers I held before them. I opened my mouth to speak, but on the last flick of my eyes I saw someone I really did not expect again. There, just beside the throne of Imelda Mondo, standing in a lovely dress that was enticingly low-cut, was the woman from the streets.

Why are you testing me? I asked Sigmar. This is important for your empire, after all. Am I not doing what you wish!?

"I spent some time at the University of Verezzo, my lords and lady. I am but a humble priest of my patron, Sigmar Heldenhammer, at your service for whatever you so desire." As I gave a bow, my eyes met the woman's, casting her a knowing look with the utterance of 'whatever you so desire.' I raised my head back up and smiled at the triumverate. " And if rumors have spread in the hour of my being here, what they say of Tilean tongues must be true." A chorus of giggles accompanied my statement, though I could tell Marco and his pets were not amused. I went back to business, scolding myself silently. "Would you allow our caravan to remain in your care for a short while to restock and rest from the long and weary road? My liege, the good chamberlain-" I gesticulated elaborately to Schulz behind me, who waved "-would wish to speak to your further on our ties of friendship, no doubt."

Thes Imperials had such fantastic names. Haughtyman Stilts? I ask you? This one spoke Tilean poorly, all guteral sounds and awkward glottal stops. It was much more the common Tilean sterotype of Imperials than the surpringly eloquent priest. I wondered why he had been apointed the ambassador, when he had a much better linquist to hand. Perhaps it was simply a matter of birth such accomadations were not unknown in Tilea. I had afterall returned from an embassy myself in which the Ambassador's chief qualification had been a burning need to get an embarassing relative out of the city.

"The people of Remas stand ready, as always, to defend both our own citizens and all Tilea from the depredations of both Greenskin and Brettonian alike," Alfeo Romeo replied, earning grins from many in the hall.

"We shall dispatch troops as soon as they become available, perhaps the White Shield company, or Orfeo's Pike," he suggested. Both Imelda and Marco immediately began to object strenously, citing reasons both creative and entirely immaterial to the problem. Neither of them wished their own condotiarii to be sent away from the city, thus weakening their position. Debate on the point raged for a few minutes before winding down.

"Is it agreed," Marco suggested, cutting through the debate, "that we may settle this matter once the Luccini arrive to conclude our treaty with Trantio? At that point we will be better able to dispatch troops freed up from the conflict." There was a slight pause as the other Triumvir's nodded. The court scribe took down the decision on a wax tablet, preperatory to being chisled on stone and presented to the people.

Imelda guestured me over to her with the crook of a finger.

"You are a courtesan yes?" she asked. I nodded my head.

"Camilla de la Trantio, Eminence," I introduced myself. She nodded, though clearly she didn't recognise my name.

"Well Camilla, it would be in my interest if one of the other Condottieri were sent on this Imperial errand," she whispered. I nodded understanding her position.

"You know which troops are loyal to me?" she asked.

"The Golden Bow and Orfeo's pike Eminence," I confirmed, having long ago made enquiries as to who served with who and under what terms. There were three other mercanry companies who might have secret understandings with Imelda, but it would have been impolite to suggest so in an open council chamber.

"Good, see that someone else is sent and I shall see you are properly rewarded," she told me before turning her attention to the next delgation presenting itself, a complaint about sub standard tile glazing. I nodded my head in understanding. It was a tall order but perhaps, with tact, it might be accomplished. I drifted away from the throne, looking for the Priest who had spoken so eloquently. Perhaps that was the place to start.

The 'royal' guards, if they could be granted such a title, had led myself and chamberlain schulz out of the throne room, though not from whence we came. Evidently we would be taken directly to our suites. They were not far, to my delight. Walking for weeks on end had given me a taste for luxury and relaxation. The corridors were spacious, with large archways that led to other wings of the great structure. One could tell where an exit was close, for those arches were framed by men with pikes and morion helms, pistols and sideswords at their hips. I saw different symbols emblazoned on their tabards, and while I appreciated that each guard likely had a different allegiance, I had no way of knowing to whom or to what outfit they belonged to. I likely needed to bribe a local in order to find out, but that was a worry for tomorrow.

The chamberlain was led into a moderately sized suite fit for a valued guest, connected to a bathing chamber with a well stocked larder and extensively furnished closet. I felt somewhat envious of him as he waved me away to take a nap, but when I was introduced to my own suite, to my surprise it was even more grand! I gave a suggestive whistle as I marveled at the vast chamber and the lush bed.

"Shallya's tits there's even a bar," I breathed, gazing at a counter on the left side of the room with glasses and bottles of rare vintages arrayed on racks. Behind me was an archway framed by large curtains that fed into balcony overlooking the central courtyard. For a moment, I was torn. No way was this truly meant for myself. I should go and tell them there was a misunderstanding, that the chamberlain was the more honored guest and I was just his humble servant. I knew the triumverate knew that as well, and yet the guards had escorted me here...

But then I thought, am I not entitled to a small taste of a lavish lifestyle after all of my hard work? All I needed to do was keep this a secret from Captain Muller and it would be commented on not at all. As I pondered this, I heard a woman's singsong voice filtering through the door that led to the chamber. I turned, staff still in my hand and attempting to give a serene look fit for my station when the same woman I had stumbled into, apparently thrice now, walked in.

"How did you...?" I asked, and then I realized that courtesans and other 'entertainment' might be allowed overnight. It wasn't yet late afternoon, but I curbed my question and instead placed the staff against the wall and approached her. She was even more sumptuous up close, though something told me she wasn't here for just pleasure. Her eyes were too curious for that.

"After embarrassing myself in the street, I didn't expect to see you again, much less in the courtroom. My master is asleep so I'm afraid you're stuck with just me." I said with faux lament, approaching her easily. When she gazed around the large room, I placed a finger to my lips and gave a wink.

"Ah, the Triumvur will be disappointed that the Ambassador will not be available to dine with her," I sighed, pleased to be able to get the credit for an invitation that need never be honored. I was not particularly loyal to Imelda, she was not as yet paying me, this was more along the lines of a job interview, but I was a professional and it seemed likely to be more profitable than posing for oil painting for an admittedly talented old perv.

"I will say you made quite the impression in the street," I agreed, perching on the edge of a desk and twirling a lock of hair around one finger.

"One might make a joke about it being bad form for ambassadors to lie down BEFORE they receive their bribes," I snickered.

"They tell me that you are a Warrior Priest," I continued, eager to prolong the conversation, my pretext for being here, and my possible access to the excellent wine which stocked the bar.

"We are told that the Priests of Sigmorr are all fiercesome warriors, is that true?" I continued, then laughed coquettishly.

"I am sorry, I have not introduced myself, I am Camilla de la Trantio," I told him, looking the handsome priest up and down appraisingly.

"I have not been told your name Senor Priest," I admitted.

I watched her with interest, silently marveling at her manner and how her beauty blossomed with every subtle movement, a smile playing on my face as I considered the graceful woman.

I think I might romance her.

I did not take the jab with offense. I have many faults, but if there is a virtue of mine beyond smooth talking, lying, and sex, it's that I rarely take things personally. It has made my rivals quite vexed that I'm virtually bullet-proof when it comes to barbs, and if I am ever knocked down, I bounce back and bounce back hard. I sauntered over to her, redirecting my steps subtly just before I reached her and leaned against the bar, snagging a wine bottle and uncorking it with three, practiced twists.

"Camilla de la Trantio, it is my absolute pleasure to meet you. I would take your hand and kiss it, but I'm not quite that charming." I admitted, and took a generous swill of the wine, before offering it to her. Once she took it, I made a show of reclining against the bar counter, my right elbow resting upon its top as my left was free to gesticulate when need be. I switched to speaking Tilean to introduce myself to her on equal terms. There's nothing like conversing in someone's mother tongue. "I am Kian Cran'Darak, Priest of Sigmar. I'm afraid I'm not one of the famed warrior priests, but we are all dangerous." I assured her with a glint in my eyes. It was not a boast. One had to be proficient in self defense if one was to travel the roads to proselytize or heal the sick, as I was quite good with the staff and with my hands. Of course, I refrained from informing her that my main strategy in times of conflict was usually to run if it was something altogether serious like a beastman or a bandit I couldn't negotiate with. I tried to keep my battles in a verbal arena.

"Let's keep that a secret," I said conspiratorially, placing a finger to my lips. I had a good eye for people, and I could tell if I tried to champion myself as some great warrior, this clever woman would see through it very quickly. "I've already made an impression here, as you've stated. Best people consider me intimidating as well as interesting."

It came to me then that perhaps Camilla could help me in more ways than one, and of course I could return the favor. I wanted to know the ins and outs of the vast villa without being tracked every moment by agents of the three triumverates, and while she told me of her association with them, something told me she wasn't sworn to their service quite as much as I was beholden to my lord Sigmar.

"I know we just met, but would you be interested in dinner? Just because the ambassador has seen fit to take a nap doesn't mean I'm not famished." She handed me the bottle back so that I might procure another swig, and my fingers brushed hers as I took the bottle. "I don't see anything else exciting happening tonight anyway, and I confess I have no idea where to get something to eat. Then we can come back here and enjoy the bar again."

Kian Cran'Darak didn't sound like much of an Imperial name to me, but then if they insisted on calling people Hollyman Von Strudeldorf who could be sure? I was on the verge of accepting his invitation to dinner when I heard a commotion outside. A moment later the door flew open and an angry looking man with a ramrod straight back and moustaches oiled to a point so fine they would probably have drawn blood. Guy Du Ponce was dressed in a silken tunic of green slashed with white, with red silk leggings and the pointed shoes that were currently the fashion. The Brettonian Ambassador drew a silken glove from his hand and tossed it to the ground, the soft fabric making rather less of an impact than he might have hoped for.

"I demand satisfaction!" he declared in barely intelligible Tilean. "My country and my king have been maligned and I shall not stand for it!"

I felt my stomach lurch, aware that I was bout to become party to a major diplomatic incident and Imelda was unlikely to vouch that I had been there on secret business for her. I gauged the Brettonian's mood and then bent down and picked up the glove, tucking it into the red cummerbund I was wearing. Guy's eyes bulged like a frog.

"I accept," I declared with a flourish. His eyes narrowed.

"The challenge is not meant for you ....signoritta," he sneered, making it clear signoritta wasn't the word he meant.

"Never the less it is accepted," I persisted, lifting my chin stubbornly.

"Knights of Brettonia do not fight trollops!" he snapped in exasperation, but I was ready for it and slapped him across the face with his own glove.

"So you are backing out of a challenge, that means I win?" I persisted. His face was beat red now and he glanced at Kian as though expecting some kind of help. Whatever he imagined wasn't forthcoming and the awkward seconds dragged on. With a hiss he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room.

"Pistols!" I called after him, then "No! Crossbows!" But the Knight had already vanished. I tapped his glove against my hand as I watched him go.

"Perhaps it is better that we eat outside of the palace tonight," I suggested.

"Good suggestion," I said absently, still trying to process what had just happened. Of course, it was just my luck that there was a Brettonian dignitary at court when I made the small jibe, and someone must have heard Schulz speech in reikspiel and mine in Tilean and had informed the man. That I could predict. However, I had never had a beautiful woman stand up for me before. Usually it was the opposite, and I found it quite intriguing.

Before we left, I suggested we change clothes. I was in my travel attire, and found my overly large closet could accommodate both men and woman searching for clothing to wear at court. I insisted we put on something more appropriate for an outing. For my part, I found dark, well pressed trousers, a white button down, and a fashionable silk jacket of midnight blue, like my eyes. I still carried my staff, however. A close observer from the procession earlier in the day might recognize it, but it was no guarantee and I used it for self defense, as well as a mark of my station if we are stopped at the gate and wishing to return.

Once Camilla donned her own apparel, we left my rooms and found ourselves stepping outside, going through a small, lesser used path through the gardens to reach the streets beyond the gates. The gardens were large and filled with foliage one would never see in the northern forests past the grey mountains. oxwood trees, Tilean cypress trees, laurel, yew, rosemary, and junipers, accompanied by a myriad of flowers from across the old world. I always appreciated natural beauty, and I marked the spot for later so I might come an enjoy it when I was less busy with a woman.

Camilla and I had just made it to the arch that led out of the garden when a giant stepped into view and blocked our path. Ok, I embellish. He wasn't a giant like in my native homeland. He was merely a large man, black bearded with oafish features and a barrel chest I nearly bumped into. In his belt was a pistol and an axe that I doubt I could wield even two handed.

"Excuse me, signor. The lady and I were merely going out to enjoy the night life," I assured him, hoping this was just a misunderstanding. I sighed when two other men appeared at our flanks. They weren't as large, but they were armed with sideswords and appraised us wearing grim faces. Sigmar, why do you test me so?

"You have insulted Marco Telli, the greatest of Reman princes, and made an enemy of Guy Du Ponce. I am here to rectify that and inform you such slights are not to be ignored in this city." He growled in Tilean. It was amazing how the language sounded so sensual when it came from Camilla yet so uncouth from this ugly ogre. I guided Camilla behind me, unwilling to not take responsibility for my own transgressions, as unfair as it was. "Come with us and beg your forgiveness before Prince Telli, and offer him your services during your stay here."

"And the girl?" I asked.

"We would take care of her. She would be in good hands." He said, smiling wickedly. I looked at Camilla, and then back at the large man. He saw me hesitate, and said: "I would take take this offer, if I were you."

"If you were me, you would be far better looking."

Camilla chortled, and the large man suddenly grabbed me by my jacket collar and fully lifted me a foot off the pebble-strewn garden floor. I had to open my big mouth, as usual, I thought. I should have looked for more potential exits beyond physical contact, but I do have somewhat of an ego. Anyway, so close were we now, I couldn't even get my staff in line to strike. I felt his hot, putrid breath billow over me and I almost retched. He glared at me, tightening his grip. "Wrong move, pretty man."

"I apologize. Sometimes I ge-" Midway through my fake apology, my head snapped forward. I felt more than heard a crunch as the big man's nose broke instantly. He grunted in surprise and pain, loosening his grip on me. I kneed him in the groin and he dropped me entirely. Landing nimbly, I spun my staff in two hands and stabbed the butt end of the staff into his stomach, doubling him over. In the same fluid movement, I redirected my staff to fly up and over and crash down onto the back of the man's head. He simply hadn't the breath or the time to defend himself, and luckily for me, the other two men were a bit too stunned their big friend had been dispatched in a matter of seconds to do anything meaningful in that short span of time. I used this lull in the potential battle to requisition the large tilean's pistol, cock the hammer and aim it in the direction of the two bravos.

"Well gentlemen, I'm certain you feel this is quite awkward for you. You have two choices. One, drop your swords and run, or two, fight and I promise by the light of Sigmar I will send you to hell." I told them, and they could hear it in my voice that I meant it. My casual manner had fled me, and I admit, I was fully prepared to end their lives.

"You only have one shot, signor." One reasoned after a heavy pause, gauging the distance between he and I with his eyes.

"You are right. I'll simply shoot the first one to step forward, and then I will duel the next one for the safety of my lady friend here. It would be rather poetic, wouldn't you say?" I let the question hang in the air, and behind me I heard a soft groan on the ground. I shoved my foot back, smacking the big one's head into the pebbles to keep him down. The two swordsmen were paused by both fear and pragmatism. Sure, perhaps one would survive and succeed, and sure, perhaps the pistol ball would not end one of their lives, or perhaps the pistol was not even loaded. But I could tell, after they weighed the options and placed into account my staff-work, that they considered the situation and found the potential benefits did not outweigh the risks. As one, they took off their sword belts and dropped their weapons, before walking further into the gardens away from Camilla and I.

When all was silent, I breathed a sigh of relief. "Now that is what I call a high stakes bluff! What a rush. Here my lady-" I flipped the pistol, catching it by the barrel and handing it to her. "-You may keep that as a souvenir, to adopt a brettonian word. Now, I believe we were going to dinner? I'm quite famished after that. Soldiers always say bloodletting grants an appetite and I find they're right on that account." I found it also made me quite in the mood to bed a woman, but I wouldn't announce that to her. It was very poor manners, after all.

I let the stiletto I had produced from my sleeve into my belt, as it would have been impractical and indecent to attempt to resheath it fully dressed. I was very glad to have avoided a street fight as I was far from dressed in my street fighting clothes. I had donned cream and gold quilted vest over a loose white shirt and a divided skirt of a slightly more cream hue stitched with soft golden flowers. In deference to my greater knowledge of Remas' streets it didn't quite reach the ground though the few inches of exposed black leather boots were unlikely to be seen by all but the most dedicated Peeping Tomaz or the occasional beggar.

"I knew I should have brought a handbag," I complained, producing a silk kerchief from a pocket and wrapping the weapon before hanging it from the belt of woven leather strands that depended from my right hip. I frowned at the fleeing and unconscious men. It was possible that De Pounce was in league with Telli, it was possible Telli even summoned De Pounce and made him aware of Kian's jocular insult, but that was moving very fast by the standards of Reman politics. Kian wasn't even the Ambassador, tangling him up in intrigue wasn't going to be a great coup, other than perhaps as a source of gossip on the Imperial delegation. Even then, what was that gossip likely to be? They had completed their task, would eat and drink on the people of Remas for a week or two then go back to their sausage scented homes.

I put the problem from my mind, I wasn't in Remas to sus out gossip or play political games, other than as required by my need to live comfortably and eat and drink well. Though I had to admit not getting brutalized by street gangs was also a priority. We headed out onto one of the cities many Piazzas in time to see men at arms shoving their way though the gathering evening crowd. Reman's were a proud bunch and they responded by jostling and hurling insults and occasional fruit at the column of mailed soldiers. They wore the red and Gold of Luccini and carried a great standard with the emblem of that city. There were perhaps a hundred of them formed up around a palanquin carried by some impressively muscled bearers.

"Who are they?" Kian asked and I turned to glance at him.

"Luccinians, come to broker the peace with Trantio," I explained. He probably knew their nationality, his Tilean being as good as it was, but he might not know that delegates were assembling to end the costly war. Probably a few villages no one had ever heard of would change allegiances and everybody would be happy except for the Condottieri who would immediately begin fomenting another war to keep themselves paid.

"The Reman's do not appear pleased to see them," he observed as a ripe tomato burst against the side of the palanquin, sliding slowly down the paintwork to leave a long red orange streak.

"Nobody like Luccini," I snickered, "and the Reman's dont like to bow and scrape." The soldiers were most of the way across the square now and I led the way down into a small courtyard walled with knee high stone. A dozen tables stood beneath colorful umbrellas, surrounded by neatly tended flowers and shrubs.

"Ciao!" the proprietor called. I hadn't met him but Giovanni Caprese was well known by reputation, a short squat man with enormous mustaches. He hurried over to our table as we took a seat.

"What can I do for you tonight!" he enthused.

"You pick the dishes," Camilla insisted.

"If I pick the dishes, then you pick the drinks." I countered.

"Champagne," Camilla told Giovanni Caprese, who congratulated her on a fine choice. He turned to me expectantly, keeping me on a quick timetable. It was lucky for me I had smelled something delightful on the way in, and it gave me the idea.

"Chicken Parmigiana," I told him, twirling my finger until I added. "Crisped."

"Molto bene!" Giovanni Caprese said, giving a slight bow to us. "It is delightful to have such a beautiful couple here tonight. Your drinks will be out shortly."

As he faded away into the crowd, my eyes wandered out of the veranda and to the causeway curling into the bosom of Remas. The crowd's mingling chats was a constant bubbling of sound, littered with laughter. Out in the streets a dog barked in the distance as men sang. It was good to be back in Tilea. My gaze had only been gone for a moment, and I turned back to Camilla and cleared my throat. She turned to look at me, and I produced a rose. She gave a delighted laugh, but her eyes searched amongst the flowers for other roses. I smiled before she asked: "Where did you get this?"

"I stole it from the table over there." I admitted. I felt it would be put to better use by me than an empty table, and thankfully she took it. As I leaned back, a bottle of champagne was placed between us with two curvaceous glasses set down. The waiter poured each of us a generous cup and left the bottle to use at our leisure. I took my glass in my hand. "I imagine you must get many flowers and dinners. I'm afraid I likely won't stand out a great bit amongst your suitors, but I hope you don't blame me for trying."

"A stolen rose, how romantic," I smiled, running my fingers over the stem looking for thorns before I tucked the blossom behind my ear. I picked up my glass and took a sip. The wine was tart and fizzy on my tongue, the stuff was ruinously expensive, shipped from Brettonia, but it had taken Tilea by storm in recent years. I wondered if a priest could afford such extravagance, but that wasn't really my concern, if he wound up being chased through the streets by Caprese's bully boys, that wouldn't stop me returning the palace.

"Most of my suitors tend to be Tilean," I admitted, "a woman can only stand so many poems extoling the 'chocolate hue of her hair' or the 'flashing of chest nut eyes' or whatever else.

"You aren't a musician are you Master Priest? You aren't going to write a lute song or something?" I teased.

"How is it that you came to serve this Sigmorr of yours?" I asked, placing my chin in my hands and leaning forward.

"It is strange to me that one would study in Tilea and decide to go back to fog and beer and beastmen," I admitted.

I had been on outings before where I had pretended to pay and told my date to wait for me outside, and then I slipped out as best I could. Regrettably, this would not be one of those occasions. Luckily I had taken a handful of the one hundred thousand gold pieces gifted to the triumverate for myself. I called it a tithe for my services, and no one would be any the wiser, regardless. Still, I wouldn't profess that to Camilla. Better to let her think I was a man of means.

"It's too bad none of them have commented on your thrilling ability to make a brettonian run away," I said, teasing her back. I laughed melodiously. "A musician? Well I can play the lyre a bit, and I daresay I'm a good singer, but I wouldn't call myself a musician, no."

"Well Riekland is actually quite pretty. You might wish to visit it one day," I said by way of stalling. I considered her question thoughtfully, wondering how to begin. I was not going to lie, but I lived so much in the moment, it was difficult of me doing so without turning it into a quip. "I've always been fascinated by knowledge, particularly ancient knowledge. I was raised by the church, actually. But I did not wish to be in its shadow forever. I was impetuous in my youth and traveled a fair bit. I've seen most of the imperial provinces, though I skipped Hochland and Stirland, unfortunately. I've seen the Grey Mountains, realm of Estalia, Brettonian, and the famous Blackfire Pass. But I decided to go to one of the more famous universities outside of the Empire, and so I came to Pavona. I was hoping my degree would help me return to the Empire and gain me entry into the Imperial Colleges of magic, but apparently my travels, studies, and degree amounted to very little to the greybeards. I found myself without connections or prospects, save the Church of Sigmar, and so I pledged myself to its service. I suppose it was meant to be, and to be fair I've done well for myself. The study of a God is much like the study of arcane forces, and I feel like it's a good inhibitor to my less desirable traits. I am actually grateful to the organization and lifestyle as a whole, save for a few hiccups here or there-" The waiter placed the porcelain plates down before us. The breaded chicken was soft and satisfyingly hot, with cheese that swam from every poke of the fork and sauce that snatched at one's tastebuds. Camilla had brought us to a very fine establishment, indeed.

"And for my good work they saw fit to reward me with escorting the chamberlain." I finished, finally adding a small white lie. I felt a twinge of regret, but I wanted to convince myself, really, and what better way than by doing so here?

Also, I wish to record that champagne with spiced chicken is amazing.

I gesticulated with my fork as I dined. I did not stare or try and snatch glances. I looked at her only when the conversation made it amiable, but I enjoyed every second of it. She really was beautiful, and call me a romantic but my (stolen) flower in her hair did make me feel quite nice. In a way only a man can really feel, I think. "So long story short, I walked a lot of places, failed to join a school, and fell back into a stable job... Did I tell it well or would it be better to maintain some mystery next time?" I asked slyly.

"And I have a feeling you've got a story too. I advise you tell me now before the champagne sets in." To articulate the point I drained my glass with one dip and refilled it myself.

The chicken was delicious as was the sauce it was seasoned with. I marveled that it had been within my lifetime, admittedly my early lifetime, that the tomato had been introduced into the Tilean diet. The sharpness of the sun roasted fruit perfectly picked up the garlic, onion, and vinegar, blending them to perfection. I took a sip of the crisp sweet champagne and savored it for a moment. Kian was certainly proving to be an interesting man, he was widely traveled and surprisingly educated and erudite for a priest. So much so that I briefly considered if he might be some kind of spy merely playing the part of a clergyman. That notion had to be rejected, there was no way Imperials, with their simple and blunt faith in their God, would tolerate such a charade. Plus if it were a subterfuge he would have every reason to play up to the stereotype rather than cataloging, fairly bluntly, his somewhat ambivalent relationship to his church.

“Well, it isn’t anything as interesting as trying to learn magic,” I admitted.

“I’m an orphan too, I think my parents died of the plague when I was still a baby but I honestly dont remember,” I continued. That had been the story I had been told at the Convent and I didn’t see any reason to disbelieve it. Occasionally pretty children were sold to the Convent by parents who had no other options, but I didn’t think that had been the case with me.

“I was raised to work at court, as a handmaiden or a lady in waiting,” I explained. That was technically true, though most ladies in waiting didn’t learn nearly so much about secret communications, cyphers, and burglary. They weren’t trained to ingratiate themselves with others, emotionally or sexually, though they probably got a fair amount of on the job training. I had provided some of that myself when the situation demanded.

“There is always a place at court for someone who can read and write, recite poetry and dance,” I told him. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

“Sometimes one does wear our their welcome at a particular court though, which is why it pays to be adaptable,” I confessed.

I found myself lured into the relatively short explanation of her life. The bewitching brunette left out just enough to where I found I had questions, but I almost did not want to blow away the veneer of the mystery. If this night was going the way I thought it might, I would have plenty of time to find out later, after all. As she explained I partook of the delectable food and found by the grace of Sigmar I missed Tilean cuisine. The zest was immaculate and the champagne gave it a tang that almost overwhelmed my senses.

"Courts in Tilea sound more of a sociable affair than ones in my home country, I find. Then again, I suppose any idiot who's father has a title can be welcomed in it for at least a brief visit. That or kill an insane number of beastman. I've met a fellow named Wulfhart who did exactly that. Emperor Franz was so impressed he made up a royal position for him on the spot. I wish I was there, it still makes me laugh." I said, marveling at how brutish that must sound to someone here. My chin rested casually on my hand as I spoke. Elbows on the table wasn't strictly polite but I felt we were growing more accustomed to one another and it right at the current moment. I was afraid I was being far too open with my appreciating her beauty, but then again we did not go out to speak on our political leanings, as fascinating as that no doubt would be.

"I foresee my time at this court will have a considerably less worth than you, despite my introduction. Luckily I'm adaptable too," I said with a smirk, and the music swelled as there was a brief pause between us. I took another bite of my meal and downed the champagne, before dabbing my lips with the cloth. "Not to mix business with pleasure, but you mentioned dancing. Could I trouble you for a dance?" I was already out of my seat, hand extended with an easy smile. "If you're adaptable enough, of course." I added playfully.

I was a passable dancer. Nothing to write home about, but I had been on my fair share of dance floors and picked up a few pointers even if I never quite had formal training. However, I prided myself on learning on the fly and generally when I danced with a woman, I felt as if then we had become properly introduced. "I'd be interested in learning a thing or two on tilean dancing, I'm sure my garish northern footwork could use a lesson."

I smiled, pleased to be back on safer territory. Courtesans were an established fact of Tilean life but such things were looked on much less fondly in the Empire. Perhaps they had a sufficient supply of pretty young noblewomen and could make do without, or perhaps they just lived as rumor reported, in smoky castles where porcine housefraus stomped about dolled up in silk.

“Luckily I am a past master at making men think they can dance,” I teased. Standing up and allowing Kian to lead me a few steps out into the piazza. Music was already playing, as was the custom in Remas of an evening. A trio of musicians, one on lute, one with a fiddle and a third providing harp and occasional percussion were already filling the square with music, repaid for their efforts by a free meal and the occasional tossed coin. On this occasion they were all men, though it wasn’t uncommon for women to play either, I had done so myself on occasion when I had needed coin in a hurry. I reminded myself to check my still packed bags and make sure my flute was still in place and hadn’t been sold by servants for a few gold pieces.

As Kian and I stood the band smoothly altered their atmospheric harmony into something slightly more spritely, it was a rondel, though the form was common from sea side tavern to noble villa with varying degrees of energy and lasciviousness. I made a slight curtsey and then we began to dance. It was a simple thing, repeating curves and reverses of direction accented by spins which lifted the hem of my skirt in a whirl. I wasn’t sure if Kian was downplaying his skill or if he was simply a very quick learner, but though he made a few missteps in the first few minutes, he rarely repeated a mistake and within no time was dancing as well as anyone born to the city might have managed. It was possible my own performance was more Trantioan than would have been the fashion here, but there was no one here to gain say me. I curved gracefully in to Kian, allowing him to arrest the dips and leans with a hand on my back or a touch of my waist. Within minute other couples, diners and passers by began to join and the band moved into a spritely waltz which featured quick kicks that stretched the calves.

“What are you laughing at,” Kian asked as we whirled and curvetted together to the sound of the minstrels.

“I’m just trying to decide if you are the best Priest I have met, or the very worst,” I snickered.

"Muori la feccia del Nord!"

I awoke from my slumber and possibly the best night I had experienced in many years to the sight of a large, black bearded Tilean raising a sidesword up so he could swiftly end my life. I would have thought I was dreaming, but the yell was too loud and Camilla's body was too warm and comfortable. Instantly, I recognized Camilla's naked form was still on me and right in the path of danger, her face snuggled into my chest. Her arms, normally very welcome to be clinging to my form, added her weight to myself in my suddenly panicked state. I did the only thing I could, reaching back and ripping the heavy pillow from behind my head to cushion the savage chop from the would-be assassin. Feathers flew everywhere and a Tilean curse followed.

"Camilla!" I cried, echoing my cries of passion just hours before. The slightly different cadence likely tipped her off to the seriousness of the situation, because she lifted her head and only one blink of her eyes was enough for the woman to know something was very much off. The muscled Tilean ripped the pillow out of my hands and pointed his sword at Camilla, hoping to skewer us both in one. I grabbed the sheet and did what I could when his sword point shot forward, turning the blade aside with my hand obscured by the sheet.

Blood spurted from my opened palm, but aside from the sudden wet I only felt adrenaline coursing through me. Camilla scrambled off me and I shuddered as our lower halves separated, my other hand now grabbing at the hilt of the embedded sword, the point of the blade thankfully misdirected into the mattress by a mere inch. Sigmar must have kept watch over me, because that was twice I had cheated death in as many moments. I kicked out, my bare foot hitting the Tilean in the face, scraping him across the mouth. He grunted and fell back, loosening the grip on his sword.

"Sigmar take this sinful blood," I intoned, rising from the bed and squeezing my ruined hand. Blood seeped from my wound and dropped heavily to the floor. "Imbue me with power and show me your might, engulf this pagan scum in light!"

I shrieked in pain fear as my arm was suddenly not of myself anymore, growing rigid as my fingers uncurled. From my wound a flame roared to life, and a projectile in the shape of the blazing twin tailed comet erupted from my hand and hit the recovering assassin, immolating him as surely as a dwarfen drakkthrower. He screeched in horror, wailing to Myrmida as he was engulfed, the flames clinging to his skin as if they were cloth. He hit the floor, writhing on the carpet as his nerves were singed and his life was taken from him.

I gripped my arm, my hand scorched, but my wound now cauterized. Pain surged from the tip of my fingers to my forearm, and I knew right there I would not be able to use my hand for anything for many days unless I performed a healing rite, and I did not have the time or preparation for that. Outside of the bedroom, screams echoed and the clash of steel on steel was ringing across the halls.

"Is this a traditional morning or have I caused a stir?" I joked weakly, glad to see Camilla was unharmed.

I sat up in shock, pulling the sheets up around my breasts as my eyes widened in shock. Had Kian just incinerated a man? The room stank of burning flesh and fingernails. I could hear distant shouts and cries and what I thought might be the clash of arms. My eyes widened as my sleep addled mind ran through a number of unpleasant scenarios. Before I could respond a man in a leather jerkin appeared in the doorway. He hefted a crossbow in both hands, lifting it to aim at me and, less importantly, Kian. I rolled sideways knocking Kian off the bed as a crossbow bolt whistled overhead and buried itself into the headboard with a crack of splitting timber. I landed on top of Kian and rolled off, scooping up the sword of the fallen assailant. The crossbowman saw me and abandoned his effort to reload his clumsy weapon. I lunged across the room, completely naked, and thrust the bloody point of the weapon into the crossbowman's chest. He screamed and reeled back, the leather vest absorbing all but an inch of steel. Gritting his teeth, the assassin slashed at me with a heavy knife. I skipped back out of range and kicked the hilt hard, driving the weapon deep into his body. Bloody fountained from his mouth as he staggered back clutching the sword feebly before toppling to the ground.

"Something has people in a tizzy this fine morning," I answered, though I privately doubted it was anything to do with Kian. I stuck my head out into the hallway and saw two men in mercenary leather kicking at the door of ambassador's room. The wood was already begining to splinter. I ducked back into the room, my eyes wide. Whatever was going on here it wasn't a private affair, something was seriously wrong. I ducked back into the room and grabbed the sword, tugging at it with all my strength. It was stuck fast in the suction of his chest and I had to give it up as a bad bargin. I could hear feet pounding up the steps.

"We probably have about a minute before they break down your ambassador's door, and maybe about as long before they come in here and try to kill us," I reported, my voice surprisingly steady.

"I hope your Sigmar is fond of you," I added.