Honor, duty, and a pinch of curiosity. Without all three driving him forward, it was difficult to tell if he would have traveled so far north. Beyond the Seas of Swords and the Corsair Strait, passed the Land of Dead Gods and the Ruby Coast, traversing the waters of Leth Arian and the expanse of the western sea, he traveled without second thought on what lay before him and the miles left behind. Like the inexorability of gravity and the surety of stone, the monk pushed forward, beyond the Blackwood and Vrettonia, shining silver and gold like in the tales, and at the foot of the peaks of the Dragonback, he knelt at Malgrim's Tomb and paid tribute to his old friend, laying the Amulet of the Patriarchs within the sarcophagi, and he prayed to the Einjar and the Evergod above for their favor and blessing to the dead. He then sealed the stone mausoleum behind a door of bronze, with one great heave of his iron muscles. Only then did he think of where he was, and how long it would take for him to truly go back home. 

The land was wintry and wet, though it was close to spring by the talk of the townsfolk he had passed by. The wind chilled him, and the sky wailed like a maiden in the throes of childbirth. He realized he missed the sun and the heat, the waterways that shattered the land and revealed hidden secrets of civilizations long passed. It would be some months before he would find his way back to the Black Delta, and that was if he was in a hurry. But truthfully, he was in no hurry. He merely meandered south now, doing his best to make ends meet. He helped an inn keeper with a few tasks of manual labor for a night spent out of the rain. He helped a woman and her children, refugees of a new war, down the road by acting as the beast of burden for their wagon. The children sang songs and giggled at him singing with them, when he recognized the words. He even saved a man from three bandits who had wanted to relieve him of his life and his money. One night, the monk had seen the yellow eyes of a wolf watching him, before it padded away as if it had never been. It had been an interesting two weeks, to say the least. 

But now, after taking a small ferry ride downstream on the river they called the Heathric, Beren had made it to the baroque and towering city of Greybridge. It was the first large city he had ever entered in Northern Torek, save Port Nyrothlenaen on his way in. The architecture reminded him of dwarven work almost, grim and regal in countenance. Not as fine quality, of course, but it matched the colder climes and ancient history of the area. But the streets were packed, and the peasants that had been tilling the fields had flocked to the inner walls for protection or access to the other side of the great river. Beren had just been looking to resupply and travel further downstream, but the prices had gone up, and the market was filled with as many lost serfs and beggars as desperate individuals looking for food. 

He wore a grey cloak over his broad shoulders, his trousers baggy but sturdy, and his torso was hugged by a crimson top over a dark blue undershirt. He wore no hat, his thick dark hair was shelter enough in all but the harshest rain. He stood there, hands on his hips, contemplating where to go, before he felt something solid ram right into the small of his back. Beren blinked, suddenly feeling very guilty. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," he breathed, turning around to see a hooded figure clutching at her cloak. He could immediately tell it was a woman by her build, and the pretty green eyes that met his brown-eyed gaze. But he didn't catch her face well. Her skin looked as dark as dark iron, but the day was overcast and it could have easily been the shadow of her hood. Either way, he knelt a bit to check if she was harmed. "Are you alright?" 

"Thief! Thief!" 

The cries came from the milling crowd, arming swords waving in the air to part the throng of locals and refugees that wisely wanted nothing to do with any sort of illegal activity. Beren opened his mouth, his mind whirring to what was happening. For a second he was about to pull the woman out of the way of the guards, assuming she couldn't be the one they were after. But then his mind caught up with him, the cloak, the running, maybe he had stopped a thief? He tensed.

"I'm just hungry," She said in desperation, clutching something to her breast. The words cut into his heart like daggers, and he made his mind up without another moment's hesitation. All the downtrodden he had seen on the road, all of the refugees today, he had to help. He wouldn't realize it later, but the fact the voice was attractive likely had something to do with it, admittedly. He pulled her behind him and whispered 'play along.' 

The watchmen nearly stumbled into Beren like the woman had, the men burly with calluses, but not nearly as imposing as the monk if they didn't have on armor and swords, wild eyes glaring at him from under iron helms. "Out of our way! That bitch stole from-" The front man waved his sword about, nearly hitting a curious bystander. Beren caught his wrist in an iron grip. 

"Officers, please, this is a big misunderstanding," Beren laughed, producing a golden crown out of his pocket. "I told her to get me a sample from the marketplace, but she forgot the coin. It's my fault really, but when the tradesmen yelled at her she ran right back to me. She's skittish like that, but I should have been there. Here..." Beren let go of his wrist and flicked the coin deftly in the same instant. The man's eyes followed the gold greedily, forgetting the trouble for the moment and trying to catch it. Instead, it hit the ground and rolled between his feet. "This is so embarrassing, honestly. I hope you can forgive us..." 

As Beren spoke those last words, he took the woman by the hand and led her away into the crowd, the watchmen now scrambling for the coin. A voice shouted 'hey!' and it echoed, but more bickering erupted, and soon the onlookers covered the square so thickly, the guards were lost within the tides of bodies. Another few moments, and Beren gently pulled the woman into the alleyway, before peering out once more to make sure there was no pursuit. 

"Well, I'll miss the money, but it went to a good cause." He reasoned aloud, and then turned back to her, his smile warm. "I'm sorry, I hope you're ok."