The chain that suspended the gem was a long one, and the diamond disappeared between my breasts as we hurried back to the camp. The moon must have been peaking through the clouds overhead affording us better light. The sentries, a pair of the surviving Prostates, lifted their crossbows, then lowered them as they saw who it was. They shared knowing looks and set their weapons down, returning to their vigil.

The next day dawned bright and clear, the sun beating down to lift steam from the rain sodden jungle in long streamers. The haunted aspect it had possessed since the rain stared appeared to have lifted also and the improvement in morale became marked when we hit a large trail, almost a road, that Beren assured us lead to Darkwater Crossing. Surprisingly the road wasn't a muddy lake, being drained by a large ditch that ran along side it and laid with timber that occasionally protruded from the reddish volcanic dirt packed atop it. To the south the ground fell away to the black river, a dark ribbon of water several hundred yards wide. It was swollen with the recent rains, up over its banks as evidenced by partially submerged trees. Dozens of craft made their way along it, most no larger than the barge Beren had commanded when I first met him, though a few were respectable vessels with one or two masts.

The city of Darkwater Crossing was a smudge of chimney smoke on the horizon, though it seemed we would be there before too much long. I looked down at the reddish mud already caking my boots.

"I do hope you are right about the baths," I complained.

The bird calls and hoots from strange simians were ever present, even as we passed over the rickety rope bridges and sturdier, timber built ones crossing the small stretch of wetlands to reach sight of the city. On the last stretch of road, the trees were cleared away and there were only a handful of varying tufts of grass on a road that fed into towering, impressively ornate iron gates. The mosaic depicted on their front was the rising of a great, wingless dragon from the depths of the sea. They were set on huge hinges, connected to tall walls of dark swampstone. Posted at the gate and above were men in green surcoats and iron mail, with parma shields and winged spears.

Their stoic faces broke when they saw the ragged group stepping off the last bridge, passing through the ferns and wide leafed palms onto the open stretch. Nicodemus's arm was around my shoulder, and I helped Archimedes walk on the left side. The other two protostates used roughly fashioned canes to trudge their way. Emmaline was at the vanguard, and she gave a great walloping gasp of finality when the city walls came into sight, but the baroque nature of it gave her a thoughtful pause.

"It is like you said," She remarked carefully, placing a fingernail to her bottom lip. I could easily read her thoughts. It seemed a foreboding place, but the size and apparent wealth mean there were plenty of places to eat, rest, and bathe. Other than the distant sound of a crowd, music wafted through the open games. There was a guitar playing a tune almost conversational, with licks and lines playing over the beat of a variety of drums, and though not very regimented, the riffs were pleasant to the ear. I smiled tiredly, glad to be so close to the city after such a long time.

"Where do you hail from, and what is your business here?" The watchman on the left called, lowering his spear and approaching us. Emmaline stepped in front of the iron spearhead, placing her hands on her hips and looking at the man past her nose. It couldn't have been she was too frustrated or exhausted to care, no I felt it was bravery as usual. She sometimes bungled and tripped and she had a love of comforts, but gods she was dangerous when she wanted to be.

"Survival, if you must know. My companion and I came upon an outpost of men three days ago, and the jungle swallowed it up. These men, my lover, and myself barely survived. But let us in or run us through, but be done with it! A lady of my station has no patience for this." She remarked, one manicured hand resting on her sword hilt now. "Yes that's right," she sneered at their questioning looks. "I am Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern, of Vysamirce nobility!"

"We've heard that one before, beggarwoman." The left said, "Fancy name, who'd you steal that from?" But as they approached they got a better look at her.

The two gatemen looked at one another quickly, and back at the buxom blonde. Her boots were caked and her traveling garb was cuffed and scratched, but it did have a distant aristocratic air to it, and even if her stately looks and outfit weren't enough, the gleaming jewel snuggled into her bosom was enough to convince them. The one on the right with a cauliflower ear spoke up. "Forgive us, Dame Morganstern. You can take these men to the magistrate, down the main drag. If you would like, we could also announce your presence to the Enclave."

She seemed less than enthused they had no offered to simply take the wounded, but the last bit gave her pause. "Enclave?" She echoed, but her words died on her lips as she saw me cutting my hand across my throat and shaking my head just over the guardsman's shoulder. "I mean, of course, the Enclave! Yes, do announce me. Us! I require a bath as well-"

I placed a palm on my face, sighing. It was my fault, she wasn't to blame. I had hoped to bring her to Darkwater without the attention. The city played politics like men played dice, and the Enclave was a collection of disgraced aristocrats, second sons, daughters who refused to marry, or landless gentry having traveled south to find more power where they could. It was a cutthroat ruling body all gathered in one place, and though the city was relatively well run, I would have rather paid for a quaint spot and find baths than be put under the scrutiny of sneering lords and ladies. I guessed it wasn't the worst in the world and other than a few questioning looks, we could leave to our devices. But I knew it would be seen as suspicious. Emmaline, on the other hand, likely would enjoy being pampered amongst socialites and comfortable accommodations.

"Bath and lodgings will be available for you, my lady. Just keep going down the way until you reach the counciler's office a quarter mile down past the gate."

Darkwater Crossing was bigger than I had imagined. Much bigger. Perhaps it was because all the human endeavor I had seen on this continent seemed dwarfed by the immensity of jungle and landscape around it. Darkwater looked like a vast stone which had been split by the dark tannin rich waters of the river in its final united effort before it split into the silvery fingers of the delta that stretched out to the sea. It climbed from the bustling docks into ancient stone buildings, many of which existed only as the base for later construction of plaster and stucko. In the poorer areas the roofs were layered leaves while the wealthier areas sported tiles of dark greenish clay. Here and there, the original construction survived, rearing graceful domes and arches towards the sky. Strangely, this made it seem like the whole city was a construction site, where the newer structures were merely the scaffolding that would any day be removed to reveal the city in its restored glory.

There was an odd contrast in the people two, everywhere people were seen at work: stevedores loaded barges with timber and spices, cooks sataeed questionable joints of meat in thick aromatic sauces, wagons loaded with provisions clattered across the stone streets but there was a lethargy also. Housewives with colorful kerchiefs slumped in the shaded alcoves of their doorways while the swapped gossip with their neighbors, vintners in wine stained aprons fanned themselves with straw hats, toughs in leather jerkins diced in the relative shade of alley mouths. Everyone seemed more interested in staying out of the tropical heat, and where they couldn't picked at their work with only desultory enthusiasm.

I strode down the central boulevard, leading the Prostates by virtue of being uninjured but giving the impression I was somehow in command. Several of the toughs eyed me speculatively but either it was too hot to bother me, or the hard bitten Prostates dissuaded them. I reached the councilor's office, a large domed building that might once of have been a temple, and was met by a pair of slovenly looking guards. It took only a moment for the Councilor to appear. He was a neat looking man in late middle age. I got the impression he had once been handsome and athletic, but heat and age had dried him out into a sinewy armature of his former glory.

"My Lady?" he asked in a cultured voice that mostly hid his surprise.

"I have soldiers who need medical treatment," I told him imperiously, then softened it with a smile.

"Plus I'm told I can find a bath somewhere around here."

"Erm, yes of course." The councilor said, reaching his hand out to the left to gain the attention of a tired woman wearing a stately, handsome dress. "Irma, please find the physicians. Tell them we have six men in need of care."

"Five. I appreciate it but I just need a bath too, and something to eat." I said, not wanting to be busied over when other men were in more dire need of care. I had a few extra cuts, but that was about the extent of it. I crossed my burly arms and nudged Emmaline, who tried to remain officious but gave me a small smile she was clearly trying to keep from blooming into a wider grin. Truth be told, I wanted to show Emmaline around the city, but I had never been here in the company of an aristocrat. Perhaps she would garner special treatment of some kind?

"Thank the saints for you sir," One of the protostates said, patting my shoulder.

"And to you my lady, we are at your service, if you would have us." Another, Titus, said to her. He tried to kneel but Emmaline swiftly put a stop to it. I was at his side immediately as well, keeping him from the ground. He might not have been able to rise again from his injuries.

"Just get better. If I need to, I shall call upon you Legionnaires." She remarked with all the surety and grace of a queen. Their faces lit up, and most of them looked to me as well, as if I too had stood beside her on the pronouncement. Granted, a good boyfriend supported his girl, but I did not feel I should take much credit. I just did what I could when I could. Emmaline was the amazing one, as far as I was concerned.

"And might I garner a name, my lady?" The councilor asked her, a quill now in his hand as he fingered a small piece of parchment.

---

Across the thoroughfaire, a few off-duty dock workers stood together and smoked pipes, one laughing like a uproariously in a strange, high pitched cadence that did not fit his burly frame. The smell of freshly cooked meat and an assortment of other savory foods wafted in the air from a collection of windows in every direction, and colorful birds sat upon clotheslines and on rooftops, letting out hoots and caws of every kind imaginable. A gang of freebooters with the bowling gaits of sailors and the scars of pirates passed by us as we absorbed all the sights and sound, a few of their eyes lingering on Emmaline. I had the urge to step between her and their leering eyes, but both Emmaline and I were tired and if I started a fight for a look, I think she would consider it more trouble than it was worth.

Honestly it was nice being back. I loved the smell of the water and the look of the city, and the people here were fun, though notably dangerous I had to remind myself. Still, the sun was shining brightly, and from another street we heard the delectable, rhythmic tunes of local music.

"Quite a city for being so far south." Emmaline commented, impressed.

"Yeah, it's all the trade and spices, and a lot of people are explorers or the descendants of them who made a living here. At least that's what my dad told me." I replied, feeling a bit nostalgic. Briefly I wished he was here. He had been the last time, introducing me to some of the lords and ladies, and the magistrate. Being a notable priest was not well paying in coin, but you did rub shoulders with some of the rich.

We passed through one of Darkwater's squares, a wide area with a central fountain of cascading clear water. A group of people congregated around it, some tossing in small copper coins to make wishes and others marveling at a brown-skinned aradian man and his pet leopard, the spotted beast yawning lazily. A few stepped back as the gesture revealed its long fangs and strange tongue. I always had a large urge to pet animals that allowed me, but Emmaline knew that and she prodded me forward gently. I gave her a guilty smile, and across the square we reached the inn we agreed to stay at temporarily while we awaited a summons to court.

The Stuck Pig was more of a restaurant and brewery than an inn, but there were a few rooms upstairs for special guests, and I knew the owner. Olly Gormson had been the owner of the establishment for almost as long as I had been alive, and he was an old friend of my father's. Though honestly, I was most excited for his pulled pork loaded potatoes. The thought alone had me salivating, but that could wait until after Emmaline and I had cleaned and gotten settled. We passed under the expansive awning, the outdoor tables under the shade in an open space in front of the building. Men and women enjoyed spiced drinks and spoke of local rumors, and once we passed inside, it restuarant was flavored like a northern tavern from the Sea of Swords. Kegs and notched, round tables, along with the timber walls gave the entire room a rich coloring of mahogany brown. I made a B line for the counter, seeing who I wanted to without hesitation.

The man there was balding, with chops of hair only above his ears. Below his nose, a wide grey mustache stretched like two arms spread out to their full extent. I knocked on the table surface, and he drew his head up from the orders he was reviewing. "Hey Olly, how's business?" I asked.

Olly blinked, peering at me for a moment until it clicked in his brain. "Beren! My, boy, you've grown! And I don't just mean taller," He said, making a show of flexing his arm. "I can't even believe it. Is your father here?"

"No, but I do have this..." I responded, handing a small slip of paper. Olly adjusted his spectacles and read the note carefully. He seemed equal parts amused and startled. Glasses clinked and someone called for more sweet sauce in a small span of seconds before he spoke.

"I assume this has to do with your lady friend?" He said, and with a nod, he gave Emmaline a kind smile. "We would treat nobles as directed, always. But if you're with Beren, we'll give you a bit extra on the house." He told her with a wink.

I gave a gracious nod and accepted a mug of white might have been spiced cider. I took a seat at one of the table to allow Beren some privacy to catch up with his friend with whom he seemed to be conducting some kind of clandestine exchange. I was too tired from the long march to feel a lot of interest, trusting that whatever Beren was up to would have no ill effects for me. Some of the clientele were glancing at me sideways, a normal reaction to strangers than any untoward interest I thought, but it didn’t do my nascent paranoia any good.

I was about to open my mouth to ask if there was a bath house when it suddenly struck me that not only did I not need a bath, but I was as clean as I had ever been since arriving on the continent. I peered down at my apparently perfectly manicured fingernails in suspicion, pretty sure I had broken at least one of them in the frantic flight through the muddy jungle, but it was whole and perfect. In fact, there wasn’t a spec of dirt on me. I touched my hair experimentally and found it clean and smooth to the touch. A sparrow landed on my table and cocked its head at me. I cocked my head at it. The little bird hopped forward and began to peck at a few stray sesame seeds that a previous patron had spilled onto the table top. I watched it suspiciously. The bird looked up at me and winked. I opened my mouth to say I knew not what, but before I could do so the tiny avian spread its wings and flapped away, apparently satisfied with the confusion it had wrought.

Could this be something to do with the diamond I had found in the jungle? I resolved to keep my sudden and unexpected cleanliness to myself until I figured it out.

I had managed to secure a room for a bath, the bathhouse located just next door to the tavern. Emmaline had been muttering about it for some time, and honestly I needed one too. Not just for the dirt and stray leaves stuck across my anatomy, but my aching body needed to relax. My master had always reminded me that rest was important for health and muscle growth, and I kept that in mind since. Plus, I couldn't go walking around like this with a girlfriend. An aristocrat girlfriend.

Olly managed to procure some pulled pork and two large potatoes, and later when it arrived, they would covered in cheese and tangy sauces, with the pork piled atop. I was hungry now, but I really needed a bath and knew Emmaline was anxious for it. Heading out to the patio, I found Emmaline sitting there, lost in thought. The sun gleamed off her golden locks, and I had to admit I found her perplexed look pretty adorable. But without warning, a small bird landed on my shoulder and hopped twice, giving off a high-pitched tweet. Emmaline then noticed me, and if I did not know better, her ears twitched slightly under her cascading waves of hair.

"Friend of yours?" I asked her, then turned to the diminutive bird. It tilted its head, tweeted at me again, and then flew away.

"Never met him," She said, and despite the fact we both knew it was facetious, she seemed to smile guiltily, as if she had just lied. She was strange, but I found it was endearing. I leaned against the back of the closest chair, enjoying the light breeze. Around us, couples and friends, or groups of travelers heckled or whispered to one another, enjoying the pleasant cool breeze and the shade.

"We got a room upstairs, and I got us a bath." I told her.

"Oh..." She looked as if she was about to say more, but suddenly a dozen birds fluttered into the supports of the roof above us, chirping intermittently and looking at Emmaline. My face wrinkled in confusion, considering how odd that was. Usually I was pretty good with animals, but even as I made the assumption they were there for her, my suspicions were confirmed when three of them hopped down on the desk and danced in front of her. She pulled her hands off the tabletop and waved them at the birds. "Shoo! Get out of here!"

I laughed. "Well, I'll be in the bath. It'll be the second room down the first hall, on the left. They're pretty nice, last I remember. When you're done with your friends, you can head on in too. After that we'll grab some food, unless you're hungrier than tired." I told her, and headed off to get clean, slipping by the filled tables and walking across the small expanse between buildings. A woman in adventuring gear stepped out of the door and waved to some companions by the large fountain. I passed her, walking into a slim wooden corridor with doors and small openings between each room and the hall to let the steam air. I opened the door on the left and stepped in, glad to see the water was already hot. The steam immediately felt good to breathe in.

Stripping off my upper gi and undershirt, I groaned gently and took a look at my form. I had a few new cuts, most shallow. There was a leech left of my chest, stuck fast. I peeled it off and tossed it, wiping the small blood that drained out of the mark it left. I appraised myself a moment further, running my hand up my abdomen, the muscles still hard and prominent from exercise and lean living. Sort of pridefully, I stretched my arms and gave them a flex, satisfied. It was a manuever I did before most baths since I was a boy, when I was first amazed at the fruits of training my body. Business as usual, but it felt nice. I finally stripped my pants off and shook my head quickly to fan my mane of hair a bit, before stepping it.

"Can't believe I'm back here," I said softly, then decided I was too relaxed to continue the thought, and sunk into the pool.

Bemused, I watched Beren go. When I turned back to the window I was surprised to find a half dozen sparrows lined up on the windowsill. Another songbird had had landed infront of them, a red streak of feathers giving it the look of a sergeant leading a troop as it whipped its tail back and forth to correct the dressing of its feathered cohort.

"Alright, alright," I said throwing up my hands and wondering just what that strange diamond had done to me. The birds all took off in perfect formation and wheeled away into the afternoon sky, not exactly easing my concerns. Though I wouldn't have said no to some wine I wasn't particularly hungry so I stood up and headed back in the direction Beren had gone. As I reached the hallway a handful of adventurers lead by a woman exited, all but shouldering me aside. The woman didn't give me a second look, though several of her companions did look at me with frank appraisal. I wondered what business brought them to this place. Perhaps Beren would know, he certainly seemed to have the local connections here.

"Lady Emmaline Von Morganstern," a supercilious voice called from the door. I turned slightly to see an older man in elaborate servants livery that had been out of style for a decade back home. Judging by the sweat running down the fellows face, the layers of cream and scarlet wool was sweltering. He even wore a floured periwig, which must be at serious risk of insect infestation in this hellish climate. He held wax sealed paper in his hand and I surmised he was from the Enclave I had heard about earlier. Without conscious thought I ducked through the door before I could be recognized or pointed out. The likelihood was it was an invitation to some get together or another, a constant preoccupation of the nobility, particularly in such far flung outposts like this where a manufactured social scene was all that relieved the boredom. In any case, it never hurt to play a little hard to get.

I opened the door to the bath and looked in, letting out a low whistle at the mostly submerged Beren, my eyes dancing wickedly.

"Fancy meeting you here," I teased.

The water was now a step above tepid, but we both cared very little at that moment. The day's heat was falling on the land, and we kept each other warm. I never understood couples earlier, where they would laugh and kiss and whisper all at once, but I found I was doing it with Emmaline, and I realized, for the first time in awhile, I was as comfortable around her as I was by myself. I never thought I would feel that way again.

The two of us kissed and snuggled, before Emmaline announced she was hungry and she climbed out of the pool, shimmying into a towel and drying her hair with a smaller one. I dunked myself in the water one last time before surfacing and whipping my head back and forth. I opened my eyes to see a rolled up towel flying at me, which I caught at the last moment before it plunged into the bath. I dried my hair as I stepped out, and then toweled the rest of myself.

"Can't wait to get more clothes," Emmaline murmured, putting her traveling garb back on.

"I know a good place to go," I told her, and she looked at me with wide eyes. I winked just before my shirt fell back over my torso, hugging my broad chest. "Grab something to eat and then go shopping?"

She nodded vigorously, looking at me in a way that had my heart speed up. We had just made love and already I was shy again. If I wasn't so enamored, I would be confused. But now that the adrenaline was off from the road, it felt like everything was falling into place. The two of us meandered into the rest of our clothes and then lazily walked out, though in the front room a few eyes turned our way, staring without inhibition. I gave a guilty smile and ushered Emmaline on, who seemed more giggly than anything. The sun flooded into our vision, and the warmth felt great on our newly washed bodies and moist hair.

We entered the tavern again, the lunch rush just starting. I saw Olly for a split second, surrounded by a crowd haranguing him at length for their orders. With sympathy, I led Emmaline past a rushing waitress and headed upstairs. As we found our room, there was a slip of paper at the foot of the door. Emmaline bent down to grab it, pulling it up to her face and reading through it, pleased. I poked my head around her to see, though with my height it wasn't hard to look over her shoulder. Emmaline gave a sly smile, and tossed her hair coquettishly to ruin my view. I blinked, rearing back and acting put off, before we were interrupted by a curious sound.

The two of us looked from one another to the door of our room. Emmaline opened her mouth to whisper, but I clamped my hand on her and gave her a look of understanding. I backed her up for a moment, and slowly I stepped forward, reaching for the doorknob to the room, gingerly turning it.

Swiftly I shoved the door open, the wood hitting the wall audibly. Our room was comfortable but not entirely large. Mostly a moderately sized bedroom with a half kitchen and a small balcony. The sunlight streamed in, the curtains billowing from the breeze. Amidst our meager belongings was a figure, hooded and cloaked. As soon as the door swung open, its head shot in our direction. It moved erratically, it's body and hand movements were both languid yet sharp. I heard a low sound, not unlike a buzzing hiss, but lower, as if I felt the very vibrations in my chest and neck.

I couldn't see who or what it was under the cowl, but it wasn't human. Or not fully human.

I leaped forward, my legs pivoting into a kick. But the thing was too fast, sliding to the left with an eerie speed and scuttling away, grasping cupboards and bed posts with gloved hands and sprinting out onto the balcony. I followed, easily leaping over the bed, stepping down lightly before I launched myself again onto the balcony after it, and with one foot on the balustrade, I noticed the cloaked figure had somehow found its way down and was speeding away through the crowd.

"I'll be back!" I called to Emmaline, and I heard her cry out in alarm as I leaped the fifteen feet to the ground, narrowly missing a couple who gasped as I landed in a roll in front of them. I was on my feet in a flash, sprinting after the figure.

"Have fun!" I shouted after the running Beren before taking a seat on the balcony. The air of Darkwater Crossing was humid, but its elevation meant that there was a cooling breeze out on the balcony. I pulled a knife from my belt and and carefully slit the wax seal. Its always a good practice to keep a seal intact incase you need of falsify a letter at some point. I unrolled the scroll and began to read the contents.

Lady Emmaline Von Morganstern

My Lady, welcome to Darkwater Crossing. As you might imagine
new arrivals are a source of some excitement in our small community.
I would like to invite you to small soiree at Pelican Mansion in
order to meet other members of a more refined sort whose company I
have no doubt, you will find vastly preferable to the common run of
riff-raff.

If you are available, please attend at the second hour after sun down
when the beastly heat is somewhat abated. We are all eager to make your
acquaintance.

Enrik von Nieman

I brightened somewhat at a taste of the finer things, though now my need to do some shopping was somewhat more acute. I pondered going out without waiting for Beren but decided that on balance I'd rather stay here where it was cool until he returned with whatever information he was able to gather.

"You've made yourself comfortable here, haven't you?" A voice spoke with a clipped andredian accent, much like hers. Emmaline turned from her letter, and saw a man she did not recognize. He was perhaps a few years her senior, with a wide brimmed hat and a green tunic that hugged his torso. His blue eyes were grim, and he wore a smile that could cut glass. "And you're a lady of the aristocracy now, I hear?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't order any wine, but it seems you already partook enough." Emmaline replied back, doing her best not to appear intimidated.

"They told me you were clever, though they didn't inform me of your considerable assets beyond that count." He said, and stepped into the room, sliding his hands into his pockets as he glanced around. "I'm not here to do you or your boytoy any harm. I'm just here to remind you where your loyalties lie. You still owe quite the debt, and there a handful of people in this city who would be very glad if you were of the mind to pay it back."

He pulled out a carefully folded cloth and tossed it on the bed. "No need to worry now, just know some will be watching. We'll be in touch, shortly."

He left without another word, and when Emmaline picked up the cloth and unfolded it, she found the black marked symbol of the Occult Bastion upon it.

---

I felt like he was chasing a ghost. As fast as I ran, the hooded figure was just barely at the corner of my vision, ducking into alleys and sliding up causeways. Small tendrils of the great river pierced the city in rivulets, and at one point when I had leaped to the wall and pushed off of it, soaring over a screaming woman carrying a basket of fruits, I watched in similar awe as the figure leaped across one of the canals. I decided to change tactics, remembering the layout of the city from his youth. It looked like the hooded figure was fleeing toward the south eastern section of the city, and so instead of following, I made a quick decision and turned right, running down the street that hugged the canal, nearly colliding into a coach led by two horses of immaculate breeding.

"Who in Jarsom's arse?" A poshed voice cried from behind a tinted window.

"Sorry!" Was all I managed to say to whom I presumed was a lord of the enclave, and sprinted left up the bridge and over it, then skidded right again to run perpendicular up a pathway walk. Despite the circumstances, it felt good to see the architecture and style of the city again. It brought back a lot of memories. The sumptuous decoration and soaring spaces of the inner city and the well-paved inlaid stone streets were the envy of many cities along the coastline. Black swampstone and imported materials from across the exotic south made a stately and eye-catching assortment of buildings. It was lucky for him that he ended up running into a veranda that was not currently occupied.

As I made it to a crossroad between apartments, I caught the cloaked figure flying past my eyes. I growled determinedly and leaped, and with a strong arm, I managed to grab hold of the cloak and yank it back. The figure stumbled, but rose up like a cobra, spinning. Somehow it had a sword in its hand, the blade a blur that nearly cut my head in two. I ducked, but there was too much momentum to do so without concern. So I threw my head and torso back and caught the floor with my hands, lifting my feet to strike the figure center mass. I felt my boots connect with something solid, and the figure crashed through the wooden shutters of a maisonette, hitting the floor with a roll as the sword clattered atop the tiles. I was on it like a pouncing tiger, grabbing the prone form by its collar and lifting its hood.

"What the fu..." I breathed. The grotesque state of the man, or what was once a man, gave him pause. Half of his face was cracked like cooled magma or charred wood, its eye an empty socket that glowed red. It hissed, and grabbed at my forearm. Immediately, I felt something inhuman and painful from the touch, and I pulled away, hurriedly.

"You will not stop us." The thing croaked, its tongue lashing against its lips. "We have foreseen your doom."

"I don't even know you!" I remarked, exasperated. Still, when the thing went for its sword again, I went for my axe. Luckily, I was the quicker, and before two beats of a heart, its head rolled across the floor and then burst into ashes, as if something had built up pressure and caused it to rupture.

"Evergod save me," I muttered, and wiped my hands on my trousers. I took the strange looking sword the thing had reached for, grabbed what gold was off the man, and wound up both in a torn part of the cultist's cloak. Then, prudently, I ran away from the scene as quickly and quietly as possible to keep any odd questions finding their way to me. And on the way back, though, I found himself in the marketplace.

There was faint music wafting across the air, and a general murmur of haggling and laughter. It seemed I had eluded the authorities, and felt a sense of calm wash over me, feeling casual and upbeat here. I saw a man selling vintage bottles of alcohol from across the world, men and women of varying ethnicities and accents whispering to one another as they surveyed his stock. I was never much of a drinker, but I did see something I couldn't believe, and what's more, I recognized. Maybe I could...

Ten minutes later, I marched up the stairs of the inn and stepped to the door of my new room with Emmaline, and knocked with three solid rapts. When Emmaline opened, I had prepped myself for a scene, casually leaning one hand against the doorframe, a rose in my mouth. In my other hand, I held a bottle of stout glass of dark liqud, and on the front it said "Bolgar's Best Brew." A dwarven stout. I wriggled my eyebrows. "Bought you something, babe." I announced, then shrugged. "I got some good news and some strange news." I stepped in, kicking the door closed behind me. "The good news is, as I hinted, this bottle is yours. Only the best for my big booty girlfriend. Strange news, well..."

The Occult Bastion. Sail halfway around the world, use an assumed name, bury me in a cave on the Moon, and they would still find me and ask for a favor. I tucked the sigil away and sat down on the bed, gazing out over the city and the distant jungle on the hills beyond. The Bastion is a quasi-underground guild which offers magical training to the magically gifted, provided they have money, or preferably - are willing to go into debt. By a combination of political chicanery, protection rackets and open threats they close off all but a very few institutes of arcane instruction. Then they use their ‘debts’ to compel half the spell casters in the world to do their dirty work when it suits their purposes.

In my experience the Bastion is ninety percent made up of cruel blowhards and swaggering braggarts. The problem is that the other ten percent are terrifying spell casters, spell blades, and arcane killers, which means they can't just be ignored. Still this was the end of the world, it seemed unlikely that their operatives here were of the highest order. I wondered if they actually wanted something, or if they were just throwing their weight around. I supposed I would find out.

Further ponderings were interrupted as I saw Beren crossing the flagstone street below and entering the inn. I let out a sigh of relief to see him fine after his frantic pursuit of whatever had been snooping in our room. I heard his footsteps coming down the hall and instinctively prepared, laying back on the bed and shaking out my hair before propping my head up on my palm.

“It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen… and the ale isn’t bad either,” I joked, my eyes wide with honest astonishment that he had managed to find such a prize in this malarial jungle. I beckoned him over towards the bed with a crooked finger and a languid smile.

“I take it the strange news is about our visitor?”

I woke up with Emmaline in my arms. I vaguely remembered a thunderstorm the previous night, but it was obscured by the ravenous lovemaking we'd been busy with. She murmured when I stirred, and I stroked her hair as I pulled the sheet up to cover her slim shoulders a bit more completely. Honestly, I was not usually so effected by a woman, let alone carnal pleasures, but as I came to find out, Emmaline and I were influencing each other in more ways than one. Even as I woke up, I felt like going for round three once she was rested, but if we did, I knew we would end up on round six and be in the room all day. Oddly enough, despite my immense stamina, which I was glad to see translated into the bedroom, Emmaline somehow flipped. She would complain after walking for the shortest length of time, but she could outlast me in the bedroom by an insane energy that I guess she was saving for just such an occasion. I could go hours, but she could go days if I let her, and I might if there weren't errands to run. However, she did seem fairly tired still, or at least married to the bed, so I yawned and closed my eyes. As I did, I opened one and peered down at her, certain her ears were slightly more pointed than I remembered, but eventually dismissing the notion and shutting them again. I idly stroked her hair and the back of her lower half for what I believed was another half an hour before she, too, yawned and began to look like she might be ready to get up.

"Stay here babe," I whispered to her, and though she clung to me, and made mewling, annoyed sounds when I slid out of the bed, she curled up in the sheets almost vindictively. I put on some trousers, as well as a linen shirt, and after my boots were finally on, I went downstairs to get us some breakfast, before I brought a tray of hot food. Spiced but sweet pastries wrapped around berry sausage, as well as some blueberry tea. She finally sat up once she smelled the food, and after she ate her fill, she brushed and styled my thick, black mane with her fingers as I had my turn to eat. Oddly enough, despite her refined palette and style, as well as her being from an entirely different continent and an unimaginably different upbringing, Emmaline and I were alike in a lot of ways. This morning was a good example. We were both very animal-like in a lot of ways, for instances. Something we each no doubt saw in the other and found endearing.

After an hour or so, Emmaline and I were ready. Darkwater City was ready, too, something we would have to reckon with multiple times. There were a few clouds in the sky, but the sun was not to be denied, piercing through whatever meager cover the scattered coalitions of gas could give, and that was a rarity this particular day. Even as we stepped onto the street, we could hear meandering music and the scent of spices was in the air. Plump pigeons and storks cried out, breaking through the low murmur of the street talk.

"For the ass end of the world, this place is quite cosmopolitan." Emmaline whispered to herself, before spinning to me. Her hair had been wrapped into a ponytail, the bind made from a piece of my dogi she had clawed off last night. Despite myself, it made me feel almost as special as when I had been given my necklace by my father, or was gifted my Drumngr axe at my Krýning Senaktas when I had turned eighteen with my dwarven mentors. She crossed her arms. "So, what's on the docket today?"

I also crossed my muscled arms and placed a hand on my chin, watching a stray dog walk in a picturesque gait across the the cobblestone street, ducking between two buildings to find shade. "Well, we could try and get your papers for the enclave, we could visit the soldiers in the infirmary, we get new clothes for when we make it inside Old Town, we can-"

"SOLD!"Emmaline exclaimed, hand in the air. "To the handsome man with his third idea!"

I gave two extravagant bows to an imaginary crowd. "Thank you! Thank you!" I said with my smoothest voice. She giggled, and then bounded away. I saw she was halfway down the street by the time I was done with the charade and I raced after her.

Before I knew it, we were down basilisk street where the heaviest market area was located. The stench of sweating men and women intermingled with the scent of fresh fruit and the spray of the nearby wetlands, a cool breeze bringing momentary relief to the hot day. Emmaline scampered into a shop just as the breeze died down, and I had to duck and dodge through the crowd, even jumping over a child, not to lose sight of her. By the time I had leaped into the door and ducked through the curtains that served as a barrier, she was in the dressing room with four outfits picked out. Briefly as I passed under the sign, I saw the store was called the Threads of Fate. If memory served, this was one of the more expensive boutiques. Luckily we had coin to spare, but it was not limitless. And when I saw Emmaline flinging dresses, I knew there was going to be a dent.

The first was a scarlet evening dress, strapless and laced around a plunging backline, with a slit for her legs. The next was a blue halter neck dress with arm slits to hold it up, both silk satin. The next was an abyssal black v-neck sheath dress of velvet, and the last was a dark indigo party dress made of elven silk made specially for large busted women, with an oval opening above the breasts to give a risque view whilst remaining classy. And those were only half of what she was eventually going to get.

As her outfits increased, so did the bags she accumulated. I found myself carrying six of them in my arms, along with a brass coronet chased in silver that she just had to have. I busied myself by trying some of the local cuts of beef a vendor was selling just outside the Threads of Fate, but I walked back in once I had my fill, and by the time she was done, we both stepped into the hot sun with my body loaded down with merchandise. Emmaline bounced with every step.

That is, until she was shoved out of the way by a man-at-arms that had suddenly materialized out of the crowd. I saw a few onlookers gasp and desperately try to move away, but they were shoved as well, likely but other soldiers. The one that had borderline assaulted Emmaline bore a spangenhelm, but the entirety of his armor was hard to determine from the silver and blue surcoat ensconcing his upper body. I could see he did wear mail from the chains draped along his arms. Luckily his hands were not covered in iron, but the man was not gentle when he moved her, one step short of backhanding her out of the way. She yelped and fell, but I caught her before she hit the stone. She pouted in the midst of my arms and the bags she had gathered for her hoard. She was about to tell the man off, but I beat her to it.

"If you touch her again, I'll rip your face off and throw it in the drink" I warned him. He gazed at me with a look that seemed half incredulity and half derision, as if he was seeing for the first time that the ants he stepped on might bite. My eyes never left his, and I added the next part to try and embarrass him. "You just shoved the Lady Von Morganstern."

It gave him pause for a moment, but another look and he sneered. "I've never heard of anyone by that name, and no lady would have an escort except a mixed breed wretch like yourself." He said with a dark humor. Before he could order us to move again, a voice like a ringing bell called from behind the man.

"Sergeant Baird, keep moving forward. This heat is insufferable."

He turned abruptly, his rough face was now all smiles and kindness. "Yes, my lady D'Albon," he responded before he removed the curtain, bowing in reverence. I helped Emmaline to her feet, and a few other guards went to move us physically, which had me bristling like a feral dog before Emmaline placed a hand on my cheek to let me know she was not wishing me to fight on her behalf for the moment, and we stepped back. The crowd parted, and a regal woman stepped into view. I blinked, and almost snorted at the irony.

She was everything Emmaline was not. Where Emmaline was prone to clumsiness, she glided like a swan on water. Where Emmaline was curvaceous, she was slender. She was even a brunette to Emma's head of gold, her eyes green whereas Emma's were blue. She was accompanied by multiple men who sought her protection based on loyalty, and Emmaline had gone into the wilds alone, and found myself out of mutual attraction and even care. Emmaline garbed herself casually (at the moment), this woman looked like she had just stepped out of a ball, her dress shimmering. She was tall, almost as tall as I. For a moment, I thought her imperious air would have her either ignore us or give a platitude, but when her eyes snapped to us, her lips curled in distaste.

"The only thing more pathetic than a commoner is a commoner that acts like an aristocrat," she chuckled snidely, and then stepped into the Threads of Fate, lifting her nose as if Emmaline had a particularly odious stench. I clenched my fist, not even aware she had pegged Emmaline's situation correctly, just taking offense for the insult on her behalf. But again, Emmaline placed a hand on my forearm, and motioned for us to go. I hesitated, and then nodded, making sure all the dresses were in my arms before we moved. "We'll talk about it later," Emmaline told me. I was surprised, but a little impressed, admittedly. Usually I was the cool headed one in most conversations, and Emmaline tended to let her emotions show on her face when she was not in one of her 'roles,' but she held herself well, so I conceded and pushed it from my mind.

We passed the wharves, where sailors with bowling gaits swathed in exotic clothing bartered with local merchants and stockmasters were checking off their lists of stacked crates. A huge crane was slowly lifting a pallet of barrels by a clever pulley system over a rise in the dock to settle down near the street, next to one of the warehouses. Carracks, Cogs, Sloops, and even a royal Andredian Galleon were docked, and the assortment of men and women and even non-humans were too numerous to describe. As we passed the docks, a dre costan sailor popped up from behind a warehouse, smiling at us with ivory teeth.

"¿Quién quiere pulpo? Octo?" He asked, holding up slimy, indigo colored, eight tentacled things from the deeps. Their heads bulbous and their cat eyes like saucers.

"No, gracias," I informed him, ushering Emmaline along.

"Was he expecting us to just buy them?" She asked.

"I hear some old legends say you can dry their legs into charms and it's a ward from daemons and water spirits." I informed her. "Sailor's superstition."

"I keep forgetting you're an amatuer scholar. Anyway, where do we turn for the scribe?" Emmaline asked as we reached another fork in the street. I scrounged up my old memories, and thought about tapping my chin before I realized it was physically impossible without dropping a bag. I nodded to the left, and said "this way, I think."

She snapped her fingers and ushered me to move, playing at being my liege lord. Technically, she kind of was as far as I knew, still believing her to be of northern nobility. Though, I also suspected this was just a part of the task of being her boyfriend, and I decided there were far worse fates in the world. Even after all of the daemons, conspiracies, lies, and all the blood that was yet to be shed, I find myself admitting I wouldn't change a thing in the world about us.

The street, called Westwood, which used to be Hook Street (likely changing the name to be more accommodating to newcomers, as was Darkwater's attempt to change its freebooter reputation) was what I considered to be a more traditional, Andredian style of build. The street was tiled with grey stone, stacked in squares. The buildings were thatched, with earthy colors and made of sturdy oak, eschewing the local cypress and driftwood aesthetic many of the other shops and homes sported. Emmaline, as she told me later, still spotted the differences between the traditional makes and styles, the signs and doors made with a more effervescent style of woodwork, for instances. However, we soon found the scribe's office, a handful of ruffians slinking off from the nearest alley at our approach.

"Let me do the talking," Emmaline whispered to me.

"So I'll play my usual role," I grinned, and she winked at me before opening the door. A bell jingled, and a portly man in spectacles shot up from behind the counter at the back of the room, having apparently had his head down for a nap. The walls were stacked with scrolls and parchments, bottles of ink and quills of various lengths and birds were at the ready. A few areas were cleared of merchandise so letters of marque and charters could be displayed, complete with heraldic symbols and the correct flourishes depending on the nation and subject. At the highest point of the back wall, a blue and gold tapestry depicting the sign of Aulor, God of Scholars and Perspicuity, hung.

"H-Hello," the scribe said, taking his spectacles off and wiping them. His pockmarked face scrunched up as he tried to see the two of us, before planting the spectacles back on. I set the bags down across from the door and stood in front of them protectively. I made it clear I was not going to speak with my buttoned lip and crossed arms, and Emmaline approached the counter. There was a small, woolen table-cover of crimson atop it, along with a laminated standing parchment of a historical manuscript. To the far right was a dias, where an ancient tome was open, displaying a flowing. illuminated script you might find in a monk's scriptorum. "May-May I help you?"

"Yes, I am the Lady Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern, and I am inquiring on what sort of scripts I can commission a scribe to create." She said with a patrician inflection, placing her hands on the edge of the smooth counter.

"W-Well as long as you have the proper authority, we can make whatever you wish. Missives, love letters, edicts, letters of marque, histories, charters, patents of nobility, alchemical manuals, and the like."

"Excellent. I am newly arrived in your lovely city of Darkwater, and I am without patents of nobility. My ship had an...unexpected accident. How much would I owe you to form them for me? And how long would it take?"

He swallowed. It was hard to tell if he was normally shy, nervous for a mysterious reason, or the heat was simply getting to him. "Uh, well, we would need another aristocrat or person of rank to vouch for you, as well as three other witnesses, in order to get the verification we would need to make such a script, but once you provided that it could be finished in a matter of days. They unfortunately do not come cheap, my lady. F-Five gold royals, depending on the type of parchment and the family history, is uh, the usual fare."

"Oh, that will simply not do." Emmaline remarked, with just the right mixture of disapproval and civility. "You're an apprentice, are you not? I wish to speak with your master."

"Um," the portly man hesitated. I felt like he had a kind face, which had me empathize with him. Luckily, it seemed it was only his usual hesitation and not a pause out of fear. "Yes, right away. Master Ludwic!... Master?"

A few moments passed, and nothing seemed to stir from the back. The apprentice looked about to apologize before a grumbling erupted. "Yes, yes, what is it?" An elderly gentleman said, stepping out and blinking. He bore a robe of tan colors, and a sleeveless, embroidered green vest with an Aulor sigil on his breast. His apprentice quickly informed him of the perceived problem, and Master Ludwic cleared his throat, dismissing his pupil with a wave one might use to swat a fly. The apprentice made his leave, nearly tripping in the process, but shutting the door behind on as he went to the back. The master placed his hands together and rested them on the table as he regarded Emmaline. "Er, where do you hail from, my lady, and what family is yours?"

It was Emmaline's turn to hesitate, blinking. "I..." But she cleared her throat and tossed her fringe out of her eyes, planting her hands on her hips. "My family hails from Kaedamer, the Von Morgansterns, a vassal of the marchwardens of Arbormark. I also have a great uncle who has distinguished himself as a knight, sir Falhurst of Krue, in Duxerly."

The master scribe bit his tongue, and though Emmaline did not see it, shock momentarily showed on my face. Ludwic looked past her and into my eyes, but my surprise had been erased by then. Both he and I knew that meant Emmaline shared, albeit distantly, blood with the legendary Torm Draufkrieg of Andredian history, reputedly Anderlon Reborn. Master Ludwic thought for a moment, and pursed his lips. "Can you not provide proof of your claim of nobility? I must inform you, 'my lady.' Even if you do, I will need to know your family history for the previous four generations for you to gain the patent that will allow you into the Enclave."

"You know..." Emmaline began, sliding her hands together, her arms squeezing her bosom until they were on display. She fluttered her long lashes, her voice honeyed. "My memory is a little short, but I'm certain we can come to an arrangement." She tossed her hair back again, this time with less pride and more style.

It had absolutely no effect. I bit my lip so I wouldn't laugh.

"If you cannot provide your family history, along with the required proof, the best I can do is a personal family history. Although, I might be persuaded to give you your patents of nobility if you prove your wealth by paying two hundred golden royals. If you are truly a noble-" The man prattled on, clearly not believing Emmaline's story, and she bargained back, but I could tell it was not going to go her way. That was when the Evergod intervened, as he always did in pivotal moments. The door to the scriptorum opened, the bell ringing again. Emmaline was too busy with the discussion to glance back, until the scribe's face went white, and he audibly exhaled in distress. Emmaline finally looked over her shoulder.

I had a great view of the newcomers, actually.

Three unscrupulous looking fellows with short black tabards, along with chaperon hoods had stepped in. On the back of their hands was the mark of the Ignis Anael, a strange bastardization of a holy Omerist symbol, with the appearance of two fish hooks, one longer than the other, bisecting, along with the number 4 written within it. The member that stood out was the last one. The short concealing clothes could not hide his red skin or four arms. I knew he was one of the Stranded, an Onin. As much of an alien to this world as the daemons, though onins were not spirits or pure evil like daemons. However, they were tough to fight, and as ferocious as sharks.

"Weeeeell," the one at the front said with a sinister voice, patting a knife against the shelves he casually passed them, clearly making his way to the front desk. The other human kept back, eyeing me threateningly. He bore a mace he kept in his crossed arms. The onin held no weapon, but growled menacingly. I was not sure if he could fully close his mouth with those small tusks. The leader continued, giving a few glances to Emmaline: "Sorry to interrupt your business here, Ludwic, but we expect our payment today. You can discuss with the pretty lady once we're done here."

"I-I still have another three days!" The scribe protested, stepping back from the counter warily. "You told me I was guaranteed a full fortnight! How can I pay you if you don't give me time?"

The ganger made a show of perusing the various documents he had no real interest in, speaking as if to a friend. I couldn't see his face well, but he had a thin, long nose. "You know how things get, master. When the need arises... Don't worry, we'll extend your next tax by another three days, unless something else comes up, of course."

He had turned to regard Ludwic by that point, smiling wickedly. Emmaline took a wise step back, but suddenly a thought came to her. I could tell by the way her blue eyes lit up, and she turned once again to Ludwic.

"Master Ludwic." She said, her face serene. I was always impressed with her poker faces. Right now she looked every inch in control of the situation, as if she were a queen protected by a dozen knights. I wished I could act like that. "Let us make a deal. How about we buy you the time until your next payment is needed? If so, would you be willing to make the documents I require in short order?"

The scribe looked at Emmaline in shock, and the bandit's face screwed up in bemusement. He gave a confused 'what?' but Ludwic was too taken aback to even look at the threatening man at that exact moment. It was clear to me now, in hindsight, that he believed Emmaline was offering to pay out of pocket to make the men go away. I also now believe that was how she wished to appear. At the time, however, I was completely sure we were on the same wavelength.

"Yes, thank you most graciously for your assistance, my lady." The scribe said with the most deference he had shown her since he had walked out to bargain with her. All three members of the gang looked at each other in confusion, and the leader looked like he was about to say something snide. Emmaline ignored him and smiled delightedly, and then spun to me.

I pointed at myself with my right hand, and at the three gangers with my left, a questioning look on my face.

Emmaline nodded.

There was a group of fishwives walking just outside of the scriptorum, giggling and chatting together like old friends. Even after a long morning and noonday of working, they were likely now heading to grab a bite to eat. Their laughter turned into startled screams when the door burst open and two of the gangers suddenly flew out of the scriptorum like they were launched out of a mangonel. The women scattered like mice as the men hit the pavement. Next, I stepped out, grappling with the onin, having managed to get him from behind as he desperately tried to attack me with his second pair of arms. I shoved my knee into his back, and it gasped in pain, before I lifted him into the air and let go, and snapped my foot forward to strike the humanoid before it hit the ground. It flew half a dozen feet to land with his comrades.

"Don't bother the master again, please." I said to them, adding the please because I felt in their haze, they might find it sincere, and I turned to the women who had bothered to glance back, giving them my apologies before I closed the door.

If Ludwic was white earlier, he was now ivory, as if his soul had fled his body. Emmaline, however, looked composed and as pleased as I had ever seen her. She smiled politely and placed her hands together in the same manner Ludwic had done when he had walked out to deal with her. "Now where were we?"