Adeluna was not the worst place to stay, he kept reminding himself. It was sunny and warm, the food was good, there was more wine than even he could drink, and there were enough people milling around that he could disappear into relative anonymity. It was certainly better than the climate in the Highlands lately, as the clans were warring more than they had when he was young. He missed the heather clad hills and the sprawling mountain valleys, but he did not miss the internecine feuding that marked the current climate in the North. So, like many of his countrymen, he had settled in the southern kingdom where their martial talents were in great demand, with Adeluna’s constant petty conflicts and its commitment to the Mamluk throne as well. Galin had commanded an independent company that had been contracted to the Crown, Highlanders for the most part, and they had fought in the squabbles between the Queen and her barons until they were lost at sea during an abortive invasion of a Highland fiefdom. Galin himself had barely survived and spent a year in a dank pit before he was released and made his way south again. Luckily, the Queen had remembered his faithful service and he was attached to the royal household as a courtesy, with a sergeant’s position as an advisor to her Company of Guards. He spent most of his day at their barracks now, training them and their officers, many of whom had not yet seen combat.

“Lads, come now, what have I said? You always keep ranks. Even if one of yours is hurt and screaming for his mother, you keep your damned ranks.” Galin’s face was red with irritation as he glared at the offending soldier. “When you leave your place, when you break this line, what happens?” The young man, barely old enough to shave and the scion of a minor noble house near the coast, looked aghast that this scruffy looking commoner would speak to him so crudely. “Do you have an answer or have you been left deaf and dumb from all the royal inbreeding you lot seem to like, eh?” The man stiffened as though he was struck then took a pace forward to confront the Highlander. Galin smirked and let him come.

“That’s quite enough,” the guardsman said. “You should have more care with your tone, you piece of goat shit. If it weren’t for the Queen’s warrant, I’d have your balls.”

The rest of the men edged forward, looking to see if this was the moment where their unpleasant sergeant would finally get his comeuppance. “So Little Lord Pisspants has reached down between his legs this morning and discovered his balls, eh? Surprised your wife lent you them for the day, I am. So what is it you plan on doing, milord? You know what,” he said and tossed his shield aside and spread his arms wide, “I give you leave. Take your chance if you’ve got the stomach for it.” The young lord growled and lunged forward with his spear, aiming at the center of Galin’s chest. The sergeant did not flinch as the blade sped toward him. The other guardsmen gasped as they thought that they would surely see Galin impaled on the spear’s point but Galin had other ideas. He pivoted on his left foot so the blade passed harmlessly by him and swung his war hammer at the young lord’s face. The iron bound shaft hit the guardsman square in the nose, breaking it in a welter of blood and a rush of tears. He instantly dropped his spear and clutched his face.

“I’ll have you hanged for that you –“
“Do we have a problem here, Ochiern,” asked an amused voice from the training ground’s gallery. The Captain General of the Guard leaned over the balustrade and smiled. He was a native Adelunan, a cousin of the queen, and a staunch ally of Galin’s after he had seen the man’s company in action six years prior. “It looks to me that we might.”

“Oh, no sir, not at all, sir. This fine young gentleman thought that he knew better than a shaggy looking northern savage and I had to show him why exactly your cousin pays me so well. And now that I’ve ruined his boyish good looks, I think he’ll learn the error of his ways and fall in line like a proper soldier and not a spoiled wanker hiding behind his daddy’s name. Isn’t that right, Vincente?” The young lord nodded with his hands gripped around his bleeding nose. “Now run along to the surgeon, lad. You’re looking a bit pale.” Galin turned back to his commander. “So you see, lord, there’s no problem at all. Now, could you tell the lads, why is it that I scream at them day and night about staying in rank?”

The Captain General chuckled. “Because, gentlemen, if you break ranks, you die. And not just you, your brothers to your right and to your left. And because we are the Company of Guards, our Queen dies. And that is generally not what we want. So stay in your fucking ranks like the man tells you or I’ll let him actually start disciplining you like he wants. And trust me, you do not want that, not for a minute. But, seeing as it has been a long week, you’re released back to the barracks and can enjoy a night on the town. Dismissed.” The company melted back into their quarters, glad about the respite and looking forward to their first night of liberty since they came to the capital. “A word, Galin?”

“Aye sir,” the sergeant replied while he wiped the lord’s blood from the hammer’s shaft. The Captain General came down from the gallery. “What is it, lord? Don’t hit the little shits because their parents will whine to Herself?” He dropped the war hammer back into the loop at his right side. “Because I won’t do that. I’ll bloody desert first.”

“Not that. I wouldn’t have had my cousin appoint you if I wanted them soft. We haven’t had a proper war in years but I feel it in my bones that one’s coming. I want them good, better than good. No, I was just asking how you’ve been settling in since you sold off you company’s property. Kat’s got herself a nice setup in town. I haven’t been down yet, of course, but some of the other guards can’t stop raving about it.”

Galin grimaced. “It’s a pain in the balls, let me tell you. Once I’m done here, I have to head to the market with a list as long as my arm and she’ll be tearing me up one side and down the other if it isn’t all there. I love her, but I think I liked her better when she was trying to steal my pay chest.”

“I don’t envy you that. Nice thing about owning a quarter of Adeluna, if my wife starts a fight, I can go to another castle.”

“Prick,” Galin laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Three hours later, Galin realized the prescient irony of his gripe. His trip to the market had been mostly a success but apparently he had bought a dozen wrong onions, which Katja was very quick to tell him once he got to the kitchens of the Bush and Pole. “Maker’s bollocks, you’d think I was screwing the serving girls the way you’re giving me grief,” he shouted over his shoulder as she followed him up the stairs to their room over the tap room. “I got you bloody onions, I got a whole herb garden for you, and you’re shouting at me like this? This isn’t about the onions is it, Kat? Oh no, it’s The Question again isn’t it?” Galin poured himself a cup of wine from the small jug on their table. “Back to this again like always. You know I love you, but right now, I could throttle the life out of you. Why do you have to be so pigheaded about this? I don’t bloody know how many damned kids I want. I didn’t plan on having ‘em so maybe give me time to catch up, yeah?”

Galin cocked his head when he heard footsteps on the stairs and muffled shouts from the kitchen. He put the wine aside and slowly eased his long dagger from its sheath and motioned for Katja to be ready. He pressed himself against the wall alongside watched the latch lift and the door swing open. The moment it was swung open wide enough, he stepped out with his dagger at the stranger’s throat. “And just who in the nine hells are you, coming into a man’s private quarters? You ever seen this one before, Kat?”

It was the same routine, day in and day out, but Katja didn’t mind. She was rather content with the life that she and Galin had concocted for themselves in Adeluna. Once they had the coin built up, it hadn’t taken her much to talk Galin into buying the once-dilpidated tavern - with the full intent that she would focus on the day-to-day operations, of course. It kept her occupied while Galin was off, aiding in the training of the Queen’s company of guards, and she rather enjoyed it.

Although she was generally happy to see her husband when he returned home, she found it rather annoying when he couldn’t carry out as simple a task as bring home the correct onions from the market - something he clearly didn’t see as big of an issue as she did. Thus, she found herself marching up the stairs to their home above the tavern behind Galin, the pair having a rather loud ‘conversation.’ ”You’d know better than to sleep with the serving girls, because you know I wouldn’t hesitate to stick my dagger in your manhood were you to get caught,” she said smirking slightly. ”But onions, Galin, onions! Yellow, green, red… all those injuries you sustained over the years in battle… knew they left you scarred, didn’t know they’d left you colorblind,” she said, rolling her eyes as she walked behind him.

She paused on the stairs behind him as he shifted the conversation to the fact that, as of late, she had been pressing the matter of children with him. She resumed walking and passed through the doorway behind him. ”I’m not getting any younger, and the older I get, the more chance there is that in gaining a child, you’ll lose your wife,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ”Take your time, but don’t take too long,” she added, moving to get herself a bit of wine after Galin had finished.

The cup of wine she had poured halfway to her lips, Katja froze as she heard the muffled movement just as Galin had, and followed his lead, crouching to one side. She pushed her skirts to the side enough to reveal the top of her boots, where she withdrew a small dagger that she held concealed. Straightening back up, she stood just out of view of the door as Galin swung it open, within moments his dagger pressed against the throat of the person on the other side.

At the threshold of the door stood a very beautiful woman, perhaps a bit taller than Katja but not by much. Her hair was dark, long, and wavy, and her eyes nearly as dark as her hair. She was dressed in all black, and her skin was pale, yet somehow luminous. She glanced sideways to Galin, but she did not retreat - nor did she move in any sort of manner that would indicate offense. The only movement she made was to slowly raise her hands, showing to Galin that she held no sort of weapon.

When Katja was sure that the stranger was not able to attack she stepped back into view - to which the stranger took one look at her and sharply inhaled. ”By Inferos, you look just like her,” breathed the stranger, sounding absolutely astonished.

Katja narrowed her eyes and looked to Galin before looking back at the dark haired woman in the doorway. ”Who? Who do I look like?” she asked, sounding rather confused. “And who the bloody hell are you?”] she asked, sounding annoyed and confused all at once, though her expression gave way to confusion more than anything.

The woman in the doorway blinked once. ”My name is Jazrael,” she said. ”And I’d be happy to tell you more, if he can remove the blade from my throat,” she added.

Katja looked at Galin, and it seemed as though she were torn. Galin, on the other hand, lowered the blade, though it seemed he was remaining at the ready, positioned to strike at a moment’s notice if the situation deemed it necessary. ”So talk,” said Katja.

”A bit of backstory is in order, I suppose,” said Jazrael, leaning against the doorway. “I come from Inferos,” she said, her eyes flashing abysmal black for a brief moment as though to to prove to them that she was, in fact, a demon. “I was one of Lady Dalanesca’s messorem, may she rest in peace,” she continued, bowing her head slightly at the mention of one of Revaliir’s fallen. Though she did not practice worship of Revaliir’s pantheon, Katja was familiar with the history of its deities. “When she fell, of course, a new ruler of Inferos was chosen - but there are some, there are a few of us who see this new ruler as a false idol,” she continued. “She had no right to the power that was given to her,” she concluded.

Katja shook her head slightly. “Not following,” she said, retrieving the cup of wine she had set on the table and took a slow drink. “Why does a fallen god warrant a visit to our tavern? What does it have to do with Galin and I?” she asked Jazrael, who looked mildly amused.

“Oh, it’s nothing to do with your precious husband, Katja, it’s everything to do with you,” she said. Katja immediately took two steps towards the woman, brandishing her dagger towards her rather threateningly, the cup of wine still clutched in her other hand.

“How do you know my name?” asked Katja, her voice having taken on a rough, threatening tone.

“You even sound like she did, when she would be angry with me,” said Jazrael, a reminiscent laugh accompanying her words. Katja eyed her suspiciously, not connecting the dots. “Don’t you ever wonder why you can’t remember growing up? Why you can’t remember anything before those farmers found you, Katja?” Jazrael went on, asking Katja questions that she was not answering. “Do you ever have strange dreams that you can’t explain, dreams that don’t make sense?” she asked her.

Katja didn’t answer her, but stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Get to the point,” she hissed, the dagger still pointed at her.

“You hold so much more power than you are aware of, so much potential - I can nearly taste the magic resonating off of you,” Jazrael said in a pointed manner. Katja let out a sharp laugh.

“I couldn’t cast a spell if my life depended on it,” Katja said. “You’ve clearly gotten your lines crossed somewhere,” she added, to which Jazrael shook her head.

“There are those of us who believe that you should be ruling Inferos, Katja,” said Jazrael.

“I’m sorry… what?” asked Katja, disbelief audible in her voice.

“There are those of us who think you should be following in Dalanesca’s footsteps. There are those of us who wish to see Serafina ripped from her throne. There are those of us who would see you follow in your mother’s footsteps,” Jazrael said, glancing at Galin before looking back to Katja. When it was clear that Jazrael’s words hadn’t hit home with Katja, she reiterated what she had said in a different fashion. “Your mother, Katja. Dalanesca was your mother.”

The shattering sound of Katja’s wine cup hitting the floor rang out against the silence that had fallen over the room. It seemed that Jazrael had expected such a thing, as she looked away from Katja who was staring at Jazrael as though frozen in stone. Jazrael turned to Galin. “I will leave the two of you, for now. I will be back to speak with her again, when she has had time to… process this,” she added, and before anyone could say another word Jazrael had disappeared.

Katja stood frozen in place for a moment, before finally drawing in a sharp breath. ”No,” she said, quietly, before repeating it more loudly several times. She bent down and tucked her dagger back into its hiding place, and stood back up. “Nope,” she said, one more time, before pushing her way through the open doorway, her boots thudding as she hurried down the stairs.
More shouting could be heard moments later as Katja had made her way back behind the bar, shouting at two of the serving girls to get out of her way. She found one of the bottles of whiskey made in the Highlands that she and Galin kept behind the bar for special guests, and uncorked it, taking a large drink straight from the bottle, repeating that motion several times. A few minutes later the tavern door swung open, a group of those training in the Queen’s company of guards having entered the tavern.

Galin had the good sense to keep his mouth shut for once. The woman in the door was someone that he realized he had no sense in fighting. She was some flavor of loyalist in another regime, albeit one that she thought was divine. And Galin had learned enough in his time not to question that sort of person if letting them ramble was the alternative. The mad, he thought, just needed to hear their madness spoken, even if it was them speaking the madness. So when mention of dead or fallen pagan idols began to surface, he lowered his dagger and let the stranger speak her piece. Apparently his wife was the daughter of the sort of thing that passed for a god around here and had magical abilities, even though she didn’t have enough magic to conjure her own, correct types of onions rather than sending the man with the culinary skills of a blacksmith out to the market. He figured he could enjoy the disparity later.

The demon woman seemed to know what she was talking about, even if it seemed mad to the Highlander. Talk of gods and goddesses rankled his sensibilities but he made sure not to interrupt. Something about the story made him believe that it was too far fetched to be a lie. Maybe his wife did have latent magical abilities, and was the daughter of the sort of magus that the world revered as a god. Maybe she was just another bastard. To him, it didn’t matter. She was his and he was hers and whatever happened beyond that did not bother his mind for a second. He knew it was his own sort of madness, accepting whatever came without complaint, but it was a madness that made sense. Katja, arguments aside, was the best thing that had ever come out of his years of soldiering and he was more willing to listen to what he thought was nonsense for her sake. When the demon revealed Katja’s mother’s name, Galin stared her down, his dagger quivering in his stress-tight grip. “Come by when we’re closed, demon. We have a business to run first,” he growled, hoping to hide his discomfort and anger in his desire to return to business as usual. He realized, as the words left his mouth, that the demon disappeared but he could do little else but speak to empty air.

Katja did not seem as though she wanted to think about this new revelation now, much less talk about it, as she fired off a string of denials. She nearly ran out of the room and Galin follower her moments after, once their rooms were secure. By the time he made it down to the taproom, he could see that she was already getting into the whiskey like it was the only thing that could give her solace. Galin lingered at the landing of the stairs a moment, not sure what to say. She was clearly rattled but there was nothing he could really do or say until the demon returned to give her more information. Instead, he had to find a way to help her with little information and less direction. Then again, he thought, they were married and that ended up being the game more nights than not when he had made a mistake. Katja was always blunt and honest but for the life of him, Galin found himself making mistakes without even knowing there was a mistake to make. But as he heard a drunken marching song, he knew that his concerns for the night had just gotten worse.

The men that he had been training, enjoying their first furlough, had made their way into his tavern. They had apparently hit every wine shop and ale house between the barracks and the Bush and they immediately made their presences known, shouting at his wife. Galin stayed in the landing, knowing that they could not own a tavern without some of the men getting out of line. Only these were his men, his soldiers, and they were just a little worse than he –

Galin whipped his head around when he heard a loud smack. He could see his favorite recruit grinning as he pulled his hand away from Katja’s rear end. And rather than have her gut him, as he saw her preparing to as she reached for her boot, he bounded off the stairway and interposed himself between them. “Back to the bar, Kat,” he whispered urgently. When she only seemed to growl and ignore his reply, he increased the urgency of his order. “Behind the bar, now. Trust me.” She took a few half hearted steps in that direction but did not bother returning to serving drinks. Instead, she watched as Galin turned at the five recruits that stumbled in. “You lads, you know me. You know better than to insult me in my own home. I’ll assume it was a drunken mistake. All of you can go…” He pointed at the man that had hauled off and hit Katja. “Except for you, with the busted nose. We need to have words.

The drunk, broken-nosed recruit just sneered at Galin and in that moment, his patience was gone. Before the recruit had time to process what was happening, Galin slammed his right first into the man’s jaw, spinning him around like a top and toppling him over one of the long tavern benches. “Next one that comes at me,” he hissed as he pulled his sword from its scabbard, won’t be so lucky. I’ll gut you.” The other recruits, most of them not overly fond of their drunken comrade, melted away at the first sight of Galin’s sword, leaving their drunken friend behind.

Before the young noble had fully regained consciousness, Galin grabbed him by his collar and his beltand carried him bodily out to the paddocks where the tavern’s horses here housed. The right had left him insensate, so Galin found he had surprisingly few protests when he heaved the man over his own low wall and into the midden of the tavern across the alley. The man moaned and rolled down the damp pile of human refused before he staggered off into the night, left unsteady as his head was still ringing. “And the rest of you,” he shouted, knowing they were close by, “Get him home, cleaned up, and ready for the next month of cleaning latrines!”

With the crisis averted, Galin saw that Katja was hitting the whiskey almost as hard as he did. He gave the regular patrons a significant look that led to a chorus of coins rolling on the wood of the bar. The town drunks knew that if there was going to be any sort of conversation, the two would need quiet, and out of respect for the couples that kept them drinking, they swallowed their drinks and left in peace. Within a quarter hour, the bar was cleared and Galin dragged a table closer to the end of the night’s fine. “So my beautiful wfe,” he said as he guided her to a seat, “it looks like one answer has a thousand other questions.” He poured three glasses of the whiskey that Katja had been slugging down all night and set one in front of each of them and left the last for what he expected to be a return of the demon,

Galin squeezed her hand and smiled. “At least it has been an eventful day? What do you make of all this? You know I wouldn’t know a god if I tripped over one… And why would she be looking for you now…” He poured himself a glass of the whiskey, downed it, and poured another. “Something isn’t right. I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t right. And even the whiskey isn’t helping,” he concluded as he filled the last glass. “Do you even think she was telling the truth?” He downed his drink and filled it again. “None of this makes a damn bit of sense.” He looked at her sheepishly and smiled crookedly over the rim of his glass of whiskey. “And I am sorry about the onions. That was my mistake. The kids… maybe you’ve been right and I’ve been a pigheaded idiot. It has been known to happen, after all.” He took another sip and winked with the same crooked smile. “Or maybe I’m the sane one. Either way, we need to understand what the demon wants. The rest, I pray by the Maker, will follow this madness soon and all we have to worry about is raising wee ones.” He winked at her. “Aye, I said ones with an S, but don’t tell anyone.”