It had been a very long morning and Therion was grumpy. Grumpier than his normal base level of grump even.

It had taken considerably longer than it should have to get to Atlasdam mainly because Alf insisted on stopping every few minutes to examine every single weed he spied and then got himself into a long and pointless conversation with the Cleric about it. While H'aanit had seemed happy to indulge them it had riled Therion's nerves no end. It didn't help that Ophilia had eaten it all up with a spoon appearing to be genuinely interested and chattering on and on with question after bloody question.

Still, he supposed it had kept the Cleric's attention off him a bit. Once too often he had felt her eyes boring a hole through him and when he caught her off-guard staring at him her face was sad. It was so bloody annoying. He had sighed a deep sigh of relief when they'd finally spied the City in the distance and now they were here their unwanted association could be at an end and good riddance.

As soon as they hit town Therion slipped away from the others who went off to get rooms and food. He desperately needed some time alone and his fingers were itching too. All that wholesome camaraderie had made him completely uncomfortable and he figured that some petty larceny was definitely in order to redress the balance.

Therion wove his way skilfully through the crowds thronging the streets - mainly students and scholars - and the thief was pleased to note the high number of well heeled targets that spread out before him like a tasty banquet.

The city itself was quite open, bright and well maintained which was not such a good thing but Therion knew his trade well and he still anticipated rich and varied pickings come the evening. Until darkness fell he decided he would pass some time having a good listen to the chatter around and about for any juicy titbits. He quickly found a lively Tavern that was not too far from the university itself, ordered himself a beer and settled himself down at the bar intent on some relaxed information gathering.

Almost immediately his mood was dampened again. The main buzz was about the arrival of the Flamebearer into town even though Ophilia had literally only arrived a short time ago.

The woman holding court over the subject was a Cleric herself, a much older woman surrounded by a few others of her damned profession and a growing crowd of onlookers.

'She is completely insane you know.' The sister was proclaiming with a vicious smirk and seemed gratified by the serious nods at her words. 'I was one of the Sister's at Flamesgrace back when they brought her to the Cathedral.' The woman carried on. 'It's not a time I will ever forget.'

'She was carrying the severed head of her Mother I heard' another of the Sisters said breathlessly.

The older woman nodded gravely. ' Bloated and rotten it was, at least a week gone when they found her clinging to it like a doll.' There was a collective gasp at the image. The Cleric leaned in closer to her audiences. 'It was reckoned her folk had been destitutes, refugees fleeing the war overtaken by some enemy outriders. Left the child for dead too, but some devilment kept her alive - I swear by the Flame that nothing holy could have survived the slaughter.' More gasps. 'Taken by the dark God himself she was - it took four Sisters and two guards to get that head out of her grasp, and the child herself only five or so at the time. I still bear the scar where she bit me on that day.' The woman added dramatically.

'How in the world did she come to be performing the Kindling?' a portly well-dressed man asked with curious indignation.

'Snuck in and stole the flame when the Archbishop fell ill.' The Cleric shook her head sadly. 'And for shame after all he had done for her, adopting the whelp and allowing his own daughter to be raised alongside her.' There was a small pause. 'It was Lianna who was supposed to carry the Flame - not a well regarded choice but at least she was an Archbishop's daughter and not the devil-get of some unknown pauper.'

Therion found that his hands were strangling the neck of his beer glass to the point it might shatter. He relaxed his hold and tried to maintain a nonchalant air as he moved closer.

'It's all bad timing really,' The Cleric continued. 'The flames dampening, more and more people are turning away from the church and now this debacle. We need some strong leadership starting with a strong Flamebearer. Still..' The old woman started to chuckle. '..the girl won't last long on the road. It's happened once or twice in the church history, where the Bearer falls foul of some misadventure or another and the journey has to get restarted.' The old harridan seemed extremely pleased with her prediction of Ophilia's impending doom.

'Archbishop Josef is a good man - he was a Flamebearer himself. I find it hard to accept that he could be taken in so completely.' The new speaker was a younger male Cleric, much more provincially dressed than the others he grouped with. 'I met Sister Ophilia only once,' he admitted '..but she appeared to be devoted to her role.'

'Brother Paul, you are a good man but you are way outside of the politic of the Church.' The old Cleric thumped her staff on the floor hard making everyone jump. 'We have almost ruined ourselves providing to the ever increasing poor - and to what end.. Josef believes as you do in regard to charity and Ophilia is renowned for her passion for the wretches - continually sneaking about to provide to them.' The woman sniffed in pure derision then took up her subject again with relish. 'Of course Josef tolerates and encourages her, takes pride in her but is ever blind to the fact that she is unstable.'

The woman's audience were beginning to murmur amongst themselves again at increasing levels. She searched her memory for a story to draw them back in. Eventually she smiled. 'I remember an incident which occurred years before she had even taken the robe, she must have been twelve or thirteen.' The old Cleric sneered. 'Ophilia snuck out of her dormitory in the dead of night to get up to the flames knows what mischief. Not much I wouldn't put past her.' The crowd quietened down, listening intently. 'Was gone all night, found her in the morning in the snow underneath her window - the crazy girl had given no thought when she left of how she was going to get back inside again. She had given away her good church-provided boots and her acolyte cloak - to some undesirable most likely - and she was frozen solid, took a fever, nearly died. Did lose a couple of toes to the frostbite. You know what punishment she took? None.' The Cleric sniffed sourly. 'Brat totally refused to say where she had been or what she'd been up to and the Archbishop just accepted it. Said her suffering had been punishment enough. Pah.'

The glass Therion was holding slipped from his fingers and shattered onto the ground causing everyone to look up at him. He backed away to the bar and threw some leaves down then walked out of the Tavern slowly and carefully. He continued walking until he reached the road that led back out of the city where he sank to his knee's breathing heavily.

This could not be right. It was simply impossible.

Therion's mind jolted him back to a time seven years ago that he had worked hard to forget.

There had been falling, pain and confusion. A long stumbled road.

Therion's experiences with church run orphanages in his youngest years had left him hating the establishment and yet in his agony he had developed a half baked idea that he could get help at the Cathedral if he could just get there.

His arrival in Flamesgrace had quickly shown him that if he wanted help he would have to pay for it. Dearly. The Cleric he had spoken to had looked down on him like the trash he was, demanding coin far beyond his means as a 'donation'.

Broken, starving and witless in his pain - his skills and his sense had deserted him. He was caught stealing and hauled to a cell. As he lay on the bare stone floor shivering and cursing the cold of the Frostlands, he realised with finality that he was probably not going to survive this. He also realised that he didn't much care.

Then a tiny face had appeared at the door of his cell. Huge grey eyes had looked up at him from deep within a heavy purple hood as she fumbled with a cell key, needing both slender hands to turn it in the rusty lock.

When he didn't move, that small hand had taken his and pulled him staggering to his feet. 'Quickly now!' she whispered, alternately trying to push him, then pull him to get him moving..and then somehow they were outside in the snow.

Shivering fiercely he found himself wrapped in a cloak as the girl continued to chivvy him along until eventually she pushed him through the doorway of a small, abandoned shack. He didn't care where he was - it was just so good to be out of the snow.

'I'm not supposed to do this.' The girl had said earnestly as she helped Therion to the floor 'But if they won't do it then will try.' And he had felt a gentle warmth wash over him before he slipped into sleep.

When he woke in the morning he found himself covered in a sturdy purple cloak with three apples, a pair of boots and a silver locket on a chain sat on an upturned barrel beside him. His body was also in a much better state than it had been before that night.

He had slipped out of town as soon as he awoke, sold the boots which had been far too small for him and allowed his bitterness to overtake the memory of the child who had helped him. The locket he had kept a while, he'd liked looking at the tiny portrait of a man and woman inside and because of its quality he had reckoned on getting a better price in a bigger town.

Had that child really been Ophilia? If the old crone in the Tavern had told it true then the girl really was crazy.

The road out of the city lay winding in front of him and the urge to run down it as fast as he could and not look back was overwhelming.

But. An itch started somewhere underneath his ribcage.

With a sigh he turned back and headed into the City.