They came into Cor Delryn's store twice a month, clean, clad in rags and perilously thin. Moirala was always polite if somewhat distant to the group – that was her nature in general - but Cor scoffed at them and the coins they'd scraped together to afford their meager rations. The first time Moira had been allowed to see the Ilmateri, she was five. The little girl stared at them with wonder from the back of the store, her dark brown eyes following their every move, little ears picking of the whispers of their conversation. They spoke to her father respectfully, their mother cordially, and gave the children honest, open smiles.

Ano, Moira had asked once they'd left. He was taking inventory in the back, assisting their father while their mother ran the store proper. The boy looked up from his clipboard questioningly, taking care not to attract Cor's attention.

Moira?

The men and woman with the red armbands – who are they?

Beggars and layabouts, Cor said, before Anomen could answer. Rather, thieves who prey upon the sympathies of the hardworking to support beggars and layabouts. Tell her, Anomen.

The boy looked between his sister and his father, unsure of how to proceed. Cor raised his eyebrows, as if to say, "Come on boy…"

They're Ilmateri, he said, settling upon neutral ground.

Il-mah-taree, Moira tried, sounding the word out. Her inflection was a little off, which made her frown somewhat. Is Ill-mah-tar like Helm?

Cor snorted, but Anomen shook his head. Il-may-tar, he guided her. And no, Moira. I mean, yes. And no. He's a god. He's just… a… very different sort of God than Helm. Helm watches the righteous; Ilmater is the god of people who suffer.

Understatement of the year, boy, said Cor.

Moira processed all of this. People who suffer aren't righteous?

They wouldn't be suffering if they were, girl, was their father's response. Leave your brother alone and mind your business, now. This is a shop, not a church.

Morach, the orc – the half-orc, Anomen had to keep correcting himself – must have been quite lonely, or perhaps just very dedicated; it was hard to tell, and difficult to escape the blind man's careful vigil (an ironic thought, and yet another the Watcher did not voice aloud). The Helmite was told explicitly that he wasn't allowed to leave, not just yet. After his experience on the beach, he didn't bother fighting it. Though he didn't like the thought of it, Anomen wasn't entirely sure that the exchange between him and the gods had happened after all, and if he was indeed crazy, perhaps keeping him under a watchful eye was best for now.

So, he dutifully allowed himself to be tended after for a few days. He'd had quite a fall against some of the rocks on the shore, Morach told him, and hit his head quite hard. Anomen had gleaned that some of the natives had come across him sprawled out on the beach with nothing but the clothes on his back, and his holy symbol around his neck – not knowing what else to do, they'd brought him to the mud hut, and the small village near the beach. He also learned that that had apparently been four days ago.

"But just where is this place? And who are you that you take in strangers this way?" Anomen asked, as soon as Morach had relayed this. Though he was blindfolded, he gave what Anomen would later swear was a sidelong look.

"We are the Ilmateri," Morach responded calmly and slowly, as if speaking to a small child. "Surely you had guessed by now. You're from Amn, from the sounds of you – surely you know who Ilmater is. The maimed god? Staunch ally of the one you worship…?"

It took some doing for Anomen not to roll his eyes - not that it mattered. "I am familiar with him, yes, but what are his followers doing here? The Golden Horde is led by Helm."

A smile touched Morach's face, bringing out the small tusks jutting out of his lower jaw. "True enough. Ilmater has his own interests in the New World, though. We see after the human side of Amn's colonization."

"What is THAT supposed to mean?" Finally, a bit of the Old Anomen was seeping through.

The half orc took the question as an opportunity to check the bandage covering Anomen's forehead. The Watcher suspected the pause was also to give him time to respond appropriately. Finally, he said, "Watcher Delryn, you are new to Maztica, and new to the way things are done here. I mean you and yours no offense when I say that the Amnish who have come here don't usually concern themselves with the goings on of the lay folk."

Anomen was silent for a long moment. "That's an unfair statement to make, I should think. The priests of Helm have always kept a close vigil on their people. We do not brook mistreatment of any man."

"An unfair statement, perhaps, but I challenge you to prove me wrong. Hand me that bottle." He shook out and dabbed some foul-smelling stuff upon the Watcher's forehead and wrapped it back up. Anomen was silently impressed at the deftness at which he treated him, without needing to see or feel where the wounds were, or where his medications were. Out loud, however, he still said nothing, smarting from the earlier statement.

"You're upset. That's understandable," Morach continued, interpreting his silence. "I'm sorry for any distress I might've caused with my words; you're supposed to be recovering, not listening to me blather." A pause, then, "I'll see what I can do to patch you up and get you to Helmshold sooner rather than later. It's just… it's been nice having company that speaks Chondathan. We're a small group, us Ilmateri, diverse, and often so busy that we rarely see one another more than once a fortnight."

"I, er… I understand, I think. It's been awhile since I last saw any of my brethren as well." Something about the thought tugged at him oddly. It was a true statement – he hadn't been back to the Radiant Heart building in months, and he'd left several friends behind in Athkatla whom he sorely missed. Still, something seemed off. His brain understood something that the rest of him was still catching up on.

"Is that so...?" Morach began to put bottles away, and turned away from his patient. "Watcher Delryn, why are you here?"

In his nest of blankets, Anomen shook his head. "I could repeat the Golden Mantra, but something tells me that you have heard it many times before." A joke – the Watcher's attempt at an olive branch. "Truly, I lack the words that would make it understandable to anyone but a select few. The mainland is rich, but my family is not. My former companions are just shy of being actual brigands and have their own pursuits they are working on. Ah, that was not good of me to say."

"So…you… are seeking to make a difference in the world? Or raise your standing within the Church?" Morach politically did not mention the brigand remark.

He gazed out the window. "Perhaps both? The former, certainly, although if the latter occurred…"

"Ah, well – I hope you find what you're looking for, Watcher. Maztica is –"

Morach's door opened and shut quietly, and both doctor and patient turned towards the visitor. "Morach. Sir Knight. I hope I'm not interrupting anything…?"

It was the woman with red armbands, followed closely by an elf – also in armbands – who was keeping his distance from the makeshift hospital scene. The pale-haired man looked dour and uncomfortable. "Word gets out quickly that we have visitors, as I'm sure Morach told you," she said.

"He did indeed," agreed Anomen. "Ah – I am Sir Anomen Delryn of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart at your service, my lady. Well… I would be at your service, but I am… currently incapacitated."

Morach laughed, the woman smiled, and the elf looked on coolly. "Of course, Sir Delryn, Brother Morach is very thorough in his work. Lest we also forget our manners, I am Katara Mersk, the… head priestess of sorts, in this place – this is Jaereth Mersk, my husband, of the Order of the Golden Cup. Welcome you to our little village, for as long as you're here."

"Shouldn't be long now. A few more days at most," the half-orc chimed in.

The Lady was peering at the Helmite most intently. "Excellent, brother. We heard you had quite the accident on the beach and wanted to check in. We're… breaking bread tonight in the village proper- you are welcome to join us, but our ceremonies are simple and almost certainly not befitting of one of Helm's anointed knights." Unlike with Morach or the Mazticans, there wasn't the air of passive-aggressiveness about Helm – just a statement of fact. "Still… if your doctor allows, consider it. Jaereth?" She looked to the elf, who was still studiously avoiding eye contact. At that, however, he dragged his pale eyes to Anomen's face.

"Watcher Cato has sent word that someone will be here to retrieve you when we've determined you're fit to travel," he said in a deep voice, one that was exclusively business. "Until then… heal well, sir Knight."

Clearly, theirs was not a social call; they left soon afterwards, although the elf did linger with Morach for several moments outside of the hut in a hushed conversation that Anomen could not make out. For his own part, Morach came back inside in good spirits.

"Odd pair, those two?" Anomen remarked.

"You haven't any idea," his host responded.