She smiled, as she looked at the man, moving to sit beside him. He was a odd one, pale and covered in a dark cloak, a staff next to himself as he seemed to be pondering things. A part of her felt as if she knew this man. He simply looked up, his face worn with care, and yet his eyes were deep. A foolish part of her wanted to simply look into them, even as she smiled warmly. "Greetings. I have not seen you around our encampment before, not have I seen you listening to the sermons."

Now, she was worried, even as he hummed, a pale hand moving to scratch his chin, almost moving to stroke a beard that was not there. "I'm a wanderer and a scholar of sorts and not much one for religion." He raised a hand, even as she frowned. "Which is not to say that I do not think there is nothing. Merely, I doubt our ability to see more than what we wish to see when confronted with the divine. Still, to search and ask questions..." He hummed, clearly in thought. "Well, that is much of what I do." He snorted. "To quote one much older than myself, the oracle counted me among the wise, for I alone knew I knew nothing."

She paused, even as her lips narrowed and eyebrows rose, even as the main thing was that he both did not seem scornful about the divine, and interested, seeing merely mortal error in the face of something greater, while acknowledging his ignorance. "That seems to be sophistry to me."

Amusingly, or perhaps frustratingly, he nodded. "Oh, it could very well be. Which of course, is why I like to ask questions, and to never presume I know everything on a topic. After all, a house build from unstable scrap is, when needful, still a house. And so to one who knows no greater need, why would they desire to seek out a better home?"

Which did lead into an interesting conversation on the nature of faith, belief and knowledge, and she felt warm and comfortable. And her master spoke. "Girl! Come!" She rose, and his voice spoke again. "Did I say walk! On your knees!" She dropped to them, even as she moved, crawling towards Kor Phaeron with a smile on her face. After all, she was learning, and this was to keep her humble, to serve as she was required. "Clothes off, these men need to see what they are paying for."

Her hands moved to take off her robes, to display herself to the men. Yes, her father raised money for the convoy by having her sell herself to the men, but this was a service in the name of the gods, even if she was not sure what The One would desire. But, even as her hand was on the clasp, a cool pale hand stopped her. "You are treating her as a whore."

The travelers tone was colder than rest-eve of High Night, his eyes locked onto that of her father, who was sneering. "A holy whore! She is touched by the powers, and if by laying with her the men can come closer to the gods, then it is my joyful duty duty as her father to have her share in the blessings of the gods."

The air chilled, the strangers eyes were hard as steel, and his staff seemed different, metal near the head, a scythe. "She is not your daughter." The tone was cold, and yet it echoed like thunder, like judgement as she froze in place. "You know whose daughter she is. She has seen him in her dreams after all."

A gasp left her lips, even as father (not father?) reeled back. "How do you know of..." He paused, and then looked at her, anger and annoyance twisting his lips into a snarl, a hand moving to back hand her once more. It had not hurt for a long time, but if she acted like it did, he would stop. The hand left her shoulder, and as she had not been told otherwise, she undid the clasp, scars marking her back, welts from the whip and the discipline, as Kor Phaeron sputtered. "Let go of..."

Rage pinned them to the ground, as the man changed, as he was not a man, but something else, something other. A messenger of The One? He had wings of fog, and was dark and cold, the shadows around in in stark contrast, even as the anger pressed down, icy blades like the steel points that would be pressed into her feet if she was bad. "I know of her dreams, or some of them," the voice was thundering, for all that it did not raise in volume, tearing into the soul, "as we share a father."

In that moment, as her eyes widened, she beheld the angel of death, her brother (not the crimson king with a single eye that saw everything). She had a brother. She was trembling, as the dark, as the cold looked down at her... foster father. "And you, servant of ruin, have been abusing my sister." Bells were tolling, mournful, that hand moving, a silver sheen, a figure that looked like the man that taught her, raised her in his grip made of water and mist. "But fear not. I shall not punish you."

His smile made her stomach flip and flutter, the teeth of death in a rictus grin. "For have i not said that she is my sister, and that we share a father?" He laughed, and her cheeks burned, as she looked down at the ground. "Tell me, would you think he would not enjoy discussing, at painful length, what you have done to his daughter?"

Years later, she looked at the second shrine in her room. Not the one to her father, as that was a proper religious shrine, but rather, the one in her closet. Her stalker shrine, where she kept all the relics of her beloved Mortarion. After all, he had saved her, and she would do anything for him.