Zeek made his way to the inn’s front door, bags weighing heavy under his eyes. Verris was waiting patiently with a loaded pipe, huffing away pensively; he had the same casual, nonchant look he always seemed to carry. Smoke rings seemed to be forming clouds around Verris before he quickly waved them away as Zeek approached.

  “Fancy meeting you here!” Verris folded up a letter as Zeek approached. He almost seemed cheerful, though his voice carried a hefty dose of sarcasm in hardy greeting. “Hear anything useful st night?”

  "I didn’t hear anything but the sounds of tormented souls," Zeek thought. “Nothing worth mentioning. I’m assuming you did?”

  “I’m assuming you stayed out all night by the looks of you,” Verris leaned in candidly, “You’ll regret not resting while you had the chance. Kemet has a rather lively adventurer’s guild and if you’re truly looking information on this Bck King figure, you’ll need to reach the Bck Quarter. I hear tell there is a Mercenary Guild there that may have a few brave souls willing to make the trek if we need more, though,” Verris eyed his new companions quizzically, “We know your record with hired hands is…questionable at best.”

  “Where I spent my evening is neither here nor there,” Zeek hissed. “Take me to this ‘Bck Quarter’ or stop prattling.” He was clearly in no mood to take the poking and prodding.

  “Reel that back in, or you’ll have more to worry about than simple byrinth dregs. Regalia can crush your skull just as quickly as any other.”

  “I’ll empty your every artery before you get the chance.”

  A moment passed, and then another. Tension filled the air as the two braced for war, pride and egos battled under the guise of simple banter. Verris formed a crackling fist next to Regalia’s grip; his knuckles popped loudly as the burly man stared into the abyss that was Zeek’s gre. Something about this man seemed…darker than most.

  Verris had the gnawing feeling that he had too little information to confront Zeek now. How he’d managed to save his life in the forest st night made him more aware of his adaptability, but how could someone as thin as him survive encounters like that alone? Where had that fire come from? Too many questions to let pride lead to his downfall now. He felt his blood lower from a boil to a light simmer as his hand slowly began to rex.

  “Fine. Fine. Just keep your arrogant ass out of the way. Follow me, prick.” A moment of silence passed before Zeek fell in line behind Verris; his eyes slowly darted through the busy streets as the morning walk slowly began. He just barely noticed the knives Zeek was holding, reverse gripped, before he sheathed them to keep up. He was right not to challenge him here; in such close proximity, he would’ve been dead before Regalia left his waistband.

  “We need information,” Zeek thought, “She’s running out of time.”

  Two figures prowled the streets of Kemet. From the bazaar to the guild houses, Zeek and Verris probed the people of Kemet.

  Zeek showed the ring he’d pilfered from the byrinth to appraisers in the marketpces, but they either shrank in fear or turned him away outright.

  The Guild Halls were no better. The Adventurer’s guild banned him from their halls at the mention of the Bck King’s legacy. The Mercenary’s guild turned members toward them, threatening a bounty if they returned with goods as accursed as the ring, solely based on the sigil.

  Throughout the first days spent in Kemet, the two found nothing but fear and contempt for the item in their possession.

  “I’ve an inkling those paintings said the people here hated the man,” Verris grumbled.

  “Oh, you don’t say?” Zeek replied.

  The streets were busy, bursting to the brim with people running about their daily lives, but news had spread of a pair of adventurers with a cursed artifact questioning the people of this great nd.

  “I’m starting to think we’ve worn our welcome,” Zeek sighed.

  “And I dare anyone to do something about it,” Verris snapped. “I’ve got bigger concerns than the feeble masses. I owe my men blood, and Regalia is always hungry.”

  “Wait,” Zeek paused, surveying the crowds around them.

  “What is it?”

  “We’re being watched.”

  “Not by anyone here,” Verris grunted, “I can smell a rat stalking from miles away.”

  “Not a person, per se.” Zeek gestured toward a wisp of bck smoke before it dissipated. “Have there been any fires here in recent days?”

  “No, it’s a desert here, who would bother setting fires?”

  “Then why has there been so much smoke?”

  Verris’s brow furrowed, “Magic? Spies?”

  “Come,” a voice whispered between the two men.

  “And we have an invitation,” Zeek mused, “How quaint.”

  Together, they made their way through an alley, following a thin trail of smoke that seemed to quiver and dissipate as they closed in. Finally, the arrived outside the Bck Quarter—the district was filled with mercenaries, bounty hunters, thieves, and adventurers gathered in search of honest work or nefarious opportunity. This was a pce for men and women with hardened eyes and bckened souls to roam, ready to sell their swords for the right price, or employ them on some unsuspecting victim. Of all the pces in Kemet, this was where Zeek would have least expected to find an agreeable member to join their duo, let alone a descendant of the Bck King, but stranger things had happened.

  Verris continued to lead Zeek to a busy crossing, the bustling nature of haggling murderers made the area vibrant, but there was one silhouette amidst the crowd that gave them pause. Amidst all the moving bodies stood a man, his robes were simple yet lined with inid gold. The man stretched out his hand, gold seemingly shining through his veins, gesturing then to follow him before disappearing from sight.

  This man seemed to be one of the only welcoming people in this entire city, as far as Zeek was concerned, so he tapped Verris and walked in the direction of the mysterious stranger. The burly mercenary became a man of few words after the morning’s exchange, but he still kept his wits and swagger about him as he accompanied Zeek through the Bck Quarter to a shaggy hall where mercenaries and killers would meet. He understood how to make coin, how to take coin, and more importantly, how to navigate the byrinth of human nature. As things stood, he was the only person Zeek could rely on in this environment.

  The shaggy hall known as The Broken Bde, was tucked between two crumbling buildings, its sign hanging crookedly in the wind. Inside, charred wood held the prior night’s embers in the hearth, the smoke hanging low, lingering between groups and parties. Mercenaries, killers, sell swords, and their clients were all talking in hushed tones. By one of the empty tables stood their caller, a hood obscuring his face, still ushering them with a nod. Verris sat first, swagger on full dispy and Regalia uncovered by his side. Zeek was soon to follow, a morbid curiosity fshed beneath the social mask he’d settled into pce. He approached from behind, pulling up a chair with a creek that sounded out of pce in such a quiet guildhall.

  “Parlor tricks in a busy street would serve as little more than a distraction where I’m from,” snorted Verris. He allowed doubt and sarcasm to steer the conversation.

  “Where I am from,” the man said in little more than a monotone sigh, “You wouldn’t st long enough to make it here.” The smoke curling between the tables shifted, a razor thin knife materialized, pressing into Verris’ exposed neck. The knife was nothing more than smoke, intangible, yet a bead of blood began to roll down onto his chest. With the wave of the man’s finger the smoky knife dissipated, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “You must be lost, traveler.”

  Some of the other mercenaries caught the scent of blood in the air; the smoke seemed to carry it through the hall like a courier. Table after table began to track the duo, eyeing them from the ends of their periphery.

  “As for you,” the man mused, “perhaps I may be of assistance.”

  Zeek’s eyes were dull, his hand still, knives at the man’s neck and side. His eyes scanned the room quickly before speaking. “Weavers, where I’m from, don’t spend time in back-alley dens like city scum. Lower your veil, at least at our table, and let us speak.”

  “Amon,” the man said with a smile, the smoke fading around their table at st. “What do you know of weavers?” He peeled back to hood to reveal brown flowing locs tilted over to his left shoulder, sparks seemed to dance along the tips of each one.

  Zeek let the mask slip for one precious moment before sliding it back into pce. This man was near the spitting image of the Bck King from the murals. His skin was the color of cinnamon, eyes of maple and a scent of tobacco and pine.

  “I’m looking to save one,” Zeek said ftly, “I was hoping to find someone willing to help me in that endeavor. I’m savvy enough to know nothing comes for free.”

  “What, pray tell, is a weaver?” Verris leaned back, tapping at the cut on his throat.

  “In terms you’d understand? Elementalists, almost druids, in a sense; they control elements, generally one specific type, and use it for all kinds of purposes. Some for conjuring walls of fme, some for assassin’s tools,” he nods to Verris’s neck, “and some for your ‘parlor’ tricks.”

  “Magic then?” Verris furrowed his brow; this was the second time he’d been bested in a day, and it had just started.

  “Of a sort,” Amon replied. He took a slow breath before whispering, “Kapnos.” The word slithered out of his lips, smoke beginning to swirl around him, gathering like souls under a reaper’s watch. Zeek noticed bodies from each table dissipating into smoke and barreling towards them, spooking some of the mercenaries in their company. “Where there is fire, there is smoke.” He opened his hand and almost purred: “Come now, Heka, make yourself known to our guests.”

  “Amon,” she moaned, “How many times do I have to tell you…”, her hand materializing in his, “I prefer to let the boys talk.” Her hair was a reddish brown, with skin like polished mahogany and eyes soft like warm chocote. Pale clouds of smoke hang around her, hugging her skin and forming a shimmering silky dress, smoke still curling off in streaks.

  Verris shot up from the table, his cheeks red, Regalia cnging off the table, splinters flying. “Excuse me!”

  Zeek shot Verris a look, shock running between the two.

  “We’ve never seen a Shu-Ra in the ‘flesh’, so to speak.” Zeek was still observing the confusion breaking out at the other tables around the hall before rejoining the conversation. “Please ignore my friend here, we've only just recently seen stories of them. I was under the belief there were no more Shu-Ra. How did you come upon this one? And you have some form of contract?”

  “This one has a name,” Heka hissed.

  “Heka is no mere Shu-Ra, my friend. As for a contract, perhaps, but not by your paltry terms. I am bound to her, as she is bound to me, body and soul. She is my wife, and I, her husband. And yes,” Amon paused, "She is the st of her kind…for now." He passed Heka a flirtatious wink.

  “You deserve each other,” Verris said sarcastically.

  “Are you not the one in need of our services?” Amon flicked wisps of conjured fme between his fingertips, Heka licking her lips eagerly. “Rumor has it you two have been bumbling through our streets seeking remnants of the Bck King?”

  “Ahem, where are my manners? Let me introduce myself,” Zeek said, cutting his eyes at Verris, “You can call me Zeek. Yes, we’ve been searching for anyone of his blood line. I’m aware how nobility tend to be purists. Judging by your attire,” Zeek gave Amon an inquisitive assessment, “You may be of their ilk.”

  “Ah, this one has manners,” tutted Heka, “May it be our pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “As my queen stated so eloquently, the pleasure is ours.” Amon settled his gaze across the table. “What, pray tell, brings you to these halls? That is, aside from this business with near-forgotten nobility.”

  “I’ve need of skilled adventurers to free a Weaver from the byrinth to the east. We were separated and I…” Zeek’s eyes darkened as his voice trailed off. “I need to find her and free her from the innermost sanctum. I’ve tried time and time again but,” he gnced at Verris, “Good help has proven hard to find.”

  “Ah, a byrinth rescue. I assume this person is of great value to you; to go to such lengths…” Amon mused.

  “This woman,” Heka interrupted, “Was she yours, yes?” Zeek winced at her words, daggers twisting in his chest as he recalled her face before leaving her to her fate. He heard her calling out for him as she was overwhelmed and he lost sight of her, still filing to keep himself alive. “I see…” she whispered, nodding grimly.

  “You didn’t—”

  “I saw, and I am truly sorry. This pce,” Heka continued, “What is it?”

  “The Heart of Sorrow. Many have penetrated its walls but so few have truly explored its depths or seen the treasures that it holds. I am one of those few.” Zeek reached into his pack, retrieving the ring from his pouch. “This is one of the many treasures to be found in its depths.” He delicately handed it to Amon, watching for his response.

  Amon took the ring with caution, eyeing Zeek with suspicion. “This is not normally how one would conduct this kind of business.” He inspected the ring, his fingers caressing the inscription on the inner edges, eyes following the curves leading to the sigil; he stops as if frozen, his heart pounding in his chest, a bead of sweat bzing a trail down his temple before the sparks in his aura could evaporate it.

  “My love,” Heka’s hair fshed bck as it began to mystify into clouds at the edges, “What have you done to my—”

  “This can’t be.” Amon still hadn’t moved, pure astonishment enveloped him as he slowly looked at Zeek. “Where did you find something like this? Who are you? Truly?”

  “I told you; my name is Zeek, and I told you exactly where I found it.”

  “I take it as no coincidence that you chose this treasure to show me.” Amon frowned. “A ring with the sigil of Kemet's forgotten house? The ostracized lineage of the Bck King. Clearly you either jest or you seek to anger the gods…I’ve only seen this in tomes written in Kemet’s ancient texts; how could you have found this in the east?”

  “Perhaps you could help me answer that upon my return to the byrinth I mentioned before? Of course, the ring is yours to keep, considering you agree to join me. Anything else you find would be yours as well, I have no interest in treasure so much as finding the woman I seek.”

  “You are quite the enlightened one, aren’t you?” Amon mused, still baffled by the gift he’d just received. “You seek out the only living descendant of the traitorous Bck King and offer me a family heirloom? You are either very wise, or immensely foolish. Consider both Heka and Amon of Kemet at your service. Where, from here, does your adventure take us?”

  Heka gazed at the ring as if entranced, then looked at her own in comparison before snatching it from Amon. “As your queen, I shall wear it for safe keeping,” she said with a giggle, winking at her husband mischievously.

  “From here, I aim to see the Capital of Estus, in hopes of gathering a skilled archer, an alchemist from the Artisan’s guild, and a stone-fist monk and a cleric from the Monastery of the Enlightened. To survive the byrinth, we’ll need a full party if we’re to have any chance of making it to the Bck Garden at the center of The Heart of Sorrows.”

  “We’ll need a day to gather our things, but perhaps we can escort you around the city to help you prepare as well.” Amon looked at Verris who’d been brooding up to this point. “Your rude companion will need better armor and perhaps a lighter bde before—”

  “Regalia is the only weapon I need! And I’ll fix my armor myself!”

  “In any case,” Amon continued, “Let me show you around the city. I assume this is your first time in Kemet?”

  “By all means,” Zeek nodded. Being knowledgeable had its perks, after all.

  Verris stood up and extended his hand toward Amon, eager to make the first move in the testy partnership they’d have to foster. Amon looked at his hand quizzically before shrugging and taking it in his own with a bzing grasp, snickering. Verris ughed as the heat burned only at his thick calluses. Amused and satisfied, Amon’s hand released the heat and gripped firmly, shaking his with Verris. “To the beginning of a beautiful massacre, friend.”

  “May our enemies know your name and eternal silence.” Amon replied with a smile.

  With that, they left The Broken Bde, its occupants still in a frenzy after Heka left each of their tables confused and ciming treachery against their comrades; she giggled having learned all their secrets for her own.