Fable - Ask A Stranger from the West

[Sir Nathaniel]

"Maximus,

I hope this missive finds you well. I know you have many questions, and I promise I have many answers for you. No doubt, you are wondering who I am and why I have sent this, but I dare not put the answer to those questions to paper, even though I trust this courier to keep it from prying eyes. Simply put, my enemies are many and I am sure you understand that caution keeps a man alive in a world this dangerous. Still, I owe you an explanation and I am more than prepared to give you one if you agree to meet me, three days from now in your home city of Ragash.'

'You were taken from this place at far too young an age and before I could get a chance to know you. I have spent many years wondering if you were alive or dead, and I had to be sure it was you, and now that I am, I feel it is time we meet, face to face. Come at first light on the third morning to the Madrassa of Peace and ask for my friend, Umar. He will provide you with further instructions. Greet him with the exact phrase, "I am a stranger from the east, seeking that which is lost."


If Umar is the one you speak with, the proper reply will be, "I am a stranger from the west, it is I whom you seek.'

I look forward to seeing you and speaking with you, especially as how I know you now are a man, fully grown. With luck, you will have taken on some of my features.'

'Respectfully,
Your father.'

P.S. One final word of advice; come alone and besides Umar, trust no one."

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________


Max had received the letter from a courier at his home in Alliria, Angelos Keep, and more than a dozen times, he had read and reread it, as though doing so would give him the answers to the many questions he had. He considered asking his mentor, the paladin, Nathaniel Jameson about it, but his master had gone away for another mission and could not be reached until he returned, well beyond the letter's deadline. The fact that it was so well written and on a piece of clearly well made paper indicated it was not a forgery. Someone had taken a great deal of time to ensure it was written and delivered to him personally, but then, that just raised further questions, most of all was who was its true author.

Family claim or not, Max had never known his father or his mother, as he had been abandoned two decades earlier at the Madrassa of War. The school had taken him in like so many others from the Red Sands and had given him a home, training for combat and survival and an education, but it did not provide him with what he truly wanted; a purpose beyond being a mere soldier, sent off to fight and die in someone else's war.

At the age of 16, Max had deserted the Madrassa and struck out on his own, an offense punishable by death, he might have added. From that point forward, he had become what the authorities dubbed a "Street Rat" and had taken up the life of a common thief. When his master had come to the desert city, he had found Max just wandering the street one day and showed him something no one else ever had; kindness. Once he had earned the boy's trust, Nathan had absconded with him to the city of wealth, which had become his home for the last seven years. In all that time, the Freedom Fighters had become Max's family in a way that his schoolmates never had. They were his brothers and Nathan was the father-figure he never had but had always yearned for.

However, despite his newfound family, Max remained confused; empty. A gnawing feeling in his heart ached every single day with questions. Constantly, he wondered where he truly came from - why his parents were not in his life, but most of all, the question he could find no answer for, but wanted above all was what was his purpose?

Nathan had his as being the chosen of the God of War; His Voice on the mortal plane, but Max found he had difficulty accepting the same faith. No matter how hard he tried to pray, the gods never answered him.

Arthur and Elias, the Morn twins had their chosen paths as a guardsman and as a ranger, respectively, but neither held any appeal for him.

Even Gale, his closest friend had become a Battle-Mage, but because Max had no magical power, he could offer no insight as to what Max's true calling was or why he had no abilities.

In the wake of all the confusing thoughts, one certainty held true: Max's choices, as always, were entirely his own. To that end, he decided to board an airship to Amol-Kalit and from there make his way back to Ragash.

He would find this Umar, and he would find whoever wrote this letter by any means necessary.

__________________________________________________________________________________


~Ragash~


The sun hung in the sky above the desert city, as always, beating down upon it, oppressive in its heat.

Yes, he thought. Hot. Dry. Those were the most apt words to describe this place.

Even breathing the air made Max's throat dry, even though he had come well prepared with at least two full skins of water on his person and an extra in his travel bag. Stepping off from his horse, he took another swig from the one that hung around his neck in a pouch, just above the silver chain necklace he always wore around his neck. It had been a gift from his master on the day he had become Nathan's apprentice, he never took it off, even to sleep or bathe. He felt it had given him good luck, if nothing else. He would need that luck today, despite the fact he was early. He had arrived much sooner than expected - and he had two whole days to himself before the arranged meeting with this Umar figure. That, he thought would give him ample time to investigate and to learn the lay of the city. Better to familiarize himself with the environment if it came to a fight, just like Nathan had taught him.

Deep blue eyes scanned the Grand Bazaar, watching the citizens going about their hustle and bustle and assorted commotion. In many ways, it was like Alliria; humans and other races mingled about with whatever their daily concerns were, gossips were exchanged, merchants sold their wares at stalls, children were at play or making trouble as all young ones did, but he paid them no mind.

What was unusual, what caught his attention was that, despite this being where he was born, it felt unfamiliar; foreign. It felt alien, even. The city was of course constructed of stone and had everything an urban setting was expected to; tall towers, hovels, houses and temples to the many different faiths, but then, it was also unalike the city of wealth in that it had gilded domes all over, strange smells everywhere he turned, exotic spices and meats being bought, sold and exchanged, colorful rugs and different animals of all kinds in cages, some of which were a novel sight to his eyes dotting the bazaar.

He pulled hard on Duke's reins, urging the palfrey on. The horse whickered unhappily as he did so. Probably because he too was unused to the sights and smells of the city, just like his partner. A feeling that was no doubt increased when he found himself surrounded by the people.

Twice as he made his way through the bazaar, Max was accosted by merchants, eager for coin, asking how much he would be willing to sell his horse for but he turned them away.

"My horse is not for sale." He insisted, feeling his irritation rise, trying and failing to push past the crowd. The press of bodies increased and it soon became almost impossible for him to walk freely. "Excuse me." He murmured as a robed woman bumped into him, then offered an apologetic shake of her head. "Please, just let me through."

Alliria was vastly different, he thought as he rounded a corner and found himself once again surrounded by stalls, most of which were selling different mugs of beer. The city of wealth was wide open, constructed of whitewashed stone and home to many beautiful gardens, private villas and lush parks. Even the slums had walkable streets, despite the fact they were built over reclaimed marshlands.

"Pardon me, sir." Said Max to one of the merchants, a fat, black-bearded man wearing a rich white robe and hood. "I am looking for the Madrassa of Peace."

"You are on the wrong side of the river." Said the merchant. "For a price, I might be willing to divulge to you a bit more." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, a clear sign he wanted money. "And for an extra coin, a cool mug of my finest barley beer."

"No, thank you." Said Max. "I simply want information."

The merchant scowled. "No services are for free, young master. If you are not going to buy anything, then take yourself from here. If you do not like the way things are done here, then may I suggest you go back to where you came from."

Max's temper flared, but he kept it in check with considerable difficulty. "Thank you for that sage advice." He said sarcastically, giving the merchant a glare in return.

With that, he moved on, trying once again (and failing) to push his way through the crowd.

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

Another day, another job...

... His grip tightened around the bronze spear that was as long as he was tall as he flipped it inverse and brought it to bear by his shoulder, his left foot slid forward and he aimed with his left hand in a throwing position...

Jobs like these were simple, but necessary to keep the peace in the city.
His large Khopesh was already bathed in blood, his bronze shod boots already covered in gore from the grisly melee that had just occurred.

The desert is a hot place, the sun is unforgiving and absolutely brutal to every living thing that exists beneath its gaze.
Man and beast suffers alike and either adapts or dies due to this unfair environment.

... The giant man in bronze armor and covered in robes took careful aim as the brown furry form, about the size of a calf, bolted with incredible speed crashing through the front door of the shop and desperately attempting to escape into the crowded street...

Men built houses of brick and mud which created shade and kept the interior cool and refreshing, beasts created burrows in the ground or in the few plants that thrived above ground in the accursed heat.
But when the domiciles of man and beast combine... In this case, the cold underground cellar of a winery and a den of giant desert rats... That's when mercenaries, exterminators, and adventurers were requested to handle such invasions for a reward.

The brown furred creature, a giant desert rat, wasn't your garden variety vermin. They live most of their lives underground and could reach sizes ranging from large dogs to horses when food and space allowed.
This rat was the last, and desperately fleeing to save itself and start its lineage again.
It dove into the crowded street, a dog sized rat scurrying like a furry arrow from hell causing people to startle and scream.

An obscenely long spear with two ends, a spear head and a glaive head, shot out of the open door and flew in a short but beautiful arc through the air in a way that suggested it had to have been aided by magic to keep the strangely balanced weapon on target. A squeal of pain was cut short as the rat was driven into the ground by the force of the impact, pushing it a good five more feet and raising a dusty furrow in the street as people jumped aside until it stopped in front of a certain lost man and his horse.


---------------------------------------------


The tall man in extravagant blood splattered armor and bronze mask, that looked like they might have come from an ancient Ahkmisian kings tomb, ducked low to pass through the doorway of the shop while the owner tending the stall outside gawked in equal measures of shock and horror.
The giant stood to his full height and addressed the crowd in a cheerful and boisterous bellow that seemed counter to the mysterious and cryptic air his mask and garb suggested.

"Fear not, people of Ragash! The beasts are slain and the infestation has been purged, your lives and your shops are safe!"
(Followed by a quick translation into the local language)

This... Was bad. If the shop owner had a good reputation up till now he might survive on customer loyalty until the authorities can clear his shop and name. He'd been out here selling the wine from his front stock while Kalia Oro Khastan was commissioned to exterminate the rats, and Kalia had insured the purity of the wine he was able to sell with magic, but that wouldn't be enough to assuage the suspicion now growing in the hearts of the crowd and the customer that the owner had been making a deal with.

Kalia had gotten sloppy, not great for his reputation either but he was well known enough that this mistake could be overlooked.
Normally work like this would be far below an adventurer of his rank and standing in the first place, but he'd built his reputation wherever he went as a hero to all, so when this job appeared at the guild he insisted, making his case that there were no jobs available for his rank so he might as well take this one.
To botch it like this after going through all of that... Stung.

... On the bright side, the shop owner can now expand his cellar!

While the crowd began to move again he went to his employer and knelt down to be just below eye level with him, quietly apologizing for the mistake and willingly accepting half of the reward he was promised for not delivering fully on his end.
Once he received his reward he stood up and walked to the carcass where the spear end of his weapon stood impaled on the rat like a flagpole.
Grasping the bronze haft of the pole arm and putting a foot on the rat he pulled the spear free, after which he pressed a button on the side and the spear collapsed down into a more portable bladed scepter which disappeared under his robes.

"Apologies for the mess, sir."
Kalia inclined his head to the man then bent down to collect the corpse.
While there were most likely a few alchemists in the crowd hoping to get their hands on the rats, Kalia had rights to first spoils, a policy established by the guild and recognized by the people.
Kalia wanted to collect the reward the guild would give him for each beast he killed. From the thirteen rats he'd slaughtered that would probably come pretty close to making up for his cut in pay.

He hesitated when he noticed the man's horse, not a desert horse, and on second glance his gear wasn't made by anyone around here.
He turned his masked face to the man, the painted eyes seeming to appraise him with an unblinking stare.

"Ah... Apologies again, sir. Not to pry, but you're not from Ragash are you?"
He had the look of a tourist and stood out in a way that Kalia didn't in spite of his height and wearing his ornate equipment that has become his trademark.
He hoisted the rat corpse over his shoulder, fresh blood dripping into the dusty road.
He spoke again, and though his mask held a grim visage his tone of voice held a broad smile.
"Let me buy you a drink! if you're not in a hurry. I know a good place to water your horse, and I'd be honored to hear about your travels!"

 

[Sir Nathaniel]

Max noted the enormous man's appearance and the suddenness with which he brought down the rat-creature, noting that in the years since he had left, the city still had its vermin problem. What was more interesting was just how fast the masked man could move, despite his colossal size. Max had known only one giant in his life, and he knew that individual to be slow, cumbersome and he spoke in halting, grumbling tones. This man here before him displayed none of those things. He was eloquent and well-spoken and he spoke his native language fluently.

"It is quite alright." Max replied in the local tongue, noting to himself how odd it felt to use his natural dialect again after so many years of disuse. Even something as speaking felt just as foreign as everything else. "I admit, I was born here, but I left when I was youth - and I have since lost my accent."

When the offer of a drink came up, he was intrigued but also was wary. The letter had warned him to trust no one. An ironic statement, he noted with some humor seeing as how it was from an unknown party claiming to be blood.

But then, there was something about this massive man before him that made him feel at ease in a way he could not explain. Perhaps it was the fact the ornate mask he wore gave off that golden glint in the sunlight that reminded him so much of his master's glow when in combat. The divine magic that flowed through Nathan gave him immense comfort in dark times.

Dismissing the thought, he looked straight into the mask's eyeholes and studied what he could glimpse of the eyes beneath. Indeed, there was a spark of magic in the stranger, he could tell. It was subtle, but it was there. Not uincommon, especially in this part of the world, but then it was probably best not to pry. Given his performance and the weapon he wielded, he was likely a fighter-for-hire of some sort.

"I will gladly take you up on that offer, but first, permit me to introduce myself." Max said after that brief pause. He thumped a fist against his chest in a gesture of salute. "I am Maximus, but most refer to me as Max. And what might I call you, stranger?"

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

Max noted the enormous man's appearance and the suddenness with which he brought down the rat-creature, noting that in the years since he had left, the city still had its vermin problem. What was more interesting was just how fast the masked man could move, despite his colossal size. Max had known only one giant in his life, and he knew that individual to be slow, cumbersome and he spoke in halting, grumbling tones. This man here before him displayed none of those things. He was eloquent and well-spoken, and he spoke his native language fluently.

"It is quite alright." Max replied in the local tongue, noting to himself how odd it felt to use his natural dialect again after so many years of disuse. Even something as speaking felt just as foreign as everything else. "I admit, I was born here, but I left when I was youth - and I have since lost my accent."

Ah, so the man was native but removed. Kalia judged by his accent that he'd certainly spent the majority of his life East, perhaps Elbion or even as far as the Reach.
Kalia had traveled to the Reach and beyond on several occasions, expanding his knowledge of this era and making connections, using his role as an adventurer and guild member to make money in the process.

Getting his name out was also part of his goal, on the chance that his fame may attract strong people, good people who are worth knowing when your back is against the wall.
Having people owe you favors was also nice, so taking any and all jobs available has been his MO since the beginning and earned him much popularity with the common folk and wealthy alike.

It was hard to judge by this man's equipment as to what sort of vocation he professed to, but he was clearly handy with a spear and no stranger to combat.

When the offer of a drink came up, he was intrigued but also was wary. The letter had warned him to trust no one. An ironic statement, he noted with some humor seeing as how it was from an unknown party claiming to be blood.

But then, there was something about this massive man before him that made him feel at ease in a way he could not explain. Perhaps it was the fact the ornate mask he wore gave off that golden glint in the sunlight that reminded him so much of his master's glow when in combat. The divine magic that flowed through Nathan gave him immense comfort in dark times.

Dismissing the thought, he looked straight into the mask's eyeholes and studied what he could glimpse of the eyes beneath. Indeed, there was a spark of magic in the stranger, he could tell. It was subtle, but it was there. Not uncommon, especially in this part of the world, but then it was probably best not to pry. Given his performance and the weapon he wielded, he was likely a fighter-for-hire of some sort.

Kalia noticed the man sizing him up. He knew his size to be intimidating which is why he carefully shaped his persona to offset that factor.
But somehow, he doubted this warrior astride his horse was very easily intimidated. A dauntless man no doubt, to boldly display all of his goods in the form of full saddlebags in the streets of the market district.
Well, that could just as easily be naivete. Though he would have expected someone who lived in the Reach to be somewhat familiar with Alliria, the merchant city. In spite of the difference in population density, the markets of both cities were disturbingly similar.

When Max peered into the shadowed eyes of Kalia's mask, He found eyes, but they would seem to only be the painted eyes one would find on the funeral mask of the ancient Ahkmisian kings.
How this giant in armor could see through those sightless black strokes of paint was a mystery that few were brave enough to ask about.
In fact, an observant person might notice that not a single bit of flesh was visible under all of the regalia this giant wore.

"I will gladly take you up on that offer, but first, permit me to introduce myself." Max said after that brief pause. He thumped a fist against his chest in a gesture of salute. "I am Maximus, but most refer to me as Max. And what might I call you, stranger?"

Kalia nodded in affirmation of his name. Not a common one in this region, he likely received it when he was moved East.
Kalia thought back to his time in the Reach and tried to recollect any notable people by the name of Maximus, or Max. Nobody in the adventurer's guild came to mind that matched this man's description, but he couldn't help but find the name familiar.

Kalia placed his gloved hand over his chest and gave a short bow. And, sensing the man's unfamiliarity with the native tongue around here, spoke in the common tongue of the Reach.
"Well met, sir Maximus! I am Kalia Oro Khastan, an adventurer of the Gold rank. Perhaps you've heard of me? I've done some work in the Reach, played a small part during the orcish crisis about a decade ago?"
He straightened and examined Max once more, his head tilted quizzically, as if it was super important that this man might have heard about him?
But he quickly waved it off.

"Ah, no matter. As I said, well met! Now, if you would humor me for a moment, I just need to collect these rodents for the bounty, and we can be on our way!"
With that he briskly turned with the rat dangling over his shoulder and marched back into the shop where he began shoving the massive rat corpses into a satchel that seemed far too small to be able to contain all thirteen of the dog-sized creatures.
When he was done, he came back out, covered in even more gore and grime than before, and stepped in front of the horse to take the lead.

"Apologies for the wait! If you follow me, I can show you a fine inn. I know the owner personally, he's an upstanding man and his establishment is notorious for its security!"
In a lower voice he added, "If you ever need water for yourself in this city, only trust the fountains near the temples. The clerics keep them purified."

 

[Sir Nathaniel]

((Max looks like this, BTW))

____________________________________________________________________________


"I believe I have heard of you." Max replied, trying to recall the finer details. When few of them came to mind, he decided on a diplomatic answer. "They say you are a lover of peace, but a man well-versed in combat." Another thought struck him as he examined the mask a second time. Then a memory he had once read in the archives at Angelos Keep. "And also, the rumors state you are the descendant of a warrior-king of ancient times."

From the way he had previously seen Kalia handle his spear, he obviously meant the compliment. A curious similarity with their choice of weapons; though Max's preferred choice was the poleaxe. Its great reach, the fact it required both hands, and the fact it was effective against armored opponents made it ideal for him, especially to compensate for his short stature.

With Kalia, he figured that a man that could handle himself so gracefully yet still be so large in size bespoke of a high level of discipline and hard-won skill. That aside, the way he handled the carcasses with such ease meant he obviously was strong. Perhaps even in the same league as Max himself.

Max was by no means the largest or the most skilled fighter among his group, the Freedom Fighters, but he was easily the mightiest of them physically. Even Nathan was unable to best him if it came to raw power.

Dismissing that thought, he nodded.

"If you follow me, I can show you a fine inn. I know the owner personally, he's an upstanding man and his establishment is notorious for its security."

He nodded at the mention of the fountains, making a mental note to visit a temple at some point. Perhaps one of the priests there might have an answer about why the gods never answered him. That or at least, they might provide him with an explanation as to why his master had been chosen, and he had not.


"An inn would be most welcome, though my ultimate destination lies elsewhere in this city. In particular, I am looking for...-" He started as he turned about, holding Duke's reins, but the horse seemed to be even more offput, however and did not budge from his spot. Max gave a light tug. "Come, boy." Again, the horse whickered, his ears held back and his nostrils flaring. He seemed to be in a state of alarm.

"One moment, please." Said Max to the giant, and then he turned back to the palfrey and raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Steady, Duke. Easy, boy." The great animal tried to pull back, but soothed as he watched his partner approach. His large brown eyes were wide open, as if frightened. His muzzle bunched and un-bunched with each breath.

"Come, Duke." Max cooed. "Steady, boy. It's me. I know you do not like crowds, but it is alright. I am right here with you."

It took a few more moments, but the horse eased up and his eyes became rounded. With another gentle touch to his mane, Max felt the tension ease, then chuckled slightly as the palfrey put his head on his shoulder in a clear sign of affection. Max's heart swelled a bit at the gesture.

He turned back to the giant man with a smile tugging at his lips. "Ah. Where are my manners?" He said lightly. "This great animal is named Duke. My most loyal friend, and a lover of apples."

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

((Max looks like this, BTW))

____________________________________________________________________________


"I believe I have heard of you." Max replied, trying to recall the finer details. When few of them came to mind, he decided on a diplomatic answer. "They say you are a lover of peace, but a man well-versed in combat." Another thought struck him as he examined the mask a second time. Then a memory he had once read in the archives at Angelos Keep. "And also, the rumors state you are the descendant of a warrior-king of ancient times."

That was most gratifying to hear, though he had to reserve a secret smirk behind his mask when he heard the rumors about him, 'descendent of a warrior-king'? The irony was not lost on him since some called him that even when he was alive.
It got him to thinking. He highly doubted it, but he wondered if any of his descendants somehow survived the fall of his kingdom to this age. The time following his death was, as far as he could perceive, very tumultuous.

Although, it wasn't impossible, a few of his most trusted aids managed to survive that time to this age, even if their forms and identities were different.
Perhaps some of them managed to escape with one of his wives or concubines before the priests got to them and his line continues even now?

That might bear investigation, although it might be impossible to find out if even his name was expunged from the history books.

From the way he had previously seen Kalia handle his spear, he obviously meant the compliment. A curious similarity with their choice of weapons; though Max's preferred choice was the poleaxe. Its great reach, the fact it required both hands, and the fact it was effective against armored opponents made it ideal for him, especially to compensate for his short stature.

With Kalia, he figured that a man that could handle himself so gracefully yet still be so large in size bespoke of a high level of discipline and hard-won skill. That aside, the way he handled the carcasses with such ease meant he obviously was strong. Perhaps even in the same league as Max himself.

Max was by no means the largest or the most skilled fighter among his group, the Freedom Fighters, but he was easily the mightiest of them physically. Even Nathan was unable to best him if it came to raw power.

Kalia was indeed skilled with a spear, but he also used the Khopesh. Both of them and the armor he wore were his personal weapons that he used when he was alive and were buried with him as tools of his blasphemy.
The spear was double bladed, with a spear head on one end and a glaive head on the other end on a collapsable shaft which turned the polearm into a close combat weapon and his scepter of rulership. This was truly his ultimate multitool since it was also his staff with which he commanded magic.

The Khopesh was far mor simple, an enchanted weapon that was sharp and durable but also carried with its edge the crippling passage of time against all it cut.

Dismissing that thought, he nodded.

He nodded at the mention of the fountains, making a mental note to visit a temple at some point. Perhaps one of the priests there might have an answer about why the gods never answered him. That or at least, they might provide him with an explanation as to why his master had been chosen, and he had not.

"An inn would be most welcome, though my ultimate destination lies elsewhere in this city. In particular, I am looking for...-" He started as he turned about, holding Duke's reins, but the horse seemed to be even more offput, however and did not budge from his spot. Max gave a light tug. "Come, boy." Again, the horse whickered, his ears held back and his nostrils flaring. He seemed to be in a state of alarm.

"One moment, please." Said Max to the giant, and then he turned back to the palfrey and raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Steady, Duke. Easy, boy." The great animal tried to pull back, but soothed as he watched his partner approach. His large brown eyes were wide open, as if frightened. His muzzle bunched and un-bunched with each breath.

Kalia nodded and began to lead the way when apparently Max's horse started to rebel.
The crowds and claustrophobic narrowness of the streets could certainly be much for any beast of burden. But Kalia suspected differently.

He was usually very diligent in applying incense, herbs and oils to his body and bandages to mask the scent of undeath and hide the creaking of his joints, but with the gore covering him he wondered if that enhanced his natural scent which naturally made animals uneasy.
Nothing he could do about that now. He'll just have to wait till he can wash off the blood in a fountain.

"Come, Duke." Max cooed. "Steady, boy. It's me. I know you do not like crowds, but it is alright. I am right here with you."

It took a few more moments, but the horse eased up and his eyes became rounded. With another gentle touch to his mane, Max felt the tension ease, then chuckled slightly as the palfrey put his head on his shoulder in a clear sign of affection. Max's heart swelled a bit at the gesture.

He turned back to the giant man with a smile tugging at his lips. "Ah. Where are my manners?" He said lightly. "This great animal is named Duke. My most loyal friend, and a lover of apples."

Kalia waited patiently while Max got his horse under control.

When Max introduced his horse Kalia let out a booming jovial laugh that rang metallically behind his mask!
"Ah! Sir Duke! Please forgive my lack of manners! We shall most certainly have to find an apple cart along the way to satiate that appetite!"
He gave the horse a bow but made no attempt to touch the beast, seeing the state of his bloody gloves as reason enough.
He calmed himself and spoke to Max again, "You have a loyal friend there. I envy you that, if there were a horse that could bear me as more than an unwieldy burden, I would cherish him till the day I die!"

Kalia indeed had such a horse when he was alive. A massive steed large enough to carry him in full armor into battle. Finding a mare for that monster of a horse was a true challenge, but when they did it was a celebratory event!
Finding the descendants of that horse has been another goal of his, and already he'd been successful in finding a few with traces of that illustrious bloodline, but they still lacked the proper size and mass to properly accommodate his own size.
He was considerably lighter now than when he was alive, so finding a horse that could carry him wasn't so much of an issue, but he wouldn't look very impressive or kingly bouncing on the back of a normal horse like an adult on a child's rocking-horse.

Kalia pulled himself out of his nostalgia and addressed Max again.
"Well then, if we're ready? Let us continue!"

--------------------------------------------------

Kalia led the way through the market district, stopping at an apple cart before entering the labyrinth of streets in the interior.

They passed several city squares with fountains which people gathered around to socialize, but Kalia bypassed these until they came to one with less people. He then took the time to wash himself, cleaning the blood and grime off of his gloves and clothes, cleaning his weapons and shining up his armor a little bit.

These fountains were clearly not supplied by the cleanest sources, but people still gathered from them and boiled them to purify the water themselves. Kalia felt relatively guiltless dirtying the water even further in these fountains, the unclean water would cycle out eventually, and far worse things existed in the water already.

Once he was cleaned up, he led Max into a part of the city that was clearly more well-to-do, not upper-class but comfortably middle class.
There he led him to a larger building that had many rooms and a sturdily built stable.
"I can show you to the temple fountains later, for now, let's see about getting you set up with a drink!"
A boy came out of the stable, and upon seeing Kalia simply gave a wide smile and wouldn't accept any coin to take care of Max's horse.

Once inside they were at once released from the oppressive heat of the sun and engulfed in an earthy coolness lit with a low fireplace and several beeswax candles lining the walls.
Hot or cold never bothered Kalia, but the darkness was far easier on Kalia's "Eyes", or whatever unknown organ sufficed.

A few patrons were taking their afternoon meals and a few glanced up at their entry.
Kalia wasn't an unknown in this city, even if people hadn't seen him before enough of them knew his description and reputation, but the only person who really recognized him was the portly patron of the establishment cleaning mugs at the bar.
The man spoke Ahkmisian as the two entered.
"Welcome back, Master Khastan and guest!"