Staying hidden in the attic was probably the smart thing to do. A city under sack was never safe, but they couldn’t be everywhere. He still heard the occasional sounds of distant screams, or the tramp of passing soldiers, but never too near. 

He wasn’t thirsty, you could, with a little ingenuity, if not much dignity, Create Water into your own mouth. And wash off the blood in the same way. It would be better if he had a flask, or even a cup, but he’d not planned that well.

He didn’t have any food either, but he knew you could last much longer without food than water. He’d gotten too used to being wealthy and safe, gotten out of the habit of carrying food everywhere. Stupid.

Mid-morning he risked a peek out through the gap in the roof, dagger in hand and Invisibility on his lips. But hadn’t seen anyone. Looking towards the shore the skyline was full of smoke, like the Galtans had burnt half the city.

Was the Break safe from fire? It was almost all wood. But being above the sea should help shouldn’t it? And half of it was damp with rot anyway. He vaguely remembered there had been plans to drop parts of it as firebreaks. Hopefully the Galtans were smart enough to do similar. Unless they were setting fires deliberately, wanting to sack and burn the city then flee before Her Majesty’s army fell upon them.

Lacking a better idea, he nailed back the boards and returned to the attic. He was restless. Strange as it was with no food and a night of fragmented sleep he couldn’t sit down.

He paced the attic and examined the walls. In the jagged light coming through the gaps in the ceiling he could see the marks on the walls a bit better.  There was another of the star mark he’d followed, but larger, and carved with a bit more care. For the star itself they’d left the pale wood visible, but around it someone had rubbed the wood with charcoal darkening it, making the rough shape of a mask with the star as one eye. He belatedly made the connection with the book of Norgorberite theology he’d found in that confiscated book.

Norgorber wasn’t a permitted God in Cheliax. But that might just be because the Church didn’t want to encourage the peasantry to commit crimes? Vyre was said to be ruled by Norgorber cultists, and it was part of the empire, always had been. And Norgorber had probably been a subject of the empire as well in that case?

What he’d read of the book sounded pretty Asmodean, all about getting what you wanted by trickery. A bit more emphasis on outright lies than the exact words that Lawful Gods preferred, and on surreptitious murder over Tyranny. But that was only to be expected for one of the Starstone Gods, risen above humans but still weaker than Asmodeus.

But Norgorber could still serve Him, like Dispater or Abadar. They would certainly be allied against the Good gods, and Asmodeus wouldn’t have led Orgull to this place if they were opposed. 

As such he said a brief prayer of thanks to Norgorber. Adapting one of the litanies used for the Archdevils, with every second line reinforcing that this was all done in the service of Asmodeus, the greatest of Gods.

Late in the afternoon, he heard drunken singing slowly approaching below. Galtan soldiers wandering down the street, smashing open warehouses as they went.

Abby was a sorcerer
Way hey ya
A sorcerer a blasphemer
Ab-bey Thrune

Abbey’s Queen o’ Chel-ee-ax
Way hey ya
She learned ta make them devils dance.
Ab-bey Thrune!

Could be take them? Probably not. 

Not enough time to lever the boards away, not without making a noise. 

Sucked ol’Asmody’s cock
Way hey ya
Now she’s Queen O’Chel-ee-ax
Ab-bey Thrune! 

In Galt we whipped her good
Way hey ya
Andoran said no thank you 
Ab-bey Thrune! 

Now Cyprians come knocking
Way hey ya
Take her crown and country too
Ab-bey Thrune!

A muffled discussion outside, then a wet crumpling from the door.

He crept into the furthest back corner, and burned one of his precious Invisibilities

The sound of footsteps and rummaging below. 

“Nothing in here, just empty barrels and stink of piss”

“We should still look around. Might be somethin’”

“Yeah I bet there’s a dozen Chelish sluts with bottles of fine Andoran whisky. Probably behind that barrel there, just waiting for your ugly cock.”

Laughter from the others.

“Better mine than yours, whatever nasty pox you got from that ugly whore last night.”

More laughter.

“Come on, let’s go. There’s more fun down at the docks.”

The singing resumed now repeating

Cyprian had 500 soldiers
Cyprian had 500 soldiers
Cyprian had 500 soldiers 
Marching in step! 

With laughter each time. The joke of shoving one another at the final line apparently never getting old. 

The sound faded as they got further away. 

He stayed in the attic the rest of the day, and through the night. 

The energy he’d felt in his blood through the day, that had him shaking, with the desire to take vengeance on the invaders, dripped slowly away. Leaving him feeling faint and drained. And without quite meaning to, he slept through the night. 

He was in the orphanage, back when he’d been one of the smaller kids fighting for scraps.

But instead of the older children tormenting him it was Galtan soldiers, towering above him and laughing as they feasted on food he couldn't touch. 

The orphanage was burning, the smell of smoke overwhelming everything, but nobody but him seemed to care. 

He woke with a start at dawn and prayed.

He’d only used the one Invisibility, so he just requested his Lord refill that one. 

He prayed by rote, repetitively, nothing new to report, his mind kept stumbling into half remembered images of the night before. 

He needed to get out of there.

It was his responsibility to assess the lay of the land, work out how the invaders were situated, to gather intelligence for when the Queen’s army came.

He’d need to leave behind the more distinctively soldiery bits of the clothing he’d stolen from Arnau. The additional protection it afforded wouldn’t be worth the risk of drawing more attention. The shirt and breeches he’d worn under them would do, they were a little loose on Orgull when he wasn’t taking on the other man’s shape. But that would probably help him look small and harmless.

With his normally neat facial hair fuzzy at the edges, and the general level of grime, he'd pass for a slum dweller to anyone who didn't know his face well. 

The district of rotting warehouses was quiet when he emerged, but the docks were active.

It would almost feel like a normal quiet day, maybe one in the winter when the merchant ships were fewer, and the weather kept people indoors. People were walking back and forth on errands, or with packages. They looked at him suspiciously or contemptuously as he passed, but that was probably just the clothes.

The taverns and brothels that normally shouted out invitations to passing sailors were quiet. Actually there were barely any women or children to be seen.

Galtan soldiers were scattered around in pairs and small knots, mostly guarding the half scorched remains of the naval ships, but also patrolling in pairs. Making sure you didn’t forget they were there.

The pier connecting the Break to the mainland was gone. Where the barricades the soldiers had been assembling behind had been there was now only cracked spars of wood sticking out of the water.

He didn’t know enough of military matters to know if that meant they had endured a long battle before being overwhelmed, or the invaders had hit them with some magic that just tossed them in the sea all at once. It was probably the former, they’d seemed not wholly incompetent, and brave.

Moloch welcome these souls into your legions. Let them serve Our Lord in eternal glory as they did in this brief pitiful life. 

The Galtans seemed to be setting up a rope bridge for their people to cross, and enterprising citizens were ferrying people across to the mainland on boats. - The smell of food distracted him. In the square that had previously faced the pier clumps of people were lined up in front of tents, smelling maddeningly of fresh bread.

At the head of the line sat a Galtan official of some sort. Each little clump of people stopped in front of him. Some just briefly, others for a few minutes. He was all smiles, but Orgull could see him taking notes after each group he talked to.

First step of an occupation: Take control of the population. Find potential dissenters. Recruit collaborators.

He wasn’t stupid enough to give himself away, just to soften the aching feeling in his stomach. He was strong, always had been. But still, he couldn’t serve Asmodeus very well if he was having to conserve his strength. It might be worth using one of his precious Invisibilities to get the food without coming to the attention of the “authorities.”   

He was hungover as fuck. Why was everything in this city so bright and loud. What had he done to get assigned this rather than something like inventorying treasure in a nice cool basement?

An old Chelish woman with two children was next in line. Grandmother? He put on his best talking-to-civilians smile and wished them a good day, asked them if they would mind terribly telling him where they lived and with how many people?

Her answer was evasive. Not helpful. Why were Chelish people so fucking cagey about everything?

Well. He knew why really.

Fuck the water situation for this place was going to be a nightmare. Not enough clerics to replace the hellpriests. Most of those would leave with the army anyway.

No fucking idea how many of these poor souls lived in the Break. The Godsdamned Asmodeans had burned their records. Probably all wrong anyway. Everyone with sense would have lied and hidden from Church and Crown anyway.

At least the people on this bizarre wooden shantytown could shit off the edge into the sea. He wouldn’t want to be in the mainland slums in a month. Sewerplague killed more than soldiers, and less kindly. Maybe that Archhealer everyone kept talking about would do some sort of miracle.  

Food lines were the only way to get people to talk to them. It should help. Show them not everyone is the same. Win the hearts and minds. All that. 

He tried to smile reassuringly at the littlest of the lady’s kids. A sexless looking pile of bones wrapped in a sheet and hiding behind her(?) grandmother’s(?) legs. It just looked back at him impassively. Gods forgive him he wished they'd cry or something.

He’d heard stories about life in Galt before they’d kicked out the diabolists, but it had never felt quite real. He could understand now why the terror might have been a blessed relief. Why you’d burn everything to the ground. Rather than see kids like this. 

Sarenrae preserve these children, so that they might grow up in a free land.

The wind flapped the tent behind him. The child stepped back, wary.

He waved them on to get their bread. Wrote: 

W(GM?)+3C. pillar 1 SW?

in the book. Added 4 strikes to his running tally.

Should ask one of the clerics to do an extra circuit up here. Focus on the children.

The tent flapped again. Did the wind have to be so fucking loud about it. 

He turned to the next group, a man and woman this time, standing close but not touching. Forced a smile on his face again.

He was hidden down an alley, behind a pile of broken wood that had been piled up, when his Invisibility ran out.

No sounds of pursuit, the Galtans had been arrogant in their victory, it would cost them later. 

The bread was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He’d filled his pockets with it for later.  

It wasn’t stealing, obviously. They were an invaders and infidels. If you could kill them in war you could certainly liberate their supplies. 

He took a boat that was going to the middle city docks. Paid ten times the normal price, in gold. He was saving the paper money as it was easier to carry.