Zel stood atop the hill at whose top they’d emerged, but just before she could follow in Strol’s and Zef’s stead, she felt a tap on her shoulder followed by the hiss of a gas mask seal breaking.

“I just need you to know that I will uphold my image as Inquisitor when we step into the city,” Alcerys said before Zelsys could question what she wanted. “If you see me in this attire, do not try to speak to me or approach me. Though… I wager that the next time we meet, I will already be the third-ever Inquisitor to go renegade. You’ll be able to tell. No mask, no guns, removed iconography.”

Without even thinking a question slipped out of Zel’s mouth ,“...They’re only taking the mask and guns?”

“Yeah,” she nodded with a bitter smile. “All my equipment is bound to me by design, but only the guns are special enough to bother retrieving instead of just sanding off Inquisitorial insignia. It’s… A backhanded sort of mercy, I suppose - they know I’ll keep using it so I’ll be easy to keep track of. I’ll come around for my share of the hoard in a couple days.”

Zel raised an eyebrow, “You don’t want your pick of it?”

The Inquisitor let out a light chuckle, and that bitter smile just remained stuck on her face. “Set aside jade, money, aether gems, and a jar of the golden paste,” she said, pulling her mask up and sealing it back into place before she moved on.

Zelsys, too, moved on, quickly catching up with a waiting Zefaris halfway down the hill.

Once more, they trod the road to the city gates, its rune-etched paving stones lightening each step. Zel and Zef quickly caught up to Strolvath, and in turn, Alcerys quickly caught up to them.

For a little while they just walked the road in silence, taking in their surroundings. It was good to be here again. Then, something caught Zel’s eye - a particularly dense cluster of poppy flowers in the roadside ditch. She just couldn’t help herself, stepping off the road to pluck a handful.

With a single quick grab she yanked nine of the flowers off their stems, and just then the smell of what they’d been growing in hit her nostrils. Hemolymph. They’d been growing not in fertile soil created by a decayed human corpse as she’d expected, but by that of a dead locust - a Locust Noble at that, if the unique skull shape was to go by. Their head had a gaping, long hole in the side, perhaps from a farmer’s hoe.

“At least you’ll be good for something in death,” a thought crossed her mind as she turned to return to the others. Were she not short an arm, she would’ve threaded some of the poppies into Zef’s hair and some into her own. Alas, she handed her counterpart the whole bouquet with but a smile and a peck on the cheek.

The slightest shade of red highlighted the markswoman’s snow-white countenance when she took the flowers, and after breathing deeply of their scent threaded one into her own hair. With the others, she took to fashioning a wreath.

As they neared the gates, Zel noticed that Strol’s gait had grown stiffer and he once again walked as if he had a glorified pegleg attached to his right knee instead of the fully-functional, articulated cold-iron lower leg that he really had.

He took a swig of Vitamax, and with a look grabbed her attention.

“I’ll have to head straight to Estoras once we’re in town,” he said. “I’ll get back to you later today about when he’ll be able to meet with you two. You just try to recover n’ don’t screw me outta my share of the loot, ‘ight?”

“You’ll find me?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Kinda hard to miss, Ms. One-arm of House Built,” chuckled the performer. “But yes, I’ll find you no problem, you’re kinda hard to miss. Just don’t go zigzagging across the whole city if you can help it.”

Zel would’ve shot back with a quip of her own, but Zef threw her off by tapping her on the shoulder and then planting the poppy wreath on her head right when she turned around. An uncontrollable smile plastered itself across the beast-slayer’s face, and she settled to let Strolvath have the last word while she walked the rest of the way to the gate side-by-side and hand-in-hand with Zefaris.

The gate guards looked to be two young, albeit tall Ikesian men, both wearing heavily worn gambesons and beat-up breastplates. Each carried a war-knife on his belt and a spear with a weird, bulky end. When they got close enough to see, Zel had to double-take to be sure the spears were what she thought they were. They had sparklock firing mechanisms with short, wide barrels affixed to either side of the tip, connected to metal casements around the spear’s shaft which ended in a double trigger a third of the way down the shaft.

Somehow, she remembered that these were called Boar-killer Spears. Despite the absence of any other memory to associate with it, the name was sufficient. As far as she was concerned, spears with double-barreled sparklocks strapped to them were still the bare minimum for those beasts.

There was no particular reason for Zelsys to pay attention to such a detail right now, but this tiny mnemonic connection had sent her on a brief mental tangent. She wondered if those spears could get through their wielders’ armor.

When they reached the gate the guards regarded the four of them with caution and apprehension, asking no questions and simply getting the smaller door open for them to pass as quickly as they could. Only… The one across from the door seemed to be looking at Zelsys a little too intently, his brow furrowed with uncertain recognition. She took note of his general looks from her peripheral vision - nice jawline, a cut scar across the bridge of his nose and a couple smaller ones on the sides.