You had been living in Dema for several years, the days seemed equally languid and flowed from one to another, but there was some pleasant melancholy in this. The monotony of the daily routine, stability and immutability only made your life easier. Only peace, constancy and silence.

Even the grey concrete had its graceful side. Every tile in the square was perfectly aligned. No one in Dema would call that perfectionism.

Although one change did happen. Something with the water supply, it seemed. But it didn't confuse you, for every event everyone there has a plan B. You went to the outskirts of the city, choosing a route to the least crowded spring. The sound of water against the rocks was already caressing your ears, you were hugging a medium-sized jug to yourself.

Approaching the spring, you bent down, immersing the jug in the water, humming a light melody.

For Torchbearer this wasn't his first small foray to Dema, it was impossible to fail. The task was simple, just steal some clothes for the camp and, with a lot of luck, help someone escape. Following his usual route, he jumped from the cliffs onto Dema's territory, not expecting a single soul at this forgotten spring.

Torchbearer landed on his feet, dusting off his hands and catching sight of you out of the corner of his eye. He froze, as if he didn't expect a anyone to be here and now. Knowing that you can just scream, run away, call for help, generally make a fuss, the leader is in trouble. At least a couple of weeks without raids, because the bishops will keep their ears open. He swallowed.

"Just don't scream, okay?"

He said in a warningly persuasive tone, holding his hands out in front of him. If you move, he will have to use his force.