No stranger to such reception, Shiva plays up her part. Her stride is unwavering and forces those in her path to give way, her body language speaking to an ease with both a blade and the taking of a life. She smirks as people ward themselves in fear and winks rakishly at the women pulling their gawking children away. 

She shouts in Taneman as the soap-box priest rattles off tales of woe and destruction and the reclamation of a bygone golden era. She brings her voice into chorus with the pitches and falls of the so-called priest. "Do you SEE THEM, friends? Those that bring CORRUPTION with their backwards ways? Your CHILDREN will forget the faces of their ancestors. Your WIVES will have their first orgasms in DECADES at the hands of these FIENDS!" 

She cackles brightly as she stomps away, only to be met by a man with a blade. When he silently refuses to step out of her path, she regards him with open animosity. 

"You lose something over here, friend?" 

Alaris pauses at the head of the column, the hush of the crowd settling over the group like a gathering storm. Every whispered prayer and wary glance seems to make the surroundings press ever closer. For a moment, they feel a literal choking, smothering feeling. Maybe you should just lay back... try to fit in, whispers the other Alaris. I mean, it's not anything I've ever tried, but people keep telling me it's an option.

Shiva's shout brings the aasimar out of their reverie with a cough and a shake of the head. No - wasn't it you who told me we're too... what was your word? Fabulous... too fabulous to hide?  They lift a hand—palm open, fingers steady—and draw a slow, calming breath as they move to stand beside Shiva.

“People of Beschadik,” Alaris begins (in Sarameian with a lilt of Piotrgrad to it), voice clear but gentle, carrying over cobblestones and chatter. “I know your hearts quake at what is unknown. You see armor etched with symbols you do not recognize, faces that do not belong in your markets, and you wonder what omen we bring.”

They let their gaze sweep over the silent soldiers and curious laborers, then rest on the children peeking from behind their mothers’ skirts.

“We are not demons, thieves, or unwelcome spirits,” they continue. “We are travelers seeking truth and justice. I do stand here under the light of a goddess whom you may not know — but no shadow can claim those who serve the Lady of Light.” Alaris steps forward, lowering their voice so the cityfolk must strain to hear. “If you need proof of our purpose, look to our acts, not our looks. We bear courage, careful counsel, compassion, and above all, loyalty to one another. Judge us not by fear, but by the light we choose to carry.”

They close their eyes for a heartbeat and murmur a prayer to the Lady of Light. When they open them again, the faintest glow seems to linger in their iris.

“May the Light of the Lady reach even the coldest hearts today. If you offer us only suspicion, we will return it only with kindness. If you offer peace, we will pass in peace. And if you simply step aside, we will walk through without harm.”

With that, Alaris lowers their hand and inclines their head—a formal blessing and an invitation. Then they fall quietly into step, letting their words ripple through the courtyard, hoping the light they bear will kindle courage in Beschadik’s wary souls.

Iskander releases a weary sigh, even though this is only the beginning. "Maybe I shouldn't have translated that," he says to Astrid and Caio, helpless to do much but watch this chaos unfold.

He finally steps in when Shiva squares up to a swordsman, switching to his native Sarameian to try and defuse the situation. "Please forgive her," he asks with hands raised in a placating gesture, "these people visit from far away on a holy pilgrimage, they do not know our, more civilised, ways."

Shiva's chaos and Alaris's calm inspire a mix of fear and fascination in the onlookers. Some laugh nervously at the tiefling's bawdy mockery, while others spit curses under their breath. However, the bogatyr's words strike a different chord, resonating steady as a hymn.

The man with the blade glances from Shiva's smirk to Alaris's glow, his jaw tightening. When Iskander steps forward, speaking in an easy, crisp Sarameian, the man’s grip tightens on the hilt of his weapon, knuckles whitening as he listens. His eyes flit once more between Shiva and Alaris, before narrowing on Iskander.

"Pilgrims?" He spits, voice rough with distrust. "Funny, I’ve never seen pilgrims swagger like sellswords or mock our faith in the streets. If she were truly a holy woman, she’d know when to keep her tongue behind her teeth."

He takes a deliberate half-step closer, blade tilting just enough to catch the light.

"Beschcadik has bled enough for foreign causes. You want peace, stranger? Then keep your dogs on a leash."

Shiva's grin remains as the man airs his revulsion towards the group. 

"That's because I am a mercenary, cock snot. These-" She waves her hand wide as she indicates to the others. "-good holy folk think they can save me from my wayward path."

She takes another step forward, entering the man's space. 

"But if a dirty devil of a foreigner walking these streets is too much for you to bear, then I'd be happy to alleviate your suffering and escort you unto the next life."

She crosses her arms, standing straight and confident. 

"We're passing through. We share this world, no one has right to say who belongs where and when so long as they go their own way and leave others unharmed. I wouldn't give you a second look if I saw you in my hometown."

Iskander switches back to Taneman to address Shiva.

"No." He reprimands her sternly, "he does have the right to say it. You are in Beschcadik, there are lines you do not cross here. I am your guide, yes? So listen to me before you end up in prison, or worse." He flicks her forehead in an infantilising Sarameian gesture that indicates stupidity.

Shiva's eyes remain fixed on the man, and only after several seconds does she shift to Iskander. 

"Aye."

Though the aggression in her expression remains, she winks at him.

"...sir." 

She then turns on her heel and trots off to stand beside Caio. 

"Brother it is a trial. It might be hard to believe but she has improved," Iskander complained in Sarameian. Shiva had come down but that didn't mean this man wouldn't escalate. 

The man with the blade does not lower it, but his hand shifts from attack-readiness to a kind of watchful disdain. His lips curl as he spits into the dust.

“A trial, is it?” He replies in guttural Sarameian, eyes narrowing at Shiva as she moves away. "Then you’d best leash your foreign-beast tighter, 'brother'. The emperor’s peace is not kept by mercies for mouths that run too freely."

Around him, the tension in the crowd ebbs. Muttered prayers ripple through those nearby and one older woman tugs a child behind her skirts, glaring at Shiva as though she were the very corruption that the temples warned against.

Without a word, Alaris takes a step or two and places themselves between Shiva and the man with the blade - not approaching, just breaking the line of sight. Their tall, lean frame appears comfortable and relaxed, only the silver glow of their irises belying readiness to protect their little family.

Shiva smiles as the imposing form of Alaris comes between herself and the man. Quietly, she whispers to them.

"Love you too, Angel Face."

"Thank you for your understanding and grace." Iskander laid it on a bit thick with a slight bow and his hand on his heart.

"Our empire has tamed many foreign beasts and is all the richer for it. Once she sees how things work in our great city she will learn the superiority of our ways and I will do my best to keep her out of trouble until then.

"Speaking of..." he tilted his head meaningfully in Shiva's direction in an attempt to end the exchange.

The man narrows his eyes at Iskander, the weight of his scorn still thick on his tongue, but the formality of the bow and the invocation of the empire’s strength seems to settle something in him. He lowers his blade with a sharp, practiced motion and wipes the dust from its edge against his sleeve before sliding it back into its sheath.

"See that you do," he replies coldly, his gaze sliding once more to Shiva before being cut off by the silver glow of Alaris's watchful presence. "A city as great as Beschcadik does not need vermin swaggering through its streets."

The words ripple out into the crowd, and while a few heads nod in agreement, most people avert their eyes and move along, unwilling to linger where trouble brews. The man gives Iskander a final, measuring look, as though to remind him that his promises have witnesses, and then turns away and disappears into the flow of the thoroughfare. Whispers persist in his wake, voices carrying fragments of phrases like "foreign beasts" and "mercenary devils".

"Best not to linger here," Iskander growled on his return to Shiva's side. "What the **** was that even about?" He was exasperated, and with a face like he'd sucked on a lime. It was clear he didn't expect an answer. 

"This way," he announced in a brusque tone that didn't make any effort to hide the disappointment he felt. He didn't want to look at the blue devil right now so di not spare a glance back to see if the others were following. 

While she has the man's eyes, Shiva sneers and makes a jerk-off motion at Iskander before continuing on. 

Caio watches the scene unfold with a dark vein threatening to burst from his forehead. 

“Leave it to Shiva,” he mutters beneath his breath, but makes no move to intervene. Let the local and the radiant one handle the angry mob; with his own visage so dark and alien there is no way he would be of any help calming them. Instead he tasks himself with scanning their audience, hunting for any threats with his keen obsidian eyes. Ghoul circles above,  hyper focused on the scene below. Occasionally Caio toggles his vision into the cormorant’s skull. 

As the aggression finally subsides enough for the group to exit pitchfork range and continue on their merry way, Caio is right on Iskander’s heels. “We have eyes. An old woman on a balcony up there, she might be wyrd, and that man over there at the fruit stand.” he says, flicking his gaze to the stranger. The remaining urchin only gets a n icy glare from the fuinequendi, intended to scare him off.

On a nearby balcony with a view of the old woman in “prayer”, Ghoul alights. He tucks in his wings and fixes his beady eyes on her. 

"At this point it would be more surprising for people to not be watching." Iskander shoots back irritably. His eyes drift to some intersections ahead where they could take roads off the main thoroughfare but ultimately he discards the idea he was forming. Instead, Iskander points to a street food vendor. "People were always going to look, I told you earlier, remember?" he referenced the conversation before they had entered the city. If people are going to be watching, then show them what you want them to see.

"I'm sure you have never had this before, you should be interested in trying it. Smell how fragrant it is."  The smell of spices was heavy in the air and underneath it, the unmistakable aroma of lamb with the smoky undernote from the charcoal grill.

Shiva groans in anticipation at the smell of the lamb accompanied with spices she's sure she has never experienced in such enticing combination, despite a far-off sense of familiarity. Paying for the lamb to be wrapped in soft, buttered flatbread with diced cucumber and some manner of sauce she hadn't hear of, the first bite is an extravaganza of flavor and texture that makes her shoulders sag in pleasure. 

"This is amazing! It's giving me the weirdest feeling of déjà vu, too."

Dropping the irreverent foreigner act for now, she comes to stand beside Iskander and Caio.

"Very convincing performance, soldier. I think you would've made a talented bard in another life." She then looks to Caio, her voice dropping slightly as she turns her attention to their current situation. "Can you see if the magic is a ward? Or something malicious? I should be able to cover myself and maybe another with the warden's runes."

Caio takes some of the food as well, and without trying he plays the role of foreign traveler convincingly as he coughs and flushes from the smoke and spice.

”Delicious.” He manages to get out once he’s recovered, and though the exotic flavor does appear overwhelming for the Necorathian’s palette he does continue to dig in.

“I don’t believe she is actively casting anything against us, either she is babbling nonsense or reporting back to some unseen power. Either way we should be wary, let’s get out of the streets.”

Iskander stiffens instantly at Shiva's words. "You are mistaken friend, I am but a humble guide." 

When she continued, talking openly with Ciao about magic, it was all he can do not to roll his eyes.

"She could be listening to you and your unguarded tongues", he says finally. He raises two fingers to the side of his mouth, as if in thought; it serves to block sight of his mouth from any on the left who might be trying to read what his is saying.  "I still think we should take a direct route to the first stop on our travel-plan. As far as I'm concerned there has been little change and changing tack here means we abandon our whole approach.