Tirian stumbled into the trees, landing hard and rolling. Lying on his back, he laughed. His breath still heavy, his heart pounding with excitement. Palthren and Kineson hadn't come even close to discovering him. In fact, they probably didn't even notice he'd gone.

But how had that man known?

A sharp pain shot up his arm.

"Trop it!" he said, cursing at the pain.

There was a long scratch and a bad burn. His excitement was wearing off now and he was really starting to feel it. His arm trembled as he looked at it. The wound wasn't that deep, but bits of melted glass sat embedded in his flesh. His eyes started to water from the searing pain.

He took a deep breath. He pulled his acolyte robes off, wincing again as the sleeve slid down his arm. He sat on a fallen log and put his left hand above the scrape on his forearm. Glass glistened in the wound. It was almost solid now; his body having taken in most of the heat. If he had been a little sharper he would have just absorbed the heat from the glass when it first touched him, but he hadn't anticipated that happening. "Always be ready to absorb" his Thermist trainer had instructed him while he had been preparing to become a heat-priest. He focused again on his arm.

"Alright," he said, "two at a time, I can do this."

He drew on two powers from his Core, the ones he was most familiar with. Heat and Motion. He extended his fingers, pushing the heat and kinetic energy out from his Core, then through his fingers, and finally out through the air.

He grunted in pain as the glass began to heat up again and he pulled at it with kinetic energy. It felt almost as if invisible fingers were grasping the glass shards and pulling them out.

He winced some more as the last piece slid out from his skin. It was a bad burn, but narrow. He would survive, but it would hurt for a long while.

"At least I'll get a great scar," he said to himself with a smile.

He absorbed the heat energy from the glass into his Core, causing the glass to solidify in a strange shape. He looked at it, smiled, and put it in his pocket.

A form slammed into him from behind without warning, and Tirian fell forward down a long, grassy hillside, hitting a few branches on the way, a hand going over Tirian's face. He tried to get away, but the form was inhumanly strong. They came to a rapid halt when the hill ended. He looked around as much as he could. Thick branches were above them, concealing them from view. Tirian breathed hard.

"Make a noise if you want to get caught." a male voice said behind him.

Tirian opened his core and drew on kinetic energy. Ready to telepathically throw the form. But there was only a mere drop of it left. He used it, which likely equated to poking the stranger with a hard finger.

"Stop," the voice said, "They'll see us."

he leaves rustled around them, branches snapped, and voices called out.

"I'm giving you breath energy. Do. Not. Breath. Do not move. Be absolutely silent."

Tirian sucked in a breath but felt a rush of feeling. They came from the man who still had him pinned down. Suddenly, he didn't have to breathe. He didn't even want to. A body priest? Tirian thought. But before he could say anything else, more branches snapped above.

Electricity crackled, and there were words of argument about what to do next. One of the priests above mumbled something about thinking he heard voices nearby. The group took off running in a different direction.

After a long period of silence, the form started to release its iron grip.

"Don't yell, or scream, or run off," the voice said. He let Tirian go. Tirian jumped away and looked at his robes, now covered in dirt and leaves. He scowled at the man. The man was young, early thirties probably. His hair was clipped short and he sported no beard. He wore peasants' clothes, but his posture communicated something else. Apart from giving Tirian the ability to not need breath, that posture alone indicated a person of importance.

"What does a sent-priest of Bollusag want from a poor acolyte like myself?" Tirian said.

"You must be the thief," the man said.

Tirian raised an eyebrow. "I'm just the one enjoying a nice stroll in the park."

"So then why did you tense when you heard those priests?"

"Can a man spend five minutes away from the palace before he gets to called to perform some pointless duty?"

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"Look," the man said, "I'm not interested in games. The God of Corpus wants me to escort you to him, where he will make you a deal."

"What if I just run?"

The man smiled widely. "I'd love to see you try."

Without a further thought, he turned to the side and took the first step to running away from the man. Before he even started, however, a vice grip had returned to his forearm.

Tirian glared at the newcomer, "Well, that's impressive," Tirian said.

The man smiled. "I just want to talk."

"Then why are you bruising my arm?"

"Because you're trying to run away."

Tirian furrowed his brow. "Fine,” Tirian said. The man lessened his grip, and Tirian yanked it away, rubbing his wrists. "What do you want from me? Why did you protect me?"

"I want to hire you,” the young man said. "You see, I've been tracking you since you received the power from the goddess of Heat," he said. He paused, inspecting Tirian again, as if he were a riddle to solve. "You're really going to attempt to steal Endowments from all of them, aren't you?"

The young man approached, taking Tirian's wounded arm. Tirian pulled his arm back quickly.

"May I?" the young man said.

Tirian glared but put his arm out anyway.

The young man took it and then started waving his hand over the burnt wound.

"My name is Kalentatharon Monrediu," he gave a slight nod and Tirian felt calming energy pass into his arm.

Tirian looked down to see the gash fully healed. No wound or scar. That was a little disappointing, but it was great to have the pain gone.

"My god has a proposition for you."

"I'm listening," Tirian said, feeling his smooth skin.

"Bollusag wants to make a deal, in exchange for your services, he will grant you the endowment of corpus.”

Tirian raised an eyebrow. "What's the fun of trading for a power I could just steal?”

"You think you could steal it now?" the man said, "Now that your cover is blown?"

"I'm good at disguises," Tirian said.

"You haven't even heard the deal yet." The young man smiled. "What Bollusag wants you to do is much more challenging than simply trying to pass off for an aspiring priest."

"Really?” Tirian said. Skeptical. Convincing a god that you were a devoted follower was no easy feat. "And what's that?"

"I can't tell you, only Bollusag can."

"Sounds like you're luring me into a trap," Tirian said. "Seems like a bad idea to go with you."

The man sighed in exasperation, "You could say no, but then I'd have to capture you again. Say no again, I break a finger. He sent me not to kill you, but to recruit you."

Tirian gave a look of casual contemplation, evaluating the area around him, looking for exits. One particularly clear path of forest passed in front of his eyes.

Tirian paused. "Can you tell me the job? I gotta have some details to go off of?"

The man glared. "You have two choices: to work for Bollusag for a time and receive the payment he intends to give you, or to face Elmarad, Kineson, and Palthren. Let's see what your victims think of you."

"They're hardly victims, they're gods!"

"They're your victims. And once they know you no longer serve them, and I'm sure you’re neglecting offering daily deviotion."

"They have plenty of followers already," Tirian said.

"You dishonor the service they give to their people by taking the place of another acolyte.

"So, I take that as a yes?"

Tirian put on a convincing but false smile. "Fine, lead the way." He motioned with his hand.

Once the man had turned and started walking, Tirian turned around and ran the opposite direction. He rushed through the trees, leaping through the air, twisting, touching, jumping.

Idiot! he thought as he ran.

Then, as he looked forward again, a forearm came into view at about chest level. He slammed into it. His legs kept moving forward, but his top half rotated backward, rotating him in the air until he was parallel with the ground. Then the man's other hand smacked Tirian's chest down and he flattened to the forest floor.

He lay on his back, trying to concentrate as stars twinkled in and out of existence in his vision. The young man looked down at him. His face was grim. "He's authorized me to kill you should you try to escape. Now, I'll let that one slide, but do that again and you're dead."

Tirian rubbed his head. It pounded with pain.

"I've heard you corpists can move fast," Tirian said. His eyes watered a little as he blinked.

The man stretched out his hand. Tirian ignored it and got to his feet on his own.

"We can, but it takes a lot of energy. So next time you try something like that, don't expect to wake up. I don't have enough energy to waste chasing vagabonds in a forest."

Tirian rubbed the back of his head. That was going to hurt for a while. What he would give from some cynthroot to chew about now.

"Now," the young man said, "enough with these distractions, are you really going to take the job? Or do I take you to Elmarad, right now?”

"Fine," Tirian said, frowning "I'll come along."

The young man nodded, "Good. You might want to burn these.” The young man dropped Tirian's priest robes in front of Tirian.

Tirian looked at him. He had left those back on the forest floor. "You had time to grab those and chase me down?"

"Don't run away from me again." The young man's face was firm.

"Fine, fine." Tirian nodded in agreement. Then he turned to his robes and drew heat energy from his core, causing a few strands of fabric to heat up until they caught fire. In a moment, the whole robe had burst into flames and collapsed into ashes.

He looked at the young man. He was still studying Tirian like a puzzle. An offer to get the power of corpus in exchange for spying. He hated the idea of being in service to a god, but he might get the chance to steal the power of the mind as well. That'd be two powers in one go… It would be risky…

Tirian grinned. Then he looked at the man, trying to remember his name. "You know, that name of yours needs some work, what's something short I could call you?"

"Kal," he said.

"Well, Kal, I want to say thanks," Tirian said, "you know, for my arm."

Kal nodded stiffly. "I wouldn't thank me now," he said, "I am only doing this to recruit you, otherwise I would have left you to Elmarad's acolytes. I think I saw torture in their eyes.” Kal gave a grim smile.

Tirian couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Now, we need to work on your disguise.” Kal looked Tirian up and down. He pulled something from his satchel. It was a simple brown jacket, often worn by city workers.

“Put this on,” he said as he tossed it to Tirian.

Tirian nodded. “Still, there’s the issue of my face. I don’t have my makeup supplies to change my appearance.”

Kal frowned. “I have two ideas, but you’re not going to like them.”