Cyrdic blinked, mouth full of food and his cheeks prominent as the two Tilean turned their gazes toward him. He had been listening, but the food was so good. He'd not had southern fish before. The meat was breaded! That coupled with the ale made for a very welcome meal. The past night was much better than trekking through the wilderness and sleeping on his muddied cloak, huddled for warmth. This city was still an oddity to him, but he supposed Mercs were his forte'. He'd fought next to more than a few, even if he was a new addition to their ranks. 

"Watch the master at work," he said as he wiped his mouth with a cloth. Camilla's giggle was infectious though, and he smiled, unable to help himself. Ricardo shook his head. "We'll meet back at the brothel tonight." Cyrdic told them, placing down the money for the food, and outfitting himself. Just as he had foreseen, his arm already felt somewhat better, albeit very weak and ached with a vengeance. His sword really did effect him in more ways than chaos-slaying. As he winked at Camilla to ease her concerns over him, he found he hoped the sword helped keep her healthy as well. 

With some advice from Ricardo on where to look, within 3 hours he found himself in the Suiddock. It was the Northernmost island near the Bruynwater canal. Apparently this was the very heart of the city, and judging from all of the cutthroats he had seen in the more respectable areas, that was a somewhat dangerous thought. 

He passed a few rougher thugs down a cobbled street, eyeing him as to see if he was easy prey. It would be three against one, but Cyrdic carried himself as if he wasn't wounded, and he was well armed and armored. Even if they beat him, it would cause a stir and it wouldn't be without casualties, so they eventually told him to sod off, despite the fact he had never even looked their way. 

While that was noted, he still felt a sense of danger as he turned the corner into a side street to use as a shortcut. He didn't know cities well, but he knew what it was like to be tracked. It was near the last second that he felt more than heard a figure landing gracefully behind him. Cyrdic felt a scraping on the shield strapped to his back, and the soldier grinned when he realized the man hadn't recognized the protection of the Norscan shield, as it was within the folds of his cloak. 

Cyrdic kicked backward, taking his attacker by the knee. He heard a cry of pain, that was suddenly stifled as Cyrdic put a wirey Arabian in a headlock, the knife now clattered to the ground. 

"Who are you?" Cyrdic asked curtly, not in the mood to play games. The man squirmed, but couldn't get out of the Ostland soldier's iron grip. He then tried to speak in his native tongue, but Cyrdic squeezed his neck harder. The man hacked, and sputtered in Reikspiel. "Ok! Ok!" 

"Who are you?" He growled, and the man shook his head. "No one! Salim Dalib just wanted your purse!" 

"Why not just take it off me?" 

"You are wounded!" He said. Cyrdic was taken aback slightly. He guessed he hadn't thought he hid his weakness as well as he had hoped. At least to the trained eye. Cyrdic wondered what else this man could tell him. "Do you know of any antique dealers from Arabia in town? Ones that have hired Imperial mercenaries?" 

"Are yo u asking me for a job!?" He sputtered incredulously, having halted his attempts at trying to escape but still squirming to loosen Cyrdic's the grip on his neck somewhat. The Arabian only needed another squeeze for him to see Cyrdic's way of things. "Salim Dalib know!" and he began to spill whatever knowledge he had before his eyes popped out of their sockets. It led him to his next destination.

An hour later, he found himself within the Tavern dubbed the 'Ironbull,' one of the rougher taverns in town. Though it was far more civil than the one that had nearly killed him the previous night. He'd planned on coming into a place like this to ask other Mercs about the two Imperials, but he'd heard that a few characters such as them frequented this bar. He had to see for himself.   

It took 3 flagons of ale, the barkeep trying to hire his services as a bouncer, and a busty barmaid attempting to enamor him with a swaying of her hips before he saw two notable mercenaries walk into the bar. Black bearded just as he had heard, both in gambesons and wide brimmed hats favored by Tileans. It seemed they enjoyed playing the part. But their skin was as fair as his, though a bit less ruddy. One was tall, and the other was a bit paunchy but still hardened from years of combat. 

They were welcomed into the Tavern as if they were regulars, and were escorted into the back. Cyrdic thought that was a bit weird they weren't even going to sit down and have a drink. He was hoping to overhear them a bit. Much to his chagrin, that wasn't going to happen. But he had to figure out something. 

"Can I get you anything else, handsome?" the barmaid asked. She tilted her head and looked at him with a roving gaze. It took him a moment to gather up the courage, but he decided to try something. "Got a few questions to ask you, if you have a private place we can talk?" He asked, holding up a coin. 

"You don't need to pay me, shoulders. It's on the house..." she said, her smokey gaze implying she was taking the invitation the wrong way.
[hr] 

That night, Cyrdic made it back to the brothel with some new information, and a guilty conscience of pulling a woman off of him. He did have to pay her by the end of it, but he'd learned the names of the two men, and a confirmation of who their benefactor was. One of the wealthiest foreigners in town, who often conducted business behind closed doors. He let Camilla and Ricardo know as soon as he saw them at one of the tables. 
[@Penny]