The Spear rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking around the strange circle of fellows that had trapezed into the church. From eighteen angles he saw each person walk between the aisles to gather near enough to the centre of the room, his Eyes nestled in the high arches and behind pillars. If it were any other night but the First Festival, they would have been a very eccentric if not suspicious group. But here, together, they were normal. 

Picking up the half-eaten stuffed roll he had left on the pew next to him, he chowed down studying the group from multiple angles. The way that they spoke inferred that they were here for a similar reason as he, but the Spear doubted he could trust them. The Hunter had said that somewhere there were his brethren, but had said nothing about them having avatars of their own. Suddenly the Spear was glad he brought more than the sacrificial knife he habitually carried, his sword wrapped to appear like a staff resting to his side and his shield disguised as a mask. Dressed with feathers, reeds and light cloth rather than his habitual merchants robes, he keenly felt the cold. 

Finishing the stuffed bread roll, he reached down and put on his mask/shield. Grasping his sword/staff he turned in the direction of the man who last spoke. “It’s only treason if you’re a local.” The Spear stretched slightly, rolling his shoulders back. “I’m certainly not looking for something of ash, and I have no idea what you’re here for. I’m merely a lost reveller, but as I understand it there’s an entrance to the catacombs this way.” He indicated with his staff in the direction the girl went and strode off in her wake, fourteen Eyes detaching themselves from the walls of the church, joining the others attached to his costume with a few scouting ahead.