“I’ll cut your ears off, I’ll cut your stomach open, by Tied, Parrel, Ligdon and Fuckin’ Oorick, I’ll feed you your own damn fingers!”

	A short man with long brown hair waved a crudely hammered together shard of metal. While lacking in elegance, much like it’s owner, it was long and sharp. Across a turnt over table stood a burly man with two stud wrapped fists and a hunk of metal tied around his chest, a stiff club in his hands. The large man wore disinterested eyes and a curled snarl.

	“I already told you, Rat! I’m not here for you!” The brute growled, but the small man just snickered loudly.

	“Ooh! Think you can pull a tricky on me do ya? I know [i]exactly[/i] why you are here.” Rat spat while stabbing the air a few times. His other hand was curled around a roll of leather tied off with a cut of string. 

	“I shoulda known the twins would fuckin’ try and double cross me, yes” Rat chattered his teeth, “But too bad for you!” The man suddenly leapt into the air, one foot expertly landing on the edge of the turned over table and launching him forward in a deadly thrust.

	[i]CRACK![/i]

	The club came down reflexively, smashing Rat in the side and sending him into the wall. The squirrelly man quickly scrambled to his feet, a pained laugh on his breath.

	“Now you’ll get yours.. Oh yes, I’ll pop your eyes and--”

	“Oorick’s boiled ass!” The brute swore and charged the small man. Rat yelped and suddenly retreated, slipping by the man and out the shack’s door. The brute groaned and shook his head.

	Morning dew soaked Rat’s feet as he darted between the shacks of Kendles, a laboured breath in his mouth and a sharp pain in his side. He clutched the leather tightly against him, pumping his run with only his knife wielding hand. 

	“I’ll kill him, I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” Rat hissed between breaths, “I’ll go back there, damn right. I’m not runnin’, I’m just thinkin’, and when I’m done thinkin’, I’ll be stabbin’, Oh he is going to feel my edge, nobody messes with me, NONE!” He groaned loudly through the pain growing in his side, “Fuck that bitch, fuck her brother, fuck Kendles, fuck grrr--ah!” He shook his head in anger. 

	A warm trickle began to drip from his shirt and the man looked down. Scarlet mixed with dirt was dribbling from under his clothes. His swiveled on his feet, heading towards a different direction before.

	“I’m just thinkin’” He muttered, heading right for a rumored chapel. 

[hr][hr][center][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4917204][img]https://i.imgur.com/o2DrCr0.png[/img][/url][/center][hr][hr]
	Candle settled quickly into her new, humble little abode. The reality however, was that her current situation hadn’t changed too much from when she still camped in the wilds. During her travels, she had made her home in the scattered ruins of Pertovia many a time. The one she had tented in now was merely another, albeit one that would not remain that way for long. What needed to be done before any work may begin, however, was to ensure the safety and security of a most curious object that plagued her almost as much as it intrigued her: the rusted iron crown tucked away in her rucksack. 

	She had dared not remove it from its cushioned place in her bag while in Liam’s company. It is rumored that the Filth comes after those who grow too great in their ambition or power, and what greater ambition was there than to unite people under one banner, one cause? What great power would they hold? What greater symbol would there be of that fantasy than a crown, a terrible artifact worn and wielded by the kings and queens of eld? Perhaps it was just superstition, a convenient tale spun by those who wished to guard against such hunger and the Filth just a mindless force of destruction, a phenomena as natural to the world as earthquakes and storms. Or perhaps the Filth was crafted with a purpose, a vengeful weapon meant to strike at those who dared to rise above their station. Whatever the truth may be, there were power in stories, and it would not benefit anyone if rumors of a priestess of Parrel holding a crown was to circulate.

	Calling upon her knowledge of similarly built chapels in the past, Candle made her way towards the back of the church and into a room where the vicar would have slept. Like the rest of the building, it was bereft of any furnishings, all of them likely already destroyed or repurposed long ago. What she searched for however would be hidden in the stones themselves and after a thorough investigation of the room she had found what she had been searching for: a small hidden alcove hidden underneath a loose flagstone. She was pleasantly surprised to see the remains of a holy text still embedded within, long rotted with age. Whether it was left because the alcove had continued to remain hidden all this time or because those who had found it thought it not worth pilfering, it still bade well for the job she would require of it. 

	Placing the iron crown gingerly into the hidden hole, she covered what bits of it she could with the crumbled paper then replaced the flagstone back into the floor, taking care that it blended well amongst its other kin. Done with her surreptitious task, Candle dusted off her tabard and made her way back towards the main sanctuary. And now, she only had the immediate task of cleaning a stone ruin that had lay abandoned for years yet weathered the constant ravages of a town regularly plagued by Filth. A daunting task for many, perhaps, but not to a Sister of Quiet Vigil. 

	The first order of business and the first step towards rebuilding the church: finding a broom.

	“Oi!” A voice suddenly pulled her from her task, it echoed from the still doorless entryway and bounced off the stone. 

	Candle jumped, caught off-guard and more than a little embarrassed at having been so, immediately dropped her hand down towards the handle of her sword as she turned to face the voice. What she was met with was a ratty looking man holding a long shiv in one hand. What was more worrying, however, was the growing band of red from his chest. [color=C49C48]”You’re bleeding,”[/color] she stated, still in a crouched and readied position.

	“Fancy that,” He pointed his shiv at Candle, face paling from his wound, “Are you the new gobble who has been mucking around the past year giving old men paste for their rumps?”

	Candle’s eyes narrowed. [color=C49C48]”Only to those who don’t threaten me with sharpened metal.”[/color]

	“Can’t blame a man,” He didn’t lower his weapon, “In a world like this, who knows what sort of harpy might try and take advantage of a man like myself, and when. I can meet you in the middle, yes, I’ll stop pointing -- but I’m keeping it, and you do your good deed for the day, yeah?” 

	She didn’t like the man. Nor could she ignore the fact that he was currently bleeding on the floor of her new home. Yet ultimately, she had dealt with similar characters (or worse) during her many brief sojourns in Kendles. She could hardly blame them either, considering the environment they lived in. Mentally shrugging, she allowed herself to rise and nod at the rat-man and walked quickly toward her rucksack, but she did not allow the man to leave her eyesight. 

	Rummaging inside, Candle produced a lengthy piece of linen that she had appropriated from the dead merchant’s stock as well as several other sundries that she would need. A dagger appeared in her other hand and she walked back towards the man, keeping a good pace away as she indicated for him to come closer. [color=C49C48]”I’ll need you to remove your shirt.”[/color]
	
	The man cocked his head, oddly bright eyes that betrayed a certain intelligence flickering over her dagger. He swallowed hard as if thinking over his options and then suddenly let the leather bundle under his arm drop to the floor with a thud, “Don’t move.” He hissed as he slide his shiv under the rope of his pants. With a painful jerk, he tossed his shirt over his head as quickly as he could. Immediately his eyes jumped back to her dagger, relaxing when he realized that it had not moved in the split second. He lifted his arm, peeking at his own wound for the first time.

	Purple bruises scattered all around his ribs, with a crude nail stuck right into him, it’s protrusion running alongside his bone and peppered with splinters. The man seemed to lose a lot more color at the sight.

	The sight of the wound made Candle purse her lips. The object didn’t look as if it had penetrated too deep nor hit anything too vital else he likely wouldn’t have been able to walk here in the first place. There was the risk of broken ribs, but there was nothing she could do about that. [color=C49C48]”Sit,”[/color] she ordered, handing him the linen. [color=C49C48]”And hold this.”[/color] 

	The man quietly complied, his eyes still stuck on the nail. 

	Candle kneeled next to him, her free hand exploring his chest as she poked and prodded in various places. Luckily, it seemed as if most of the bruising was superficial and would heal given time. The nail remained a problem. 

	Taking her dagger to the linen, she cut out a small square, followed by a long strip and then a rougher patch of cloth. She dug out a bottle of alcohol and began wetting the linens with it save for the rough patch, of which she offered to the man. [color=C49C48]”In case you want to bite down on something,”[/color] she explained.

	The man sucked in a breath and snatched the rough fabric and stuffed it into his mouth, his cheek puffing as he grumbled. 

	Preparations done, Candle placed a steadying hand on the man’s shoulder as she first cleaned the site of the wound with the alcohol, washing away whatever blood and grime she could with as little liquid as possible. Once satisfied, she began her impromptu surgery by using the small, cleaned square as a makeshift glove, wrapping it around the nail head. [color=C49C48]”One,”[/color] she counted.

	Then she pulled.

	“Ligdon’s chapped ass!” The man spat out the cloth as he swore loudly, “Holy Teid’s titties and fuck-- OW!”

	Immediately she placed the tail end of the long linen onto the open wound. [color=C49C48]”You’ll live,”[/color] was all the consolation she offered as she wrapped and tied his bandage.

	“I fuckin’ better -- after all this, and I still have a traitor to-” He cut himself off, “Business.”

	[color=C49C48]”It’s none of my concern, as long as you’re aware that I treat anyone who comes under my care equally and fairly.”[/color]

	The man stared at Candle for an uncomfortable amount of time before exhaling a short breath, “I don’t know you, but I can tell your experienced... if not a little too welcoming. Just look out for a woman by the name of Lauriel and her brother, if they come in here bloody and gagged, don’t help them -- they’ll cut your throat, I swear this.” He shifted his shiv around in his rope belt, “Damned merchants.”

	Candle raised an eyebrow. Liam had mentioned at some point in their travels that the merchant who had hired him was named Lauriel. [color=C49C48]”And if this merchant already happened to be dead?”[/color] 

	“Then I’ll give Teid a big kiss,” The man spat, “One of her goons came at me this mornin’. Oh yes, tried to fool me with a big speech about being there for the room next door -- but I could see those beady eyes staring at me, oh yes.” The man stood up and swiveled his shoulders, testing his bandage as he continued to mutter, “Remember the name Rat, it won’t be so obscure for too much longer, oh no.”

	With his own beady eyes and long, unruly mane, Candle doubted she would be able to forget a rat-like man named Rat. Perhaps he came from some strange convent of his own. [color=C49C48]”So what will happen to you if her people realize she’s dead and that the last person to have a spat with them was you?”[/color]

	The man’s eyes snapped back to Candle, “You said it again!” They narrowed, “Why do you think she is dead?”

	Candle shrugged. [color=C49C48]”Because I saw a female merchant named Lauriel have her life taken by the Filth.”[/color] 

	Rat stared for a while, slowly backing up to his discarded leather bundle, “Oh yeah?” His voice was suspicious, “So you know Lauriel, eh? And she is dead, yeah? And you’re saying she has goons, no?” He slowly scooped up his bundle, eyes never leaving Candle, “I-- uh, don’t suppose you have her end of the bargain with you?”

	A hand casually came to rest itself on Candle’s pommel once more. [color=C49C48]”I saw someone die who I later learned was named Lauriel and was informed that she has ‘goons’ by you. As for whatever bargain you may be searching for, unless she was truthful in dealing only with selling construction supplies, of which I have plenty of her tools if you desire them, I doubt I do. The only other person to survive the attack was one of her guards, Liam, and he had plundered much of her cargo. I believe he’s out trying to sell a good amount of her stock right now, if you’d like to catch him.”[/color]

	Rat was rubbing his chin as Candle spoke, “No...” His voice was quiet, conspiring, “No, no fool would try and sell what I’m looking for in Kendles.” He slowly widened his eyes, and secretly he knew he had misjudged the goon from earlier, but neither his ego nor paranoia would admit that openly. He looked up at Candle and gave his best smile, unfortunately, “What if I were to stay, I’d like to linger around here -- wait for your friend. You helped me, I promise I won’t make a mess or bring any ill into your abode.”

	Candle blinked. [color=C49C48]”You can stay if you clean your blood up from the floor. The dust will be hard enough to clear as it is.”[/color]