[center][h3][color=C0392B]Rudolf Sagramore[/color][/h3][/center] [hr]...[hr] [i][color=c0392b]"Alright. Cloak. Old shirt that's too big."[/color] There was a shuffling of fabric in the gloom within the old hollowed-out tree, as a compact frame slipped into his southron companion's travel garb, a bit past being "well-worn". Given how starkly different their statures were, it easily concealed his diligently-honed build, hanging off of him more like a loose, ratty tunic than anything else.[color=c0392b]"Oil. Swords stay here. Ash and dirt not far. I miss anything?"[/color] [color=b3ccff]"Forgive me."[/color] [color=c0392b]"Why would I need t—"[/color] A dull thud and wet crack filled the chamber in stereo with one another as the shorter figure turned, causing a few concerned glances to be sent the pair's way. It took a lot of the younger man's trust, in the next few seconds, that there were usually very good reasons behind the elder's more inscrutable choices to keep him from swinging back and flattening all six feet and change that had just pulverized the cartilage of his nose without warning. [color=b3ccff]"Eos, heal him fast so he doesn't swell up too much."[/color] [color=c0392b]"Gahhh ddddamn it"[/color] Rudolf hissed, lowering an assortment of white knuckles as the fairy's healing glow subsumed his face. Her expression was quirked into a rather curious frown in doing so, but nonetheless, he could feel the pain fading. If he had to guess, she was surprised that there was no pins-and-needles feeling of unease to endure— He and his passenger had mutually concluded that they needed to quench as much of the profaned flame next to his soul as possible to even have a hope of making this facade stick. That was the bright side of things— sometimes, survival instincts mutually aligned, and he got a moment to himself in his own head. As he busied his mouth with handling breathing until the healing was complete, Esben busied his the usual way. [color=b3ccff]"Rudolf, forgive us again later— we'll have to rebreak the nose to set it correctly and heal it properly."[/color] [color=c0392b]"... You know, thinking about it, that hurt more when I was a kid. Guess that makes sense."[/color] [color=b3ccff]"Also, go get yourself dirtied up again. You're a pretty boy, even with a broken nose. You'd never last on the streets."[/color] [color=c0392b]"Way ahead of you. Said I've got oil."[/color] the young man replied, almost not growling, thinking that he'd rather be "handsome" than "pretty". [color=b3ccff]"Make sure you use your old stuff. The choji oil Hien gave us will smell too nice."[/color] As response, Rudolf held the trusty tin he had left Sagramore with aloft. Were it fresh, it too would have been characterized by florid, fiery notes of the spices the swordsmen favored in so many things, but after all they had been through together... [color=b3ccff]"Mm. Flat, and a little rancid. Good. ... Well,"[/color] the SEED reared back, nodding approvingly even with his face bunched up by the odor. [color=b3ccff]"Bad, but good for making you smell like an unwashed beggar."[/color] Setting to griming himself through the face and slicking it through his vaguely stained, blood-anointed hair, the swordless swordsman huffed. [color=c0392b]"I've got some ash from our last camp and dirt from right here next, before you say it."[/color] [color=b3ccff]"Do you want me to help apply it, or do you think you have that handled?"[/color] [color=c0392b]"I can do it."[/color] he firmly reiterated, having been introduced to wearing the earth upon himself when he ritualistically stalked the sabertooth whose fang he'd hidden beneath the loose garb. He wasn't looking to break up his outline, but it was still the same basic application. [color=b3ccff]"If it has you worried at all..."[/color] A look. [color=c0392b]"Are you doing this because Elly's off on her own and you're channeling how nervous you are about her having to be subtle into something that feels productive?"[/color] [i]Oh hey,[/i] a whisper, at the edge of his perception. [i]There you go, right to his face.[/i] An unreadable smirk from on high. It was wry, charming, colorlessly glib. [color=b3ccff]"Look at that, trying to use my misdirection technique against me. You're turning into quite the seedling, I'll make a field agent out of you yet."[/color] The look held, flattening just a hair. [color=c0392b]"No, seriously. That was me actually asking."[/color] [color=b3ccff]"..."[/color][/i] [hr]... ... ...[hr] Even in Brightlam, a city as close as any to paradise, touching nature, the divine, and the eidolons that served as their stewards, the many misfortunate of mankind were never far away. Indeed, perhaps it was precisely due church's tightly woven presence that all manner of the infirm, the lost, and the downtrodden flocked to the winding streets in droves, hailing from all over the continent. Here, society's rejected could gather, and hope towards some kind of salvation from the human condition, and its' cruel scythe that had judged them chaff. The sun had grown long, the spears of late afternoon a burnished bronze as they peeked through the canopy overhead, casting the milling faithful, rubbing shoulders as they held communion, listened in on liturgy, and fell again into whatever vice had caught them, all at once, all in tones of old amber. Money, food, fists— all changed hands in places where the light couldn't quite reach, between those that sought it, but could never quite capture it for keeps. No large fraction of these trades were fully willing. In the end, all the beneficence that could be given still fell short of seeing the next day. They were choking. One man in a cloak among many slipped through the streets, a sincere need to get somewhere about his person. He wasn't having an easy time of it. Glancing over his shoulder, he wasn't being followed— not closely. Granted, it'd be a rare pursuer that [i]could[/i] closely follow. All around him, people were clamoring for alms from the few cleaner passerby, or the church, anyone that looked like they had something they could spare. With his ears, he could pick out snippets of dozens of pleas, each laid over one another in a dull roar. They were refugees from the war that had befallen Osprey. They were sick with strange fevers, visited by some manner of plague. They had lost their minds, their sparks, their connections to the gods, and were trying to live until they could reaffirm the goodliness to the mothercrystal. Many, too many, had lost their homes to the unstoppable march of the Blight. He could see the limbs hidden away by bandages, those that had been hacked off to stop the spread. Those afflicted would speak of the fading light that ravaged the land, as though Etro herself had turned her back upon them. More still spoke of the spoiled lands, tainted waters, and piled dead, burning on pyres of acrid flame— that it was the Eidolons, keepers of the elements, that had abandoned them. These voices were loud and vengeful, and pulled much of the din back onto them in turn— he'd witnessed his share of mob-ordained floggings for the heresies. On and on they boiled around him. Hard to believe the Church had any authority here— let alone the highest. He snorted, finally pushing past the row of congregation ahead. For supposed holy ground, the place was a real dump. You just needed to enter the shadow of the the central tree. He checked over his shoulder again. Nothing. He didn't like the feeling of nothing. He knew people were looking for him. He had somewhere to be. He pushed on further. Ahead, there was an overhang that many of Brightlam's charitable were willing to stop by, and so many seeking charity tended to congregate, waiting for their chance at anything good. The perks of being on the path to the city's righteous were many, enough that every man who sought place there could find his own assembly of them— for him, on this day, the chiefest was assembly itself. He was one man in a cloak among many. Nestling himself within the bunch, he could lay low relatively comfortably, keep his ears open for something important. If he hadn't been obviously pursued now, then he would be damned impossible to pick out here if he just kept his head down. Casing the rumor mill hardly went better than when you surrounded yourself with urchins. When they weren't casting their pleas to the Holy, they had nothing else to do but talk, and listen, and watch whatever happened in the light. It was slow going. Felt like an eternity. But eventually... "Scoot over, will ya?" he muttered under his breath, unable to avoid brushing shoulders past one of his peers. The man felt solid, and beneath his hood, there was a hint of a crooked nose— he didn't need to make enemies with anyone who might start something. He dropped to a knee, waving the other down, and took a friendlier tack before offense could be taken. "Say, what's the word these days, pal?" [color=c0392b]"..."[/color] The other man was silent as he lowered himself in turn, head staring into the ground as though he meant to pierce it and gaze upon the waters below. Hell, had he chosen to strike up conversation with somebody that had gotten punched dumb? Just his luck right now, wasn't it— [color=c0392b]"I've heard the Grovemasters are wary of one another."[/color] a weathered voice cut his thoughts off. It had a dry texture, but sounded young. Nobody he had heard before. [color=c0392b]"One of them believes this talk of the Eidolons abandoning us. That only the Mothercrystal may save us from the Blight."[/color] "Hey, [i]hey![/i] Keep your voice [i]down[/i] with that." the first man hissed, surreptitiously glancing up as a patrol of Kapok Sentinels marched past overhead, wanted posters clutched in their hands. Just as quickly, his head dropped back down to pin this newcomer with an uncomfortable glare. "You see them up there? The last thing we want's their attention, because you're speaking careless and getting this place as riled up as the rest of them." He jerked a thumb the way he'd came, where it was every man for himself. [color=c0392b]"They're guards, aren't they? My mother studied here once." [/color] Oh for the love of— He had to jettison this man as quick as he could. A real know-nothing. [color=c0392b]"She spoke well enough of them. Diligent, but pious as well. They would have charity for the lost."[/color] "Yeah, well their [i]diligence[/i] is on overdrive right now. A bunch of dumbasses that sound a lot like you sound have gone and made attempts on their lives in the past week. My advice is to make nobody think you might agree with them on anything. Head down, play church mouse, don't question your priests." [color=c0392b]"That's concerning."[/color] the other figure noted, looking up to watch the Sentinels' retreating forms as they moved on. He watched them turn to another street, as the congregation the two had nestled themselves amongst grew less stiff. [color=c0392b]"They're looking for the people that did this?"[/color] "Yeah. And they'll swipe whoever the hell they feel like." he shook his head. "Too many pricks chasing the bounties already. Everything's too hot right now. You never know who'll decide you look close enough to be worth a shot." [color=c0392b]"... I see. And people have heard me here, then."[/color] rather deliberate, for potentially being dangled off the side of the tree if that assumption were correct. [color=c0392b]"Should I go?"[/color] Yes. Yes, absolutely. Before you blurt out the next dumbest thing somebody less generous might overhear. Not to mention... it'd open up some real estate. Who knew, maybe if this guy suddenly left right when a moron would think the coast was clear, he could bait out anyone that might be looking for a thief. "Listen, I won't rat you out. But words travel quick here, so..." [color=c0392b]"So I'll do the same for you, and we'll hope for the best."[/color] A double-take— But the slow-witted man was already gone. [hr] ... ... ...[hr] He returned, slipping the hood off of his slicked-back hair as he nodded to Galahad, still keeping a watchful eye on the dead wood. Speaking of eyes, at some point he had gotten himself a shiner while he was out, matching the break in his nose well. [color=c0392b]"It doesn't seem like Isolde's mode of thinking is terribly popular, at least. There's unrest from the people affected by the Blight, but outright saying the elementals or the other gods is still unsavory at best. At worst... they've got tighter security than a week ago. Pretty regular patrols all through the place except around here, and that's only because we'd be more like hay in a needlestack than vice-versa. Keeping watch was a good call— lots of thieves around, somebody would have pinched our gear."[/color]