Shadows coiled tight and still, daring not to show their hand as the demonic jester hung above, a spot of black against the rising moon. Off at Esben's side, there was the muted slide of steel against leather— Rudolf repositioning himself, closer to arm's reach of the spy and just as much in the path of their pursuer as he could get away with, relative to their wounded, without being too overt. In truth? The assurance dripped off Ferdiad's posture enough that Rudolf didn't really believe any movement short of outright breaking their little ceasefire for repartee would set him off, but even so...

A flickering next to his soul, silent and sullen again. His passenger, naturally, had decided this was worth being cagey with— after all, they were at half strength at best right now, down their only sources of truly leverageable White Magic if whatever shared history the two demons reignited the feud in full... and with how thoroughly involved his contractor's presence was upon himself and his armor, anything more than that barest flicker was asking to set the whole potential powder keg off. Ferdiad had already come dangerously close to smelling the smoke on him once.

Even then, that disdainful twinge rippled out into a knot through the Edreni swordfighter's brow, an echo of the unspoken "do you see why I hate this prick?" that rode the tightness of his jaw. For Rudolf's part, he kept his own contributions low-voiced, brief, and suspicious as ever, given the subject.

"I'll throw the lecture back at you: Careful with him. Don't fall into his pace. I can just about reach most of us from here otherwise."

He made no effort to hide the bitter tone. Those with the usual objections were wisely keeping mum. He remained coiled, falling into relative silence thereafter. The cautions bore repeating in every instance; instructing boilierplate ideas like "try to tease out what the plan behind all this is" would be only self-serving belaborment of the point with the obvious.

---

As Ferdiad stopped chasing, Esben stopped running, spinning on his heel to face the demonic jester as he came to a halt and waved at the others to keep moving. In a moment, he ran through his memory of each time he'd summoned in either of the Eidolons—Ramuh against Famfrit, Leviathan against Reisa, Ramuh again against the Behemoth. Unless there were more of Valheim's eyes watching, then the only obvious witness was Sigursdottir. 'Threat estimation,' however, didn't quite line up with what Rudolf and Miina had relayed to him earlier from what she'd been saying about him, unless things had entirely changed on that front.

Still, he didn't want to leave any more to chance if he could when it came to his former tutor. "In the interest of fair play—name your patron, please." Not that he particularly expected Ferdiad to answer easily, but it was worth a shot.

"Fair play? You've not even made an offer yet! Half-measures will get half-answers. You're acquainted, mayhaps?"

"Offers? Call your patron here, let the others go on, and I'm offering you a better show than this jog behind us will give—assuming your interests go into drama." Precious few others he could consider himself acquainted with that might think to unleash such a creature, or might have any grudge to bear against Solitude in particular. "Other than that, these undead—your doing, some stolen Valheimer experiment that your patron unleashed alone, or just a happy accident? They don't seem to care you're there."

Ferdiad leaned in, fixing Esben with a leer.

"Oh? Heroic self-sacrifice, is it? Well I do so love a tragedy!" It tittered, body waving back and forth in its amusement. "Very well. Hold up to your end of the bargain. Stay right where you are, just in my sight, and you'll get to MEET mine ever-so-effusive contractor!"

An obvious trap, and one he intended to spring. "Sacrifice? Your words, not mine." Should this patron be as he expected, he had a semblance of a plan for dealing with what he may be getting himself into, to cut himself a way back out of the net. Should they be otherwise...Improvisation was a skill he prided himself on. Especially lately, given how rarely any of his plans could survive contact with his own allies, let alone the enemy. "And only if they come here. No transporting myself, no trickery, no magic that tries to draw my sense away from my body, I intend to converse with them on this particular rooftop. If that can't be guaranteed, there's no deal."

In lieu of words, Ferdiad snapped its fingers, sending a pulse of blackened aether up into the air. "Done! Now scurry and scatter, the rest of you. Lest you wish to waste your compatriot's noble gesture here. Gehehehehehe!"

Esben nodded at the rest of them, utterly unperturbed. Events would transpire as they would, one way or the other. "Ah, Ferdiad, while we wait—the undead?"

"Yes, yes. They've nothing to do with I or any other denizen of the deep. No, no, this horror is soley of man's making!"

"Mmm. Alex did always like to be showy, once she got her chance."

A beat.

"What did I just fucking tell you?"

For that sentence, the air around them all grew dry as the Ospreyan dunes. You could practically hear Rudolf's blood pressure spike— there was no doubt under whom his long tutelage had been fostered.

---

"Don't fall into his pace."

Esben reached into his cloak, scratching at a faint itch. Eos and Selene hovered near him, obviously uncomfortable with everything that was happening. "I prefer to think of it as him meeting mine, as it were. Or perhaps that we're marching to the beat of one drum. Do make sure Elly never forgets me, ja?"

The redhead watched the negotiation with almost perfect disinterest, given away only by the knife still playing between his fingers – but in the end, his attention was entirely on Esben, smiling once again but undeniably curious. "So, do all of you simply lack self-preservation? Or do you not feel fear at all?"

Though he didn't seem eager to stick around and wait for an answer, already balancing precariously on the edge of the roof, "Well, you heard the man-demon-clown thing, we should get going."