[SRP] At Death's Door

[Andy]

Ambrose had not meant to stumble across Silverglen, so consumed with searching for those willing to rebel against the Church of the Preservation of Sanctity and the Lycian Emperor as he was, and he hadn't known such a large town had been in his path. Since he saw several smithies, and it was terribly likely that one of those smiths was a bladesmithing specialist, he asked around, and got his sword looked at. The smith was a woman, and in her professional opinion, his sword was in remarkably good shape, though there was some edge damage that she could grind out. He paid her for it, and when it was done an hour later, he thanked her for it. He couldn't see any difference in the blade's cruciform shape, but he wasn't a smith.

He had rented a room at one of the inns here, and there stabled his horse. He was about to return to his room, but his eyes caught on two things. First, a woman performing a dance, and second, some black-cloaked ruffian lout standing upon a roof, watching her. He kept the rooftop man in his peripherals, and decided to watch the dancer. He was surprised at the passion this apparent nomad put into her dances, and sincerely applauded at the closure of her performance, not unlike most of the crowd.

She then fell to her hands and knees, and everyone went all aflutter about it. The mercenary looked to the rooftop the man had been standing on. He looked as if he was looking around, not exactly confused, but not unalarmed. He called out, "Hey! You, there on the roof! Get off the thatch before you ruin it you lout!" His call drew attention to the man on the roof, and other people started calling for him to get down. A fair portion of the audience, in fact. Tight-knit communities, like this one, didn't like their things being damaged, Ambrose knew. What a pretentious bastard, watching from the roof. Looking down on all of us, standing apart, aloof. I hope I wasn't ever that dumb.

The mercenary returned his attentions to the fallen girl.