Welcome to Gaia! ::

"Very well. Welcome aboard," Adustes said with a smile.
He turned back to Matasoga and said, "I apologize for neglecting you. To answer your earlier question, I am alone in my venture but for the two of you, thus far. I had expected there would be more mercenaries looking for work with the recent change of events in the area....
"But I have only begun recruiting this evening. I will continue my search for suitable associates throughout the night, and tomorrow. After that, I hope to leave from here, so the both of you be certain to be back here and prepared to depart at dusk the night after next."
He stood in preparation to leave, just then recalling that there had been no introductions throughout the conversation. He turned back to his new companions and amended that. "I am Adustes Céasadh. What are your names?"

Matasoga wondered if his announcement was actually intended (at least in part) to let Eliae know where he was sleeping. Or perhaps it didn't even cross his mind. True to the mysterious stranger, Matasoga knew nothing aside from his name.
He decided that he'd not be outdone. He took a long drink of the dry red wine he'd selected and said, "The third room on the second floor? Hm. I'll see about getting an adjacent one, then. I'll see about checking into the fourth, then, or the second, if that's taken."
He tried his best (rather convincingly) to sound as though he were simply musing to himself rather than intentionally communicating something. He made sure to have a distant look in his eyes and never let them stray towards Eliae for a moment.
In one hand he swirled the wine in his glass with one hand, while he speared the last bite of steak with the fork that he held in the other. He bit the steak off of his fork, chewed it quickly and swallowed before finishing off his wine. He then stood up, taking up his spear and said, "I suppose it's time to check in."
He then walked towards the counter to present his voucher for the room and food.

Adustes exited the building, allowing the chill night wind to whip through his robes and bite at his face as he wandered the empty streets. Before long he came across another suitable tavern and entered, taking a seat in a back corner that afforded a decent view of the other patrons.
There he watched until the crowd dispersed. Most unfortunately, his earlier guess had been correct; his luck in the current endeavor had ended when he'd left the inn. The patrons of this tavern had all been simple folk of the town; commoners, merchants, and off-duty guards. He hadn't needed to speak with a single one to know that they wouldn't serve his purposes.
It was nearly dawn when he returned to the inn. It had been a long night, and he had been awake most of the day as well. He was exhausted. So he didn't bother with the common room; he headed straight up the stairway and to his room.
He entered the room and closed the door behind him. The morning's light was only just beginning to seep through the thin curtain, but already it was enough for his fey eyes to see clearly, so he found little point in lighting the oil lamp beside the bed. He stripped down to his breeches, leaving his bracers and necklace in place, and sifted through his pack, eventually pulling out a worn, black leather pouch and a vial of black ink. He sat on the edge of the bed and untied the pouch, unrolling it to reveal a number of polished blades and other small instruments one might find in an inquisitor's dungeon.
He licked his lips in anticipation of the sensations that he were to come, brushing his fingertips over his instruments. He didn't so much as flinch when a sharp hook bit into his little finger. After a brief inspection of his tools he pulled a somewhat blunted needle from the pouch and turned his attention to his side, tracing the needle lightly down over his ribs until he found the right spot. Several days previous, the wagon he'd been riding in had hit a particularly large bump, and caused an errant cut that disrupted one of his tattoos. As he only had any measure of privacy inside that wagon while on the move, he had put off further masochistic habits until now. He dipped the needle into the ink and began jabbing the tip through his skin. Once the flaw had been mended, he scanned over the rest of the large design, touching up a couple other places it had begun to fade, then tucked the needle back into the pouch. He would've liked to do more, but he was tired. Perhaps tomorrow....
He rolled the pouch back up and laid it on the small table, then collected his clothing and folded the garments, setting them in a pile beside the pouch. He returned to the bed, seated himself on the edge and inclined his head, wrapping his fingers tightly around the jagged unholy symbol still around his neck, and offered a prayer to his god before lying down and drifting off to sleep.


He awoke mid-afternoon and sat up, squinting and cursing the brightness of the light piercing the pathetic curtain. He checked the repairs to his tattoo to be certain it hadn't smudged as he slept. Yawning as he rose, he pulled his thick cloak from the table and draped it over the window, then shuffled to the other side of the room and knelt in the corner, back to the covered window. He preferred it to be as dark as possible when praying for his spells, when it wasn't prudent to do so at night. When finished, he dressed himself and exited the room. He passed by the inn's common room, deciding that since he would be sitting in another tavern all that evening, he may as well take his breakfast wherever he might end up.
The market was significantly more lively than it had been during his previous wanderings. He decided to take a different direction today, and was pleased he'd done so when his path led him to many outdoor shops, vending stalls, and art stands. The display was nothing compared to those of the larger cities in the south, but considering the size and recent events of this town, it was impressive. And the northern influence in the artwork was interesting, if nothing else.
He kept close tabs on his coin-pouch, especially where the crowds were thick or street performers were about. He knew well from his own childhood the opportunities such places presented to pickpockets. He gave a wry grin as he confirmed their presence, spotting a few cut purse strings dangling unnoticed on peoples' belts. He amused himself picking likely culprits out from the rest of the crowd as he walked along.
As he inspected the wares of a healer's stall, it occurred to Adustes that such was likely the role he would play among the party. That being so, it would be wise to procure a healer's kit. He focused his attention on finding one that would prove most useful.