Master Isolde bore the Kirins' assorted criticism with grace, simply bowing her head and accepting their scorn.

"Forgive me, but it has little to do with the presence of a healer. Tis merely that the intent behind the trial is already known by Neve, and it wouldn't be much of a test if one possesses the answer before it even begins. I can say no more on this subject. In the meantime, we will have accomodations prepared for you at the finest traveler's lodging available in the city. I will seek you out on the morrow."

A quick trip to the nearby upscale inn confirmed her words, and the Kirins were left to their own devices until the next day once more...

___

@The Otter @Click This

Some time throughout the day, both Esben and Eliane would find a letter each planted in their rooms, written in standard SEED cipher. When decoded, they would read:

We need to talk. I've a room prepared and sanitized at the merchant's inn three streets south of your lodgings. Meet one hour after sundown, second room from the stairs on the third floor.

-K

When Esben and Elly arrived at the proper time, they would find a room barely of anything but a bed and desk, with one Deputy Director Lambert waiting for them, arms folded.

"Close the door behind you." A snap of her fingers and the glow of materia warded the entrance once that was done, and she stayed still, looking at the two expectantly.

"The two of you weren't supposed to link up." She afforded herself the luxury of a frustrated sigh. "I've had to rearrange no few of our deployments to cover the gap in our network. Now, I want a full report since you left Osprey."

___

@VitaVitaAR @vietmyke @HereComesTheSnow

Goug had asked Galahad, Robin, and Rudolf to accompany him in acquiring supplies, given that they had been the only three remaining at the inn when he'd checked. He had promptly, and very confidently, gotten them supremely lost within the winding, gnarled streets of Brightlam.

One wrong turn into a dark corner had them set upon by a half dozen men in tattered cloaks and theater masks, brandishing thrusting swords of various types.

"Stand and deliver!" The highwayman in lead snarled. When no payment was forthcoming, they attacked. As the fight went on, one detail would be clear to all three: most of the men fought just like Robin did. The same rhythm, the same footwork, the same cut-and-thrust. Much like it had been with Izayoi and the Revenant in the desert, the fact was inescapable.

___

@Raineh Daze @Ithradine

Rumors heard out in the streets had led both of them to the same location.

"Did you hear? That healer, out in the wilds. The one going about saving people from Blight? Soriel, they called her. Someone saw her again, closest to Brightlam she's ever been. And she's got a new hanger-on. Some ginger Mystrel, seems to be a mage of some kind too."

"Eh? I don't know anything past that. You know who might, though? There's an information broker called the Gardener, just off the main market."

Further asking around would lead them to the same location, with the two coming across each other just as they were about to enter the ramshackle hut that had been deemed the Gardener's residence.

Eventually, the two would enter. With the instructions they had received through eavesdropping, bribery, or outright threats, they would make their way through several dilapidated, musty corridors until eventually reaching a trapdoor in a storage room. Upon descending, the world changed before them:

Marble and gold leaf coated the floors and walls, while a bronze sculpture took up the centerpiece of the office. Behind a desk of rich, aged mahogany, a corpulently obese man sat, smoking a pipe.

"Well, well. Two travelers have found little old me. You must have questions. I may have answers. For a reasonable price, of course." A cheshire grin.

@VitaVitaAR@vietmyke

"Friends of yours, Fey?"

Blades crashed, painting the heavy shadows of the narrow alleyway in brief showers of orange as the trio of Kirins (nobody reasonably expecting Goug to fight) squared off with twice their number in soon-to-be unlucky highwaymen. Negotiations had quickly fallen through after it became clear that nobody intended to part with their gil so easily— Rudolf had barely the time to raise a smirk and an eyebrow at the thought of robbing people so heavily armed as they were before he was set upon by a pair of masked ne'er-do-wells.

Silver lining was that they'd prove a fair first outing for his new recruits.

The seconds that followed were a cacophony of steel striking steel, as the heavy, curved Crane's Wings at his hip were set to work on their first sortie, turning aside the straighter, thrusting attacks made by his sudden opponents. His eyes narrowed, taking their measure while he had these opening moments of uncertainty. They darted to and fro between the figures, his companions, the narrow space and sturdy walls they'd walked themselves into. Something itched at the back of his mind, feeling like familiarity.

From the jump, it seemed like they at least had a rudimentary idea of how to maximize their advantages within the space— cramped as this back alley was, he couldn't completely open the Wings up the way they demanded. His new recruits were well-suited to casting oneself almost into a dervish, swinging the body through powerful arcs as one blade played off the momentum of the other, each strike lending some of its torque to the next— fine as a lone fighter, but when minding his comrades in such tight environs, he'd suddenly found himself kind of wishing he had brought along Valon's spear instead—

That, at least, would allow him to more than contend with his opponents, who had far less concern for the likelihood of accidentally striking an ally. Theirs were the classical form of cut-and-thrust, in keeping with the highwayman look, all in-and-out movement punctuated by needling tempo. He was penned in by the space, and forced to make his reads on the defensive— they would already be out of the way by the time one of his cuts would pass through where they'd been. Trapped at the edge of their range and with no way in, he most out of the three present would be suspect to a death by a thousand cuts once they wore him down. In basic terms, this was what he intuited to be their gambit.

What they had failed to account for was to be a fatal gap in the theory. One they had no reason to know of, in fairness, but was simultaneously a load-bearing element of the whole idea that had been swiped from beneath them, one that made him probably the worst to encounter, rather than best. He'd figured out what it was about the feeling of each exhange that had been bugging him.

He watched the nearby man step in deep. The rhythm, the form, the openings...

He had seen this before.

A few times with his eyes from afar, but more importantly, once over the span of a moonlit bout behind his swords. The other half of that ill-fated eve was barely two steps to his right. The space was very different, true, he didn't have a whole courtyard to open up and apply pressure through—

As the masked mystrel man tried to retract his spada, he found it off-course and caught between the Crane Wings as they crossed over its length, catching his edge on the "featherlike" quillons on the spines. Behind the thin strip of black cloth, his eyes would go wide for the moment the pressure was relieved after a slight tug forward.

"Either way, if they're holding us up I'm playing rough." a cold voice intoned from directly in front, as a blur swelled through the gloom. Still trying to catch himself, the next instant saw the world explode into a field of white pain as Rudolf's pommel smashed into the bridge of his nose. Blinded, he reared back only to find a boot planting itself into his stomach, sending him crashing into another.

—but with that revelation in hand, these guys were now an open book. Forget responding in time— by the end of sparring the better version, he was confident he knew how to break rhythm and regain initiative at a moment's notice. He could attack stance, wedge his cuts in between theirs, or leverage physicality in tight, just as he had here.

The time to sit and watch on the back foot was over. Now that he knew what he was dealing with, it was time to smash through their game the way he had the best of this archetype. Having bought himself a moment's space, the Sagramori Auxilia decided it was his turn to use the terrain to his advantage.

As though channeling the spirit of the mighty sabertooth whose fang he had pried out four years ago, the young man surged forward and pounced, using the nearby wall as a springboard to launch himself clear over the heads of the highwaymen—

"Heads up, nimrod."

—Only to descend upon their rearmost like a falling buzzsaw, twisting at the hips and trunk into a whirling set of hews as his boot planted upon the wall opposite and launched Wings and Warrior both towards the earth. Now behind their lines, suddenly it was the three Kirins bunching up and entrapping the would-be robbers.

He had no intention of letting up his assault.

Right… well, she couldn't think of much that she had to offer, but this man was the best lead that she had, so… she would just have to see what the cost was and if she could manage it. Or Arton, if he was interested in the answer? Maybe; the swordsman had to have come along for some reason. Maybe he was just super invested in their finding another healer.

And if she didn't have whatever this fatty was asking for, then she would just have to… go and get it. Maybe even from him, if it was generic enough; that way if it was too extortionate, nobody would really suffer. This one could stand to suffer a bit more, even, he might be able to fit onto his chair properly then.

"I w-want to know w-w-where I can find Soriel." Did that sound confident? She hoped it sounded confident, the obvious aside. And she was even looking in the right direction! Mostly. This was much easier than a casual conversation.

---

Esben looked down at the note that had been left in his quarters with a raised eyebrow. Sure enough, when he and Éliane had been hunting down baking supplies in Costa del Sol, he thought he'd seen a familiar face trailing behind them, whenever he'd seen more than just flowing blonde hair poking out from under a dark hood. An obvious standout among most of Drana Asnaeu's darker-complexioned people, and given that she wanted to meet with them, it explained why she hadn't gone to any great lengths to really keep herself from his view.

'One hour after sundown' left him with plenty of time to prepare for whatever it was she'd want to discuss—and given that he had yet to find a safe drop to get his reports back, it suited him just as well.

---

Some hours later, after time spent wandering the city for the short time he had to do so, Esben was unsurprised to find Éliane coming up to the inn just ahead of him. He followed along silently, into the room that they'd been directed to enter, dutifully shutting and locking the door behind himself—

Only to immediately be accosted as soon as Kayliss was sure the door was warded. He nonchalantly walked to the bed, sitting down on it and setting his bag next to him as he began to look through it, though not without a small greeting for Kayliss: "It's nice to see you too, mom!"

Given the nature of their respective deployments, it was obvious that her words were directed more towards him than towards the flamboyant guardswoman in the room with them; he also knew that letting her have her way from the outset would mean he'd have no chance to get any words into the conversation. Better, then, to steer it away for a moment, for all that he might be risking the ire of one of the heads of Skael's intelligence agency. "We've been telling you for years that you need to take a vacation, and you're still working even out here? Shameful."

He handed over his most recent written reports, as well as all the documents gained from Mizutani Tane's mansion. "You've at least been sleeping, yes?"

---

Arton stood behind Miina as she initiated negotiations with the plump man, looming over the proceedings like her personal guard. His features were largely indistinct under the coverage of his plate armor. Everywhere he turned to pointed in the same direction Miina's own investigations pointed. An unorthodox cleric by the name of Soriel that seemed somewhat opposed to the current grove-masters on matters of principle. Rumor had it that she regularly marched through the area of the country most affected by the Blight and would burn down what could not be saved. It was hard to imagine that Miina's brother had ended up with her of all people.

He stepped forward after Miina had spoken. His voice had grown hoarse, as if he was afflicted by a sore throat. "Soriel's a great healer, right? Besides location, what else can you provide?" Arton spoke as few words as he could. The soreness in his throat had deepened his voice which reverberated in the enclosed metal helmet he wore. It had been his own initiative to operate as Miina's personal bodyguard. He only hoped she would forgive him for leaving much of the future talking in her hands.