A low whistle, echoing from the town below, Father Alder lifted his head to track the sound. He began to move down the hillside with quick, purposeful strides. Never seemingly afraid of losing his balance, or even seeming to slide at all on the loose sloping ground, the aging warrior of God made his way to the outskirts of town and turned, skirting around to fall directly in line with the small house the sound had emanated from. With each step his staff hit the ground with a dull thud, a sound which many a monster and villager alike had grown to fear more than the plague. He himself was not entirely oblivious to this aura of fear; it wouldn’t serve him too well here, yet…

He walked directly to the rear of the house he sought, noting the shambling shapes far from his path he had yet to acknowledge anything within the town itself. He saw three crates, stacked in a convenient staircase to bring him up to arm’s length from the rooftop, and so skipped atop them with nimble grace for an older man. One hand clasped the lip, and the other joined it after pushing a staff forward, he hoisted himself up grunting quietly and pulling himself to his feet with his staff in hand.

He took a quick breath, easily blaming the harsh environment around him for his exertion. It was always easier to find excuses. 

“Child” He announced his presence in a quiet voice. “I assume you’ve not seen the Vampires, then?” He stepped past Mercedes, looking over carefully into the town itself, seeing the scene she herself saw, he began to chant under his breath.