The beast snapped and growled, its teeth scraping along the metal of Theron’s makeshift weapon. Were he able to summon enough strength and find leverage he could have perhaps pulled his blade across the creature’s jaw. Mangle it enough to have it back off from him and find a moment of reprieve from the savage onslaught. What then? Surely he would not have enough time to recover, to escape. One good lunge from this monster and he would perish. Just another dead hunter in the streets and with none to mourn him but a gaggle of madmen.<br/><br/><br/>Such a shameful way to go. Felled by a lowly beast. Weak and without a hint of honor or fight left in him. His last remaining dregs of strength falling away like smoke against harsh wind. Such a far cry from the power he had discovered in his youth; a pitiable loss indeed. So when his vision blurred, Threon silently praised that fate would have him fall from consciousness before the final blow. That at least he would not go from this wretched existence screaming in agony like he had seen countless times before. He could find some small satisfaction in that at least.<br/><br/><br/>It was a notion that was suddenly dashed as the gnashing mouth above him went slack and the great beast fell upon him. A muffled and strangled cry escaping as he struggled underneath the soaking wet corpse before it was pulled off of him. It took a moment for him to find himself and the man that had saved him. A church hunter, pulling his pick from the skull of the beast.<br/><br/><br/>"Aye..." He strained, "And a poor excuse for one should I find a black coat intervening on my behalf." He groaned, holding a hand over his wounded chest but his eyes glossed at the sight of those blood vials. Of course the Ministry would have made sure to provide for them. If the corpses of black church hunters past had proven anything at all it was that they were always ripe with them.<br/><br/><br/>Theron was asked... no, ordered to follow close by the dark cleric and his reluctance was obvious, but what could he do? At this rate he wouldn't last the night with his pittance of blood vials. Three. He counted them over and over as a reminder not to put himself at risk but they had proven as nothing more than a distraction in his pocket. Now this hunter, offering them as if they were candy. Perhaps the black coats, even in their cruelty, were more trustworthy than their counterparts... but only just.<br/><br/><br/>The task of regaining his footing was apparently not quick enough for the Ministry dog as the scythe-like pick wrapped around his waist, pulling him along like some kind of herd animal. Theron chuckled through a wince of pain. He knew there was something familiar in that voice. The accent, the measured cadance, the stifling surety in it. "How fortunate the Church is to have one like yourself; and generous as well..." Surely this couldn't have been the same man he had met on the rooftops so many nights ago. Theron picked over him with that hawkish gaze and found himself carefully watched as well. It seemed neither of them trusted the other. 'Good, as it should be.' He thought.<br/><br/><br/>They walked though the rain for a stretch before coming across the abandoned home of some poor dead citizen. Either turned or taken, it was hard to tell at times. Theron walked to the stove to stifle the remaining embers and close the flue and by the time he returned the black coat had lit his censor, placing it near a window. He popped the chamber of his riflespear to let it dry, removing the quicksilver shot and placing the weapon in a nearby corner. He still had his pistol, likely enough to dispatch the man should he prove himself a fiend in disguise.<br/><br/><br/>When he turned the hunter was holding out a vial in offering. They made eye contact, even in the depths of his hood it made him uneasy. The severe glare of the Church upon him. He removed his gloves and reached out to take the vial with a shaky hand when the black coat grabbed him by the wrist, wrenching him close and taking his face in hand to examine. Uncomfortable was barely the word to describe it. Accosted seemed more fitting. As if every secret contained within him was on display under the scrutiny of this unnamed church official. They truly were something, weren't they? Or perhaps it was this lone hunter who was different from the rest.<br/><br/><br/>As he was released Theron pulled away hard, backing himself into a wall. "I would not so readily call it joy as I would relief, but I would thank you none the less for your assistance." Fumbling with the vial he stabbed it into his leg and the sigh he released echoed through the quiet room. Theron slumped as the now dull pain in his chest slowly faded, skin stitching back together where claws has rended it.<br/><br/><br/>"Are all of the clerics as handsy these days?" He made in casual remark, pulling the hood of his cloak away to reveal a shock of silver-white hair marred by blood and sweat and rain. What was once a prized aspect of his heritage remained now only as a miserable reminder of the past. He resembled a man aged perhaps to his mid twenties or later, handsome but pale and weary and with dark shadows under pale green eyes. Eyes that seemed much older by comparison and that shifted to the boarded windows when a howl echoed through the streets, too close for comfort.<br/><br/><br/>It was an easy thing to pose as a foreigner when it became apparent that he did not know the streets of Yharnam by heart. Not that it was an easy task for anyone. 'From the far north', he would answer when asked though he was reluctant to give further detail. Before the Church's Executioners had been disbanded his secretive nature and relatively low profile would have seemed suspicious but now it served him well. So long as he kept his urges for blood under control not even the black church hunters took a second glance. In fact, the Kegs had taken to him quickly. A close knit brotherhood of which he sat at the fringes. An interest in experimental firearms and an unusually steady supply of bone marrow ash were all he needed and in turn, they asked very few questions of him.<br/><br/><br/>Theron eyed the small white pill but made no move for it at first. "Strange... To find a cleric unattended on such a hunt as this. I presume the good doctor has had his fill of beast parts?" He had nearly missed the man who called himself Jaufre before, but it was obvious now that the black coat was alone this night. That this man was here on a mere whim was a fool's assumption and to come without partner at his side? "Why come to Old Yharnam alone? To play at heroics? Or perhaps you have other business..." There was a whisper of humor in his tone that did not reach his face. "Tell me how I might repay the Church for your fortuitous intervention."