A gruesome night like any other and a hunt sure to give the morticians headache by dawn, mused the cleric. He had already sent the brother of similar, black garb back to the church with a boy they confiscated from some poor bastard's home. Terrible sight, one of his ilk might reflect upon with little more than a half-hearted sigh, to break into a family man's home only to find the wretched husband feasting on the face of his missus. And, well... that was after the thing had used her like a goddamn paintbrush. But a group of three was reduced to two and now he remained the lone chauffeur of a doctor, cloaked in bloodied white.<br/><br/>The air between them was dead and silent, even beyond the stagnant stench emanating from the censer that hung from his side. But he knew his acquaintance was unsettled, nauseous. A good man with a clean conscience, who could defend himself from the beasts of Yharnam with a bladed cane and some resolve, but the dark cleric saw that strength falter in the wake of mutilated citizens. A pity, really.<br/><br/>"What about'em?" He gestured with a dirty white glove, from where they stood on the lookout over Old Yharnam. To the group of shadows that slipped into the empty streets, hunters from a workshop other than their own and the faint glimmer of embers in the distance spelled Powder Kegs. "If they don't cremate the beasts, yes." His posh doctor replied, "You can imagine it'd be a hell unlike any other trying to gather sufficient data from mere cinders." That earned a laugh from the cleric, grainy and dry but a laugh nonetheless. Though the doctor continued, "I say.. We're better off following, and quick brute like yourself can pick off whatever monster they chase through the alleys before the first molotov is thrown."<br/><br/>It was nothing he could argue with, a fine plan, a smart plan. Even if it weren't the most honorable work he'd done, when were the church clerics ever given the respect they toiled over?<br/><br/>Perhaps they were spotted among high walls and rooftops throughout the midnight hours, and somewhere along the way the black garbed hunter found his pick in the eye socket of a sick villager. All while the good doctor jotted down basic observations and coordinates in that lofty journal of his, free hand clasped over his mouth. Better that these hunters know the eyes of the Healing Church were ever-watching. His partner only took great enough offense when the cleric stared down at a particular, flat roof, which also cast it's shadow down on that same group of Kegs he'd reckon, however missing a member. They didn't concern him outside the plans of the doctor to pilfer their kill like vultures, but the body hunched over the roof's edge, rifle in hand, did however.<br/><br/>"Oswi-- Brother Oswin!" He heard behind him in quiet, albeit harsh whispers, followed by an irritated hiss of "Damn it all..!" The cleric simply ignored, sliding down the ladder, a set of shabby makeshift stairs and around the corner to the sniper's chosen nest, all while the good doctor begrudgingly followed like Oswin were a dog dragging him by the leash.<br/><br/>"Hunting are ye?" He finally stepped closer, the chain from his censer rattling as he handed the incense to his partner. He used his tall pick as a cane, leaning forward on it's tooth as he sneered at the hunter from behind his face scarf. At least to the white coat's satisfaction they stayed well covered by the lip of the roof, just in sight of the sniper alone and too close for any man's comfort, beast or not. "I'll gladly take that weight off your shoulders lad, 'specially if your lot's keen on burning it all." Brother Oswin pulled down his scarf to breathe, enjoying as much fresh air as this decrepit town would lend. Blood encrusted glovetips pushed through a short, scraggly beard, auburn in the moon's light though littered with grey.<br/><br/>"The Healing Church pays handsomely for your efforts in blood and coin, but disease ails this place and charred lil' scamps like yourself aren't doing the clinic any favors." They needed bodies for once, as much as common folk enjoyed burning the dead. The number of incidents in Old Yharnam was climbing and it was enough to alert every hunter of the church to collect what they could. Blood, hair, tooth and bone.