Typically these nights had a deafening quiet about them, punctuated by loud howls and and the fire of quicksilver. But tonight was all noise, muffled snarling of hordes filled the various small plazas throughout Old Yharnam and many a time had he followed the crazed ramblings of a villager gone mad into an alleyway. They had terrible hunts before, but whatever plague had beset this town was fresh and tested the cleric's own wit. Cunning wasn't exactly his strongsuit either, he was moreso content to brute force his way down the streets and into homes at his leisure, as Patrick put the stragglers out of their misery.<br/><br/>This whole thing had him on edge, to say the least.<br/><br/>Backing out onto the stone road he laid the final blow to the head of beast in rags, having tried to claw it's way after him with a missing leg. The hoarse growls from behind made him snap his view back to whatever was too distracted to run after the noise of slaughter. Hunched over a body, dead or alive had it been, was a writhing beast, and in the short time that he closed in to investigate he could see a rifle wrench open it's hungry maw, the familiar stench of blood stung his nose. With just enough care in him to give whoever the poor bastard was beneath it a second chance, he forfeit his blunderbuss to instead hack away at the back of it's head with his pick.<br/><br/>The beast's jaw slackened, it's body collapsed onto it's would-be prey. Oswin yanked it back and set a boot on it's mangy snout to make a second attempt to dislodge his weapon from it's skull. Plucking his hat from his head and wiping the grime from his damp brow, he  felt relieved enough to see the man alive. It was his duty to protect, of course. "A workshop lad aye?" Setting his hat back with haste, eager to shield his eyes from the downpour that refused to let up, he shrugged with the mere implication of a laugh. By the tattered and burnt fringe of the man's coat, a Keg at that. Even through the light waterfall that cascaded off the brim of his hat he could see ripped leather and red across the fool's chest, and to that he parted his coat wide enough to flash a strip of little vials, filled with healing blood. "Still a citizen ye are, 'til I catch wind of any beasthood in those eyes. Best follow me, doubt any of your ilk are wise enough to've saved a fair ration of good blood for tonight."<br/><br/>He cast his sights at the end of the road, darting head back and forth as he took his first steps in search of temporary shelter, but before leaving the man's side he glanced back with that malicious gaze of a true cleric. "S'not a choice, laddie."<br/><br/>Oswin had to recover, gather his resolve at least but cover his still-healing wounds as well. A healthy dose of blood would usually do it, but he knew he shouldn't let any more of those... things, vomit poison and old blood onto him in their throes of death. In a bout of impatience, even if the hunter had litlte trouble getting to his feet he hooked the head of his pick behind the man's waist and yanked him forward. Oswin would have called it gentle, though anyone else might've told him otherwise. If he wanted to kill his new, self-appointed companion he'd do it in these streets, but for now it was best to keep a good eye on him.<br/><br/>Down the road at the corner he  found a building that had it's door ripped off the hinges, taking his ever-watchful glower off the Powder Keg for once to peek inside and usher them both in. His face creased with a grimace as he loudly sniffed the air. Dead, a good sign only on a hunt such as this. Old blood had formed a crust in streaks across the floorboards and out the door, likely from some victim to the disease that had either been ripped from his home. And by the state of things, the dull flicker of dying embers from a stove in the next room over, the furniture as pristine as any poor man of these slums could keep. It had to have happened in the late hours of the evening.<br/><br/>"Put out that stove m'boy, once I have this house as good as abandoned we'll fix ye right up."<i>If you're still a man,</i>Oswin pondered.<br/><br/>A bookcase had been pushed to cover the door frame and he knelt down to light  his censer with a match, setting it at the windows this home's previous owner did the pleasure of boarding up. The cleric made a point of keeping himself armed, at least for now, pulling a blood vial from his coat to finally hand the hunter. Something... caught his attention, something odd enough to cause him clasp the hand which took his offer and pull the hunter close, eye to eye. And after gripping him by the chin he searched and stared for moments before finally easing off with an ease he rarely had. "The fair sniper from the roof aye? Must be all manner of joy to see me again."<br/><br/>Oswin laughed with a strange canter.<i>He wasn't sick it seemed.</i>Shaken and delirious as any man would be when plucked from the jaws of a beast, but he wasn't one himself. Pleased, the cleric allowed the hunter some of that personal space back, only stopping to dig in his deep, coat pockets for a paper pouch of strange white pellets, setting one on the coffee table as he plopped himself on a dirty sofa. He popped a pill in his mouth and swallowed deep, "Take that too, it's for ye own good. A gift from our Healing Church. Bless us."<br/><br/>The cleric ran a finger across the dry gash of his arm with teeth grit. Relieved to feel only that familiar soreness under marred, white flesh. "Blessings upon this whole damned city..." Perhaps he worried too much about the disease, perhaps he gave doubt to the power of the Church.