When the church bells didn't rip him out of his struggle for rest, the loud banging at his front door was sure to do the job. Clerics never had a night to rest, only the short hours before noon when all of the commonfolk began to step a careful foot out of their homes. Patrick had come to collect him, his usual companion and one he found much less of a burden than the good doctor. He only confirmed that for himself when he peeked through the slats of his downstairs shutters to see the large man in his black robes, holy scarf draped around the shoulders.<br/><br/>Oswin was late, but his fellow hunter more than patient. Patrick had more than a few years on him, even if he weren't as ragged and coarse as his brother from the north. When he finally shut the front door behind them and stepped out into the bloody streets, a small sack containing a morning's worth of rations were shoved into his hand and Patrick didn't hesitate to give his report on the surely shaken young lad from the night before. It was always strange to see some care in that gaze from under the wide brim of a black church hat... Though they had close to a decade behind their partnership and meetings were still only as cordial as their lives would allow. Friendship stifled by one another's willingness to axe the other should their eyes appear to burst or their tongue slather.<br/><br/>Nights passed, many uneventful. There was the usual, small outbreak during  the moonlight hours, him and Patrick sent to kill a beast that had locked himself up in his own home, pockets torn apart by his morbid transformation and pellets of dried blood scattered across the planks. The Healing Church was starting to breathe down the necks of the workshop, wondering just who was distributing forbidden blood. Old Yharnam had, of course, become a prime suspect. Broken apart and half eaten, unable to defend itself from the accusations of those that ruled it, and Oswin was privy to agree. The burning of bodies there made it hard to keep a consistent body count, and only the Gods knew if they would've found them drained for those peculiar round pellets. The most frustrating truth to this scandal was the realization that some may have felt better off transforming into such wretched monstrosities, spiteful of the Healing church.<br/><br/>On half a whim, Oswin visited an old, now abandoned building across from Oedon Chapel. What was once part of a great church workshop was now merely an empty path down to Old Yharnam for those who prefer shadow. No one had the heart to tear down the statue of a saint, dressed in thick robes and a stone helm that could pierce the hearts of the guilty alone, and for that he was thankful. Times may have changed, as much as Yharnam felt it were simply repeating the same few nights over and over... But, he would never forget his old calling, bending at a knee to pray without anything to wish for because the habit itself was comfort enough.<br/><br/>A gentle patter of rainfall broke him out of his stillness, rising and slowly setting his hat back atop his head where it belonged. Wonderful, if there were any stench worse than a rotten beast it was the wet corpse of one. The workshop dogs likely smelled of roses by comparison. To make matters worse the rain only grew more intense the further he descended into Yharnam's lower streets.<br/><br/>It looked even more pitiful in the rain, as the water washed all the filth from  the upper city down into Old Yharnam. Perhaps it took all of the blood with it...<br/><br/>-<br/><br/>Something was wrong tonight, and it made the cleric feel like a right fool taking this hunt on alone now. The unlit censer on his hip flying as he made mad dashes around groups of beasts he'd found feasting on the corpse of an old woman. If he was good at anything in life it was killing, surely, but any man would question just how long the hunt would last before he ran out of supplies or resolve. While his back was turned he felt claws rip through his arm and an unfamiliar sting shocked him up to the neck, leaving him to retreat into an alley and fervently hack away at the stragglers that squirmed their way after him.<br/><br/>The moment he earned a moment to breathe, the scuffling of beast legs coming to an end, he leaned back against the wet bricks to rip the cap off a blood vial with his teeth and shove the needle into his thigh, deep. After a pained sigh Oswin pushed himself to stand upright with a gritted "Sharp bastards aren't they..." The burning that had swallowed his arm was dying down, ever so slowly, but it still worried him. The Healing Church had yet to wrap it's head around whatever strain of beasthood ran through the streets of Old Yharnam like a disease ravages the heart.<br/><br/>At least for now he could focus on taking it slow, slipping back out of the alley and keeping his eyes wide in search for the turned backs of growling, howling monstrosities he could shove his pick through. Even the Kegs were quiet tonight, no doubt set back by the downpour and forced to return to more practical means of execution.