Anethrial nods, and Laszlo whispers, "Good."<br/><br/>He pushes the girl forward with the tip of the sheath, releasing her mouth. He recalls the robes he'd seen acolytes wearing at the academy. He is sure he can reproduce them, and hopes they're the proper rank. Again his knowledge of the priesthood is frustrating. Robes clear in his mind, he snaps his fingers, and they quickly rush out over his back, wrapping around him and covering his rags.<br/><br/>Laszlo pulls down his down his ragged hood, and the fresh white one rises to replace it. He pulls the sword off Anethrial's back, tucking it into the sleeve of his robe as he steps to the girl's side.<br/><br/>"Stick to my side, and don't try anything unless you want an early reunion with mother," He turns a brown eye on her, "Their lives are in your hands, fail to convince, and they die too."