<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;">Sirrah did not believe in divine intervention; if the Gods actually existed, he very much doubted that any of them were going to help a lesser demon lie, cheat, extort or murder his way to full strength. However, the sudden and overwhelming prickling that caused him to jerk rather suddenly to the side of his makeshift hiding place was almost miraculous. He gave a full-body shudder and felt his stomach twist in expectation; only large quantities of precious objects caused such a reaction...and they were close. Very close.<br/><br/>The noise from the alleyway startled the Incubus, but he was nothing if not a curious soul. Incubi were not known for their intelligence, but common sense was a gift bestowed on most of them; Sirrah knew that investigating and staying unseen was the best course of action for now. He could only hope that the hubbub was not his doing. Still, there didn't seem to be panic in the crowds; only impatience and desire...and greed.<br/><br/><em>Greed...</em>Greed was an excellent marker that there was wealth for the taking and Sirrah could almost taste it in the air. His stomach growled noisily and he grimaced, shaking his head. Even though he was entirely capable of killing several people for a few gold coins, he took little pleasure in it. Stealing a prize made it all the sweeter but murdering for it sullied it, somehow. The tang of blood in his mouth reminded him of how much he disliked the taste of anything but precious things. He spat onto the ground to rid himself of the taste, but to little avail; it lingered and distorted the delicious flavours of the gold from the man on the floor.<br/><br/>He could not risk them coming this way; not when he was so close to the scene of the crime. He needed a distraction or he needed to be gone. A glance around the alleyway revealed that there was no other escape; on his left, there were buildings- but no way to climb them unseen and on his right, a large wall towered up that had no handholds to scale it with. That left him with only one escape route; the way he'd come in. Nervously, the Incubus risked climbing down from the crates. The quiet clicking of bone on stone accompanied this, but it was drowned out by the commotion that flowed from the streets. He did not know the local customs, nor was he ever inclined to know them; he travelled to wherever there was treasure and it was only by unfortunate coincidence that he had ever strayed this far from his original 'home', of a sorts; a ruined castle, far west of here, that had yet to be plundered. He had lived comfortably there for a great deal of time...until the incident...<br/><br/>Cries in a language he didn't quite understand (and could not hope to translate, given the state of his body and the basic mind he possessed) sounded closer and closer- but one word caught his attention: Alms. A word that he knew well enough- a word that had connotations, connotations that pleased him greatly. Only the poor cried for alms...the question lay in how best to appear like the poor of this place...?<br/><br/>Another scan of the alleyway yielded the perfect answer; a fading, dirty sheet and a makeshift crutch formed from a splintered crate both concealed and disguised Sirrah. Making sure to keep his head down to avoid revealing his eyes, the Incubus attempted to replicate the motions of someone with a broken leg and left the alleyway, searching for this new source of wealth.</span>