A curt nod was all the answer Ceoluulf gave, a brief moment of recognition of the half-elf's skills.  But that was all, and without so much as another word he stepped out into the streets that would take him towards the southern side of Archenbridge where city met woodlands, in search of the shrine to Silvanus that Darius had said would be there.<br/><br/>He pulled the hardy cloak tight over his shoulders and flipped the hood over his hair so as to keep out the spitting rain, his face descending into muddled obscurity in the low light.  The ways of well-worn roads and civilized lands were strange to him, but the occasional glance towards the heavens was enough to get his bearings.  The side streets and alleys only served to confuse his feet, and more than once he stopped and spat at the ground with growing irritation.  Thick fingers flexed and cracked and scratched at his arm and chin in a nervous fashion, as though the man were uncomfortably attempting to get out of his own skin.  No, a world of buildings and roads did not suit him in the slightest.