Prowling, for what one knows not (Ex)

The day had been long, but was finally coming to a close. As the sun cast long shadows over Empire City, a man rose from the slums, dressed in leathers and rags, with a tattered, burlap cloak over his shoulder. It looked like it might rain soon. He'd have to make this quick. A greatsword over his shoulder, and an unloaded crossbow cradled in his arms, he stole away into the city, keeping to himself, and asking no questions. The brim of his hat covered his face from any onlookers, yet his gaze peered out keenly, keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings, an ear cocked, listening intently for any oncomers, be they aground, or within the air.

Slipping through occasional crowds unseen by most, the conduit was keeping an eye out. For food, materials, anything that could be of use. It was amazing, really, how much people trapped in a cage would be unwilling to save and salvage. To make use of anything that-

Quickly, he turned, cloak billowing behind him as he readied his crossbow, pointing it towards a dark corner of an alleyway. He would have sworn he heard something moving. His free hand slowly reached for his claymore, drawing it without a sound. "Name thyself, stranger," he quietly called. "Friend, foe, or neutral?"