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Approaching your designated stakeout point means passing next to the nobleman and your master. He looks up at you as you approach.
"'Lo, Sir Undead. Your master's a strong one; won't be much longer until she wakes up."
As he speaks, he idly wipes his hands on a strong-smelling cloth, staining the rough, off-white fabric with streaks of red before balling it up and tossing it over his shoulder. You study his work, noting several stitches closing up the deep cuts in your master's legs and a rudimentary splint for her arm.
Though his loose attitude is distasteful, the rush of relief that floods your stagnant veins overwrites any reservations you possess. "My thanks, Lord Furor."
The nobleman lets out a <span class="mu-i">tsk.</span> "Nicholas. Call me Nicholas. The Lord Furor is my brother–I'm just a fourth son, nothing so grand. S'why I'm out here to begin with, you know. Not like they'd care if I died trying to get into Eden."
You tilt your head. "What of the potion from earlier?"
Nicholas lets out a chuckle, patting his robes and pulling out the little vial. "This? Just a bluff. Tomato juice with some gold flakes. Would've been hilarious if you tried to nick it and run off."
He takes a sip in demonstration, then smacks his lips appreciatively and puts it away. "Great stuff. Now, you're here to keep watch, yeah? I'll leave you to it. Do tell me when your master wakes up, we'll get moving around then. I still need a few more points."
With that, the nobleman hikes up his robes and waddles off, leaving you feeling mildly disoriented. Just what kind of people have you thrown yourself in with…? No, there are more pressing matters.
