The Glass was heavy and the shingles were wet but Ulrich had no plans to be questioned about a murder he didn't commit, while the murderer actually got away with... well. Ulrich could only keep his senses up to his maximum if he wasn't focusing on doing anything else. His training hadn't finished or progressed that far. He simply wouldn't be able to track this killer if he was trying to hide from everyone else.

Or keep his footing.

The slick rooftops beyond his sneeky exit awaited his foolishness hugrily. His heavy looking boots, made for mud and dirt, squeeked and squelched through this pre-curser to the next great flood. Moving to the next rooftop was almost a chore and as Ulrich bent his knees and pushed himself to the next point of his journey, the Rooftop struck.

Feet flying in all directions at once, the momentum granted was little to none. Instead of a georgous curved arc to place the wizard on his feet across the alley, Ulrich was greeted by it's butch and flat cousin, the downward line of hurt. His upper chest impacted the gutter of the opposing rooftop, forcing the air from his lungs as flailing arms grabbed at the ledge and pulled him up.

There was little dignity in the moment.

Street level.

The way down was easy. Wet cobblestones under his feet threatened to bruise his ego again, however he was ready for their tricks. He remembered his training at the temple of Panthor, Sure footedness and the senses were first learned by all the initiates, before the rest was preached. He blamed it on the change of scenery with a brisk shake of the head. Panthor was known to place people where they were needed . He trusted in that, at least. MOving forward, bringing the next street into view.

The street was running a river on each side of the road. Noone was out there. Nobody clear anyway. Focus instead, let the world tell you where he went. His heart beat lowered as his senses sharpened, became more clear. The details around him seemed brighter, the rain felt crisper and the footsteps louder. Had the killer circled around him, Ulrich had been safe enough in the pub.this might have been his first and final mistake after leaving the order.

Shit!

Turning to face his assailent and bring him to justice Ulrich was filled with a moment of clarity. The assassin who killed in a crowded place without being noticed. Ulrich was going to bring him to justice, in a dark, abandoned, alleyway.

SHIT

He was fucked. A knife flashed out as the figure launched. Held high. A concentration of magic flashed up around his neck, before a blow was struck. A protective wrapper of shining gold magic threads. Melting away as fast as it was conjoured. Ulrich's hand was already rising to the sword on his back. A final desperate hope.

Replaced by a non-final, decent hope as his assailent's rage demanded into his face hot bile crossing between them. He wasn't the killer, And Ulrich's hand froze halfway to the hilt of his weapon.

But neither was Ulrich. And as his back was pressed into the stone cold of the alleyway wall the hope he had found faded as he scrambled for a way to communicate his innocence.

"I didn't kill anyone!"

Weak!

The man was enraged, for whatever reason it appeared that he wanted Ulrich dead, personally for whoever the victime was he needed to not only convince the stranger, but connect. He didn't have anything to punch through this assault. Every strand of magic melted away near the red energy without a thought. Like it was simply not there.

"We're hunting the same man. He killed my Brother!"

When his life wasn't in danger he would pass along the unconvincing truth. That he was called to chase down this murderer by his minor deity. Or at least that Ulrich would like to have thought Panthor did.