Look for a new cult or religion springing up. And the place they’d target first would be the poorer regions, the places where people would be downtrodden and desperate for some kind of escape. Destitute individuals would cling to someone or something that offered them a way of making a difference in their lives, or a way of improving them.

So to the slums Nevin went, wishing desperately that he could afford to have a mask of some kind on. As it was he had shorn his hair completely to the scalp, even his eyebrows, leaving no trace of the identifying red hair that a survivor would recognize. The mask wouldn't even be to disguise his features though - it would just be so he could put some strong-smelling herbs in front of his nose and keep them there. For now, he was making do with a brown scarf he’d picked up from a vendor, and kept his cloak tight about his body.

The bar that Nevin settled in was far from reputable, and had last seen better days years ago. Every inch of the wooden interior was coated in a thick layer of black soot, from the fireplace crudely made in one wall, which Nevin could clearly see had no ventilation whatsoever. The windows had simple wooden shutters in them - which were more the idea of shutters at this point, as they were all missing at least half of their parts. A few benches and tables had survived the passage of time, but even they looked worn out and coated in grime.

The patrons fared little better. Most were dressed in simple clothes, threadbare and worn, and it was a good thing for most that Radasanth was usually a warm place. Nevin stood out only slightly because his clothes were more intact, but the other people were so worn out and tired themselves that they paid him no attention. They brought their own battered, chipped mugs, and ate with a fork and knife that had been hanging from their own belts if they had them.

The ‘beer’ was barely worth the name, and with no mug of his own Nevin didn't bother ordering it after seeing what was in one man’s cup. The food was stale, dried out bread pieces and a thin, watery soup. People ate in silence, ignoring each other for the most part, talking in low, hushed voices when they had to.

This place, these people, were exactly the kind of folks who would be the target of a cult trying to gather new adherents. Broken and worn out, with each day a slog barely worth getting through. Nevin spent only a little time in the bar, instead opting to stay outside in the small ‘courtyard’ of the bar - watching the people who were coming and going. The Alchemist had tucked himself into a small, out of the way alcove against a neighboring building, drawing his hood around his head and his scarf up over his face. It was time to watch, and wait.