Clemente
Amun had told him that the best way to honor and help The Voice was to learn, listen, and explore. So he had ventured beyond the Portal once more, except this time with a purpose. The cold doesn't bother him, nerveless skin remaining fair instead of red-hued beneath the biting wind. The Citadel is magnificent, looming out of the pale landscape like an ominous crown. It's weirdly medieval, but Clem doesn't have much to compare it to. He'd come from a high-tech city and then been dropped immediately into the Hollowed Grounds. The people are - well honestly, his kind of people. Wary, hard-eyed, rough edged. They don't care what he's doing so long as it doesn't impact them, and he feels the same of them. It reminds him of the other street urchins, who would sooner cut your hand off and eat it than share a morsel. It's probably not socially healthy for the Ascended boy to feel more at ease and accepted here than anywhere else, but nobody is really around to judge him for it.
He trades the jackets Rexanna had given him for passage, bartering fiercely with the stall manager before walking away with his new wares. There is simultaneously so much and nothing at all to do, and instead he lingers around, listens to the few words people speak until they chase him away to the next place he hovers.
