the rich man stands in front of me, the poor man behind my back

It was an interesting prospect: a Flesh Eater, former Blade of a functionally holy man, and a disgraced nobleman who didn't care, all that much, working together as mercenaries. When it came to inherent notions of status, a Blade, if he was worth his facets, didn't contrive one, because he knew that his station was distinct from that of his Driver. Even royal treasures of this empire or that founded their true intimidation by personally fashioning and polishing themselves wholly worthy of each ostentatious treatment.

So, two scarred old hands and a makeshift orphanage? Cole couldn't have asked for better.