The massive man rises, ponderously, and follows after the duke. He looks over the war table with a bit of familiarity; a man who's made use of one before, but is no master of strategy. He looks to the dwarf, giving a nod of acknowledgement, another to the lizardman, and one to Nicholas. The Elf, though, gets a smirk and a muffled, under the breath comment. He pauses to take a swig from a hip flask that, judging from the way he drinks it, definitely doesn't hold water. Staggering slightly, for a brief moment, he looks back to Gladios and grins, straightening his cloak.

"No questions. Don't need to know shit about these bandits, really. Doesn't change the one of two ways this'll go down. Either Vycker convinces them to surrender, or I convince them to bleed out."