It was not a long walk to the landing before the stairs that had provided shelter, rather that it felt as though it had been a journey. The survivors, a title rightfully earned by the guards of Greenest atop the wall today, were tending to their own just in the same way the outsiders had taken care of their own fallen. The difference in these matters were that Orchid, though rendered quite unconscious, was not nearly as maimed as the mere men had been; some had suffered arcing burns across the breast and legs where the lightning followed their chain, others had limbs seared clean, others were blinded by unearthly blue-white heat. The list of causalities went on in variance, but all were most characteristic of unchecked electricity. 

Brannor did not need the reminder that the sky and its armaments were well beyond the capacity of regular folk, or even those who might be considered heroic in caliber. Thus when he laid the orcish warrior down beside a now empty rack of arms, his boot sweeping aside some loose arrows that had been abandoned in the chaos, he was wise enough to remember he was blessed in a number of ways that had bought him a brush with a dragon and the fortune to live to tell such a tale. The only other sojourn he took in the calm after the storm, short of the effort to acquire the shield Orchid had abandoned on the wall and return it next to the sleeping figure, was one he set himself to solely in mind. He saw to sit himself down beside his companion and attune himself.

There needed to be time made to collect insight.

So when he unsheathed both sword and bow, with the latter resting beside the wall with its quiver and the former across his lap, he gave no added response to the men and women working their ways down the stairs following the battle. Instead, he closed his eyes and shut out the urges around and within him, as odd a gesture it was and certain to draw scorn at that. In this effort, hand resting upon the runed engravings of the sword's fuller, he unknowingly traced their designs methodically.

For Brannor and the supernature he was tied to internally, he asked only what else awaited them tonight; it was an unspoken, unmentioned plea, in spite of what he knew all along. After all, the [i]Silver Lady[/i] did not illuminate the town for her own amusement on tonight of all nights. She did so to reveal the shadows from their hiding places, as even in darkness, a place so coveted by evil, light still found a way.

And she had a weapon born of her whims in her service.

[@Hekazu][@Ryonara][@Lucius Cypher][@Gordian Nought][@Norschtalen]