[i]“I must fetch my staff. Won’t be long. Take the bird with you, lad.”[/i]

In stride as he was, the large man did not pause as he heard from behind him the flutter of ebon wings and soon the gentle resting of clawed feet perched upon his shoulder. Quietly, guided by its master, did the raven position itself as they together went up the steps, accompanied by the woman.

Repeating her name to him did the man nod visibly in reply, saying nothing more. It was not that he paid her little mind, but that his thoughts were elsewhere. Governor Nighthill's presence was always an omen that worse was to come still, but by divine favor, through no apparent fault of his own. It was bad enough the town had no defense to speak of, but what could a man of the wilderness expect? These were civil, tamed people. They needed to be taught resolve and ferocity again, to rediscover it.

Coming to idle atop the overlook, avian watcher accompanying him, Brannor listened intently as the official spoke, tracing his movements with a careful, watchful stare. Not that he distrusted the governor, at this point it was without doubt his motives were to protect his people and his town, but he trusted nothing of this battle for Greenest. Approaching the edge of the tower confirmed this more as the huntsman noted the quarry that was spoken of; some man of purple.

At this stage of the conflict and its escalation from but kobolds and their cohorts to an actual dragon, it was almost assured they had no credible means to kill the invaders' apparent leader. As despicable a fact that was, the man accepted this within his heart... but all the same did his great arms fold across the breast of his armor and his face scowl, mind attempting to forever etch the enemy into memory.

But above all else what changed their situation the most was that the temple, one the young woman Kyra belonged to, was lost. Brannor, as the cool, static charged air ran against the whiskers of his face, did turn to listen to the man more carefully now.

They might not have been able to stage an assault on the enemy, but a potential rescue from them would make for a reasonable substitute. If the "heroes" of Greenest could not strike back against the darkness, the very least they could do would be to deny it. Again and again, wherever it drew up its twisted visage. It was a task that had some promise.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the enemy would not have beaten them to the temple and its people. And if they did? The sole answer was obvious - to cut down any of the dragon's servants in fierce retribution. Getting there would prove difficult however, crossing a town filled with marauders...

For now though, he bide his tongue and only paid mind to the rest of his company at hand, offering Torus' familiar the slight stroke of a finger to the avian's dark, sleek, feathered head.