It took little rousing beyond the touch of pure primal nature to bring the wounded man to and it took even less convincing from the blade bearing warrior-healer to stand him to his feet. At first, arm draped about the shoulder of the stranger, the man hobbled himself on one foot in pride but succumb to the numbing pain of his injured foot. Whatever had been torn asunder and broken in it was, now by otherworldly means, redeemed into one but that did little to ease what lingering, dull injuries persisted. To call them a point of soreness was to say it in the most mundane of ways, but the guardsmen bit his tongue and allowed himself to be walked into the den of the dying.
The air was sickly, offensive in its own right with caked, old blood and the general malaise of those who were too doomed to recover from the wounds they sustained - incense or not, albeit its attempts to thwart this place's ambiance were keenly noted. It was not for lack of trying at that, evident to the outlander as he poured over them and their company with his eyes. The wounded man leaning against the other warrior's heavy frame as support worked his hands to the stone wall and helped himself to sitting in a corner, removing his coif and undoing pieces of his armor. The guard's breathless thanks was more than the huntsman needed, but Brannor granted a stern yet approving nod before withdrawing. Turning with a slide on the chalky stone floor in his traveled leather boots, he noted the dwarf at work.
It was not far off he could see the man-orc leaving either, wandering about with a dry rag and dapping away the stains of his injuries. There would be time to cleanse himself of his blood, more so the foul attackers' blood and how it stained him; here, in this city now ablaze, was not the time or place. It pained him to be so cut off from his source, both externally and internally. How it wished to be more forward - how much more it could do in this hour.
"Were you here when these vermin set upon the city, dwarf?" Brannor asked plainly, adjusting his armor to look over the now well healed dagger wounds and the scar upon his neck.
@Raijinslayer@Hekazu
The air was sickly, offensive in its own right with caked, old blood and the general malaise of those who were too doomed to recover from the wounds they sustained - incense or not, albeit its attempts to thwart this place's ambiance were keenly noted. It was not for lack of trying at that, evident to the outlander as he poured over them and their company with his eyes. The wounded man leaning against the other warrior's heavy frame as support worked his hands to the stone wall and helped himself to sitting in a corner, removing his coif and undoing pieces of his armor. The guard's breathless thanks was more than the huntsman needed, but Brannor granted a stern yet approving nod before withdrawing. Turning with a slide on the chalky stone floor in his traveled leather boots, he noted the dwarf at work.
It was not far off he could see the man-orc leaving either, wandering about with a dry rag and dapping away the stains of his injuries. There would be time to cleanse himself of his blood, more so the foul attackers' blood and how it stained him; here, in this city now ablaze, was not the time or place. It pained him to be so cut off from his source, both externally and internally. How it wished to be more forward - how much more it could do in this hour.
"Were you here when these vermin set upon the city, dwarf?" Brannor asked plainly, adjusting his armor to look over the now well healed dagger wounds and the scar upon his neck.
@Raijinslayer@Hekazu