Searching for a moment in thought, as worn as he was, the man took in a long, low breath. In it, he drown out the worst of the senses he experienced in the odor of this musty tomb to be, choosing instead only to focus upon the failing floral incense. This pause, the rise and fall in his armored chest as he examined the remainder of his mostly healed wounds, was enough to remind him what must be done - how the enemy still lurked at the gates. Having heard clearly the dwarf's insight, he nodded just as quietly at first but soon replied as he withdrew his inspection of injury.

"These dragons and their pathetic entourage have wrecked enough havoc on this evening. If you have a healer, we require their curative touch." 

Brannor adjusted the leather of his harness, its straps jingling lightly at their metal rings against his worn chain armor as he then neared a bowl with several crude wooden cups beside it. The water, clear as it was, would suffice for drinking and wounds, but it had other properties and uses as well; some of which were more a matter of spirit and less a matter of flesh. As with any beast, careful to partake, his eyes shifted back to the dwarf briefly.

[hider=Effect]
Brannor's passive Perception of 13 detects Ramando's Stealth check of 9.
[/hider]
A great figure moved silently in the dull ambiance, not far from the man or dwarf; a shadow in the few orange points of candlelight, but no match for eyes fond of night. It was certainly no kobold, that much he could discern before it vanished again, but even he seemed small in its presence. Whatever it was, as it then disappeared elsewhere into the infirmary, did not seemed to raise alarm. Brannor's stare broken, he looked back to the dwarf as he filled the empty cup with water - avoiding tainting it with his bloodied gloves.

"More than anything however, we could use others."

He insinuated directly to the dwarf, decorated in his furs and so obviously out of place as was he. Here and now though, he drank quietly as well, with his back squared firmly to the keep's wall. Not long after he finished, his thirst far from sated in truth, he spent the tiny remainder upon the wrapping of his cloak about his neck, wetting the worn green material. Carefully the cup was set aside and his hands worked the silver medallion upon his neck, running over the tiger's fearsome visage with the damp cloth.

With its luster returned... so did his; a glint of that same vein in his own eyes.

"If you are not free to join us, or any others you might have, we will be on our way soon to deal with these matters with our band alone."

[@Hekazu][@Phoenix][@Raijinslayer]