As much as Brannor knew some quiet conversation was held, it was neither his business nor his interest what was exchanged between the two polar voices. One was old, weary with age, while the other was quite youthful yet. One man, one woman, both involved in some finer topics - something the student of the hunt would have found interest in had he known the subject at hand, but alas as he did not, he paid it no further mind over the other few voices that arose now and then. This was wise, as when the reveal before them played itself out, no one was there to greet them but the "shadows" that melted in and out of the inky lantern lit darkness of the keep's underbelly. Able to see, quite well at that, Brannor ushered the group onward and inward without questioning the ordeal.

The masks were right to keep out of sight and mind, lest of course they spoil their carefully crafted and surely coveted surprise they had in mind for any kobold or follower of the blue dragon find their way here. Whoever they were did not matter really, whatever aura of distrust they put off could be ignored in the face of a common enemy, an adversary much more coordinated and powerful, at least here. It was with this rationale that the entourage were kept moving forward without a moment of tarrying, all up until the unexpected allies of Greenest and the survivors of the temple saw themselves into the attention of Longwater.

The man, a bit worn by the night's battle, kept up his station by vetting and accounting for those who survived. A task that, to someone of this village, was both a joyous and grim notion; to know who had survived and those likely dead... or worse. The paladin assumed the latter, that worse was what the darkness had in mind as whatever evil possessed the hearts of these [i]things[/i] to assault the keep and it was related in some sort to the dark priests accompanying them. Dark minds often were born of darker magics, ones more sinister than anything perhaps any of those present knew.

Of course such an assumption could be woefully wrong, but anyone who had cast their lot in with an evil dragon were unlikely to stop just there; like the light that anointed the warrior or the priestess, one that still burned ever so dimly in the rest, perhaps not more awakened yet, the darkness ebbed and flowed in the not too distant background.

Longwater and those still resisting were those dim lights, one that caught the attention of those present and who moved to him. It was at this point Brannor faded away, allowing the people to mingle and merge as they did without much order. Distinct as he was in their midst, both by shape and scale, but dress as well, towering above them, his duty here to Chauntea's people had drawn to a close. They risked their lives for them, even the mage did at that, so it came as no real offense to hear that while they could not capture the enemy, not a single head was so much as harmed; not one hair marred.

With a stoic nod, a trait the man practiced unconsciously out of lack of common tongue to share, the huntsman turned himself away and began about his ritual, just as he did before. He would clean himself of the stains that had now adorned his leathers at their edges and the vicious steel of his weapon before resting. Albeit he stopped midstride to speak to the company, should they have need of him again where he was to be found.

"You may find me with the water, when you need me again."

And like the predatory ideals he embodied, he vanished around a corner thereafter in a few calm, plodding steps, content to take his rest.

So it was he set about repeating himself in gesture, taking up the time he had to rest the mind and spirit as much as the body. If anything the heart was the most settled. It had been tested and it had been proven. Brannor was certain there was something in this endeavor, as odd as it began days prior, that related to this town. That the [i]Silver Lady[/i] had meant in some way for this to be.

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