Unflapped by the exchange between the women, Brannor remained mostly still with his arms folded across his chest and his towering posture content to remain in its claimed corner. Every bit of him would have been tingling with anticipation that the scene would go too far, but Parum's heart had won the day; she had at least for the moment tamed a spirit that had become unchecked. To the man of the wood and wild, the idea that the cleric had become enraptured by fury was no surprise. After all it was the nature of the very faith and magic she wielded, one not too removed from his own, that made it fertile ground for becoming free, at times [i]too[/i] free. 

Chauntea was a divine force of domesticated nature certainly, a mirror to the primal Silvanus, but even a god in the cosmology still answered to a power nothing one could ever freely command in whole, that being the wild in itself. This noted, it goes without saying that if it takes a greater goddess, one who even had the [i]Pale Lady's[/i] favor, to so much as tame it in part then a lone mortal could never even dare to. Shepard's bouts of internal turmoil and loss were to be expected, needing only guidance from good hands lest she turn from the light she so craved to the dark that had surrounded her.

The addition of company, of which made no subtle approach as Brannor's ears noted without delay, complicated things more. Not that he blamed them for their desire to be present, especially not with the sergeant's reaction to the wizardly acts being carried out by the elder Torus. What was a relief throughout this, as with the priestess' earlier willingness to still reason from her smaller counsel, was that they dared not interfere or assume the events going on for themselves. The woodsman was, understandably so, none too pleased with continually falling under their direction, but their motives and need were certainly not ill or insurmountable requests; he would not abandon their plights or utterly discard their worries or wants tonight.

These things were all well and good progress... until the woman began talking, shifting about in an effort to remove her blind and find comfort in her steel bindings. 

[i]"Another chance you say? Being captured does not usually mean such things now, does it? But I know not how much I could ever use it. The Cult of the Dragon will not look kindly upon those who leave... and I have no intention of doing so. We are too close. The great hoard that will usher the reign of the Queen of Dragons is almost complete. Greenest was but one more place for us to gather treasure."[/i]

Brannor's expression changed from a place of mild attentiveness to a narrowed, deathly stare by the time her words revealed she had not an ounce of repentance for her deeds against Greenest. What arrogance this woman displayed in the face of her captors, rambling about how great a "hoard" they were gathering and how some fiend had the willingness to consider itself royalty. Of all people in the room, perhaps the hunter had the most reason to disdain or distrust these towns people and those that ruled over them, but he would certainly not terrorize or kill them, let alone pillage their livelihood and even less so for some scaly beast.

[hider=Rolls]
Brannor rolls a [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/2855]1[/url] to recall anything about a "Queen of Dragons" or a "Cult of the Dragon". As far as he knows or is concerned, the woman is nothing more than a babbling fool and true believer made through indoctrination by evil powers.
[/hider]
[@Hekazu][@Ryonara][@Lucius Cypher][@Gordian Nought][@Norschtalen]