The wounded brigand held up his hands in supplication.

"You haven't heard of the Fisher King?" he asked looking nervously from face to face. Camilla frowned at the mention of the name, trying to remember where she had heard it before.

"We need to move," she said to no one in particular, "Some of those that run away might have crossbows, us all standing in a group like this."

Ivan snorted. Pausing to spit into the darkness in the direction the other brigands had fled.

"Worry not little dove, does dog fahkers be half way to zher mothers tits by now," he chortled. The big man flexed his shoulders, spreading his arms like a bear stretching.

"If you two would shut up," the sailor, Gilbrecht, interuptted. Camilla turned a cool look on the man and Ivan snorted in amusement.

"What are you talking about pirate?" the sailor sneered. The Brigands eyes seemed to be going in an out of focus.

"The locals... the townsmen..." he murmered his eyes fading in and out of focus. Camilla snapped her fingers infront of his eyes.

"Focus," she hissed in irritation before an idea occured to her.

"We aren't with this fisher person, we want to get  you back to your base to fix you up. You just need to tell us where it is."

"Tell you..." the prisoner stumbled, as though his tongue was too thick.

"Rorque Island... a few miles down... down stream."

[@POOHEAD189]