The descent into sleep was a welcome distraction from the waking world, albeit this time it was far, far longer a journey into its depths. No mere passing dream, it was the sort of plunge into the unconscious that one only had when they were at their weakest; when they could no more resist sleep than any other foe. Rather than fear or fret in this place, the ferine soul could be at ease. There was no struggle between primeval urges and the tempering of humanity, only sublime peace. It was what relief was needed now more than ever, to be away from a night of battle.

But Brannor did not sleep forever, let alone long. 

After the passing of some hours, just enough for the others of his company to settle their business with each other and the town of Greenest, the man stirred awake, the call to continue their crusade in pursuit of the cult not falling on deaf ears. It was, as with any other thing of instinct, an inexplicable urge. The outlander had no bodily desire to rouse himself from the crude bed of straw and burlap, but the call to the hunt was far, far stronger than he; far more powerful than the underlying sting of his in part healed injuries, many of which had been soothed by the touch of the lunar blood through him. So possessed now of this compulsion, Brannor mended himself further before donning the trappings of his leather and chain armor. 

The splint, which he had cast off in this weakening throes before his rest, was now distinct to him and what a mauling it had endured. It had served its purpose, yet he the man feared for a moment just what was to come once he revealed himself again to the people of the town. At the time, his actions felt as though to him they made great sense, but now in hindsight, would they still tolerate him? Or was he to become the new enemy of this town now that the other threat had passed? It ate at him, the doubt that his service, a light of hope in darkness, might be so easily betrayed because of just what these people were - little more than scared peasants. They had no appreciation for nature's power or its glory, the priestess was proof enough that when riled even her divine conduit was stronger than she imagined and far more red in demeanor than people dared think it.

While they, his company might have understood, Brannor did not think the people of Greenest itself would. So when he clasped his cloak and threw over his shoulder the remains of the splint to rest upon his pack, he made himself no obvious figure to the people outside; stopping only by deed of the governor who, in apparent continued thankfulness, awarded them two alchemical bottles. [i]Potions[/i]. The man, admiring the reward, swirled their contents about within their glass, viewing them with a particular wonder that was far more than amusement; such concoctions were often born of the world outside, collected by herbalists who knew the bounty the land provided in its natural ways. What little surprise was it as he thought about them in his observation that Greenest's clergy of Chauntea might know more than they understood.

Packing one of them away for a moment of dire need, the hooded hunter offered the other to his companions, all of whom had apparently been willing to hunt down their common enemy. They stopped only one other time thereafter before setting out on the road and that was to return the armor, beaten and broken as it was. To pleasant surprise, the smithy, whose forge was already well at work, offered to do the deed - either not knowing just what Brannor was or not caring that he was dealing with what many would see as a "beast" - for only a minor fee. The men, at least the soldiers, had no issue with bestowing the armor as it seemed and for a few coin, Brannor could return to collect it.

Fortune had smiled upon them as it seemed...

... and it continued to, for not long into their travel, they bore witness to smoke on the horizon. Not of flames like Greenest had been, many of its buildings raided, damaged and scarred, but rather a lone billow. Off the path as it was, several miles over and out, it was a strange sight to behold. The elder took no time in debating as to what they were going to do with it, no, instead calling upon his avian watcher in a whirlwind of black feathers and strange magic. It perched itself briefly as he talked, watchful eyes darting about as its head observed them all on the path then the rolling world beyond.

[i]“War soars upon the meekest updrafts while peace brawls against the gales of a hurricane. It is now the way of the world. We must change it.”[/i]

The hunter nodded initially in silent agreement, his arms folded across his great chest, speaking only when the briny druid came to a slow.

"If favor is still with us, they are the meek of our enemy, perhaps those injured and limping along." Brannor said, looking across from Orchid on down to the halfling, "Or they are travelers themselves, perhaps even the others we saw on the caravan before we left to reclaim the town."

The back of his fist brushed the silver amulet that hung about his neck, reaching then to the bristled hairs of his close kept face. He thought further for a moment, becoming less idealized and more practical in his musings once more.

"Whatever you choose, our quarry is likely not swift. We might have time for such a delay, as at worst they will only be a day ahead of us."

[hider=Effects]
Brannor will place only one of the [i]Potions of Healing[/i] on his person for emergency. He will offer the other to whoever else wishes it within the group.
[/hider]
[@Hekazu][@Ryonara][@Lucius Cypher][@Gordian Nought][@Norschtalen]