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Seeing that Nyke's focus was fully on the imposing figure of Horus, Zevemar dropped his staff to one side and knelt beside Hercules. For all that he disliked the other man, he didn't want to leave him as a smoking corpse in a back-alley, especially not after a loud brawl and with the telltale traces of magic on him. A small voice in the back of Zevemar's head (one that sounded remarkably like Quilla) suggested that dead men tell no tales while living ones do little else but the Half-Orc dismissed it. 

[abbr=Medicine Roll | 16 + 1 = 17 | SUCCESS]With one green hand, he tested Hercules' breath and pulse and with the other began chest compressions[/abbr]. His strength was enough that it took only a little application of force before Zevemar's former bully went from stillness to slow, halting breaths. He was stable, for now, and was no more likely to pass beyond than Achillis, still asleep in his own bile.

Looking up at Nyke, Zevemar gave the other man a look somewhere between a scowl and a sigh of relief. "He's fine, not in any more danger. But really, you're outnumbered so it might be time to just, you know, go our separate ways?"