Walker was silent as Kaath went about responding with something bordering on excitement. The man glanced at Ruby as she broke out what looked like first aid supplies and seemed dead set on cleaning up his shoulder. He had better things to do than argue or fight over it, so he silently assented to her ministrations, shrugging off the cloak and pulling his arm free of the sleeve to expose his wounded shoulder. What was exposed was a patchwork of scars of varying sorts, the usual assortment of puncture, slashes, even burns, though this was probably nothing new for someone who dealt with would be heroes and adventurers. Cocking an eyebrow at her at the muttered praise, he redressed his shoulder and arm with little waiting nor fiddling about with the far more expertly done work. His normal approach was grab something suitably strong in alcohol content, take a swig, then rinse out the wound before crudely binding it. He could tell her stitchwork was a damn sight better than his usual approach, so he would leave it be.

	[color=598527]"Deft hands, you've probably stitched up quite a number of people if I had to hazard the guess."[/color] The man didn't address the remark on having 'done great' according to the murmured remark. He was starting to get a rough picture of what to expect, skill wise, from this woman, doubly so when she went about studying the nightmare oil that she'd acquired. She'd have fit right in among the scholars and mage quarter of Istvargraad, and he honestly wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or insult. Depended on the week, he supposed. Still, with that, Kaath chimed up again, first asking two questions as to who was with them, and if anyone had been lost. The ranger captain, well, former ranger captain chimed in and answered those two questions before the other two could say something stupid.

	[color=598527]"Just us meddlesome humans three, and in spite of efforts to the contrary, seems all of us made it. At least in physical body."[/color] As he answered, Walker fished out his lucky pipe, weighing it in his hand and huffing, going about cleaning the pipe since they had time to actually sit. He'd not given it a proper cleaning in awhile, and while no amount of effort would restore the former engravings and clean ivory, it was far better in craftsmanship and quality than someone of his standing would have. Still, since he didn't fish for a pinch of tobacco, he was at least cognizant of the fact smoking in here would be rude. Or he simply couldn't since it was needing cleaned out. It kept his hands busy while he evenly met Kaath's gaze, listening as she rattled off those that had come before them. Fantastical races, including those extinct or, perhaps, having never existed outside stories, including the fates of the Kites that had taken more barbaric sounding individuals.

	[color=598527]"Luck or a by product of our rather lacking numbers. Maybe both. Given what you've said thus far, a guide to this 'Bruise' will be useful. Desperation is an old friend, I suppose, so no small shock to find it in the heart of the Kite's puppet master."[/color] The string, in a very metaphorical term, was linked to one of the first freed. Given their numbers, that was probably the gypsy looking one, as he'd woken up before the seamstress and then they ran afoul of Keepa. An unpleasant fight by all accounts, and a reminder that he was going to need something a lot more hefty than an arming sword, knife, and a crossbow. Satisfied with the cleaning efforts on the pipe so far, well, he went about mostly holding it and considering the situation at hand. He'd eaten his share of the fish before being tended to medically, so he had to keep his hands from being idle. Nothing good came of it.