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[right][sub]Direct Mentions: [@Sir Lurksalot] [@Quest Abandoner] [@Alfhedil][/sub][/right]

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For the Captain's acceptance of his correction, he had only a firm nod as he settled his things back where they belonged. It felt... [b]right[/b], to have the weights back on his wrists, the plates on his legs. A familiar, comforting heft, as good as walking around with a heavy blanket for the warrior-cat. By the time he had returned his dagger- really an over-heavy short sword in any other hands- to its sheath and settled his larger sword atop his shoulder, ready for use, there came a fresh and far more pleasant surprise. The familiar tongue of his home. Tainted by the city, surely, spoken like a cat who had never stepped out of the Imperial Cities, but recognizable all the same. He perked up, straightening and peering down at Caddach with no small measure of surprise evident on his face, with ears high and eyes wide. He replied in kind, of course, his own Ta'agra unsurprisingly flawless, though he spoke slowly- aware of that city accent, considerate to it.

[color=f7941d]<"You speak the tongue well, for city-kin, Breton. Yet, I see your meaning; It would be unreasonable to expect such ancient things clean. Perhaps I should not tease your mane so. Though I admit, I look forward to seeing what old, angry things these secret places hide. I have been long without a challenge- It would not do for my muscles to grow soft guarding caravans and breaking up brawls. Your company will be pleasant, as well, should you continue to surprise me. I will call you friend, for your surprises, and for your stones. Most would not correct me.">[/color]

And then again came the distractions- As others gathered up their things, armed and armored themselves, and talked of things that interested him little. He took to checking the edge of his sword, dragging a claw along it with a faint, rasping hiss, eyes squinted as if he were sure it might have acquired some nicks or lost its sheen of oil in the careless handling of prison guards. Only the near panic from his new favorite elfling drew his attention away, a frown tugging at his features as he struggled to catch up to the conversation he had half-ignored. Once he managed, it was with a heavy snort, the sword once again settled on his shoulder, free hand reaching out to pat and squeeze Yarmira's shoulder in what was surely meant to be a comforting gesture. It was a bit too akin to being caught in a death grip, but the intention was clearly good, at least.

[color=f7941d]"Be calm, Elfling. Breathe, yes? The silly man-things do not know your ways. Come, we will march along and slay the things that lurk and scurry in these halls, and it will make the Elfling feel better. The cultured Breton-thing assures Kiffar that there are old and angry things here for us to hunt. Exciting, yes? Old and angry bones make fine flutes."[/color]

He looked up as Baurus and Glenroy were told to take the lead, beginning the group's trek deeper into the forgotten passages. A low, pleased rumble- frightening growl to some, and the nearest thing a big cat could get to a purr to those more familiar- were sign enough of his eagerness to be away. He spared a moment to ruffle Yarmira's hair as one might a wily child's, before stepping off after the Blades with a nod to the Captain.

[color=f7941d]"Come, come, man-things, elflings, witches and lizards! The Mane-of-Men has need of all arms, and Kiffar smells hunts and adventure this way. This one thinks the many-things will make good company, so get not lost. Big orange backsides are easy to follow, yes? Let the fun begin, and may our foes be many and strong!"[/color]