Lunearo stepped up to the table, putting his armored hand on the table. His breathing was loud and metallic, as if listening to the wind in a cave. His eyes were not visible, but it was clear what he was looking at. With the other hand, he bowed to the captain. "My captain, helping people is what you do, therefore, what I do. I've heard much of Wiern, but only from what manuscripts exist. I have but one question; how many corpses do the locals bury annually?" He chuckled, then looked at their merry band. "Captain, just point and I'll pull the string. I'm betting we all would, eh? We all have nothing left to go back to, I lost my land, she's a former slave, they lost their honor, etc, etc." He took off his right glove, and etched a symbol into his hand. He then dropped the blood onto the bare ground, chanting while he did. He quickly finished, and put his glove back on.
"There, done. Ask me about that later." He saw a nearby stool and sat on it. He saw a stone and started using his dagger to shape it with runes. He watched the others all the while. "Two outta' twelve. I like my odds."
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