Bent coppers. Not normal everyday coppers, bent and tarnished ones. She was infuriating and annoying and he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that he might pay more than that. Or just how much he was freezing at that. His hand shook as he let the blanket dangle from his fingers and the cloth rustled softly. It was dry enough at the least, even if there was only one of them. Which meant that they would have to share.
Dammit.
He shook his head and frowned slightly. His mind was slipping, and he was needing to focus. He had to focus well enough to stay awake. Falling asleep was going to get them killed. He couldn’t die, not here and not this way. He made promises to keep to his friends back at the Tower. He had baked goods to steal and stories to share. Beth would love the fact that he jumped off a waterfall, with some random and annoying elf.
“I got captured, and the bloodmages that did it sold me to a bunch of Tiventer slavers. They thought it would be funny.” He replied with a snort of laughter. “They ceased to find it funny after I snapped the slavemasters neck. Then they just stuck me in a cage and jabbed me with sharp things.” A pause before he added. “Would have still been there two, if the ship wasn’t attacked by pirates.”
He /did not/ abduct her dammit. He /rescued/ her. There was a difference. Mostly from point of view of course, but it was a difference none the less.
He turned back towards her before he frowned slightly. She /was/ taking off her clothes. Usually this was the part that he enjoyed, or the part that he would make a snide comment at. It took most of the effort and strength he had left to not fall right over so instead he simply frowned at the blanked once again. His other hand gripped the fabric before he lifted it up and dropped it around her shoulders. “Here. Hold this.”
Relieved of his burden he began to work on the buckles that held the remains of his armor to his frame. There wasn’t much left to be honest. He had already removed that singular plate boot he had left. The rest was padding and his normal clothes of leather and fabric. He struggled out of his shirt first before dropping it in a sodden pile on the rock floor. The removal revealed scars that were scored in deep silvery lines across his back. Scourge and whip marks to go along with the blade and arrow scores on his arms and chest. Not the easiest of lives do Templar have it seemed.
He started working on his pants and smirked with just a hint of humor. Clearing his voice he took on an obvious growling and angry voice that mocked whoever had given him the order. “Ser Demarc,” He growled out while gesturing imperiously. “I know we have had rumors of bandits in the area. However, you are to go search the area for maleficar activity and report back what you find. We can’t send anyone with you of course. You understand. Off you go, try to get yourself killed /this/ time.” His voice returned to normal as he smirked back towards the elf. “Like I said, my superior seems to delight in attempting to get me killed. I keep coming back to just spite him.”