B
Beowulf
Guest
Buras like so many others turned towards the sound of chaos and the cry for a healer. He was not a healer, not of flesh at any rate. But he was curious, a morbid fascination for what might be needing a healer, and was drawn towards it. What he found threw his heart into his throat. The Arbiter lying face down with a wound in his back and a steadily growing pool of blood beneath him. His eyes quickly flicked to a she orc as she drove the axe that had apparently caused the wound into the wall.
"Do not blame the tool for doing what it was made to do. Blame the one that was using it." he said as he strode over to the wall and embedded axe. He had no talent with healing aside from managing a burn, but he did know metal. "Give me that axe. If there is an enchantment on it of corruption or some other nasty, creeping enchantment we may need more then physical healing." he told the she orc as he reached her. "Do not question me. Do as I say and his life might be saved."
"Do not blame the tool for doing what it was made to do. Blame the one that was using it." he said as he strode over to the wall and embedded axe. He had no talent with healing aside from managing a burn, but he did know metal. "Give me that axe. If there is an enchantment on it of corruption or some other nasty, creeping enchantment we may need more then physical healing." he told the she orc as he reached her. "Do not question me. Do as I say and his life might be saved."