Opening his eyes, Morr stared through the view-slits in his helmet up at the stone-ceiling. He had long ago lost the reflex most people felt compelled to act out to rub the sleep in their eyes away, what with him having the unhealthy habit of often sleeping in his armor. The nightmares did not keep him from sleeping really, he had become used to them, yes sometimes he even embraced them as just punishment.<br/><br/>Remembering yesterday's occurrences, Morr instinctively reached for his side, finding his broken ribs properly bandaged. He also had an array of cuts all over his already scarred chest, how had that happened?<br/><br/>Rising, he inspected his surroundings, recognizing them as that of a hospice, him laying on one of the beds. To his left, in the next bed, lay the concealed man he had saved from the fiend yesterday.<br/><br/>He unseated himself and began to reach for his breastplate and sword he spotted open in the corner.