There was a bit of relief in him when Wyl seemed to understand this. Most people gave him the most peculiar look that he wouldn't ever understand, but not this one. Maybe common folk were in the same vein of understanding? He could only hope. Either way, there was a nod and the softest tinge of a smile on those seemingly lifeless lips.<br/><br/>The half-breed was announcing he was leaving about the same time that he actually was gone. It left Volen sitting there, alone. He looked about, listening carefully with what energy he could muster. It was awfully quiet here, and he relaxed after only a few attentive moments. For now, that was all he could manage. His gaze settled back over the clothes in front of him and he reached out again to test the vest, running his fingers over the fabric layered over the leather. He would have never figured that on his own. He also wouldn't have stolen the clothes. That little moral down-tick caused him shift uncomfortably.<br/><br/>Moments of necessity.<br/><br/>That's what he needed to remind himself of now. They had to be few and far between, and discerned with the highest discretion.<br/><br/><br/>He jerked back awake when Wyl returned, having nodded off. Just that small bit of food in his belly and the weight off had him resting so easily. Lids fluttered a little and he just looked at him as he spoke, the sluggish response finally coming as he gave a nod of his head and  and sat up a bit more. He began working off the tattered mess of material, having to struggle in some parts to get out of it with how it was clung to his body and twisted in the remaining strap of metal underneath.<br/><br/>What hunger and stress had carved away had let the last band of metal slip down lower. The chain tossed over his shoulder and wrapped around to keep it silent had kept it in place now that the muzzle had been severed. The heavy bit of raw iron had been hammered only so much as to make the form crude. The edges were jagged, leaving rungs of skin rubbed raw and flesh torn against his now prominent ribs. There was a thick ring in the center of the metal monstrosity where the face mask would have been attached by chain. It was hastily scrawled in the metal, the inscription that translated to 'Raise Your Prideful Head No More'. It was vastly less finished than the mask, some sort of cruel afterthought.<br/><br/>He balled up the shirt and tossed it off to the side before sitting there and looking to the elf. He finally turned to give him a bit of his back so he could work. While the chains had been a reminder of the new cruelty he faced, the entire mass of flesh from his shoulders down to the start of his hips was littered with a very old one.<br/><br/>Dane's entire back had been transformed in a litany of flesh. The wounds were old, but deep. The scars had aged but their lines had been dug into perfection, the embossed design of the writing suggesting had been done over many settings. It would, after all, have taken quite a while for the words to set in, and they were still completely legible. A prayer that the man could have never had carved into himself. Not with the way it curled over the spine and worked into the dips and divots of his body. It even carried slightly over the back of his shoulders and onto his arms, turning skin into a textured canvas. From a distance, and in the dark, it could be mistaken for scales with the constant and twisting precision. Those who had seen it before had commented on how it looked like he always wore chain armor on his back.<br/><br/>The more seasoned folks who had laid eyes on it recognized that it was carved only in places that could have been hidden and covered by a shirt.<br/><br/>"Simple iron," Dane stated finally. "It should cut easier...if your blade will cut plain metal." There was no latch on this one. It had been heated shut on the side. He still had the welts there to prove that.