It was odd to see so many people at such a time as this, in such a place as this. He got close enough to listen to them, to watch, but worked to stay hidden through choice of location as well as the power of the rune he was invoking.  Soon, he figured, he would have to turn it off. But, not quite yet.<br/><br/>He saw the group come together. He saw their attention drift to the man from the mining town, and the woman whom he seemed keen to save. Then, the woman came, and still, he lurked. He bit back a sound of contemplation, the desire to hum a note or two, that was a compulsive habit for him. But, for now, he was able to just bite his tongue and keep from revealing his location. If he knew that one of them had detected him already, he might very well have dropped the pretenses.<br/><br/>Another went to start a fire. He wondered what else they have thought of, what they have contemplated of in regards to this mysterious, injured warrior. Finally, around the time that  Dawn introduced herself, he took down his camouflage. It should be noted that he is in a position where he specifically can not be seen by anyone right away. So, it was only when he spoke that he should be seen; or, at least, that was his intention.<br/><br/>"You might want to fetch a pot, and boil some water.  All that armor means dehydration.  I've seen that kill men that sword stabs couldn't bring down," He became quiet, for just a moment. A moment of silence, where those who might wish to, could take in his form.<br/><br/>His feet were covered in thick leather boots, though their was a certain heaviness to them when he walked. This was because they were hobnailed boots; excellent for traveling over rough terrain, and capable of lasting for many years if treated well.  Judging by the scuffs here and there, the signs of wear and tear, the boots seemed to be taken good care of. Probably, they were already a few years old.<br/><br/>Thick cloth pants, dyed a lovely shade of dark green, cover his thick, well-developed and powerful legs. Physical exertion, movement, has been such a large part of his life, even since he was a child, that his legs are almost nothing but muscle. Lean muscle, not bulging, so it's actually hard to tell through the pants.<br/><br/>His mid-section was covered in mostly boiled leather armor. There was a thin metal plate, perhaps iron, almost inserted into a leather frame that covered most of his chest, and his back, but the rest of his armor looked like fairly generic wax-boiled leather armor. Like the boots, it is both obvious that it is well-maintained, and that it has seen years of good, solid use.  Nicks, superficial dents, and scratches were on the metal, leather in some area was just starting to lose its wax coating.<br/><br/>Further up, around his neck was clasped a dark green cloak, the same color as his pants. It, too, was thick cloth, and has 'scars' of somewhat messy stitching here and there, and a few patches of other colors. Like everything else, it seems like he has had this cloak for a good number of years, and has done his best to keep it in excellent condition.<br/><br/>Finally, covering his ears and most of his hair, is a simple vermillion dyed bandanna. It was tied in such a way that only a few strands of blond hair escape, and it hid his ears; one could not even see the impression of points through the material. Some of the martially inclined people gathered here, or the well traveled or learned, might identify the bandanna as belonging to a mercenary troupe known as the Red Roughs. They had a pretty good reputation, as far as mercenary companies go; not too many horror stories or nefariousness attached to them.  Mostly, they were known for the bandanna. Everybody brought their own weapons and armor, had a mish-mash of equipment; so every one of them had that bandanna, to signify their allegiance and to unify them.<br/><br/>Which may make one wonder if the mercs aren't camping around near here. They weren't, he cut his ties, on good ground, quite some time ago. Still, one may wonder. "I have some already boiled by my camp. I'll get it, but just be careful that woman doesn't turn out to be undead," He's had encounters with them, back in his mercenary days. He's always a bit wary about other people, about how they might be cursed and one of them.<br/><br/>He was also carrying a spear with him. It was a nice spear, with a haft made of solid oak, with leather wrapping here and there at good holding spots. The tip was high quality steel, and well sharpened. It had stylized 'wings' coming off from the sides of where the metal head was riveted to the wooden shaft.<br/><br/>He doesn't bother to hide himself as he returns to his camp. He already revealed himself, so it'd be wasteful to call on the rune's power again.  It would take him a few minutes to move back to his spot, get the waterskin, and get himself back to the group. About five minutes, all in all.<br/><br/>If anybody tried walking with him, he would politely but firmly tell them not to. He doesn't trust any of them... yet.