Still shaken by the sight of the undead horror that assailed them, Bróin is silent as he slogs through the marshy muck alongside his comrades. This silence carries into the morning and for most of their continued trek, and seems poised to hang over the Dwarf for the rest of their journey... until a yelp of pain escapes from his mouth. Leaning down to assess his leg, a string of expletives pour out of his mouth in long suppressed rage.
It seems that a fat, bloated leech had latched onto a tear in his fine pants!
Gripping the little monster firmly, Bróin grits his teeth as he tears the creature off his leg. Motioning for some bandages he wraps the wound as best he can before continuing on.
Vara, nested in a pouch in his beg, speaks up haggardly. "To... hazard a guess Bróin... I'd wager you're... starting to regret this little adventure..."
Pausing as he looks down at his old friend, Bróin can't help but let out a much needed laugh...