Sir Nordin
Nordin sat straight up with a groan,, placing one hand on his back to try and relieve some of the aches. It didn't work. He glanced around to see everyone else was now moving, and at least not dead. He slowly clambered to his feet, attempting to stabilize his still-dazed mind with the added burden of his armor. First thing to cross his thoughts was to check his belongings. His mace was but a few feet away, his shield was still on his arm, and his satchel of provisions was..... hanging in that tree. Upside down. "Terrific...." he groaned as he moved to retrieve it.
After a bit of a struggle, the branch finally yielded and relinquished it's treasure. Al didn't even have to look inside, but did so anyway. "By the Maker..... even the cheese is gone." he let out with a heavy sigh. He strapped the small leather bag back to his side, and sought to aid his new acquaintances with any troubles they may be having. His first thought was to the elf-woman, who had just popped her arm into socket. He knelt down beside her and offered his only healing salve. "Are you alright? This is all I have, but you are welcomed to it if you so need. Ehmmmm.... you.... wouldn't happen to have remembered anything from the wagon would you?"
He was nervous about what her reply may be. It wasn't his finest moment, and having a conversation about it was not on his list of personal joys. Thankfully, a voice seamed to call out from the woods. A young girl dressed in rags of leather, with long black hair. She had an air about her that wasn't quite right. Years of Templar brainwashing kicked in, as Nordin's mind profiled her as either a witch, an apostate, a barbarian, or just a crazy girl. He quickly ruled out barbarian when he saw that her only weapon was a dagger, and surely the savage folk of the Korcari laugh at such a meager blade.
Nordin was a bit on edge, but he couldn't assume anything about this girl. He chose to address her just as she appeared: as some lost stranger wondering through the woods. "Hold there, stranger. None of us here are seeking trouble" Nordin spoke, using his carefully crafted intimidating Templar drone voice. "We can ill afford to take chances, so if you do seek our company I would ask that you lay down your dagger.... and... any other things you could use to stab us." His hand drifted over his mace, which hung loosely at his right side. Nordin didn't know what to expect, but hoped she would comply.
After all, there were enough blade-wielding strangers around him for one day.