People's Army of Sonoma

Kaylor knelt beside the stream, his discarded tunic on the ground beside him. A chill rain dripped from the barren branches overhead, soaking through his cloak and trickling down his back. His focus too centered upon the fight to lend it much notice, it wasn't until taking his leave of the tavern that he'd paid any heed to the rent in his armour and the sanguine rivulet coursing its way from the torn flesh beneath. He dipped a cupped hand into the icy water, bringing the cleansing liquid to the wound which, while certainly not mortal, was deep and would likely prove a hindrance until healed. He'd do his best to hide the pain and whatever limitations it threatened to cause, for it would make poor excuse to attempt explanation to Chalnoth when he had none to offer. Who his assailant had been, why the man had drawn steel against him, how he'd even known who he was - all questions without answers he was determined would not remain so for long.