Dunor stands silently for a moment. He contemplates his blood-stained weapon, already showing signs of strain due to its aggregate, ramshackle nature. It could probably do with some repairs, if not an outright replacement, and more fighting will just damage it further.
Then he looks down at Sertranian, the man's body too-light and limp in his arms. For a moment, a vision haunts him as the elder historian grabs at the warrior and pleads with him, asking why he couldn't have been saved. Dunor shakes the delusion from his mind, breathing deeply in, then out to focus himself.
"I am ready to be done with this place... but until we are sure that it is clear of this plague, this place is not done with us. Let's make sure those townsfolk we rescued have nothing more to fear, so they can truly be safe."