"Wake up!"
The sentence was harshly cold, uttered with brutal efficiency. The slayer awake, face washed, and it showed his visage a lot clearer. No injury, no festering wound, aside of many nasty scars across his face, he seemed normal.
But that's not the case. Edwarg shot a glance at Linea, upset with her sudden outburst. "That's not really necessary, you know."
"It is." she snorted. "Let me remind you that we are not here for charity work. And what you are doing right now doesn't even count as one."
"No, I think he needs medical attention."
"He is in a drunken stupor!" she snapped. "He exhausted himself, he is completely wasted, not dead, nor crippled. We are wasting time here while out there, we have some of us who might facing an immediate danger, or already dead."
Edwarg was not backing up, but Linea had a point. "Then help me fetch the priest or whatever so someone else can take care of him and we can go."
Frost crept from Dixie's foot, freezing the filthy water to stop it from spreading. She then reaches at the bag on her back, pulling out a mask made of leather, with an inlet where she could place a small rose-scented soap in it.
A muffled gasp, and a few deep breaths later, and Dixie asked, "His sense of smell and taste must both be completely obliterated by this point... Actually, how is he even still alive?"
"Thanks for the help, lady and if you don't mind, please take his poor gentlemen's helmet."
He turned at barkeep. "Good sir, I am sorry for all of this mess. I assure you will be adequately compensated for the cleaning cost, but before we settle that, could I lend your men to help me carry this gentleman to your terrace?"