Keep yer shirt on! The dwarf grumbles as he rolls out of his bedroll. *Mumbling to hisself,* 'Oy, just started and practically pissing their claims on top of everything, bloody elves. Seen more restraint from a rabid curr.' Grumbles as he straightens himself up. "Well met Tenshi and all. I is The Harbinger, and look for ward ter playing yer dwarven band-aid box. Expect yer salves to be salt-cured, yer bandages to be courser than John Wayne toilet paper, and these healing hands to be quick efficient and to come with 'Anesthetic' if ye complain." A harsh grin spreads across his face as he looks to a well worn and used sap of weighted leather, with the word Anesthetic lovingly tooled into the broad leather face. "But if'n ye listen to the care I tells you to take, you may come out with nary a limp."