With no way to help the wounded horse, Salah led Zephyr to the far side of the shelter while leaving Ser Gabriel to tend to Zealot, taking stock of the inside of the shelter as he did. He suspected that the farmers' concern about Sers Ricktor and Mortimus (if such men even existed; certainly, Salah was unfamiliar with the names) were founded primarily upon the hidden distillery. The greater concerns, however, were the metallic odor and ominous words coming from the trapdoor, and - still worse - the disquiet they engendered in Ser Gabriel. His assessment of witchcraft served to unnerve Salah as well; the young knight had not expected to find such evils so near to Archades, nor was he familiar with fighting them. As he took a moment to gather his resolve, Salah hoped that warlocks died the same as other men, and that Neustarr's blessing would protect him from their foul incantations.
"Of course, Ser Gabriel." He responded firmly, drawing his sword and hoisting his shield high (to protect his head and chest) before nearing the trapdoor. Narrow as the stairwell beneath it was, he elected to grip his sword just above the crossguard, suspecting that the better mobility it would afford him was of greater import than the power behind a wide, sweeping blow. His preparations made, Salah ventured down the stairs and through the dank, dark passage, keeping a close eye out for the sources of both the now-overwhelming scent of spilled blood and swelling voices.
"Of course, Ser Gabriel." He responded firmly, drawing his sword and hoisting his shield high (to protect his head and chest) before nearing the trapdoor. Narrow as the stairwell beneath it was, he elected to grip his sword just above the crossguard, suspecting that the better mobility it would afford him was of greater import than the power behind a wide, sweeping blow. His preparations made, Salah ventured down the stairs and through the dank, dark passage, keeping a close eye out for the sources of both the now-overwhelming scent of spilled blood and swelling voices.