Giving the guard a quick nod, the warrior rumbles, 'Thank ye, Sir.'
Planting his knee in the prisoner's back, Wulfcyne shoves his gnarled hand into his backpack and whips out a pair of beautifully detailed manacles, the links strong steel and shaped as strong hands clasping forearms, and the actual clasps that the veteran soldier snaps on the prisoner are grasping dragon's claws.
Human assassin secured, the warrior gratefully accept the aid of the Jorasco healers and asks the Oriens for a noterized statement naming the prisoner as the group's charge.
Looking to the wakened waster, Wulfcyne asks with a sly smirk, "Did yer beauty sleep right yer mind, Makharat? Cause yer face be ugly a'ever.'