It's not as if he'd never been magically healed before, but the blood magic was new and quite unnerving, to say the least. Normal magical healing was a soothing experience, the magic itself assisting in the process of closing up wounds. This felt more like the magic was demanding the body to heal itself faster by force. When the warmth had subsided, he took a careful step, as if the leg would give out under him, only to find renewed strength.
"Aye, ser." He responded to the mage, not wanting to press the issue on him getting in over his head. Sure, they had saved him earlier, but he held his own with the rest of him. Maybe the mage just hadn't seen him.
On that last thought, Jarrik retired to one of the rooms. Stripping out of plate armor was a lengthy process, even practiced hands would often welcome assistance. The chain shirt that went under the breastplate was especially tricky, a single man operation involved some rather humorous bending over in an attempt to shake it off. Once he was free, off came the leather that padded the heavier layers. Only then was he finally free of the whole ensemble, and about a size smaller with it all removed.
Scrubbing and polishing all the filth off until each plate shone took longer than even washing himself. Afterwards, he donned a vest of fine Antivian leather, along with matching pants and high boots, from what was made available. The short sleeves showed off the extensive Riviani tattooing dominating his arms.
Finally finding his way to the dining hall, he sniffed lightly at a crystal decanter of wine set out. He smiled and exclaimed to no one in particular. "Heh, it's the good stuff." Before procuring the whole vessel and finding a seat for himself.
