Comte Olivier d'Athos de la Fere

Porthos releases his palm from his side, where stitches have broken free and left his wound (from when Oliver had kicked him into the wall and something sharp and long like a rebar had scraped and punctured). Must have opened when his feet hit the ground. He struggles to his feet, happy that the bruises have begun to heal at least. "We've got plenty of alcohol and a very big, very warm bed for you," he agrees.