Beard wagging left and right as the Dwarf shook his head, Bruggin stamped forward, already chanting aloud in Dwarven.
"Inkar-nahk ashtagh mir tohn der gahnt,
Acht orrehn nir ossuf nilu duhm..."
Pausing, he placed his hand on the wounded Dwarf's arm, above the burn so as not to cause further discomfort. Eyes closed, he murmured the last syllable of his chanting, sending what was likely far more healing magic flowing into his subject than was likely necessary, but even if Bruggin was a difficult soul to wrangle with rules, he was still a stalwart and caring Dwarf, posessed with a heart of a forge, even if he did not work in one.
Fiery to the last, but filled with worth.
---------------------------------
Converts one Recitation into Cure Critical Wounds.
"Bruggin rolls 4d8+11, getting [7,1,5,8,11] = (32)"