The intention that carried with the hastened sword, its edge gleaming amidst the chaos that was ever steadily gaining momentum, was not so much a deathly blow as it could have been, but a mortal warning. The shunt of air intervening well, it caused the enormous leonine form to absorb the brunt of its impact and be driven back by a few paces, but not before the swing connected; a sonorous hum filled the air for the aging mithral weapon sung in reply to the wind its blade carved through, ending in a powerful clatter of buckling metal and the thud of wood. The tall, narrow profile of the candelabra that had laid across the fine wooden floor, the same the Ritari had been clinging to in order to rise up to his knees moments before, was cut clean in two.

The metal smoothly sundered, it spoke volumes to what it and its bearer could do to a man.

Her arm and shoulder raised in a defensive posture to shield her upper half, the Huntress leaned into the wind until it waned, the remains of the old, formerly ebon robes she wore about her massive person fluttering about in their tatters; the magical gale's strength having caused her to drag the sword across the once fine wooden floor and leave a clean hewn path in its wake. The gap had increased, but it meant truly nothing to the hastened veteran, who peered with the cold eyes of a hardened hunter at the mage.

It was all very much business, but this man strangely had done nothing to try to kill her yet, despite the pressure and menace she exerted on him.

As the winds subsided and her remnant clothing settled about her powerful, beastly frame, she willed the shielding arm down slowly and idled a spell; she knew that any arcanist worth his salt would recognize the gesture, as she made no attempt to disguise the spell in her people's now dead tongue. It was then the abjuration began to coalesce about her palm, wrapping itself in a nearly transparent aura, readied for what she predicted to be the counterattack with the sword hand keeping the blade steady and no higher than her waist. The intent was to either take the brunt of his own attempt to dispel the hastening magic that sheathed her, or to encourage his own actual spell's cast; something that he seemingly was intent to do as he grasped a foreign talisman.

"You are outmatched and outnumbered, mage." Sakaala's keen ears flicked at a strange, cold chill that accompanied the creaking of the once grand manor but continued all the same in her strong voice, "As while I do not know if you or your order serve this 'Zargon', still your spells and perhaps you might yet keep your life."

Both eyes, the one keen and the one blind, narrowed and her brow furled low as she attempted to read the invader's demeanor and person; from what it was she was told, this was a fight between two wizardly collectives, with some greater stake over these stones... that portion of which directly concerned her. She could care less as to which one were more "righteous" in their quest, but more to that this evil be hunted and rightfully destroyed; men, particularly those with magic, were petty things and perfectly content to squabble just like the commoners they thought themselves ordained over.

The expression he had shared earlier was strange - when his eyes met her own, almost with a gleam of curiosity, respect, fear and disappointment as one - as was that he made no effort to actively kill her with the obvious magic he could command. She played in reply, cocking her muzzle and head ever so slightly to the side, glancing over to where Lady Genevieve had fallen then back to him. Whether he did or did not pick up on her innuendo as to just who he was and what his business truly was, was perhaps irrelevant, but the scarred ranger needed to try at the least.

She did not trust the mage and she certainly did not trust Lady Genevieve.

[@ArenaSnow][@Belwicket][@IcePezz][@Jon Y][@vietmyke][@Zero Hex]