The half-elf’s voice distracted her as he picked up on her display. The thief inwardly grinned and glanced at him with her big doe eyes as he spoke to her.

“If you’re scared, then stay close to us. You may not know it, but we need your help as much as you need ours, okay?” The pathetic attempt at consoling her had almost caused her to chuckle. Dasmira knew that it was likely she could very well be the downfall of this half-breed and if anything, they were helping her achieve her goal. After all, carrying around sacrifices if the need arised was always a personal favorite of Dasmira’s; she’s done it before. She’s used innocent warriors to protect her from those she has crossed and it has sometimes led to their deaths; if it did, she didn’t cry or even feel a slither of guilt. Business was business. The hybrid continued, “By the way, I don’t think I ever gave my name. I’m Serkan.”

Shit. Dasmira almost cursed under her breath; he certainly will be expecting her name now, a name she was not willing to give. Quick, a decoy name – Arimsad Sinotaro is pretty clever, if she doesn’t say so herself. However, before she could dwell more on the fake name, clattering smacked against her cochlea and caused her body to freeze up.
Bones trembled and rattled as bodies began to rebuild themselves into fierce soldiers with swords and shields. Fury emanated from them, pulsing so loudly it was almost tangible. Dull swords, scorched and broken, were held in skeletal hands whilst blurred and scratched shields were thrust against bosoms. Dasmira’s eyes were opened in horror; her tongue had become so dry, she felt she could swallow it. Nervous sweat adorned her forehead like liquid diamonds and sweaty palms slipped in the folds of her coin skirt. She had no time to retrieve her rope dart, but her arm deftly slid over her shoulder and to the handle of her trident.

 “You should know better than to take something from the fallen warriors. Those who are dead this way, generally don’t stay dead. Idiot.” The old man – the one with her gold, no less – insulted and Dasmira scoffed.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, [i]crook[/i]. I didn’t take a stash from a poor innocent working woman’s room, now did I?” She lashed and tugged the trident from its slip; the pronged spear’s handle which was once short and bulky, extended three times its length and snapped into place.

The liar had done it just in time as an undead had approached her. His face was grotesque with half of his skull missing, including the eye, and unshed flesh clung to his arms like armor. His jaw was unhinged and hung in a silent, forever roar and once-missing ribs were still clacking back into place. Dasmira swung her trident and pierced the fiend, twisting it and breaking the ribs with painful snaps. With her foot, she uprooted the weapon and spun it around to knock the other half of the skull off with the blunt end. She ignored the raving fire-magician-person who she refused to acknowledge had an awesome skill's comment that was most certainly directed at her.

“I’m not strong enough.” Dasmira called, knowing to keep up her pretenses despite the situation. “We can’t hold them off forever, not with me as dead weight – we’ll have to find somewhere safe!”