Freiya's mind was in turmoil. The sweet exhilaration of battle lingered still. Awe and admiration in Overlord Levran and his battle with the mage child. But atop it all was rage, vast and impotent. Their battle with the bandits had been for nothing. They had been just thralls, playdolls of a _mage_. And the perpetrator in question had fled and not even due to their efforts. Freiya herself had been close behind the one enraged Paladin who had been torn to shreds. It was only by a stroke of luck she had been slower, speed hindered just enough by her heavy armor to not have been the first to reach their target. The difference in power between herself and a damn child of all things, it made her sick all the way down to her gut. Had it not been for the timely arrival of Overlord Levran, all of them could be just bits and pieces of torn flesh across the battlefield or worse, mindless husks to be controlled by the mage. The thought alone sent cold shivers of disgust up her spine, though she suppressed expressing it.

Uncorking her wine-skin just as Dys arrived, not unlike herself furious over the previous events. Listening to the dwarf, Freiya took a long gulp from the wine-skin. **"I agree with Dysmoira. Had it not been for Levran, we might as well all be dead or mindless marionettes. But he is an icon to look up to. A waypoint to reach and surpass. For all of us."** The blonde woman said gruffly, handing the wine-skin to the dwarven woman. The very little Freiya knew of Dys was that the dwarf liked her drink just as well she herself did. And after the events of today, Freiya was feeling sympathetic enough to consider sharing.