Tordor studied these two women who had addressed him. One, as expected, seemed already rather hostile toward him fresh from talking to one of the large pillars of black liquid scattered about the landscape- for whatever reason. More interestingly by the looks of her, she seemed to be a dwarf-kin, much like those who inhabited Rhul in the east. A dwarf being present here wouldn't really surprise him. Yet, there was something very strange about this one. Strange attire and the odd pitch to her voice aside. 

Then there was the stunning red-head who by all accounts looked human. However, Tordor could sense there was certainly something off about this one; he could sense a kind of affinity he could not rightly explain. It was at that moment a chill ran down his spine as he keenly felt not so much sensed the awakening of one of his more volatile spirit allies. Though [i]ally[/i] was perhaps far too strong a word. 

[i][color=191970]“Why do you still rely on your human senses? I see far more than any mere mortal”[/color][/i]

The unmistakable haughty tone of the soul trapped within his sword echoed within Tordors mind. Instead of responding Tordor merely took the advice for what it was. All it took was getting himself into the right frame of mind. He blinked and suddenly the world around him took on strange new hues and colors. The very life force of his opponents became visible to him, or in the case of the red haired women, lack there of.

Amethyst fires blazed in the center of her being, unlike the bright blue auras that centered and pulsed from the dwarf and younger woman. Tordor knew the undead intimately enough to recognize when one was standing right in front of him. He also knew enough of people to realized from her question and apparent confusion, she wasn't aware of what she was apart of. But how could that be?

Tordor fixed his hat to his head more firmly as he placed his right foot behind him, to a keen eyed observer they would see his movement had incidentally made him a smaller target.[color=DarkSlateBlue]“Well, it’s quite simple my dear,”[/color] He began. [color=DarkSlateBlue]“You’ve been forced into a game of sport by some wanker called ‘The Liaison’ who happens to have few things better to do with his time. Still you're lucky, most in this kind of situation would have simply attacked you unprovoked. But I know a much better solution to our shared predicament.”[/color]

As he spoke he brushed off his sleeves and fixed their cuffs as if he were readying for some strenuous activity. [color=DarkSlateBlue]“You need only vocally surrender and you're likely to be returned to exactly where you came from. The fella hates quitters but he’ll have no choice. Simple as pie.”[/color] He added with a wink.  

[color=191970][i]“Bah, foolish mortal sentimentality.”[/i][/color]