Keyla nocked another arrow, pulling it back along with the string of her bow. Not that it was any use. The grey men had all dissipated. She turned her body toward the man who had earlier blocked her path with a wagon, her nocked arrow in his direction but in the instance before it's release the man was attacked. The young archer lowered her bow slightly.

The death of the beast happened in the blink of an eye, falling upon its enemy's blade. The opposing man had not come out unscathed, his jaw bone was exposed through a large slit in his face. He was smiling now. A smile that Keyla, through her experience of years living on the streets, knew was going to lead to danger. She watched the blood drip down his face.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked the crowd. Keyla looked around the room, others may possibly know, but not she. In her years on the street folklore and history and such trivia as who-is-whom had been replaced with forging and survival skills. 

"If you are so proud," She calls out, "Why don't you spare us the liberty of guessing and inform us yourself?" she says with the rise of her left eyebrow. 

[@Shade]