Al glanced behind him at the sobbing girl, and heaved a sigh. Shouldering his heavy blade, he stepped into the bed of the wagon, and lifted up the manacle.
"If you don't wanna hurt her, fine. But let's give this back before we bail." he said. "Hold this."

The swordsman left his claymore in Serpica's lap, and tossed the manacle between his palms. The iron bracelet had heft, and the target, he saw, had a rider, some deranged elf who decided to protect her for reasons even he couldn't discern. Elves were weird. But still, the target was a bright red, easily discerned against the stormy sky.

Al's foot arced in the air, before swinging down. His entire arm grew taut as his hand followed through. The manacle left the wagon at blinding speeds, faster than even a crossbow bolt. Its target: the dragon's snout.

"And with that, we can... what's that noise?" he asked, looking around. "What's the, hey. HEY GET OFF THE ROOF."