It hadn't been hard for Marcel to kill the Spriggan, despite the fact he was not used to them, and the left over pieces of the dryad's body laying on the ground seemed to fill him with more determination and courage, rather than the usual feeling of melancholy he felt after a kill. Perhaps this was because the fight wasn't over, and adrenaline had not finished its rush through Marcel's veins. One way or another, he moved forward, smallsword at the ready, towards the Matron - only to witness the witch get chopped by an axe-wielding lizard. He hesitated for a moment, and realized that it was the Argonian from the party that had crippled the Spriggan.

It took a moment for Marcel to change targets, as right after the amped-up alligator's assault, the old brute of the party started to swing at the Matron, almost shearing off a good amount of Marcel's face in the process. Moving from behind the man to avoid an accidental faceful of zweihander, Marcel pushed himself forwards the last Spriggan, whose hands were wide open, perhaps in the midst of casting something, or perhaps simply trying to grasp the spear that had lodged itself in its bark. His silver smallsword pierced right through the witch's chest just as the glow of magick materialized around the Spriggan's hands, interrupting the dryad's action. It seemed quite perturbed by the sword impaling through the midst of its torso.

Marcel pulled out the smallsword shortly after the attack, and the Spriggan spent a few moments trying to perceive its seemingly lethal wound. Not wishing for it to do anything crucial before its death, Marcel lifted his sword and brought it diagonally towards the barky neck of the witch, chopping in deep, hard enough to take its life, but not hard enough to decapitate. Marcel found the strike well-placed nonetheless, and it would be asking too much to wish for a thrusting sword to chop through a beast of wooden make in one strike either way. 

''I sincerely don't know how these witches come to be,'' Marcel spoke as he pulled out the Altmer's weapon from the carcass of the Spriggan. ''My master was able to speak their language. Shame I never learned it from him,'' he mused as he walked around, stabbing more holes into the bodies on the ground to make sure the party would not be surprised by a sudden regeneration.

-

Sadri was quite satisfied with the way the fight had went. Well, he was not happy about the pierced leg of Elmera, and Leif's crisped face, but he had seen such fights against the Automatons go much worse. He was fine, so was Solveig. Nobody had lost a life, or a limb (at least there was no need for [i]immediate[/i] amputation). The Dwemer machinery were all dead. The rest he could pay less mind to. They still had a job to do, after all. 

There was only one way forward, and go forward, the rest of them did. Leif had stayed behind with Elmera, to watch the elevator, and probably also to recuperate. Nobody could expect you to walk with a bolt through your thigh. That would be just plain rude. 

Although he had hoped to go alongside Do'Karth, it seemed that the party was not able to decide on a second delegate, and thus, ever being the professional, he cursed internally at the ones he knew comparatively less for not letting him go alongside the Khajiit. He watched expectantly as Do'Karth moved out, and actually ended up happy that he wasn't chosen when bolts and arrows flew Do'Karth's way. Of course, he had a feeling that had he been alongside him, they wouldn't shoot - but then he remembered how he felt when looking at his reflection, and concluded that they'd have shot at him too, most likely.

He turned his head slightly to look at Solveig. He heard someone shout, and took an action-ready stance as the Imperial youth, Sagax, lunged forward like a headless chicken, shouting in the name of the Emperor, swinging his sword. One eye was still at Solveig. She was truly born graceful.

[b][i]''Sagax, you fucking idiot!'' [/i][/b]

In these beautiful words, was partially the reason for his love of Solveig. She was honest, primal. Maybe he was just being too much of a romantic by trying to find aesthetic in his love's curses, but everything she did had an aesthetic of its own for Sadri. She moved forward, next to Do'Karth, and this was primer enough for the Dunmer to move.