"Do not waste your time with an apology, these dead men received exactly what they purchased." Arthera paused her task while speaking; for a moment her attention washed over a tiny crossbow before it found itself tossed without second thought to her side, sliding a bit across the ice only then to be joined by its bolts. Such weapons were playthings for the weak of body, mind, and spirit.

"They died as they lived - like vermin. A fierce, scurrying fight until the end, only to flee when the tides turned against them."

A metallic clang sent the shortsword across the frost and fast to the side of the crossbow. The weapon had, without apparent cause, flung itself from his hip while Arthera continued on her work until she noticed the man alive. She visibly hesitated and grimaced, less than pleased with the tiefling's ramblings about a life or death situation and that yet [i]another[/i] one of these filthy things survived. Was it so difficult to kill one's enemies? These men had not made a problem of it, so why such reluctance? Arthera might have understood if these people had... well, any legitimate purpose in life, but besides that if they had voiced their cause and not been so simple minded as to threaten their band.

Not that she would have cared per say, rather it would have just removed this self-imposed cloud of doubt and guilt on some of those present, which was also ignoring she could care less what these people thought. The only one who had any right of say was the merchant who struck down the rat; the rest could see themselves to Limbo.

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Arthera uses her [i]Mage Hand[/i] cantrip to lift the shortsword and toss it casually away from the enemy in the off event he readied himself to resist.
[/hider]