The words of Raux’s master echoed through her head. She took the lesson to heart in the past, and is now relaying such valuable wisdom onto an unwilling student. The lesson? Pain is an excellent teacher. Though subtle, she gave the poor fool a fair warning. Her choice of wording, describing herself as a cornered animal, or prey, was meant as a soft hint to not be taken so lightly. And it seems that the age of a dark elf, not that she’d know he’s a dark elf, did not grant such wisdom.

One by one her fist struck home with a sickening crack. She smelt blood in the air. She felt droplets that had been sprayed from lacerations she created. After one final strike, she planted her arm into the grass and flipped her body through the air to reposition herself. She was no longer straddling the man,but instead was positioned hovering over his head with a fist raised high for one final and fatal blow. The muscles in her arm quivered with energy as she drew on her full strength.

But the fist did not fall. The sound of quick feet and shuffling instilled a moment of hesitation. The sounds of pitiful struggling was quick to completely capture the beastkin’s attention. Her fist lowered and her head lifted. Her ears frantically swiveling to pick up the disturbance's direction. That was when she heard a voice. Talk of someone’s execution. Raux had quickly clutched the drow, who kindly introduced himself as Sorna by the throat and prepped to raise him for ransome for the captive’s lives. But… that seemed unnecessary. She felt him struggle, and heard a hand raise into the air.

This… was a moment in her life if any where she hated her blindness. He could not see what he was doing, and instinct forced her to raise a hand and quickly clutch the arm. Normally… she’d waste no time in breaking it. But the feeling of the muscles felt completely off. Was he not reaching for a knife? Her jaws parted in a look of bewilderment, and frustration. Her body quivered with adrenaline and the anticipation of an assault… but nothing came. Instead she only heard a sigh of relief. Did the men back off? She smelt no fresh blood being drawn, the air did not taste anymore of iron, and there were no sounds of choking gasps of air.

Raux, unable to completely discern the situation, set her jaws and released the defeated drow. A sign of mercy, choosing not to destroy a possible threat for what might be a display of kindess. She rose to her feet, and gave the bloodied gentleman a bow. A sign of respect. Despite the pummeling, a fight was still a fight, and he had displayed honor by openly challenging him. Even if she had killed him, he would not forget him, and she’d bury him herself.

She lifted herself and her staff from the ground, and turned her nose towards the grew of thugs and the two girls. She gave a sniff. They all smelled strongly of salt, water, and baked skin. All of them were men of the sea. She couldn’t identify any of them apart, as not a one had spoken a word. She sighed, and shook her head. Two individuals in this mass were nearly in danger, this wasn’t something she would be allowed to ignore. 

She craned her head and spoke out. Her voice was soft, and spoke of a gentleheart somewhere despite the brutal display. But it carried through the air very clearly, and with the charisma of a priest’s apprentice. “To those whom’s executions were waylaid, you are welcome to come with me at the price of simply stating your name. You may find me odd, but at least a small step up from your current company. Anyone who wishes to stop them from chosing their own fate, I will personally relieve of and strangle you with your intestines. That is no threat, it is a promise.”

With that she spun on her heels and felt her way back to the group, with both scent and touch. And when she retuned, she had found that there were new additions. The capybkin who was trying to convince the warlord to come. And a man who’s behavior was nostalgic and inspired homesickness. He reminded her heavily of one of her caretaker’s and master’s back in the monestary. A shrewd and blunt man who disliked screwing around. The Raksha couldn’t help but feel embarassed. Her ears spun and laid flat on her skull as she looked away.

It wasn’t their fault that some lot decided to attack a group she decided to follow without permission. Soon she looked up when she heard two leave. She took a sniff in the air… the man who had scolded them, and the one dressed in a full harness on horse back. She turned back to the capybkin, and slowly tilted her head.

“My sincerest apologies for stepping out of line, and speaking over matters I have no knowledge of. But I am afraid that persuasion only works on those who wishes to be persuaded. I can not see his face… but his scent… his scent and heartbeat is that of a man who’s been defeated in a war not possible in the physical realm. I do not believe mere words will persuade him. This is a wound he'll need to heal himself.”