Pox mental facilities kicked in at the scene before him.  Sizing up each member of the conflict.  Qwendar, old, injured.  Woman, Syril, injured.  Merchant.  Not a combatant.  The leader, armored, sober, convicted, weapon drawn.  The other two, lackeys, but sturdy, reasonably healthy, high on adrenaline.  There was a crowd now, a lot of by-standards.  Collateral damage.  Unacceptable.  Pox considered his options.

[b]Combat was out of the question in this instance.[/b]

Much to his chagrin.  He had no idea whom was right in this.  Sybil was a victim, easily swaying emotion, particular if the Hunter was her friend.  He would ignore her transgressions which seemed common in this lawless place.  Qwendar pleaded with him.  'Please Pox.'  Pox signed in his mask.  He was asking Pox to kill either him or that poor girl.  That is what the doctor was worried about and he was no guardian.  Too many risks with too little reward.  It was cruel but true.

"I swear why does everyone make that distinction.  I sell snake oil, its good for arthritis."  [i]Read a book.[/i] Though he didn't say that last part out loud.  He approached, try to come to the old man's side as he addressed them hands raised to disarm the situation.  "The woman can't pay if she's dead."  Pox proclaimed with logic in his words.  "And right now, her ribs are getting quite cracked.  Give her a chance to repay her debts.  For instance, I'm off to patch up your captain on the East Road.  Maybe her 'Snake oil'  will do some good in that instance.  Surely I can put in a good word to him if I come bearing gifts."  Pox turned to depart.  "Something to consider sir knight.  Maker bless you."

Pox put a hand on Qwendar's shoulder.  "This is a battle you cannot win."  he whispered.  "A battle we cannot win.  You are a good man, and this is just a small part of a great evil.  If you truly wish to stop these travesties.  Walk away for now, and we can win another day.  I know its hard.  But trust me."  He hoped the Hunter would see reason.