Zatana felt the rush of heat from the munition as she flung herself towards the wall. It wasn't the explosion that got her in the end but the debris from it. Stepping free from the shadow, she tumbled to the side as the explosion shook her. Shadowstepping was useful, but there was a level of issue when you lacked that extra thousand years of practice at it. Grimacing, Zatana paused as she felt the crowd around her draw back. Black eyes look bearly over herself and cursed, silently. Her armor and cloak were charred and marked, bits were cut away from the debris that had caught her and below she could see cuts that would tending and worse. Her own ashen grey skin. Zatana had a fleeting second to wonder if she might prefer the noose to her grandfather's ire over her stupidity.

A fleeting moment as she noticed a few figured appear amidst the crowd. The first was Acrius who was growling about the lack of care the men were giving. Well, the lad had a pair on him. Good. What wasn't good was the looming giant form of a fuzzy, adorable, soft-looking werewolf. The voice that came out was from a nightmare of the hounds of Darkness. [color=SlateBlue]"Manald?"[/color] It was the same color, different armor though. Very soft looking and perhaps she had a weakness for soft things she could call 'adorable'. It may have been the reason she rarely went after rabbits when hunting and preferred the far more dangerous boar. A hand invaded her vision as she blinked at the Merik before taking his hand. Her body hurt like the hells, but it was bearable. [color=SlateBlue]"Zatana can live without rest."[/color] She corrected, though there was a tight note in her voice that could have been pain. It wasn't. It was, however, panic. This soon and she was found out as a dark elf? Her mission was going bust and she would have to ride home- or run- to explain to her grandfather. Which was everything less than desirable. The mob? Oh, she figured she could outwit them. The werewolf made that harder, but she had dealt with wolves and dogs before. Ignoring Rudolph's hand simply because her own was gripping both daggers.

Gazing at the soldier, she considered her option and arched a brow.[color=SlateBlue]"And of ten, how many reached the gate by failing of your men on this battlement? My accuracy with the bow is nothing compared to my knives. It was a logical step, and I am... half."[/color] She corrected, a lie if there was ever one, reluctantly. To admit half would lower suspicion, and if asked she could truthfully agree that the drow were horrible- save one she would never mention. Let them draw their conclusions. [color=SlateBlue]"Will you stand here like poxy fools while the goblins seize this chance of distraction to try again? I did think the vigilance of Bergkoff was in a better state of affairs. And you are correct to hate the drow, they are detestable creatures. If I appear like them, it is no fault of my own."[/color] Yes, because she could determine her parentage so well! Well, if she had been born to a better drow mother or better drow father perhaps she would think differently. Thank the darkness for her grandfather's intervention, and may she pull this off. Let them think her mother human and her father a dark elf. Let them think the opposite. Anything so long as she made herself appear less threatening than what she was. Zatana had always loved her lighter skin, it was a boon to her job as a spy and assassin. Now it would prove that she was only part, a sad tale born of a darker-skinned drow. True, save for some assumptions on their part.