[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/HX9chmu.png[/img][/center]

Even with her violence, even with her rage, the adrenaline was peeling off. Fatigue was pulling at her flesh like iron weights, and the dozens of pains in her body screamed at her to relax, to stop, to collapse. Her punctured leg felt close to giving out, and surrounded by even more than the ones that they had just killed, she, realistically speaking, would have no way to chase down each one of them and beat them down.

And of course, because of that numbers advantage, some coward who wouldn't even show his face would go and try to convert them. Fuck this Illuminator figure. She's dealt with pig organs that smelled less shitty than these folks, if they could even be called such. And if that was the case? Atzi white-knuckled her wooden club and she slowly but steadily got herself off the cultist she had beaten unconscious. Deep breaths surged in and out of her nostrils, mitigating pain through meditation. Yeah. It would be a miracle enough if she could make it back home at this point. Night would fall, and the wolves would descend.

But better by nature than by fringe believers.

The woman, tall enough still to obviously dwarf the black-masked figure, pulled her flask of wine off her belt and took a swig, then spat the alcohol out along with the blood that had coated the insides of her mouth. Black splotches stained white snow, and she snarled, pointing her club directly at him.

[b]"Answer my question or piss off. Where the fuck is Maira?"[/b] As with wolves, so with bitches. A strong front was the only way. [b]"I handled these scum while holding back. You don't wanna try me when I'm not."[/b]