It feels ridiculous to imagine a creature such as her sniffing cautiously at a cup of alcohol. But if it can be described as anything at all, that is what she does: holding the aluminum cup in front of her and taking several short, loud whiffs before daring the tiniest and most timid sip someone of her stature is capable of. Though the rest disappears down her throat in short order. 

She throws the cup in the fire when she's finished. And then she laughs, the short barking bursts of the deeply amused trying to master themselves and failing utterly. 

Her gaze turns to her Master. Her hand reaches for her axe. The bending of her limb and the sheer length of the handle lends an effortless sort of grace to the motion of loosing it. It is only now for the fist time that she lets her other arm leave the earth. It is in this moment hat her spine uncurls and her knees straighten. 

Her neck doesn't lift with a King's pride. Not yet. She's spent too much of her life hunched over for that; she must stretch it out first to give herself back the proper flexibility to tower as she was meant to. But now that she is lifted up, she crests over nine feet from the ground. She is a monster, and everything about her is too large and too long.

"It is true," she says with a finger tracing the blade of her weapon, "That this woman is utterly worthless. She cannot supply me with mana. She is not a tactician, I am not even certain she knows what a war [i]is.[/i] She cannot lift me up. She cannot even take care of herself. For a body as broken as hers, a warrior's death is the best that I can offer her."

She turns away from Diaofei to look now at the old man with the raven. Her eyes are frozen fury.

"But she called to me. And she has faithfully obeyed the demands of her King. You are correct, Nofather. Your story makes no sense at all."

Some would argue that she is a fool for sacrificing the surprise attack just to trade words and defend her drunken, dozing Master. But others are watching. With the speed at which she pounces, the way the axe lifts above her head in an instant, and the certainty with which she brings it down on the old man's head...

What need hath a warrior for skulking? When victory is at hand, why not grab it? If a head is offered to her so plainly, why should she have to play tricks just to claim it?

The might of her strike is enough to fell a thousand year old tree in a single blow. It shakes the earth and drives the winds to storming. And [i]that[/i] is why she charged for hospitality, you fool.