At the sound of a voice, Isala spun around on her heels and glared at the man through the mask. Slowly, she rose her free hand up, and pulled off her mask. Her entire face was covered in a mask of scars, some long and some short, criss-crossing and running parallel. She lowered her hand until it rested limply at her side, like the hand holding her staff. A deep breath was inhaled, then exhaled. "I thought Tal-Vashoth left the Qunari to get away from their ideals. But it seems that you have simply taken them with you wherever you go," Isala stated, giving him an even gaze.

"If you want to question what I can do, then let me make something clear to you," she continued, now turning to look off towards the Wilds. "When I was Saarebas, my duties were to rest, train, and kill Tal-Vashoth. I rested little, trained most of the time, and spent what was left killing your kin. If I failed in that duty in any way, if one of your kind escaped or if they killed one of ours, then I was punished. Beaten, whipped, cut. For every scar that you see is every one of your kin that I missed, or every one of mine that died that was deemed my fault by my Arvaraad. I received my last five years ago, and I have been free for only a few months. I am good at killing skilled warriors, and darkspawn are near mindless rabble."

She brought her mask up and covered her upper face once more, and planted the butt of her staff in the ground. "I was trained to enjoy killing, as that was my purpose in life. So, please forgive me if that is what happened." She reached down and lifted her back, slinging it over one shoulder. "Now, unless you would like to make any other foolish assumptions, we should be on our way. Arvaraad and the dwarf are likely waiting for us."