Alistair turned to the woman who'd witnessed his attempt to irritate the senior mage. His immediate impression was her disinterest in him, refusing even to look his way. Apathy wasn't new to Alistair, but her expression was certainly new for a first encounter. She'd strike him as Tranquil if not for her clenching brow, resentful maybe. Probably another messenger, though she wasn't dressed like a Chantry Sister or the King's men.
"Nothing like a Blight to bring us all together, eh?" he joked.
"Indeed. I'm wondering if 'Blight' is merely code for Secret Gentleman's Club Where Men Can Wear Dresses and Frolic in the Woods Without Lovers Questioning Their Sexuality." she kept a solemn face.
Alistair couldn't help a grin. He'd sworn only he made jokes this bad. "No, 'Blight' is the extremely secret password to get in the compound. 'Grey Wardens' is the code for the Gentleman's Club."
Grey Wardens, the organization of skilled warriors from all walks of life, destined for responsibility of ending world-threatening Blights, payment for surviving the poison which made Blights so deadly. The Taint connected Grey Wardens to the creatures born of the Blight itself, gruesome ghouls called Darkspawn, soulless feral monsters. Alistair had been a Grey Warden for half a year now. The fact this woman before him made such bad jokes about it all suggested she was a new and nervous recruit.
"You people are too loose with your words, then. Everybody is talking about the Blight."
"Wow!" he laughed. When she still didn't crack a smile, he dropped his with an awkward clearing of his throat. "You must be the new recruit?" he guessed.
"I must be?"
"Or… you don't have to be. But if you are and you don't want to be, I'm afraid you're in for trouble."
"My parents contemplated naming me 'Trouble.'" An unmistakable clench of her jaw and twitch of her eye before she pretended to admire a nearby column.
"Oh?" he mused with a smirk. "And why didn't they?"
"Too hard to marry off a daughter like Trouble. Can you imagine the wedding invitations? And the people responsible for Trouble are..."
"Right." he smiled. "I can see how that might be tough with the nobles. So, what did they name you?"
"Tesslyn."
"… what? Tesslyn what?" he pressed, determined to get more than sarcasm from her.
"Cousland."
"Cousland? You're a Cousland?" From what Alistair knew, the Couslands were second in power and rank only to King Cailan.
"Perhaps the last." her brow narrowed the distance to her eyes.
"The last? What do you mean?" he asked.
"Nothing. Nevermind. Can we move on?" she frowned deeper.
"Yes, we can." Alistair stepped in line beside her as she hurried down the walk. "So… have you met the other recruits?"
"Yes. I do not approve."
"I'll keep that in mind. You know, you don't see too many Grey Warden women. Why do you suppose that is?"
"Because the women are too smart to let themselves be seen," she said.
"Perhaps." he smirked at his own tease: "But then what does that make you?"
"Obviously one of the boys." she answered, bitter and impersonal, despite her aptitude for humor.
"Obviously," he said, testing how long she would let him flirt. He was disappointed her initial play hadn't carried on.
She shot a disapproving side-glance at him and firmly shut her mouth. The frown was the most constant thing about her so far.
"Do you really not like it here?" he wondered out loud.
"I damn well didn't ask to be here."
"You are so much fun!" he didn't bother to hide his sarcasm.
She didn't speak again. In fact, as Duncan gave the instructions to gather vials of Darskpawn blood from the Korcari Wilds, the Cousland Lady was sullen. No, sullen wasn't strong enough. Melancholic. She refused to speak or make eye contact when the other recruits inquired of the dangers in the Wilds. She didn't even look at Duncan until Alistair led Ser Jory and Daveth - the other recruits - away.
"Are you all right, Tesslyn? If you're not ready, we can do yours in the morning," Duncan told her. Alistair stopped to wait, curious, and nosy.
The Cousland Lady turned her head and raised her eyes to Duncan. "I'm well enough to fight. Smiling is not required to do so."
"This is true." Duncan hesitated. "Then may the Maker ease your troubles, my Lady."
She frowned again; this seemed to be a hobby of hers. "There is no remedy for this, Duncan." She walked past Alistair without acknowledging he waited for her.
Jory and Daveth bet how many Darkspawn they would each kill before they even left the compound. Jory mostly contemplated the challenges and concerns awaiting them. When neither quieted after the heavy wooden gates shut behind them, Lady Cousland shot the boys a glance of irritation and quickened her pace. It was apparent she wanted nothing to do with them.
"Come on," Alistair told the lads. "Best not keep the Lady waiting," he joked. All this seriousness was boring, but he understood the need for quiet when they were supposed to search for the enemy. Better to find than be found.
As if on cue, the sound of metal unsheathing from leather rang to their ears, as did the barking of wolves. The three of them sprinted around the cluster of trees blocking their view. Alistair honestly wasn't sure if he should join the Lady: her arms flung all about in a whirlwind, daggers mad and unprejudiced. Could he even get in there without being sliced like supper?
He also realized he didn't have a choice; she was his charge. Duncan had specifically told him to watch over his charges. He readied his sword and shield and charged, only to arrive in time to find her foot steadying a wolf's head so she could yank out a stuck dagger. And… that was it. There was nothing left for him to do.
She stood splattered with blood, dirty gray and black wolves littered around her, flooding green with shining red beneath them. She caught her breath as she watched the three men. Green eyes crossed to spy the blood on her hands when she reached up to push her hair off of her face; blood was apparently nothing new to her. Lady Cousland ran thumb over her nose and smeared a red line from cheek to cheek, staring at Jory and Daveth as if calling for reaction..
She pointed to the wolves with her dagger. "This is why you don't keep the Lady waiting." She turned and stepped over the lifeless canines. "Bloody nug-humping daffodils can't keep your bleedin' traps shut long enough to actually stick something! Sodding pair of bloomin' little girls!" She sounded off.
Alistair felt his brows jump near to his hairline. He was amused and interested by this side of the brooding noble woman. Extremely interested.
"Not much of a Lady if she talks like a pirate," Jory remarked.
"Not much of a Grey Warden if you left your balls in your tent!" she retorted without pause. Alistair tried to contain a laugh; Daveth didn't bother hiding it.
"It seems best to follow the Pirate Lady," Alistair said to the men. Daveth agreed with a giggle.
The Cousland Lady suddenly ran and dropped to her knees. Alistair had seen enough of these acts to know something was wrong. He ran after her and slid on his own knees. She was sitting over a badly wounded man wearing Denerim armor.
"I've got bandages," Alistair offered, opening his medic pouch.
"Don't touch him!" Lady Cousland ordered darkly.
Alistair looked from her face to her busy hands. She was dumping out most of a vial of blue lyrium potion; it sizzled the grass as it splashed down, leaving an effect of frost crystals.
"What are you doing?" he asked her. "Lyrium won't help him. He's not a mage."
"I could actually perform this miracle if you would shut up and stay out of my light," she snapped.
"All right, fine. You can tell King Cailan how he died, then!" Alistair shot back, standing as Jory and Daveth joined them.
"Shut. Up." she reinforced her demand from earlier.
Lady Cousland stuck what looked like a dried-up deep mushroom in her mouth and chewed it for a moment, only to pull out a wet, slimy glob. She shoved the slimy mushroom in the vial of lyrium and immediately capped it; it fizzed ferociously, reminding Alistair of a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. She gave the bottle a few rough shakes before letting it settle between her knees. And apparently it was a good idea to waste half of a bold-red healing poultice.
"Doesn't he need the red stuff?" Daveth peered over.
"What's she doing?" Jory asked.
"Trying not to kill you both," she answered before Alistair could.
"Yes. That." Alistair said flatly.
Lady Cousland switched the bottles between her knees and collected blood from the wounded man – from the wound itself – in the fizzing lyrium/mushroom concoction. She capped it with her thumb again and gave it another good shake, then transferred it to the bottle with the remaining health poultice.
She held the small bottle out toward Alistair. "Hold this," she ordered. She whipped her head up at him with a stern frown. "Do NOT break it!"
"All right…" Alistair returned to his knees and held the small bottle by the neck. She dug in her pouch once more and retrieved a small bottle of clear amber liquid. Alistair looked at her curiously. "Is that rum?"
"No, you may not have some."
"I – no." he couldn't help his giggle. "I wasn't going to ask. I was just curious why you have such a small bottle."
"So I don't have to share." she seemed to have an answer for everything. Pulling the cork out with her teeth she filled the rest of the strange health poultice-bottle up with the dark rum; she swallowed the rest of the alcohol. Her dagger tore through the soldier's undershirt; the skin had been gouged like the blade had dug in and twisted.
"You are lucky," she told the soldier gently, so out of character it made Alistair think someone new had spoken. "It didn't get past your hide." this was a tone of voice Alistair hadn't heard from her yet. She took the tiny bottle from Alistair. "Hold his arms down." Alistair did as he was told and Lady Cousland let only a singly drop fall to the wound. The soldier yelled through his teeth. She looked at the man in sympathy, steadying his body at the hip. "You're one of Cailan's men, yes? Have you ever met the Queen?" she asked.
"N-not personally. But I saw her around the castle a few times during my training." the soldier breathed deeply.
"And what did you think of her?"
"She's – lovely, for sure. The King seems to think she's a fine lady."
"Hm." she smirked. "I think she's about as pompous as a nug-wrangler's backside." Alistair snorted into laughter.
"W-what?" The soldier asked in confusion.
"I grew up around her. She doesn't even care to dry her own hands. Did you know I once soaked her slippers in fish water and let them out to dry? She had no idea where the stench was coming from – she actually feared it was her private parts, if you know what I mean. And you should have seen all the cats! They followed her around all day!" she spun her tale quite animatedly.
This had Alistair laughing so hard he couldn't hold his head up. While the wounded soldier was occupied with his own laughter, Lady Cousland applied the solution from the vial. The soldier clenched between breathless giggles. Humor was winning, it seemed. Alistair felt he was seeing a whole new side to this moody noble pirate-mouthed woman.
"There you go." she stood and helped the soldier to his feet. He pulled apart the hole in his leather armor and undershirt. The wound looked more like a fresh burn scar now.
"How in the name of Andraste did you do that?" Alistair marveled.
"You were right there. You saw everything." annoyed once again, but only at Alistair. "You should get back to camp," she gestured; a gentleness reserved for only the soldier. "If you stay, you'll only be hacked down again. These clod-heads won't shut up."
"We are not like that!" Jory defended.
"Tell that to the wolves I had to kill back there." She pointed at the soldier, "You, go get some rest. You two -" she pointed at Jory and Daveth, "shut up." She marched off. The soldier winced out a thank you to Alistair and limped away.
"Look at all these bodies." Jory looked around at the dead soldiers on the ground.
"She's sort of right, you know," Alistair said. "We should try not to draw attention to ourselves, especially with the Darkspawn as our enemy."
"What's the point? If a whole platoon of the King's best couldn't survive out here…" Jory worried.
"That's why I'm here. Grey Wardens can sense the Darkspawn. There's no way they can ambush us, I promise. We're nowhere near their base. Any we meet out here will only be scouts. Still," he added, "we shouldn't try to draw attention. It's not smart against any enemy."
So they pressed on, despite Jory growing more skeptical with each step. Lady Cousland was nowhere to be seen nor were any Darkspawn so far, but they came upon a fallen tree made into a bridge between two small hills. From the tree bridge swayed three dead soldiers, hung by rusty-looking ropes.
"Poor sods. That is what happens when people go into Darkspawn territory without a Grey Warden," Alistair said.
"That could be us," Jory said.
"The only way that will be you is if you don't shut your whining pie-hole." The three of them looked up to see Lady Cousland at the root of the tipped-over tree. She pointed across the tree-bridge. "They're not far, actually. So close I can smell them. Other side of this clever little bridge." she gave the roots a small kick. She waved at something Alistair couldn't see. "Oy, there!" she called cheerfully. "Your grunted breathing must have made it a tad hard to hear the sniveling, but the idiots are right down here!" she pointed down to Alistair and the other two recruits. "Good day to you!" she bowed to something across the tree-bridge then leapt away in the opposite direction. An arrow flew right where she had been waving from. As she disappeared once more, Alistair, and the recruits drew their weapons and ran around the edge of the marsh pond. They halted before the clearing where the Darkspawn tarried, for a cloud of black fog exploded with the sound of shattering glass. The Darkspawn were completely shrouded. A harmonious chime of slicing metal could be heard; sharp metal – not Darkspawn blades, rough and corroded. Heavy thuds echoed around the fog like bodies falling. A feminine cry of annoyance rang out.
"What?! Is that her?" Daveth cried angrily, as if Lady Cousland had stolen his glory right out from under him.
As the fog evaporated, Lady Cousland materialized, ducking to flip a stalky genlock archer. She embraced it from behind, gripping its left arm; with the bow arm occupied, she sneaked a dagger around. A reflection of sunlight before she stabbed it in the gut. The blade twisted and carved a trail up to the chin, armor and skin no longer restraining Tainted innards. The genlock slid down her front as stray wisps of black fog settled to the ground.
Lady Cousland simply looked at Alistair, Jory and Daveth. They stood speechless before her; she glanced like she wasn't sure why they stared. She gave a slight bow of her head and said, "How do?" then she turned and trotted off as if she hadn't slaughtered a handful of Darkspawn like someone with years of practice in sadistic execution.
"Do you think she's married?" Daveth asked.
"That is not why we're here," Alistair said. "Besides, I saw her first ."
"I did, actually."
"Well, she likes me better," Alistair retorted immaturely.
"The whole lot of you are idiots." she was suddenly walking back to them. She approached Alistair directly and shoved two stuffed-to-the-brim belt sacks at his chest. "I'm packed up. Do not lose these." She turned to leave as swiftly as she had approached.
"You want me to carry your purses ?" Alistair stood confused.
"Quite accurate!" she called back. "You are wasting daylight!"
"It's one of my many talents!" he answered, stringing the fist-sized purses onto his belt. "Wait! Wait, wait, wait!" he ran up to her.
"I'm not interested in talking," she stated.
"So I've concluded. Where did you learn to fight like that?" he ignored her decline.
"I'm not telling you."
"Why not? You're quite impressive!" he told her.
"Thank you for noticing, but I'm still not interested in speaking."
"Speaking lets enemies know we're here, right," he joked about her desire for silence, intentionally trying to be a pest. "But we'll kill them anyway," he pointed out.
"Yes, but while you're busy talking, they might sneak up on us, in which case the opportunity to catch an enemy off-guard means there's no way of preparing for attack, thus no way of defense. Do you want to be the person who instantly dies by a surprise attack? No chance to defend yourself? Darkspawn, of all things?"
"I… point taken. But they aren't exactly the silent type. They're more the grunting types," he informed her.
"Same could be said of you." she shot him a glare. " Do shut up. I am in no mood to be your friend. I am here to kill the deformities lurking here because I am good at killing. If you and those little tulips continue to hinder me, I will conveniently forget whose side I'm supposed to be on!" she stared at him with a passion burning behind emerald eyes. She looked lamenting, though, not evil, not heartless. Too much pain in the crease of her face.
"I'm not your enemy," he reminded gently. "The others are a little nervous. It's normal. Considering this is just part of a test, couldn't we be lenient and let them talk out their fears?" he bargained kindly. "I promise you we won't be caught off-guard, no matter how much noise we make." They stood in silence for a moment, neither breaking eye-contact. Something was off but he couldn't place what; loss was evident, but what was so bad inside to make her this violent? "If you'd rather go back to camp, that's fine. Duncan offered to postpone your toJoining tomorrow," he offered.
"And do what? Wallow there? No." she turned and set off again. "As long as the lot of you keep your distance I won't try to kill you. Very often," she added.
"You are too much fun!" he joked after her.
"Lick my bootprints!" she countered.
"Maybe when we're out of Darkspawn mud," he bargained.
Alistair walked with Jory and Daveth a few paces behind Lady Cousland as she requested, until she disappeared behind a broken mossy arch of stone columns. Just past the arch they spied a Darskpawn camp; crude fences, rigid torches serving as lampposts, a few human heads on pikes. "Where are all the Darkspawn?" Alistair muttered to himself.
"Should I slither over and take a gander?" Daveth offered.
Alistair tried to peer out further, however to update from where he stood. "Yes…"
Daveth darted from shadow to shadow, moving silently, creeping beneath trees, keeping hidden in reeds. So far no movement from the Darkspawn. Was Daveth really so invisible, or were the Darkspawn all sleeping?
Daveth suddenly made himself seen. "They're dead! All of them!" he called over. Jory and Alistair exchanged a curious glance and joined Daveth. "Throats slit clean," Daveth reported. He huffed. "So, the Noble Lady is an assassin. And she got after me for being a thief!"
The Darkspawn indeed all had their throats slit. There was no blood other than immediately around where the bodies lie, all strewn about, each with a delicate trickle of blood from an almost invisible slice across the neck. She must have moved in the skill of stealth as well, to take the darkspawn where they stood with no warning.
"It does appear she has assassin skills," Alistair agreed. "So where might an assassin go?" He looked around.
"To find a killer, just follow the dead bodies!" Daveth said cheerfully.
"That makes perfect sense." Alistair glanced around, seeking a trail. "Except it looks like they were slain where they stood…"
"Then we scout. Assassins are often fond of poisons, so we look for fresh-picked deathroot stems."
"Also useful, but, and I hate to undermine your expertise again - she gave me her purses to hold because they were full ..."
"We continue our mission without her," Jory decided.
"Very cute. I'm sure she'd appreciate that, but she is still in our party and we are not leaving without her, one way or the other." Alistair said firmly, a surprising air of authority emanating from his own voice.
"And why shouldn't we? She's already left us. She clearly doesn't need our help. I say we let her do all the dirty work, if that's what she wants, and we ship off." Jory was clearly done with Lady Cousland's incompetence remarks.
"We still need to get those Grey Warden treaties, though, remember? She has no clue where they are but I do. And unfortunately you're here with me , not her, so you've got to come with me to gather them. I'm telling you what I told her: let's try to be lenient with each other. You've all left a lot behind to be here, and none of us truly know what that means to the individual." Dammit, he really was sounding like a leader, wasn't he? He hoped Duncan wouldn't take it as a good sign and ask him to lead more often. "You might as well fill your vials since you've got a nice selection to choose from." he gestured around.
Jory agreed with this, and he and Daveth each picked a hurlock. Jory accidentally squirted himself in the face with blood when he pressed on the neck, instead of tipping the creature for a blood flow; Alistair and Daveth both laughed loudly.
"It's smells horrible!" Jory groaned.
"If you think that's bad," Alistair poked fun, "you will love what's next!"
"I'm sure I will." Jory wiped the dark, sticky, rancid-smelling blood off his face. It left his face in a smeared mess.
Daveth, apparently out of habit, looted the bodies. To Alistair's surprise, the rogue found silvers and coppers, even a sovereign. Daveth happily declared no one should ever pass up the chance to loot the dead.
"A bit creepy, that," Alistair commented. "What do you suppose Darkspawn use coin for?" he was honestly curious.
"They're not very intelligent, right? I reckon they're like magpies. Attracted to shiny things," Jory said as if it were fact.
"Or they could have, I don't know, a whole Darkspawn City. What do you think?" Alistair mused. "I mean, where do they get their armor and weapons from if they're no smarter than birds? They're probably got a whole underground market somewhere, with a smith and everything."
"It's bound to be an expensive one, if only the Darkspawn can find him and they've got to loot our dead just to get coin," Daveth entertained Alistair's imagination.
"Both of you seem to have an alarming amount of spare time on your hands, to think that up," Jory said.
Alistair grinned, Daveth chuckled. These recruits weren't so bad, Alistair decided. "This sort of thing is natural for Grey Wardens," Alistair joked. "Nothing else to do once everyone's drunk around the fire together. You should hear the gryphon stories."
Once blood was collected and Daveth finished looting, they set off again. A display of impaled heads up the hill betokened another darkspawn outpost; Alistair's destination lay behind, an ancient weathered tower. They sloshed through the marsh, with Daveth complaining how water in his boots hinders his sneaking ability.
Something felt wrong, though. Alistair felt their approach should at least greet them with dead bodies, though like the camp Daveth looted, this one seemed empty. Lady Cousland still wasn't in sight or sound. Alistair worried but tried to hide it from the men. He had a feeling he would have to scout for this woman tonight until the trees completely blocked the moonlight. A couple dozen paces and finally sounds of battle; oddly this eased Alistair's gut. Combat meant still alive, no dead bodies to collect.
Alistair's gut flipped. The Darkspawn were indeed fighting, but gathered in a circle all bashing down on something amid; a green fog hung waist-down. "Oh, no…" Alistair feared the worst – he'd have to carry the noblewoman's body back to camp, if there was anything left to carry back.
Suddenly, hands unhooked one of the Lady's packs from his belt. He looked over, and a hand clamped over his mouth as he opened it to protest.
"Shh." she hushed. Lady Cousland searched Alistair's eyes. Her pupils were dilated, her breath hot and rapid against his face even from her distance; she was running on pure adrenaline. She released his face and dug a bundle of twigs and a small ball of twine from one of her bags. She shoved the purse back in his hand and unfolded the twigs. Alistair watched inspired as they straightened into two long curves; she'd made a string-less bow. With a jerk of her bow arm, the twigs snapped firmly in place.
"Where did you get that?" Alistair hissed in envy.
"I made it!" she whispered back. She took her thin twine and strung it taut through the ends. "Ten sovereigns, they don't know I've gone until I kill one?" Her eyes glanced from the Darkspawn to her bow as she tied the ends.
"I don't have ten sovereigns," he said quietly.
"Three, then."
"You're on."
She stole an arrow from Daveth's quiver and readied her aim. The arrow flew straight into the back of a hurlock's head. The circle of Darskpawn halted, all in mid-swing, and watched the wounded hurlock fall.
Alistair muttered a curse. "I was sort of hoping you'd miss," he admitted.
The Darkspawn looked over as another arrow shot through the side of a genlock's head. Raucous outrage prefaced a charging Tainted squad.
"Was that really worth three sovereigns?" Alistair complained. But Lady Cousland was already running to meet the monstrosities. Alistair groaned loudly; he did not want to fight the whole pack at once. He readied his shield and sword anyway and ran up the rest of the hill after her. He heard the footsteps of Jory and Daveth behind him.
Lady Cousland didn't really seem to need help though. With her bow in her left hand, she used it to whip across the darkspawn faces, and while they were stunned from the sting of the bow, she would either cut their throats or stab their necks. All of her attacks were quick, none could escape her dagger. After a few slap-and-stabs, she dropped her clever bow and gripped her other dagger. Alistair glanced back in time to see a genlock hit her in the face with the end of its staff; she staggered, stunned, but quickly recovered. She glared and took stance, flipping her daggers with the blades toward the sky. She lunged in a whirlwind of fury, daggers whipping astir in a wide berth in front of her, not giving the genlock time to react or defend. Cuts were undefined from where Alistair was, but gooey blackened blood seeped out in wide ribbons. Lady Cousland put the creature out of its misery by shoving a dagger sideways in its mouth, then with great precision kicked the blunt of the hilt, sending the blade through the skull to pin it to the ground. Without hesitation she retrieved her dagger and wheeled on the hurlock attacking Jory. She stuck both daggers in the back, one at the shoulder, the other at the top of the spine. The noblewoman carved down and across, slicing through armor like cloth. The hurlock screamed, reaching for its back as if trying to pat out flames. She spun it by the shoulders about face, stabbed it center visage, and with pure ease moved on to Alistair's hurlock. Alistair had to halt his own attack because she obstructed him. Beneath the hurlock's arms she stopped, pivoted her own arm diagonally back sending her short blade straight into its neck. Again without pause she turned to level her twisted arm, shoving the other dagger through the hurlock's head; the blade sparked when she jerked it back out of the helmet.
Upon the two hurlocks and genlock attacking Jory and Daveth, Lady Cousland for once hesitated. Her eyes swarmed all over the three creatures. She stopped Alistair from joining the fight by shoving her daggers flat against his chest – a silent command to hold her weapons. She sprinted kicked in the knee of a hurlock wielding a double-edged axe. It toppled her way as its leg lost hold of the ground. Lady Cousland caught the weapon, stomped on the fallen hurlock's face, and without warning again swung the battleaxe sideways with even greater control than she'd already exercised. It sliced clean though the remaining genlock's middle; Daveth barely dodged her swing in time.
Alistair well knew he and the male recruits all just stood watching. This noble Lady – just a normal-looking woman, not remotely close to comparing in muscle on Alistair or Jory – was slaughtering barbarous enemies like she might slice bread. They watched her hold the battleaxe as a cricket mallet; she even made the swing look effortless though Alistair had plenty experience with such weapons to know that wasn't the case. The axe met the last Darkspawn in the crotch but stuck at the hip; the look about the recruits said no one blamed the hurlock for shrieking the way it did.
The axe could not be freed; Lady Cousland dropped the handle, unbalancing the hurlock. It tipped awkwardly, at the mercy of the angled blade it was cragfast on. The distressed hurlock in an unfortunate bow, already glutted with injuries to bleed out from, wasn't dying fast enough for Lady Cousland. She grabbed a crude sword and brought it down across the neck execution-style. The head bounced and rolled by Jory's feet; Jory rolled it away the tip of his sword.
Again, as if she had done nothing out of the ordinary, Lady Cousland dropped the weapon and walked casually up toward the entrance of the ruined Colosseum.
