One by one, her compatriots fell. The darkspawn were far too numerous, and her fellows were even more woefully unprepared than she'd feared they would be (not that the arrogant bastards had cared to heed her warnings). Dispatching her current foe, she spared half a moment for a head count. Including herself, only three of them still lived, and the other two were back to back and surrounded by a tightening knot of at least eight darkspawn.
"No," she muttered to herself. She did not survive Ostagar and everything that followed only to die here for someone else's reckless stupidity. Steeling her resolve, she rolled to avoid a hurlock's swipe and rose to find two genlocks moving in to flank. With a fierce cry, she rushed them and, at the last moment, vaulted over their ugly, deformed heads and then melted into the shadows. Her fellow mercenaries' dying screams rang in her ears as she fled the field, but she would live to fight another day.