A monument to his strength, the candles circling her fighting limbs had been a vigil to her dead hope. She size of her strength was written in the simultaneous agony it fought back in her facial shadows. He would have expected at least this much from the warrior. But she forgot some of that pain when he took up her weapon. It made him weigh it dramatically in his palm on his way, to elicit more of her anger. He liked the smaller things like these, her hearts; the horns, the blade. They were getting to know each other, weren't they? Delighted he avoided the courtesies of her small attacks. It was exactly like a maiden offering to put up coin for dinner, when the courting sir knew it wasn't necessary.<br/><br/>She was livid, as much as she could express, when her sword sliced into her feathered reaches. But she could do very little, even a novice soldier could have read her movements now, so Rysalt could turn her precious flight-hands into wastelands, sieves of the air instead of reins for it. Oh, she looked lovely then, when he took heaven from her. That was a face he appreciated. He wondered if he could make those deathly morbid faces available to him often. A master knows his pets trick, eventually. Rysalt gave her slight smiles in return for the entertainment. That was all she was.<br/><br/>Like his men, she had expected her conclusion at the end of his sleek cutter, but he only killed the strap of her protection, which ushered in her nudity. There is something delicious in stripping a proud warrior, and have them do absolutely nothing about it. He didn't stop at just that, but made sure all of her possible covers were in the sand. She was natural, like the beast she'd been born, wearing the marks of his punches. It was clear by the uncomfortable lift in his pants that he liked her body. She looked like a capable athlete, with womanly bends where they should be. It was cruel to let her have this design, a killer that was also incredibly fitting to be a whore. He looked at her with as much sentiment.<br/><br/>Pliable now, sent to the ground with his assault if not for his grip on her precious horn. He groaned in satisfaction to see her fall apart, hanging by that curved hard structure out of her head, when the truth of her useless bravado was revealed. He cupped himself and rubbed in vulgar circles as her wards were presented. New wrath in her, but it had no muscles to rally. He kept a comfortable hold on her natural handle while she drank in her futility, spelled out in so many disappointed faces. Rysalt waved his hand and held up three fingers, and a family of as many lost their lives on spears. Their corpses were still warm, stacked infront of the line of refugees. A last embrace - mother, father, daughter.<br/><br/>"Bow." he said and his voice traveled. Her group was allowed that much movement, should they decide to save their own hides at cost of their pride. Rysalt was sure they'd be reasonable. He laughed darkly and shook her head at them, so they could see their hero, hollow winged and battered. The men in the crowd, even the ones she'd hoped to protect, seemed to have eyes on her. She was lovely in her defeat, after all, having been their salvation, glorious, and now practically prepared for carnal services. It is always in a man to want to make bedmates out of better women.<br/><br/>Rysalt leaned down to speak into her ear. "Look at them. Were they worth it? Their families are in danger, and all they want is to have at you because you're beaten." Fathers and sons, they stared at her with some well-known hunger, and it tented their clothes with bulges inferior to Rysalt's. "We're all vile, Aryel." he promised and nodded to have a single head detached from its neck. Another body to the departed family soaking the sand with unneeded blood. He was simply using death to punctuate his sentences.<br/><br/>"You can't save them with your strength." he said and shook her head again. "But your body can still protect hem. And you can entertain them." Logic of the winner. He stuck his tongue into her ear before standing up straight. It was disgusting, really, how easily the men of the crowd were staring now. Perhaps their prejudice about her divided lineage was being satisfied, despite her scramble to help them. It was clear in many of them, that they wanted Rysalt to be as crude as he intended. Perhaps he couldn't blame them, they might just want something sordid to watch before they died. "Get me off, cock in your moth. Let them see. I'll spare the rest for now if you're good." It'd be quite the show. Their hearts would be poisoned with dread while their hot places would be inflamed. "Comon." he said and let go of her horn to let her fall however she wanted. "If you're skilled about it, it won't be your last meal." He put his hands on his hips, waiting.<br/><br/>Their eyes looked to her still, and it was especially wrenching from the men, who wanted her body, but also wanted her help. It would seem unfair, if she took Rysalt out of the leather trousers. While human, he'd been endowed with a monster arm where it mattered most, and it would look at her, drooling already.