Viola nodded at Captain Schiller's words, but didn't engage him, letting the guard go about his business. She took a deep breath, calming herself, willing the adrenaline and frenzy away. With a flick of the wrist, she whipped the blood off of her blade, wiped it off with a handkerchief, and sheathed it. Viola took in her fighting companions, the elf covered in far more blood than herself, and the rather stocky man of diminutive stature who had replaced the dark-haired woman. He'd somehow taken offense to the recommendation of looking after himself. Blind altruism always struck her as poor practice on a battlefield, but the world had no dearth of morons with death wishes.<br/><br/>"Seems like we handled the 'save yourselves' part juuust fine." She replied to him, smirking confidently. "Not to say your help was unappreciated. You're pretty good. You too, miss elf." Spotting her spear among the corpses, she picked it up..only to have the head fall off. Viola frowned deeply, almost pouting. This trip was more than a waste now, it was a damn<i>tragedy</i>.<br/><br/>"I suppose the years were going to take their toll eventually." She picked up the spear head, cleaned it off, and hooked it onto the belt running across her chest plate, and strapped the now headless wooden pole to her back. Viola turned to the other two, brushing stray hair out of her face.<br/><br/>"I think it was mentioned that the inn was the next meeting point, right?" Viola asked the elf. "I need to head over there anyway to grab my things. I'd offer a round of drinks, but something tells me," she gestures at the rubble, corpses, and grieving townsfolk, "that there won't exactly be much in the way of celebratory ale at the moment. Might be best to help with what you can, and then get moving. Either to safer horizons, or to the next battlefield, whatever might be your calling."<br/><br/>Viola extends a hand towards the dwarf and the elf, a genuine-looking smile on her face. The hand itself was covered in a sturdy leather gauntlet, but there was a blue-gray silk glove underneath, extending up her forearm-not exactly battlefield wear. "And before I forget, the name's Simoon, Tilea<i>patria </i>, of Simoon Brokerage and Mercantile. A pleasure to meet-and kill with-both of you."