Just as the boat was preparing to cast off, a strict-looking female accompanied by two soldiers and the half-elven girl from before caught Lewin's attention.<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #808040">Oh, balls, she was captured that quickly?</span></span>he thought. He recognized the inquisitor's badge of office, an elaborate shortsword, and sat in place, conflicted. On the one hand, inquisitors were powerful - on the other hand, not necessarily skilled in combat. Maybe if Lewin got help from his kinsman, he could dispatch the enemies, grab Fossil once more, and get away. He motioned to the sailors.<span style="color: #808040">"Stay put."</span>He then got up, bastard sword in hand, and spoke flatly in a matter-of-fact voice.<span style="color: #808040">"Well, I hate Lorsoul, his persecution of my kin, and the slave trade the bastard endorses. This other fellow here has reasons of his own, and the other three are escaped slaves. It stands to reason that we'd like to make Lorsoul's life as awkward as possible."</span>His magical reserves were far from replenished, but it wasn't like Lewin relied on his magic entirely. His blade was enchanted to be light as a dagger in his hand, and his armour was all made from the finest materials - a luxury afforded to him by years of scavenging and clever spending of fat bounties. He bounded out of the boat, eyes screaming red murder.<span style="color: #808040">"The girl decided to leave, but seeing as you've brought her back - with incentive to stay this time, to boot - I shall be happy to take her off your hands and leave. Weather or not you stay as breathing or dead things, I leave entirely in your hands."</span>