If not for the situation and his person, Marcellus might grin. This Lewin man might prove to be a rather interesting person. More importantly though, Marcellus was focused on the blade the new woman held. He'd not seen a blade like that since his parents murder; it was the symbol of an inquisitor.<br/>He was moving before he had time to think. Drawing his hood back up, he reached into himself and brought forth his power. The warrior was clearly exhausted magically, but Marcellus was not; this was likely to become a battle for survival, the kind in which your allies are chosen for you by chance. Reaching forth, he could feel the soldiers and inquisitor below. The inquisitor was hard to get a read on; clearly she'd been trained to withstand mental attacks. The grunts, however, were a different story. Mounting the ship's railing with a flourish of his cloak, he whipped one hand forward in a bizarre gesture; it didn't actually do anything, but it added to the theatrics that made mental magic so effective. With a shout, he reached into the soldiers and summoned forth a wave of crippling, soul crushing fear. The soldiers began to shake. A few dropped their weapons. One may have pissed himself. Each of them, however, stood stock still with terror in the path of the warrior's oversized blade. With his other hand, Marcellus reached into the folds of his shirt to produce a dagger and, with one fluid motion, threw it to the feet of the slave girl where it embedded itself in the ground. Then, drawing two more daggers from his sleeve and thigh, he leapt forth and blitzed toward the inquisitor just as the defected soldier on the ship sent a flurry of arrows flying forward. Sprinting between the stricken soldiers and directly at the inquisitor, he suddenly dashed to the side, turned, and found himself behind her. Bringing both daggers forward in a scissoring motion, he aimed to cut the woman's head clean from her shoulders; there would be no mercy from a cornered rat.