Hermesia reddened as Heinrich wrapped an arm around her, body stiffening in her natural response to being so close to one of the Elves. In this state she was ready to receive any kind of order to him, and hung on every word in case he muttered a command.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00b3b3">"I-I am afraid I am not much of a fighter, my lord."</span>she said, doing her best not to stutter.<span style="color: #00b3b3">"It is not often my kind are entrusted with viable weapons. My rifle can only heal, after all."</span><br/><br/>She had never been given detailed instructions on what to do in case of capture. Such instructions would, of course, imply that an elven position had fallen, a suggestion not suitable for Paracelsus ears. The implicit instruction was, of course, that she should be dead before a position is lost, though never put in so many words.<br/><br/>Still, her race did have their use as shock troops on occasion, and she was well-trained in the art of taking orders. When Heinrich handed her the blade, she took it without question, bowing deeply.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00b3b3">"Of course, my lord, I shall honor your wishes and cherish this weapon."</span><br/><br/>Receiving a gift like this, of any sort, was a rare treat, and she kept herself bowed deeply over in gratitude. "If there is anything I can offer in return, say it and it is yours."<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>