Adjia's mask, never the most welcome of sights, must surely seem like a diabolical moon as it appears around the fierce Jaka and gazes down at the richly dressed man.  Her dry, wry tone echoes a little behind the impassive Djaffa craftwork.<br/><br/>"<em>That</em>will depend on whether one of these beauties will fulfill my one scruple.  I could ask you why you thought it a right and meet thing to steal a Sarista wench from her kinfolk on the say-so of an Aamanian murderer, but I don't really care to know."<br/><br/>She turns to regard the girls for a moment, then returns her gaze to him.<br/><br/>"The Sarista comes with us.  Perhaps the other, as well.  And if you value your immortal soul, you will not pursue, nor send any others to pursue...else I shall personally conjure daemons with your heart and liver to make flutes of your bones and bind you to them so that your shade shall writhe in agony whenever a tune is played on them.  Is this clear enough for you?"