The more the Elf tells him, the more Marric's blood begins to boil... to the point where he feels like he'll be throwing flames from his knuckles without needing to shift into his female form. What kind of weak, pathetic sell-swords would attack a city full of farmers and merchants to get what they want? If any of them had stepped to him, they would have...<br/><br/><em>Well, hell... there's an idea...</em><br/><br/>After doing everything in his power to calm himself down, Marric approaches the elf and puts a hand on her shoulder.<br/><br/>"I think ya should let one o' them go... but not until he an' I have a meetin'. I got two shards, now, and if they know that... well, they'll be focused on gettin' to me rather than gettin' to the town." The monk's grin is positively<em>wicked</em>as he meets the mage-woman's gaze. "An' I can promise ya this... I'll make sure I drag anyone who steps up right back down ta the depths of hell."