If Mahsati was expecting the others to be right behind her, there appears to have been a miscommunication, as they have stayed behind in the temple, content to watch her slaughter from a window on the first floor, or discussing their victory in the main chamber. Her only companion is  Kizabum, invisible up in the sky above.<br/><br/>Fortunately the elf has honed her skills for decades, dispatching a group of broken archers she already caught off-guard is no challenge. Three arrows whiz through the air, the archer's sole attempt at fighting back, two of them miss entirely, one of them nicks her shoulder, just managing to draw blood. The sword the elf wields is designed to kill, not subdue, but she has magic to blunt the wounds she inflicts, and the three she drops will live to see her fanged smile yet.<br/><br/>That done, she  turns her attention to those who fled. She takes the form of a desert cat, her speed outpacing the horses, those one foot never stood a chance. The fur around her jaws is stained with blood many times as she dances across the sand. Tracking by scent, and the still fresh prints in the sand, she catches most of them. Perhaps one escapes, if her bestial mind wills it, choosing to bite non-fatally, a chance to live, and tell a broken tale of desert murderers, god in shining iron, beasts that walk upright, and a dark skinned killer who slices like the desert wind.<br/><br/>That done, she returns to the temple. On the rim of the rock face, her three captives slowly burn under the sun. A man and woman, both human, and a male elf. They wear leather armour, two longbows, one short. Tanned skin, black hair, a few scars with a stories they hint at.<br/><br/>With the temple secured, thoughts can now turn to making it into a place of permanent residence. The diverted spring is an annoyance, but the water is still close enough to sustained small community. Food may be a bigger problem, the oasis the bandits camped at several days away. Another oasis would need to be found, where dates, olives or corn will grow, or other plants that could support a small herd of goats. Or failing that, magic used to sustain them.<br/><br/>Meanwhile, no longer able to stomach the sickening sight, the mutilated mage backs away from Dreaming-Venom, the giant scorpion ignoring her, continuing to feast on the half-orc's corpse. Not wanting to watch any more, she rolls away and vomits on the stone floor, moaning incoherently, forming vague word-like noises. Finished staring coolly at Pride, the scribe-turned-mercenary shuffles over to her.<em>“Hey, Sadeen....”</em>he whispers, resting himself against her, the only comfort he can offer her with his hands bound behind her back. Whimpering she shies away, ashamed of her vulnerable nakedness, her injury, but then the lays her head on his lap, sobs bringing a fresh set of tears to her sore, red eyes.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Mahsati</div><div class="spoiler_body">The arrow nicking your shoulder deals 2 points of piercing damage.</div></div>