As Oriana took Eleanor off for a more arcanely infused method of questioning, Silas drew his short sword, looking over the dirty blade with a growing frown as he lazily picked at the bloody crust speckled on it's surface,<em><strong>will it be with the short sword, or the dagger?</strong></em>He thought, glancing over at the Sorceress and her charge before returning his attention to his potential instrument of execution.<br/><br/><em><strong>Oriana should've never put her trust in that woman</strong></em>Silas mused as he tested the edge of his short sword with the tip of a finger, noting that the edge, while unsavory to look at, was still as keen as when he sharpened it that morn. Unsatisfied with it's spoiled appearance, he continued to pick at the crust.<em><strong>I saw this coming a mile away, but the others... They want to see the best in people; highwaymen with hearts of gold or bandits out of necessity</strong></em>Silas picked off the last of the pieces he could from his sword, sheathing the spotted blade back into it's scabbard,<strong><em>well those kinds of people don't exist, there's only people like me.</em></strong>