Mahsati returns with first one of the captured mercenaries, then another two, dumping them unceremoniously on the rough stone floor. At her threats the scribe backs away, "Don't hurt her! Okay, I get it. Just calm down," with an apologetic look to the former mage he leaves, to sit against the far wall, alone, figgiting as his bound arms get uncomfortable quickly enough. Doesn't Call shakes violently in Mahsati's grip, barely managing to nod her head. She wilts under the the elf's glare and words, opening her mouth to try and speak.<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">"Uhnhh-a,"</span>with her hands bound she cannot do much more, tilting her head up and swallowing.<br/><br/>Slowly, the captives begin to recover, a little disorientated from heatstroke and the trauma of Mahsati's blade, dulled as it was. They will have a sore head for the next few days, skin prickling a little.<em>"I'll...I'll take an oath,"</em>the small woman nods, when Cardinal Pride explains their options, looking down, wondering why she is naked. Next to her the man refuses,<strong>"Hell ain't getting my soul,"</strong>The elf is silent, until Mahsati is close enough to hear. "Sora," he calls out, naming her sister, "I will not swear an oath to man's god, but if you would let me, in this chamber, I would return to the ways of our ancestors,"