"So it really is you," Ian Hanrahan spit as he stared up at the crimson-eyed woman glaring down at him. "Who do I thank for prettying-up your face? The Inquisitor, Diarmuid? Sit Tommin? Or did that Lothian brat actually manage to hurt the famed Crimson - Oof!"
Whatever Ian had been about to say was cut off sharply when Sybyll lashed out with an armored boot, kicking the hog-tied man in the gut hard enough to crack a few of his floating ribs and sending him into a pained coughing fit that only made him glare more fiercely at her.
"Useless all of them," he said once he could breathe again. "Inquisitor, Templar, Holy Disciple… none of them could do the least bit of good to stop you. So now what? You've come to kill me with that axe of yours?"
