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Each of the gathered presents some point as to their current predicament. Kill, capture or abandon the shaman. All seem equally viable under the circumstances. Val, standing over the prone body of the lizardwoman with a blade heavy in her hand, would have the easiest time with the first. It would take only a single forward thrust to stop that chest from it's unsteady rise and fall. It isn't as though the shaman is likely to prove less of a threat once she is roused. A single thrust to secure their future. Her blood almost demands it, still hot from the fight and the bloodshed.

On the other hand, the one less burdened by a weapon, it is also possible the lizardmen they scattered to winds might well return. Perhaps in force. Having a bargaining chip in their pocket might well serve them in that situation. The tower does seem to be largely impregnable to the likes of them, but the group's business may keep them here for an indeterminate amount of time. Do they really want to be here when the tribe comes calling? The shaman's tail twitches in the mud, holding Val's attention. As a seasoned warrior, the elf knows the first thing one must do when standing over a fallen enemy is strip them of potential weapons. The knife is obvious, with it's bone hilt and gleaming blade. A quick search reveals a sling of scaly leather and a pouch of stones, a twisting stick about a foot in length strapped to her belt, and two clay jars the contents of which slosh about when handled.

Neve is able to peer up those stairs from the safety of the ground and catch sight of the short corridor within, opening wider to a sort of foyer with the expected appointments. Chairs, a table, lamps to light the area. No movement to be seen. Climbing those stairs seems like a sort of commitment, though. Advancing into the unknown. Despite the invitation obvious in those open doors, the smallfolk can't help but feel the apprehension tickle its way down her spine. Will she be leading three people into the tower, or four? None of the crew are strangers to killing, but is killing this one necessary? It is really just finishing the job they began, right? The jury remains undecided on the issue and the sun has already dipped below the stunted trees of the Withered Grove. Not long until the light of day vanishes completely.

Does the shaman live or die? Do you brave the Witch's tower?

Each of the gathered presents some point as to their current predicament. Kill, capture or abandon the shaman. All seem equally viable under the circumstances. Val, standing over the prone body of the lizardwoman with a blade heavy in her hand, would have the easiest time with the first. It would take only a single forward thrust to stop that chest from it's unsteady rise and fall. It isn't as though the shaman is likely to prove less of a threat once she is roused. A single thrust to secure their future. Her blood almost demands it, still hot from the fight and the bloodshed.

On the other hand, the one less burdened by a weapon, it is also possible the lizardmen they scattered to winds might well return. Perhaps in force. Having a bargaining chip in their pocket might well serve them in that situation. The tower does seem to be largely impregnable to the likes of them, but the group's business may keep them here for an indeterminate amount of time. Do they really want to be here when the tribe comes calling? The shaman's tail twitches in the mud, holding Val's attention. As a seasoned warrior, the elf knows the first thing one must do when standing over a fallen enemy is strip them of potential weapons. The knife is obvious, with it's bone hilt and gleaming blade. A quick search reveals a sling of scaly leather and a pouch of stones, a twisting stick about a foot in length strapped to her belt, and two clay jars the contents of which slosh about when handled.

Neve is able to peer up those stairs from the safety of the ground and catch sight of the short corridor within, opening wider to a sort of foyer with the expected appointments. Chairs, a table, lamps to light the area. No movement to be seen. Climbing those stairs seems like a sort of commitment, though. Advancing into the unknown. Despite the invitation obvious in those open doors, the smallfolk can't help but feel the apprehension tickle its way down her spine. Will she be leading three people into the tower, or four? The jury remains undecided on the issue and the sun has already dipped below the stunted trees of the Withered Grove. Not long until the light of day vanishes completely.

Does the shaman live or die? Do you brave the Witch's tower?