Modri
Hill Dwarf Outlander Wild Magic Barbarian
AC: 16 (+1Dex + 3Con + 2Shield ) | HP: 47/44 (3d12+9+6+3) | Speed: 25'
Senses: passive Perception 11, Insight 11, Investigation 10
Str: 16 (+3) | Dex: 13 (+1) | Con: 16 (+3) | Int: 10 (+0) | Wis: 12 (+1) | Cha: 8 (-1)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, Dwarvish, Elvish
Hit Die: 2/3d12 | Rages: 2/3 | Magic Awareness: 1/2
Modri has little to offer about the continuing exchanges. As far as he's concerned, he gave a rough, resilient woman a chance to not die with her face in the dirt, and she accepted. He considers what would've happened had she spat in his face and refused. Would've likely been another scar or two to add along with the gnarly one her soldier gave him... conveniently cauterized due to the flames. It was would've been one dead enemy officer, a sense of justice done, and little additional fanfare.
He but offers one last bit of words before Artanis and others break off with the Lieutenant in tow. "For what it's worth, can't really say I know what sort of code of honor you or your army go by, and can't say it's all that important to me. You do what you feel you need to. You've got a good fight in you, your choice in how you use that fight. For me? Call me crazy, but fighting for the underdogs, the little guys and gals, is just more fun."
He doesn't say noble, or righteous, or just, only 'fun' to state why he's on the opposite side.
As they split off, Modri goes with the group going to the docks. There's little time to waste, his intent is to get to work immediately with handaxe, grit, and sweat to start breaking down the town's transport system and put it to better use. A ferry's a fine thing in peaceful times, but it's not any more.
He cracks his knuckles in anticipation, the day already off to an interesting start with no end in sight. There's a certain peace that comes with the knowledge of a coming storm.