She stared at the lord, firmness in her set jaw. “If anyone wants to escape alive tomorrow, I’d advise them to flee with the slaves. This city is as vile as the sewage it sits upon.” She turned, the door swinging open on its own. Her single braid trailed behind her, a burgundy bandana tied around its tail end. “For this,” she said, moseying out the door, “clemency will not be tolerated.”
Rhyparia will level a mountain.
