Emilie stands above the corpse of a Dark elf cultist, a peasant's arrow buried in his skull. "And this is how your immortality ends, elf. One would hope that with a thousand commoner lifetimes, you would have found something better to do with it. Pity."

A Mercenary horseman rides up aside Emilie, his Tilean finery slightly tattered by the battle. "Duke, the dark ones have withdrawn from the field. We've taken the battle."

Emilie nods his head. "How are the losses?"

"Us or them?" The mercenary reponds with an uncommon cheer for a sell-sword.

"Us."

"The bloody harpies took out the war machines, the Grail Knights are mostly wiped out and Henri... the guy with the banner... Right, he ate some magic and it melted him like wax... But that's it."

"The peasants are unfortunate but their sacrifice saved the lives of many others. As for the grail knights... I'm begining to think that death to them isn't what it is to likes of you or I. (pause) Is that all?"

The mercenary looks around, something is bothering him... Emilie looks up at him. "For a sell-sword, you're a rotten liar. Spit it out, man. I don't pay you to be pretty and tell me only good news."

The mercenary sighs. "The Prophetess is drunk again, she's wandering around as a big monster... Scaring men like crazy!"

"She does that... Ignore her."

"She's eating, Duke."

"Eating what?"

"Elves... sir... She's eating the corpses of the elves..."

Emilie stops dead in his tracks, he looks at the mercenary... "I see... we will have to deal with that... when she's sober and less life threatening. Is there anything else horrible that you have to tell me?"

"There are a bunch of Dwarves in our camp... They look mad."

"Dwarves always looks mad.... It's the itchy beards... I'll talk to them."

Emilie walks off... He spies a giant fire dragon devouring naked female elves , while slapping around the remains of a large pot with her tail. "Nothing good is going to come of this..."