“Well now, what do we have here? Another lost soul, come to die?”
She’d recently finished putting down a small band of mercenaries that had tried to rob her, blood splattered across her crimson armor as equally-crimson eyes gazed out at the other.
Zweihander in hand, it was clear that they hadn’t put up any form of a fight; if they had, it went completely unnoticed. Some bodies were charred, some were torn asunder; others merely missing except for the pools of blood that lay in their absence.
“For once, I come here not to fight, but to parley; and what do I find, other than the ordinary Eorzean savages that plague the planet. It seems that any attempt for us to usher in a relationship with Eorzea... Will end in naught but bloodshed.”
A sigh as she’d holster Moralltach onto her back, shaking her gauntlet free of the filthy blood that had managed to somehow land there. Gazing properly now at the Au Ra that had come into view, she’d note the woman's black scales and horns; they weren’t entirely unlike her own.
Though her horns were a product of advancement, where as this other’s horns were clearly something hereditary. Clearly, then, Chyrie was the superior here.
“Though maybe you’ll prove more sporting? Or at least not as un-entertaining as the others. Or, mayhap, you’ll finally listen to what I’ve got to say before jumping to blade and bow? Believe it or not, but I haven’t just come here... To cull your numbers.”