The elven woman didn't know what to call the crew of the starship that carried the paramilitary company, the dozens of engineers and officers that made the repairs and navigated the ship the company used to get from planet to planet. Her pink tongue slipped out, wetted her ebony painted lips and she considered how she should best respond. For a moment she considered letting her master respond but he wasn't very good with people, that was her skill and half the reason he permitted her to be his apprentice.

"They were as you are but without armour," Assallya attempted to explain, "Perhaps they are the peasants that serve you or that you were meant to protec...?"

The elven woman's voice trailed off as she realized what she was insinuating. That would be rude. A noble lord would protect his vassals to his dying breath. To do otherwise would be a grievous dishonour. Or at least, it was to those of this realm; There were other realms, those controlled by the Daemon Lord that held different values.

"Your other companions," she added, changing the subject in case she had inflicted shame upon Rowan, "they slumber. When we found them, Myrkul, god of death was hovering at their side. While they slumber all their energy is devoted to healing. They would surely perish should they awaken. I apologize. It was the best I could do. I am an enchantress not a theurge."