Something about the state of the town got Bryn all a-tizzy. That special brand of demonic reek played about her nostrils, a tincture of decay, blood, and unnaturally bad body odor. Skelter buzzed in its sheathe as Bryn hummed under her breath, harmonizing with the frequency of the blade--though her tune was almost silent. Being a terrible mage, she often resorted to routines to get herself in the spellcasting mindset. With a flash of scintilla and an unnecessary flourish, Skelter flew forth from its scabbard, held tightly in Bryn's right hand. 

In regular fashion, she only took stock of the situation long after she'd armed up. The horde of demons sat near the core of the town--and considering that the crystal had gotten destroyed, it's likely they'd holed up near it. Bryn counted them all out, not taking stock of their builds, sizes, or forms.  From her viewpoint, she could see 13, the 'big fucker' included. A short jog east of her, just outside of sight, sat the cannon fodder--she'd been too deep too many times to go diving into the fray without anyone to patch her up later, and had been the meat before on one too many occasions. 

And then there was the big shadow off to her left. A little demon Bryn hadn't seen made a beeline for it. 

Flash. Chunk. Dead. Dull thud.

"...That cunt is on a [i]horse[/i]!" She called, possibly a little too loudly. Stamping her boot on the ground, she tilted back onto her prosthesis, regaining her balance. Looking back towards the town, one of the smaller rovers had started eyeballing her. "...Shit."

In a couple seconds, Bryn was hugging dead weight, hilt-deep in demon. Its misshapen skull crackled with energy, a satisfying, crisp noise. Sparks darted around its form as it sloughed off of her blade, collapsing in a heap in front of her. Clearing her throat, she quickly sheathed the crackling, sparking blade, palming Helter instead. Pressing her thumbs against the neck of the handle, she pointed her index barrel-wards and dropped her arms into a ready position, so as to not accidentally shoot anyone. 

That horse worried Bryn. Anyone with that kind of firepower [i]and[/i] higher ground boded ill for her payday. She hadn't had steady work in almost four months; losing this crystal meant she'd have to start taking out loans. Her lodgings were crap and getting relatively expensive, but food and bed came before comfort.

She would [i]kill[/i] for a good meal and a shower. In fact, Bryn often did--contracts were contracts, and got thrown her way for good reason. 


Now, though, all Bryn could do was wait. Going in too soon would get her killed, and she'd rather die among a field of corpses, not just a couple.

"Killed 13 demons and one big motherfucker, all by her lonesome, even after all the other hunters died trying... Howzat for an epitaph?" Bryn chortled, talking to herself to fill the silence before the brawl. She was tense, excited, and raring for a fight.

...Above all, though, Bryn was ready to make some cold, hard cash.