After the immediate battle had settled with the surviving enemies retreating and hiding, Alvin gave Griswald a sideways smirk. "Well that was easy, should only be a couple more men standing between us and escape. So, you, me, and Marwood." He said looking over to the other prince and raising his voice a little to get his attention. "Shall advance forward with our lances and hopefully make short work of them and hightail it outta here." He finished with a final nod to Marwood and Griswald. 

"Shall we?" Alvin gripped Medea's reins in his hand and urged the wyvern forward, coming to a stop a few feet in front of the man with the spiked mace. Behind him he heard one amongst his company call out. 

[b]"Oi! Morag you pox-ridden, ponce brained, limp wristed sheep fondler! I've come to repay the hospitality you showed my boy last month!" [/b]

Alvin turned and saw the archer who had been helping them escape, so he was a streetlord of some kind? His experiance in surviving the outside world would prove invaluable, so Alvin put on his best lord face and stared Morag down. "So, you've grieved my friend have you? I 'll tell you what, stand aside or you'll be wyvern food." The threat delivered in an ice cold voice uncharacteristic of Alvin. If anyone who knew him had heard him they'd be shocked at the pure malice in his voice. "And I assure you, she's quite hungry." He added, patting Medea's neck who let out a low snarl for emphasis.