"Just Ursaren is alright. I'm not one for big names," the old man had introduced himself as such. Humble, Jezebeth found, and mysterious. It'd drawn her to him, as she wanted to know more about this kind soul - but that would be a matter for another time.
"Thank you, Ursaren," Jezebeth said, dipping her head in a slight bow.
"I am in your debt."That was when Ursaren stepped back and surveyed her body. For a moment, the knight thought he was taking in her beauty, just like how so many men would whether she was in or out of her armour, but for another trial, it seemed that this Ursaren had proved himself a virtuous man. While Jezebeth certainly didn't mind being admired and held to be the object of everyone's desire, now was not the time for it. Certainly not now - she just wasn't in the mood, and she wasn't sure if she would ever be. For now, she needed a break from such flirtations, and Ursaren had provided it.
"Jezebeth, your leg is bleeding... and pretty badly at that. Give me a slight second here..." he finally said, proving his intentions. He would then bend down and mend her to work his magic. Jezebeth had suspected him to be a man of some genteel occupation, and as it turned out, her instincts weren't blunted like her fighting spirit. After a mere sting that couldn't even begin to compare to what she'd been through, her knee had ceased to hurt.
"I am twice in your debt," Jezebeth thanked him again, her eyes mere glass for a moment as she remained unsmiling. The ghosts of her past, and not just of her fallen army, had refused to go away. No, everything that had happened in the past, before her entrance into the eternal chaos of the southlands, was all coming back to her.
"I guess I will go gather my things now..." she murmured, quite unlike herself, not that Ursaren and his group had ever seen Jezebeth at the zenith of her achievements.
Her legs regaining strength again as blood returned to them, Jezebeth stumbles over to where her arms and armour had been trashed on the ground. A familiar elf came within sight, distinctly marked by what looked like four lines of painful claw marks on one side of his face. The elf was still nursing those wounds she had inflicted when he tried to pluck her favourite red-jeweled necklace away. It'd been washed and herb paste had been rubbed over them, but they were still very much visible, and might well remain that way for the rest of his life.
He came up to her, blocking her way. Jezebeth jerked, expecting another blow, but when nothing came, she stood still.
"You'd better not be alone the next time I see you, human swine!" the elf had leaned in and said coldly to her very face. All Jezebeth could do was to meet his glare with her own, though she was losing even in such a bloodless confrontation. Without waiting for her to speak or even react, the elf pushed her aside, the weakened knight barely able to maintain her balance, and left. Jezebeth stared after him, afraid and still shivering from the numerous tender wounds on her body, most particular of all the rope burns on her wrists, which she shielded as if any more aggravation would tear her hands off.
Upon reaching her things on the ground, she collapsed beside them, and started putting on the pieces of her armour. With the hostility she had thus far faced in the elf camp, it was imperative that she prepare for any retributions for her release. But without her squire, she was having some difficulty re-armouring. She could normally do it on her own, being a Guardian Knight, special in Andred in that they do not always operate in armies and were required to be self-sufficient warriors, but having been soundly beaten and ill-treated did not do well in encouraging it.
@POOHEAD189@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Banana@The Fated Fallen 
. But I guess it's just me being rusty with roleplaying. I've forgotten how roleplays are like neverending springs of writing material.