The siege has worn the people down. Spirits in the city are low and grey despite the food that was recently brought by that pair of unlikely looking saviors. What could you really expect from some sort of giant metal creature, and a little elf thing with a face pierced by curving bits of jewelery that make civilized people shudder to look at them
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USE LITTLE GUN, she tells her friend. SHOOT BIG TENT.
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Panic and confusion reign in the Ilfish camp, but even as the rank and file shout and run the leaders are activating the robot war machines that they brought to this primitive world and have used to wipe most of the natives off of it.
Mornbein's laughter grows, and she gives a shrill, derisive shriek, then looks up at Towby. "Feel like whackin' tinnies?"
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Other than that, Towby is free to party.
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*Towby heads over to the cybertronian slaves and sits down carefully next to them*
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The Head of the Odrani Guard watches this, then walks over to where Towby sits, his expression concerned and worried. "Why did she go?"
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So it's just normal little scruffy Mornbein who looks up at Towby with her slight scowl.
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*Towby spares a glance around her wondering what the hell they were going to do with them now*
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