[Demda]

Her master was calling for her to get up and finish the orc. As if she could. Demda almost laughed at the unspoken threats in each syllable that he shouted. What could he possibly do to her, should she live through this? Give her a scar that men trembled to look upon? She'd wear it with honor. And if she died that would be salt in his wound, and then she wouldn't have to suffer at all. What was it to her if she died?

But she wasn't about to let the orc win, no. Demda didn't have it in her to kneel and cry out for mercy. She would die like the elder would have, aye, and as she did. With courage and grim determination.

Her ears still rung as she rose gingerly. The orc was almost upon her. Demda's previous experience told her not to run. That way lay folly. Another hit to the head with one of those irons and she'd be out. Instead, she opted to try her best to dodge the mace swings up close. If he swung high, she would duck and push off from the ground with her knees to give him an elbow between the legs, just to test her codpiece theory. If he went low, she would jump high as she could, using a straight punch directed toward his face and with index fingers extended, those being intended for his eyes.