Standing over his crumpled form, she ducked and reached for his face. She turned his head, opened one of his eyes, even slapped him a couple times and made sure he was breathing. “He’ll be fine,” she remarked, standing back up as she looked to his companions. “All yours.”

A reluctant, stunned nod from the one with a mustache, and an equally reluctant step forward. He seemed… Afraid to approach her. Zelsys quickly noticed this, and turned away to return to her companions. The cold cobbles were beginning to dig into her feet.

Now, Makhus was just confused. Wouldn’t she boast to the crowd? Humiliate her opponent further to build herself up? And why was it that he saw not a single drop of sweat on her after that sort of exertion? In fact, thinking back, had he ever seen her sweat, even once?

After all that, she just casually slipped back into her boots and took the arm-harness from Zefaris, smiling and uttering thank-yous all along. When she stepped to him to take her cleaver's holster, Makhus just absent-mindedly handed it over, his mind too preoccupied with sorting through what he knew about her, what he thought he knew about her, and what she had told him only minutes prior.

Sigmund couldn’t help but chuckle into his beard whilst he watched the strange, strange amazon just walk away from a won honor duel like that. Even the onlookers seemed confused, some having taken out their coin purses and readied a copper coin or two to give her. He knew this would be even more insulting to young Halxian’s pride than if she had reveled in her victory, and so chose to give her a bit of a nudge, walking up.

“Hey, snowtop,” he muttered just loudly enough to get her attention. “‘Least bow to the crowd. It’ll seem like you’re treating yer opponent as less than human otherwise.”

He saw her eyes widen, her satisfied grin turning to an almost apologetic, humble smile as she swiftly finished adjusting the position of her arm-harness and whipped around to face the still-waiting spectators.

An ostentatious, overblown inhalation, followed by a long exhalation of silver Fog when she bellowed her respect for her opponent to the crowd, even outright apologizing for getting swept up in the trance of battle. A small shower of copper coins mixed with silvers soared over the unconscious Halxian and the man kneeling by his side, landing at her feet. A couple hit her, a couple she caught, and in less than a minute, the crowd had dispersed, the social ritual completed.

Zelsys found the ordeal utterly bizarre, but she played along nonetheless. “It’s just a cultural thing,” she told herself. As much as she reveled in beating sense into the arrogant prick, she wasn’t willing to go as far as to deface him when he was beaten. In her mind, just the fact he had been beaten would be enough of a blow to his pride, without the need to rub it in even further.