Things were becoming more interesting by the moment: the lack of rain at the moment wasn't concerning, though the too-perfect stillness of the air made her skin crawl. She favored the movement of the storm; the war-drums of thunder and brilliant, sometimes blinding flashes of lightning; the cessation of movement could have been likened to the stillness of the grave, had she been of a poetic mind. The only things that made the preternatural stillness bearable were the simple facts that she could hear much more clearly without the storm raging on- and her armor, boots and cloak would be able to dry a little; not cling any longer. It was interesting, though perhaps not extremely remarkable, to witness just how strong this mage's control over weather truly was. Had she been a sheltered and coddled individual, she probably would have been quaking in fear before the mantis, rather than simply smirking at him.
She shrugged as he turned down her offer; it had been a simple formality and it wouldn't have surprised her at all if her host was well aware of that. The simple refusal to acknowledge her half-assed attempt at getting him to spill his observations and intentions was met with a careless shrug; it would be far more fun to try and force him to talk, anyway- if such things ended up being of any real signifigance. "You are one- and yet, you speak so lowly of your brethren," She signed, a hint of amusement gracing her heavily-scarred countenance. She was rather ignorant about the schools of magic and what its practicioners preferred to call themselves, for the most part; having absolutely no talent at all for the art left her with a lack of knowledge. His comment about not needing to cover his tracks went without comment, though she did roll her eye. "You're no wolf," She signed, her grin bold and irreverent, "You're just a damned vulture." Wolves were wise, noble creatures; she didn't think she saw either of those traits in her present company.
As far as she'd seen so far, that was as high as her esteem would go: wolves were graceful, formiddable creatures that most people feared, with reason. Vultures, on the other hand, were interesting; intelligent as they were, they still went after the dying and dead, took what they wanted from corpses and left the rest behind for another scavengers to find- they were fascinating nuisences, nothing more and nothing less. And yet, in an odd way, she had to admit that the overly-cocky man was amusing; perhaps it was just the way that he presented himself; full of bravado, yet willing to engage her in conversation, such as it was. Still, she couldn't overlook how he'd killed the hapless mage; nor those strange, glowing strands that he'd seemed to be in control of.
Perendi was willing to continue engaging him in their barbed banter; but before too much longer, she knew she'd have to put an end to the current situation. She had no reason to fear the mage at all; she'd faced down unholy creatures before and she damn sure wouldn't hesitate to kill. He would probably have been able to tell that, if anything, she was rather at ease in his presence and strangely humored; as though she found their encounter to be more comical than anything else, in spite of seeing what he'd done. She wasn't about to relinquish her soul to someone such as this strange being, though she was quite interested in seeing if he was all talk or not. "Tell me though," She signed, "If you're no sorceror, what the hell are you supposed to be, anyway?" That inquiry was more out of curiosity than anything else; asking for something more expected, such as a name or "why did you kill him, anyway?" weren't things that she was overly concerned about.
As the moisture in the air venished, her teeth clenched tightly, black eye glittering with defiance and no small measure of irritation; in that moment, it was just an annoyance, though before too long, she'd end up suffering the same way that she would have if they stood in a desert, rather than the lush, vibrant jungle. Lips curling back into a snarl, it seemed as though play-time was over: it was time to show this guy that the wasn't someone to be fucked with, knock him down a peg or two; if luck was on her side, she'd take him down and deliver his head on a silver platter to the people of Zantaric.
Dropping her cigar into a puddle, she would finally utilize the magic of her cloak's enchantment: touching the onyx at its clasp, it would seem as though the spreading shadows on the jungle's floor would writhe and twist their way along her limbs, pulling her into their embrace; once she was obscured from view (or so she thought she was; she had no idea if her opponent could see through the enchantment or not) she would not draw one of her blades: rather, she'd pull the war-hammer free from its harness on her back and begin circling, stalking around behind her opponent; if she completed her circuit unhindered, she would heft and swing her war-hammer at a diagonal, aiming its iron head between his shoulderblades in a rather playful-seeming blow.