There was only one word for slavery: horrible. To hold someone captive, to see them as less than a human being, was something that was beyond forgivable. And so Saran thought as she overlooked the hill. @[member="nisa luma"] would have a direct line of sight, as would @[member="Romeo S"], but that didn't matter. The slavers didn't.
A silver gleam flew from her hand, transforming into a spinning crimson whirlwind at the bottom. It sliced out two of the men, before flying back to her hand. The purple blade in her other hand, she lept down the ravine, using the force to lift, and almost throw, herself at the troops. Slicing one of them in half, she spun to the side, letting her blades flash out to the next man's neck. There was no mercy, no remorse. Just a whirlwind of purple and crimson.
Pausing as the others regrouped to respond, the crimson saber went to her belt, replaced by a blue shoto, which shot into the lock of one of the slave pens. The door swung open, and the blade flew back to Saran.
@[member="Meraal Vaun"] @Aquilina @Dirk Ellerden