Instinctively--she knew not why--Per'dra rushed toward the corner of the room and stood in front of the mysterious half-elven girl. A "reaver", she had been called. In the tales, reavers were reported to be the most wicked of sentient beings: those who fed upon lost souls. The Purge spy was certainly one of them, and so it was no surprise that this female on all fours appeared so frightened. Clearing her throat, the Bard brandished her two short swords:
"Take nary a step closer! There shall be no more bloodshed among one another in the Drunkard's Haven, because the Purge will kill us all soon! We must consider ourselves AND our neighbors. We'll only be doing the Purge a favor by murdering someone else." Silence. Feeling irritated, Per'dra cried, "Flee, fools, while you still have the chance! 'Reavers' are only in children's stories; she's only a terrified half-elf. Out, out, out!" She managed to shoo a mob of gaping onlookers toward the exit and out the door. Still, several more people remained. She recognized the Elf who had divined her dreams, the heavily-armored man who had cornered the spy, and also the mage who had first tried to unravel the secret of her nightmares. She did not recognize the other tavern patrons; they weren't leaving, at least not yet.
"That's right. Back off, and leave this half-elf alone. Nice and slowly, now." Breathing heavily, she told the one on all fours, "If they rush us, be ready."