Seaside Moors magritte suit

a combat medic. rusalka and their war with drageda. erzulie fought the urge to look back toward in the direction of the now distant sea-cliffs, and instead trained her gaze upon the self-named physician. "two healers we have, but not one trained for medic and fightin' toget'er." tone thoughtful as she watched miranda appraise the moorloam with the air of a contented farmer. 
an odd scar upon his shoulder, but the harlot declined to comment. she wore her own bevy of them, and rosalyn even moreso. they bespoke an experience to buoy his claims, and erzulie for the moment was satisfied.
"i feel de same way," she purled, turning her face toward the sea-sown groundline separating rusalka from the whitesand coast and its coconut-tree swathes. "rusalka has always belonged to de ocean. perhaps you will come to find de same." 
turning on a small paw now, turning on a small hard paw to drift back beyond the borders and seeking to draw miranda with her. "you were a mercenary den?" voice warm, cutting honey through onion-sheet politeness to inform him he was seen by one once employed in violence herself.