Dialogue Essay: The Hero From Lastwall

A black warhorse trotted through the main gate of the city. The rider draped in a deep sapphire blue cloak. As she made her way past onlookers, the wind caught the fabric and for a moment, people glimpsed a finely made blade, strapped to her side and silver armor. The back of the cloak also displayed the image of the crescent moon with a silver rose.
"Is that the hero from Lastwall?"
"Which one?"
"The one who destroyed that litch up in the Hungry Mountains."
"Oh the Silver Crusader? I suppose the crest is correct, but what is she doing all the way out here? Shouldn't she be fighting orcs or undead?"
"Perhaps she is here for the tourney, or maybe she is here to hunt whatever has been snatching up people and leave the bones."
"Either way,
I would hate to face her in the arena"
"And why is that?"
"I hear, that most thing she ends up swing that sword of hers at, break like they were made of glass."
"Fairy tails, she is a human, there is no human that can pull of a trick like that easily."
The rider rode on out of earshot of the onlookers. A smirk on her face as she gripped the handle of her blade and urged her steed forward.