Assallya didn't know what to say about the breastplate at first. Her first instinct was to spurn the thing. They had no idea that she had a ring that regenerated even the most lethal of wounds. She rather imagined if anyone found out about that they'd stick her with a blade and dump her in a ditch, stealing the ring before it had a chance to do its work.
"Really," she protested, "I am wasted in melee. The plate would be of more use to someone else closer to the front. Thank you."
Then the vampire revealed himself. That explained his pallid complexion. It wasn't that he hadn't seen the sun in in years. It was probably because he was feeling puckish. Assallya momentarily recoiled, concealing her shock and dismay nearly instantly. Vampire were soul suckers. Alistair had no afterlife and neither did those he consumed. It was a fate worse than death and his presence irked her.
"Yes. Every hand will be helpful," the even sorceress stated in a neutral fashion, affixing a perfect smile without a trace of disgust that she had mastered long ago.
She also found herself liking the wizened old man, whatever his name was. He seemed quite practical. Unfortunately, that also made him dangerous.
Then he continued with talk of providing the prisoners with dwellings. That was something of a bargain but casting a spell of that magnitude? If any magician had that level of ability they'd likely have teleported themselves out of here. She could likely raise some ramparts. It wasn't one of her regular spells and she would need to cast from her book. In addition, the strain would likely drain all of her magic for the day. That would leave her very vulnerable until she was fully rested and she didn't relish being eaten by Alistair while near defenseless.
"I can raise walls of stone from the rock below," she offered, "enough to form a bulwark of sorts."