[ Daud's never had much cause to interact with satyrs in his line of work, and looking at this one now, he's vividly reminded of why. They're flighty, skittish things -- hardly the stuff assassins are made of, though he's known a few whose hands could be steady enough on a bow.

Worse yet, this one's young. Young means unpredictable, and Daud's not inclined to find out what else he she might throw at him, so he raises his hands -- one still holding the jar, the other empty, since his sword is still sheathed at his hip -- to show that he's unarmed. ]

I'm not here to kill you. [ He says, with as much forbearance as he can muster. ] But you aren't going to be safe staying here. They're driving the orcs out of the city. They'll likely retreat this way.