Mace

Scooping up a fallen cathar's mace, she throws herself at the dire. Muscles can lend you all the power they want, but joints will always be weak. He's too busy wailing on his would-be victims to notice the mace coming for the back of his knee. She puts her weight into the blow; a howl and crunch are her rewards. The dire falters, turns, and the cathars stand behind him.

Harvesttide