A tale of Itharia
"You've lost the advantage, ya dancin' loon," spat Drevin. He and Sag circled around the Shadow Elf female from opposite sides. She watched them closely with her black eyes, both of her blades at the ready. She did not turn with them, but her body was frozen in a crouch.
"Drop your weapons," she said, "and I will spare your lives." This made Sag laugh.
"Is two ta one sweet'eart," said Drevin. "You might kill one 'o us, I grant ya that, but the other will strike you down. Sure thing."
"Sure thing," Sag repeated.
"Could be lots of unpleasantness involved, you being a pretty little thing and all, but me and Sag 'ere could be good friends to you."
"Good friends," Sag agreed. But the Blade Master seemed to shrink, as if she was a metal spring being pressed into a coil. Drevin lurched forward as the Blade Master's left hand lashed out, and Sag made a sad noise as a sword slid up into his throat, and out the back of his head. Drevin brought his axe up as he moved in, but he was suddenly pinned in place. A piercing pain shot through his abdomen and he found himself unable to breathe. He dropped his axe and looked and down at the metal in his belly. "Could'a been friends," he squealed.