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“Nothing little girl…just your head!” Durke screamed, and as he did so the knife plunged forward, steering straight at Areka’s neck. A few gasps and shrieks erupted from the surrounding crowd as the older man attempted to impale the young dark elf, but his own cry of pain drowned the encompassing noises as Areka’s foot slammed painfully into the man’s groin. Whelping in agony, the man’s freehand clutched at his injury, keeling over and dropping to a knee. Despite this setback, though, he surprisingly managed to maintain control of the dagger.
Still, it was not Durke’s day.
Durke’s three other companions laughed uncontrollably at their leader’s anguish, but it was a short-lived moment as the wounded human glared daggers at the trio. “What the feth are you laughing at! Go get her!” the man bellowed, staggering oddly to his feet as he continued to massage his pulsating groin. The drunkard, bald man, and tiny fellow exchanged amused glances with one another for a heartbeat before racing off after the quickly fleeing Areka.
Unfortunately for the dark elf, she was unable to get far. Too fast and coordinated for her, the three men seized Areka at once, one on either end of her shoulders and forcing her back in the center of the crowd. One bystander, the same who had protested Areka’s earlier treatment, began to angrily interject again, but this time the muscular thug rammed a curled fist into his solar plexus, immediately knocking the wind out of the bystander and sending him to his knees. And to emphasize the futility of intervening, the towering bald human kicked the man harshly under his chin, shattering his jaw and knocking him unconscious.
“You’re a feisty one.” the smallest human remarked as he roughly pushed his foot behind Areka’s knee to bend her to the floor. The drunken man that controlled Areka’s opposite shoulder did likewise, and both men wrapped their hands securely around the girl’s arms to disable her from fleeing or striking at any of them again. Sadly, though, even if she was able to, her prime target this brightening always seemed to be Durke. Poor Durke.
The wounded man stepped in front of Areka, dagger still in hand. Before the infuriated human could strike at the girl who had embarrassed him so, though, the tip of a gleaming silver blade appeared over his shoulder, tapping Durke several times in a mocking fashion. The man’s eyes went wide. “Who the feth are you?!” he questioned, and this time he was incapable of controlling the concern in his voice. The three who were detaining the Vysstichi girl immediately reached for their weapons, momentarily forgetting their prisoner.
“Release the girl…or your friend will be a head shorter…” came the voice from behind Durke. Even through the light, Areka would be able to discern the slender, cloaked form of another dark elf. Young and handsome, his ebony features were much like Areka’s, perfectly chiseled and sculpted by the hands of Haya herself. As he inched the edge of the dark-silver sword nearer to Durke’s neck, the human quickly replied, “Do it you dolts!”
All hands fell away from Areka’s shoulders, allowing her to maneuver freely and wherever she so chose.
The other dark elf winked casually her way. “Are you alright there, little girl?” the older Vysstichi asked, waving her towards him with a free, mythril-gloved hand. “Come away from there…it’s not safe.” he bade.
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