[Faust D'Rinishad]

Gritting his teeth under the strain of imminent death, Durke matched Areka’s glare with one of unadulterated distaste. “I’m not done with you yet, don’t you be forgetting!” He threatened, and this earned him a stinging slap from the flat of the swordsman’s keen blade. Growling angrily, Durke watched as the little girl escaped past him to join the duo of dark elves that had come to her rescue. If Durke had anything to say about it, it would be three dead dark elves soon enough.

“You’re going to need someone to take a look at that…” Faust said when Areka presented the awkwardly shaped finger, and he blatantly ignored his captive’s mounting rage. Sighing and resting a hand upon the girl’s shoulder to comfort her, the Vysstichi Lord exchanged a communicable nod with Kalenel to warn him that this was not over –not yet at least. Raising his boot, Faust kicked Durke against the backside, sending the man sprawling into the dirt and at the feet of his three other comrades. The surrounding crowd broke into a heap of laughter.

Scrambling to his feet and staring with murderous intent at the dark elves, Durke retrieved his curved long knife, eyes locking hatefully upon Areka in particular. “You think you’re funny, dontcha!?” He roared, and the sound of his voice brought his other three comrades beside him. “You ain’t going to think so when I cut your heart out. Get ‘em boys!” Durke ordered, and at this command all four of the humans rushed at Faust, Kalenel, and Areka.

The smallest human, the one with the pair of short swords, split off from the three to charge at Kalenel. His swords were held upright and at waist level, and he led with a double thrust at the dark elf’s heart, hoping for an easy kill. Unfortunately for him, though, he had little way of knowing that the son of House Vaimai’tai had been groomed for exactly this type of occasion.

Meanwhile, Durke, the drunkard, and the brutishly large human all came upon Faust with a flurry of uncontrolled swipes and swings of their various weapons. Durke’s long knife cleaved nothing but air most of the time as Faust leaped away, and the drunkard’s awkward swings of his cudgel were batted aside easily by the Prince of Har’oloth’s adamantite sword, but the latter of the three, the muscular human, was far more deserving of praise. He hefted a massive battle-axe with both hands, chopping high and low with surprising speed despite his bulky frame.

Nevertheless, Faust’s sword hand became a blur of motion, nicking and picking at his opponents’ measly defenses and it was only a matter of time until small cuts appeared along the three humans’ forms. It was their blood that stained the earthen floor.

From behind Areka, two slender hands, black hands, fell upon the girl’s shoulders, but gently so. If she were turn and look upwards, she would see a Vysstichi woman garbed in a white dress spun of spider silk. Her high cheek bones accentuated her beautiful face and silver hair, and her smile was warm and compassionate. “Come, child, and let them do their work.” She bade, even though Areka was older than the aforementioned title suggested. The stranger seemed to pay no mind to the ensuing battle, and a frown crossed her face as she looked upon Areka’s finger. “Oh no, what happened there?” Delicately holding Areka's wrist with one hand, the woman's other carefully touched the bent finger. "Does it hurt?"