Shortly prior to the ambush.

Nelva Blonduos, ‘la brave.’ Lepus Chevalier.

Within the gloam of a deserted stable, a knight sat, slowly sharpening her iron blade. The dull rasp of a whetstone upon a wetted blade rang within the cramped chamber. A razor edge gleamed in the low light as the knight held it aloft. She frowned at what she saw. The whetstone sang once more against the blade’s edge, smoothing out the gouges and burrs.

Nelva glanced up.

She was no stranger to guard work, her youth as a page having paid dividends to it. Still, it didn’t make it any less boring. At least she didn’t have to hear Edywn’s grumbling — they were inside to overhear any rumors spoken in undercommon.

Habitually, Nelva checked over her gear.

Her armor was in a right state. Having one’s own blade driven through it would do that to it. Nelva’s stomach still twinged at the memory, even if it was mostly healed by now.

Autumn had done her best to salvage it — the armor, as well as her stomach.

However, the damage had been extensive; the bone cuirass was missing a large section of the lower abdomen, front and back, leaving the dismayed chevalier with a breastplate that stopped in line with her ribs. While she still had a padded doublet to cover her lower torso, the sooner she got some more armor to cover it, the better she’d feel. Chainmail, at the very least.

Nelva let her mind wander while keeping her eyes upon the entranceways.

The journey so far had been a helluva ride.

Never in her life did she think she’d end up here in the Feywild — Feydark in this case. The danger was palpable, sparking in the air and across her tongue. From what Autumn had told her, one wayward word could spell her doom or worse. When she’d come across the nymphs and their offers, she’d been polite, but had declined their rather tempting offers.

Secretly, she sometimes regretted her stalwart decision to reject the offer of unmatched armor, but her knightly vows were hard to break — the price they’d offered was too costly. Even with her brush with death shaking her, she refused to break the vows she’d taken so long ago. Honor, Integrity, and Justice. She’d die before she traded those away.

Saying that, she didn’t know what to think about Autumn’s usage of necromantic teachings. Such dark magics ought to be locked away forevermore. Perhaps when they got back to Duskfields, she could have a talk with the young witch, guide her to see reason and cast away the foul art.

Movement caught Nelva’s attention, shaking her from her thoughts.

Creeping into the stable was a group of ne’er-do-wells. Armed with wooden clubs and nets, a group of five drow males scanned the gloom. Their eyes alighted upon Nelva with recognition. Recognition that turned to greed.

There was no guessing needed as to whom they’d come for.

With a shallow sigh, Nelva stood.

She instantly regretted not having her new shield at hand. It was still lying within the bone sleigh behind her, the mirror face covered in cloth, and she couldn’t risk turning her back to the cautiously approaching drow. She’d left it there as she’d not been used to the oval shape of it compared to her older — now broken — kite shield. Still, she doubted she’d need it as none of the would-be slavers in front of her looked to be spellcasters.

Confident in their numbers, the five spread out before the lone knight, blocking the exits.

Nelva took them in. Unarmored and nervous, they looked inexperienced — rather than always keeping their eyes upon her, they’d constantly look between each other for reassurance

Towards her the drows crept.

Reaching up, she closed her bone visor with a satisfying clunk. Her feet she set into a well-honed stance while she brought a naked blade up, resting it like a coiled viper. With a slight roll of her neck, she stretched out the stiffened muscles and waited.

Normally, this would be the point of verbal sparring before the commencement of the physical kind. However, here she spoke not the language, nor did she expect them to speak hers.

So she simply waited, lips pursed.

The leader of the aspiring slavers smirked at the lone knight as he stood a few paces from her. Sweat dripped down his brow. His fist whited around a wooden club. He went to speak, likely to say something derogatory or incendiary, but the knight did not wait.

Nelva, the honorable knight, struck like a rogue.

She disliked the discourtesy of the act, but she’d found herself in a discourteous place, facing incivil people.

And this was no duel.

Distracted in his moment of speaking, the viper’s strike took the leader in the throat. Lightning-quick, through his windpipe and spine the iron blade speared. With eyes widening in shock, the leader gurgled. Around him the others froze likewise.

As gravity tore the body downwards, threatening to take her blade with it, Nelva pivoted the body around. With a mighty kick powered by her thick Lepus thighs, she sent it hurtling off her blade and into another of the drow slavers. The pair went down with a thundering crash.

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The sound startled the others, shaking them from their shock.

It was almost too late for one.

Compared to other races, Lepus could leap great distances with a single bound, even from standing. In an instant, Nelva launched herself across the space to the next enemy in line. She grunted as her stomach twinged.

The drow’s eyes widened at the sight of an onrushing armored knight.

Her footing fouled by the pull of her wound, Nelva slammed into the net-armed drow rather than skewering him. Still, a pained, wheezing grunt escaped the drow alongside the air from his lungs. Luck, foul or fair, saw her blade trapped within his woven net. Locked into a fierce grapple, Nelva hammered into the drow’s side with her armored fists as she tried to twist from his grasp and draw her blade or dagger free.

Beside her ear, the frantic drow screamed, “Get her off me!” the words foreign to the knight’s ears.

In response to his cries, a hasty blow bounced off the back of Nelva’s helm. The helm did its job and protected her from the weighty blow. However, as a result, it sent her armored forehead crashing into the other drow’s skull. Stunned, his grip loosened and allowed her to draw her sword up to his throat. With a slash and a splash, she carved him a new smile.

Two down, three to go.

“You bitch!”

Another blow crashed into the side of Nelva’s helm. She staggered to the side, slightly dazed just as a fist drove into her unprotected gut — the padded doublet absorbing only a fraction of the force. A cry of pain lodged itself in her throat.

Nelva pushed through the pain, glaring out from a crimson-marred helm.

The next heavy blow of a wooden club she caught on the flat of her blade. Without giving her opponent the chance to withdraw, she twisted the blade around the club, smashing their teeth in with her sword’s pommel. However, before she could follow the strike with a deathblow, another of the drow tackled her to the ground, sending her sword clattering off to the side.

“I’ve got her! Get the manacles!” the drow screamed, practically in her face as they sat on top of her.

The other two living drow scrambled to bind her limbs.

Annoyed, Nelva bucked her hips. Distracted by trying to pin her down, the drow didn’t notice as she ripped her dagger free from her waist. With a viciousness, she repeatedly drove it into his side.

The drow screamed.

At that very moment, she bucked once more. The wounded drow crashed into another slaver who was coming to clamp her wrists in iron, sending them both down in a pile of dark curses and tangled limbs.

With her sight now clear, she spotted the last drow trying to grab onto her legs. Nelva drew a leg back and lashed out with a thunderous kick fueled by her bulky Lepus thighs. The kick connected with the drow’s leg and with a sickening crunch, their knee bent backwards.

They too screamed as they dropped.

Nelva rolled to her feet, now the only one standing.

Panting heavily, she picked her discarded blade back up and staggered over to the entangled pair. The last uninjured drow watched on in fright as the Brave Chevalier limped ever closer.

“Wait!” he called out, foreign words falling on deaf ears.

Nelva drove the blade through the back of the stabbed drow’s heart, intending to skewer the one beneath in the same motion. A coup de grâce. However, just as the blade ended the first drow, the one below twisted the body in a last ditch effort, wrenching the blade from Nelva’s hand.

The knight grunted as she was tackled once more.

As she crashed to the ground, Nelva twisted her hips and, this time, she landed atop the drow. Pinning him down with her hips more effectively than the last one had tried, she rained blow after blow down on his face like meteors with her armored fists. Resistance proved futile as the drow’s attempts to ward her off only saw his fingers broken.

Down came the mighty blows.

It took a while to beat someone to death, Nelva found. By the time the drow ceased his struggling, her fists were wrist-deep in a mess that’d once been his face. Gore stuck to her gauntlet’s knuckles as she pulled it free with a squelch.

Nelva’s breath came hard and heavy as she staggered to her feet. Sweat pooled down her face beneath the confines of her helm, dripping down her spine.

One left.

Looking over, she saw the last desperately crawling for the apparent safety of the streets. The drow looked back in horror at the sound of approaching footsteps. With fear coursing through his body, he crawled faster.

Hands grasped his legs.

“Nooooo!!!” he screamed. Dragged by his legs, he left bloody lines on the stone as his fingernails tore free.

Nelva grabbed the drow by the hair and placed her dagger across his throat while digging an armored knee into his spine.

“Who sent you,” she growled.

“Please spare me! I don’t know anything!”

The knight paused. A deep sigh escaped her throat. “Right. Of course you don’t speak common. I apologize for this, but we don’t have the capacity to take prisoners right now.” With a grunt, she slashed him from ear to ear, almost severing his spine.

Nelva let the drow fall as his lifeblood spilled onto the cold and grimy stones.

Staggering over to her sword, she tutted at the sight of red upon it, and just after she’d finished cleaning it too. After wiping it on the relatively bloodless clothing of a drow body, she made her way over to the back-door of the inn and entered.

It was a fairly quiet day in the tavern-slash-bar-slash-inn. Most of the tables were empty, and those that were didn’t seem keen to socialize. That included the gray-skinned — what was it that Autumn called them? Ah, right — duergar that was neck-deep in his cups. But Nelva knew that was an act, or at least, she hoped it was.

With a grunt she sat beside Edwyn and stole his mug.

“Hey! What are you—” Edwyn growled, only to stop and blink as he took in the blood dripping from her helm. “What in the fook happened tae ye?”

Nelva held up a finger as she flipped up her helm. In one long gulp, she downed the mug of beer before slamming it onto the table.

“It’s your turn on watch.”

Edwyn blinked in disbelief as Nelva snatched up another mug and a plateful of finger foods — some sort of weird mix of crab and octopus that somehow tasted like beef. Grumbling, they made their way over to the stables.

Upon exiting the inn, Edwyn’s face twisted in further disbelief at the sight of the rapidly cooling bodies.

“What in the fookin’ hells happen ‘ere!”

[Autumn here. We got ambushed by a group of slavers. Regroup at the Inn, immediately.]

Edwyn started at Autumn’s voice whispering in their mind. Taking one more look around the bloodied stables, they replied.

[We have a situation back at the Inn.]

Autumn’s sigh came back through.

Perhaps, more beer was required? Edwyn pondered. And a wet mop — there was a lot of blood.