Assassin
Drip, drip.
Blood dropped as Darwel stood with her eyes wide open, staring back at the figure behind her who had just swung an axe to her neck with nigh palpable murderous intent.
Darwel's eyes slowly rolled down as she panted, perspiration running down her face and back ominously. A foreign arm had been the only form of defence she had against the ugly axe, the only thing standing between her and sudden death. A slender, familiar arm.
The axe's jagged head had bitten into Viccil's arm which was wrapped around Darwel's neck. The guard had come to the El Sif's rescue just in time, which, while no one was thinking about it right now, vindicated her confident declaration moments ago.
The veiled guard pulled Darwel back, creating distance between the duo and the assailant. Even blood though was leaking from the narrow and shallow wound on her limb, Viccil barely showed a reaction, as if unfazed.