An Elf's Tale, Part 43
From the left a whiff of a spear, then to the right an arcing shimmering slice of a glaive. A swing of an ax cleaved only slight strands of hair, blown back with a swing of a silver sword that overpowered all.
Eshwlyn readjusted the grip on her blade, weaving past a rapid flurry of blades, studying, assessing, green eyes flicking, scouring, dozens of movements, reactions, performed in minuscule fractions of a second.
Her opponents were fierce, highly capable adversaries. A dozen as one, a harmony of strikes leading from one to the other. It was as if she was fighting a single intangible beast, adapting, reacting, just as fast as her.
Knights.
Elf Knights.