[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/Jxwk7L6.png[/img]

[h3][b][u][color=Goldenrod]The Heir to Thunder[/color][/u][/b][/h3]
[sub][color=DarkGreen][i]Prince Faen Lokison[/i][/color][/sub][/center][hr][hr][center][sub]Interacting with: [@BlackPanther][/sub][/center][hr][hr]

	Faen half climbed, half rolled back onto his feet, just in time to see a glinting knife come arking in towards his face. He managed to block it, but just barely, and only through sheer luck, his kneejerk reaction of throwing both arms over his face saving his life, the blade careening off the golden vambraces that were strapped to his arms. It probably would have looked a lot more impressive if he hadn’t shrieked like a girl while doing so. Not that the Dökkálfar gave him much time to dwell on that, as she was quick to press forward her advantage, coming at the half-breed in a hail of blows, spinning and twisting like a ballerina, feet, knees, fists, elbows and knives licking out in a constant barrage that Faen was – just – able to dodge for the moment, though it was only a matter of time until he stopped getting so lucky. He doubted the Dark Elf was the kind to forgo a kill wound if she got the chance for one.

	[color=DarkGreen][i]Need a plan, a strategy, a trick! Anything to level the playing field. [/i][/color] He was so busy trying not to get killed that he really couldn’t spare any thought for the unfortunate civilian who had happened upon this [i]epic[/i] battle between good and evil, so for all Faen knew the man was already dead, half-mulched in the Hellhound’s stomach. Imagine his surprise then, when instead of having become puppy-chow, the next he seen of the man he was standing with his hands in pockets, looking as casual as if he was at a wedding reception for his best friend – that best friend apparently being the bird creature who had so recently tried to bisect the Prince of Lies –  and as nonchalantly as you like asked Faen if he [i]‘needed some help.’[/i] Faen decided that he hated that man. Hated him very much indeed.

	[color=DarkGreen][sub]“Oh, no, I’m fine, just dandy,”[/sub][/color] Faen muttered through clenched teeth while using a trash can lid to try and beat away the Dark Elfs searching knife-thrusts. He finally managed to knock the knife from his assailant’s grip, before throwing the lid at her face, which she handily dodged by cartwheeling away, coming to a graceful stop with another knife in hand. Where, for the love of God, was she getting all these from? Now that he had some space, he could properly respond to the blonde civilian – who Faen was starting to seriously doubt was a joe-regular civilian. [color=DarkGreen]“[b]OF COURSE I NEED HELP, YOU DAMNED IMBECILE![/b]”[/color]
 
	Of course with Faen’s luck that help would be a long time coming, as at that moment the Behemoth shattered moth-moulds hold, grey sludge and shattered slivers of insect wings bursting in all directions. The six-armed giant roared aloud, shaking his fists at the skies, though whether it was in triumph or rage, Faen really couldn’t say. All he could think was that, right in that moment, he’d really rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else, really. 

	[color=DarkGreen]“Balls”[/color] He groaned, certain that the Behemoth’s next move would be to splatter him into the pavement. He couldn’t imagine the big guy was going to be too friendly towards his would-be captor. Fortunately – and Faen really hated himself for thinking like this – the monster instead fixed its attention on the closest person too it, who in this instance was the blonde civilian. With a snarl the huge invader stomped towards the human, pausing only briefly as the bird-creature slammed its axe down upon its allies’ shoulder. The blow had little effect, well, beyond the Behemoth casually slapped the bonebird aside, the avian being thrown from its feet by the shocking force to smash out of the alley and into the street. The giant continued its slow advance, grinning at the blonde civilian, gore stained tusks protruding out at odd angles.

	Back to Faen’s more immediate concerns, the Dökkálfar had renewed her attack, slashing a knife out at his eyes, which he narrowly avoided, just to discover that attack had been a feint, and her real assault came in the form of a straight kick to the solar plexus. The air whooshed from Faen’s lungs as he was sent sprawling backwards, to collapse coughing and spluttering in a garbage heap, the filled-to-overflowing stinking refuse sacks providing a surprisingly comfortable landing. Not a great ego booster though, he had to admit. 

	[color=Darkslateblue]“Well, it’s been interesting human, but all things come to a close. This is yours.”[/color] The Dökkálfar paced towards him, spinning the razor-sharp knife between her fingers casually. She raised the blade above him, ready to come plunging down, ready to end his life. Between coughs he managed to life up a finger, the universally accepted sign for [i]‘one second, please’[/i]. Or at least he hoped it was universally accepted. Would be incredibly annoying to find out that Dark Elves had a different gesture for it, or even worse, one finger in the air being some kind of insult. Luckily she seemed to get the message, and paused a moment, a moment which he filled with more wheezing and coughing. [color=Darkslateblue]“Haste now human, I don’t have ...”[/color] She was cut off by Faen hurling a bag of garbage at her. With lightning swiftness, she ducked to the side, at the same time cutting through the bag with her knife, waste and rubbish spilling out in a partial-liquidised glop.

	The Dark Elf sneered her disgust, before looking back towards Faen had been lying, only to find that the half-breed was gone. The invader looked surprised only for a second, before her face hardened.

	[color=Darkslateblue]“Sloppy human, you’ve used this trick already.”[/color] And so saying she reversed the grip on her knife and slammed it behind her. She was rewarded by the hefty, meaty resistance that spoke of metal entering flesh, and a pained exhalation of air, a slight [i]oof[/i] sound, like air escaping a balloon. She twisted slowly, to see the Prince of Lies doubled over, her knife hilt deep in his belly. A killing stroke, no doubt about it. A slow death, yes, but a death nonetheless. She was momentarily saddened by this. The man had fought well, if unorthodoxly, and so it seemed an injustice for him to suffer such an ignoble end. Still, he was her enemy she told herself, and so he had to die. The form of his passing was regretful, but still necessary.

	[color=Darkslateblue]“You fought bravely, Midgardian. If Valhalla still accepts your kind, I have no doubts that its doors will be open to you.”[/color] She pulled yet another knife from a hidden sheathe as Faen fell to the dirt, panting uncontrollably as his blood pooled around him. She knelt close to him and held the blade up to his eyes. [color=Darkslateblue]“I can ease your passing, if you so wish? A gut wound is no way to die. A slit throat would be far gentler, and swifter.”[/color] The wounded half breed eyed up the blade dispassionately before gesturing for the Dökkálfar to come in closer. She was momentarily suspicious, before deciding that he obviously had some desperate last words to pass on, and wanted to make sure she heard them. She decided that since she had killed him, the least she could do was listen. She leant in.

	[color=DarkGreen][sub]“What about this trick?”[/sub][/color] He whispered, the tiniest of grins worming across his features. 

	Confusion gripped her, what kind of last words were these? Then that familiar suspicion resurfaced, wait, trick. What trick? Then, finally, horror. He’d lain a trap, and she’d fallen for it. She shot back to her feet, spinning, certain he’d snuck up on her again. She was right, on both accounts, the Faen-shaped fist rocketing into her face being pretty good confirmation of that fact. The blow cracked into her aquiline nose, part-Jotun enhanced strength making up for his lack of technique, knocking her unconscious to fall exactly where the dying-Faen was. Or had been. The injured party was gone now.

	[color=DarkGreen]“Illusion based body doubles. Very useful for the impromptu ménage à trois. Or faking your death, I guess, but that’s not nearly as fun.”[/color] The half-breed tapped the Dark Elf with his foot to make sure she was really out. She was. He turned his attention back to the rest of the fight while shaking out his fist and blowing on the stung knuckles. No one ever tells you just how much it hurts to punch someone in the nose.