For a moment, there was nothing. No movement, no sound except for Grace's song...
And then two of the brutes jumped up to attack Aldanith, both at once. He threw himself away, out of their way, rolling on the floor and climbing back up onto his feet, while they were momentarily stunned by a move so incredibly fast, and one didn't get a chance to recover - Aldanith skewed Bloodstorm and Frostdeath right into his back, piercing the armour and spilling dark red blood upon the floor of the smithy.
The blood drove Aldanith into an even madder frenzy than before. The larger man kept back, suspiciously hiding himself, while the other one that was left kept slashing after him with his daggers. Every time they clinked on his armour, or, more often, on the blades of his scimitars, Aldanith pushed him one step back, till he was pressing him onto the wall.
A final blow was to get rid of him, to cut his head off straight and clean, but even though it hit its target with deadly precision, parting his skull, which rolled off his shoulders, from his body, it wasn't the only blow that was landed.
The largest brute hid behind Aldanith's back, and he swung his cleaver down onto him right when Aldanith killed his opponent. It missed only by the width of a hair, instead landing on the spiked pauldron on his right shoulder. He could feel the strength of the blow cracking his bone, immediately followed by excruciating pain, but instead of giving up, he turned around and kicked his opponent under the ribs, causing him to take a few steps back, and allowing Aldanith to start another rain of lightning-fast strikes, even though the pain was only getting worse and worse every time he moved his arm.
One on one, the other man didn't really stand a chance. Aldanith was faster, stronger, his blows had a better aim, and he was practically chasing his opponent around in a fey rage. Metal clinked on metal, and the cleaver hit the ground, leaved from his hands. The dark elf leaped onto his opponent, knocking him onto the floor. The blade of Bloodstorm pressed onto his neck.
All of a sudden, the brute stabbed Aldanith right into the partly exposed wrist of his right hand, holding the blade. He was forced to drop the scimitar, but instead, the metal of his right hand, now strengthened beyond comprehension, grabbed the other drow by the jaw. As he lifted his head up, a loud scream echoed between the walls of the smithy. He ripped his head out of his body, tearing his spine out, and while still partly covered in hanging veins and intestines, completely removed it from the rest of what was now just a corpse. The blood, streaming from torn blood vessels and flesh, flowed down his hand, and dripped off the spine, covering the floor in red, and mixing with Aldanith's own blood, flowing out of the wound on his arm.
He slowly stood up, shaking, and barred his teeth. A shadow appeared in the door, but upon sighting the horrific image inside, the man, which surely followed the other three, flinched and covered. Aldanith pierced him with his cold eyes, holding the head with the hanging spine high. "Tell that w***e that the Iron Hand sends her this..." he snarled, tossing the head at the figure.
