Alista assessed the Murinsat with a glance, “That pair,” she said, pointing to a pair guarding a quartet of terrified noblewomen, “Ready Vicor?”
The half-orc nodded, his blade coming from its scabbard. The two charged across the room, Alista in quick steps to match Vicor’s tremendous stride. Vicor’s swung his blade forward as he reached his opponent, the full weight of his towering form crashing into the hastily raised rusty axe wielded by the murinsat. There was a snapping of wood and a shriek of pain as the axe head separated and was driven into its wielder’s arm.
“Sloppy, Vicor,” Alista declared, blocking the knife her own Murinsat was attempting to strike with.
“Effective though,” he replied, stepping out of the way of a clumsy swing from his opponent.
Alista nodded, parrying the dagger, “That may be,” she slashed low, tearing across the Murinsat’s belly. The creature screamed and dropped, “But it’s not safe.”
Vicor rolled his eyes and shifted his blade in his hand and fell in to one of her instructed stances. The goblin paused its attack, confused at the sudden shift. Vicor took that hesitation and thrust, his blade sliding through the Murinsat easily, “Better?” he asked to his bodyguard, pulling his sword from the dying monster.
Alista huffed at his tone, “Make sure and clean your sword,” she replied.