Dread Mage

Sonder held her breath as another long shining knife was held to her throat.

"The audacity to show your face here, Mage," the man possessing the knife behind Vell uttered.

More men came out of nowhere, unfusing with the surrounding vegetation, all heavily armed.

The man threatening Vell was hard to identify, his face hidden behind the camouflage, and Sonder was too preoccupied with the blade at her neck to care much about his identity.

“"Charming hospitality," Vell said with a layer of sarcasm.

“Enough games, Mage,” the leader growled, clenching his fist tighter. “You think you can just waltz into our city after?”

"Easy there," Vell replied, maintaining an air of nonchalance, "I promise, I bring no harm. Maybe we could discuss terms before resorting to a butchery?"

Sonder, feeling the cold steel against her throat, tried to keep her voice calm.

“What do you want?” she managed to ask, her eyes darting between Vell and their captors.

She hoped there was a way to diffuse the situation before it exploded.

The leader’s lips curled into a smirk, revealing a hint of malice. “You think you can negotiate your way out of this? You’re in our territory now, and we have never taken kindly to you.”

“I’m no danger. I barely pass as a conjurer of cheap tricks these days.”

"Then meet your end as one," the man declared, his blade slicing across Vell's throat.

Yet the threat simply passed through his throat.

"That was unnecessary," another Vell said, walking up to them from out of nowhere.

As one Vell met the gaze of the other, the one held captive vanished into a cloud of smoke.

The man stashed his knife, drawing the sword that lay sheathed at his side.

"Must you be so conceited to sing praises of yourself, Dread Mage?" he taunted, swinging his sword at Vell. "An anthem of war, no less!"

"I merely appreciate the tune," Vell replied, artfully dodging and deflecting the sword's strikes with his staff.

He scarcely moved from his initial position.

It seemed as if he barely moved at all.

Sonder watched Vell weave through the deadly assault. She was aware of his combat prowess, but a misdirected sword swing could gravely wound or even kill most beings. She also feared that Vell would kill them.

He had the power to end this without causing any death.

“Enough of this!” the leader shouted, his frustration boiling over. He lunged, his entire weight behind a downward strike aimed at Vell’s head.

The mage extended his hands, surrendering to the impending blow.

Much like striking a gong, the sword collided with Vell’s head, producing a resounding clang.

After a tense moment, it became clear that the sword had not made a single cut.

The sword failed to draw blood, but instead was severely warped.

“Why fight me when you can talk?” Vell suggested earnestly. “You’re clearly outmatched, and I’m not here for a bloodbath.”