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The Choice
"Are we to settle this with blade or with words?" Estarfin said.
He stood, like a black garbed executioner I thought. Though he had eschewed armour, and wore only cloth trousers and tunic, he would make a swift end of the Wood Elf, even had his hands been tied behind his back. A warrior trained and honed, at nigh his strength of old, against an embroiderer. Brave though Parnard could be, he stood no chance whatsoever.
Estarfin laid a hand to his sword hilt. I believe Parnard looked to his eating knife.
And honour....Estarfin could wear cloth, and likely have a second sword set somewhere nearby for Parnard's use. Never could he make himself a young, rather thin, untrained woodelf.
'Ai, Estarfin,' thought I. 'Though I understand you, you have nothing to prove that requires a sword. Do you not know the esteem in which you are held? Will not a slap suffice?'
