[color=fff200]You know, I just might! A thousand Septims a head! Now shut up and get the gate open, you dull dark elf drunkard, before I shove my staff up your-[/color] is what Arielle would have said if an arrow had not suddenly pierced Zanvon's neck and spattered her face with specks of red hot blood. The Breton stood frozen in shock as the bandits emerged from behind the thick double doors, her every muscle tense with fear and surprise. At that point she was prepared to give them whatever they wanted in exchange for her life, but that opportunity was snatched from under her nose before she even realized it was there.

It was all she could do to watch, in horror, as the murderous men raced towards them. Then instinct kicked in. She began reciting an incantation and, moving her hands in complex patterns, cast the spell for levitation. She gave a gentle push and was suddenly airborne, floating slowly backwards through space while she scanned the area for a good place to hide. Another arrow flitting through the air only a few feet away reminded her of the archer. She would need to find cover. But where?

The answer presented itself almost instantly: there was a big pine tree with a thick trunk not far away. She floated as fast as she could and hid herself behind it, well beyond the reach of blades and bows. Hopefully she would now have some time to think of a decent strategy.