Ramona took a step back as the Dark Angel began their descent, the glint of a hidden blade appearing in her hand with a flick of the wrist. This was starting poorly.

[s]Base of the neck; slice the throat, sever the artery, drown them in their own blood.[/s] No good-- between that damned collar and the bulk of their helmet, there was barely room to wedge a blade in there. And that left you practically in the sweet embrace of an eight foot tall killing machine.

She preferred words to violence. Words gave you more opportunities, and left fewer dead ends.

[s]Under the arm; find a gap, pierce a lung.[/s] Just as bad-- Those pauldrons came down too far, and there was no guarantee she'd make it through all that muscle to anything vital.

But sometimes words weren't an option, or would just give your opponent an opportunity. She didn't shy away from violence, make no mistake. There was a killer buried in there.

Inner thigh; nice juicy arteries in each leg, and tendons to clip to cripple them. The best option out of a bad lot-- she'd need precision to not make it messier and slower than she needed it to be. 

Throne, but no one should be able to move that easily in that much armor, carrying a sword like that. The last option was living to fight another day, make a break for the exit and hope she could outrun one of the Emperor's Chosen. But they were supposed to be [i]fast[/i], and even if they didn't have a firearm on them who knows if they'd learned how to throw damned lightning like the rest of these monks.

Her eye flicked to Vigrid, loathe as she was to tear her gaze from the obvious threat. He seemed remarkably calm, given the circumstances.