Long Roads and Short Tempers Part II is a piece of fiction for Species of Sundara: Elves, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.

Valo stalked closer to the dark-haired elf, who had his back against the bar, his elbows resting on the dark wood. The elf took a last sip from his glass before he spoke.

“I will give you a single strike,” he said. “Make the most of it.”

Valo hesitated for just a moment. The elf’s steady gaze was placid as he waited. Then Valo shifted, and lunged forward. The knife was a blur as it streaked forward, but the elf tilted his head to one side. Rather than the butcher’s strike taking the elf through the eye, the blade barely grazed his cheek as it went past, leaving the butcher off-balance.

If Valo’s strike had been fast, what the elf did next happened quickly enough that none could say they saw it happen. The elf’s arm shot out, and his glass exploded against the side of Valo’s face. Before the butcher could pull away, the elf snaked his arm around Valo’s, and twisted. A loud snap could be heard. Valo opened his mouth to scream, but the elf struck him in the throat. Gagging, blinded by broken glass and wine, and barely able to breathe, Valo stumbled, and fell to the floor of the tavern.

The men who had come into the room with Valo stepped forward, but when the elf raised his head they stopped as one. A trickle of black blood had oozed down his cheek from the wound Valo had dealt, but it had already stopped. They had assumed Arumil’s companion was another of the Rhodann; a traveler and a wanderer. They had learned too late that was not the case. The elf with the gray eyes picked up Valo’s knife, and idly flipped it in the air, catching it by the blade.

“Arumil is a creature made of honor, and mercy,” the dark-haired elf said, and though he was looking down at Valo, he was clearly speaking to the room. With a flick of his wrist he flung the knife into the floor hard enough that it quivered. “I am not. It is only because my love has interceded on your behalf that you still draw breath.”

“Shan, please, no more,” Arumil said, stepping between the dark-haired elf and Valo. He put a hand to Shan’s wounded cheek, and turned his face to him. Shan pressed his forehead to Arumil’s for a moment, before raising his head to look at the room.

“Either take your friend away, or take up the knife,” Shan said.

The men around the room exchanged glances. They’d all seen the same thing. One by one they eased their hands away from their weapons, and approached the two elves the way they might approach a bear’s den. Two of them lifted Valo, careful of his dislocated arm, and stumbled with him out the door. The others followed one after another, walking backwards out of the tavern so they never took their eyes off of Shan. When they were all gone, the knife remained.

Shan patted Arumil on the shoulder, and then resumed his place at the bar. The room let out the breath it had been collectively holding. Shan smiled, and gestured with two fingers at Arumil.

“Go on,” he said. “You were just getting to the good part of the story.”