A group of rogues stepped from another alley several feet in front of her and she suppressed a groan of dismay.  Why did this always happen when she was dressed nicely and wearing a weapon?  Maybe that was the problem, she mused as she slid the sword from its sheath.  Maybe she should just forget about wearing a weapon when she was dressed up?  Or wear a cloak over her clothing so no one would know what she wore.  Either that, or she needed to hire an escort for each time she entered the damn city.

 Slowing her steps, Iliana glanced around and noticed no one else was watching her or the rogues that smelled worse than her mother’s chicken coops when they needed a good mucking out.  

Holding the sword loosely against her right thigh, she tried using a little fear magic on the group.  No need to ruin her clothing if she could keep from it. 

“Something I can do for you boys?”  She asked glibly, her grip tightening slightly on the hilt of her sword. 

Instead of replying, the five before her spread out to close her in.  It wasn’t a comfortable feeling and she sniffed the air, ignoring the stench that wafted off them worse than a dog sprayed by a skunk.  Iliana suspected it would be just as impossible to remove the stench from them as it would be the skunk from a dog’s fur. 

Beneath the stench was the tell-tale smell of herbs and the feel of magic.  Docelfar magic.  Since she doubted Xantos would have set her up, that left only one other docelfar whom she had pissed off.  Darkflower. 

Dropping her shoulders, she sighed and lowered her eyes for a few intense heartbeats.  It was the opening they wanted and she hoped the idiots would see her as easy prey.  No need to let any of them suspect she was a more than capable swordswoman.

Foolishly, they did not attack all at once, preferring to allow each other the privilege of attacking her.  As she brought her sword up to connect with the rogue in front of her, she quickly blocked, twisted, and shoved him backward, taking a chunk out of his weaponless-arm in the process.

Turning, she met the blade of another, repeating the process before turning to a third.  All the while, a midget of a fighter with scruffy hair, patch-work clothing and boots kept together by sheer will, kept bouncing around her taking swipes at her clothing with a sword slightly shorter than hers.

The air against her skin informed her that her favorite skirt, corset, and blouse was being shredded like a kitten sharpening its claws on nylon hosiery.  Not a pleasing fact, she decided it was time to stop playing with this group.

Crouching slightly, she whipped her sword around, quickly disarming her current attacker and letting loose a sharp, ear-piercing keen.  For once, she didn’t give a damn if she killed the group or not.   The hopping rogue, whose spindly limbs reminded her of a frog, fell over backwards, his hands pressed tightly against his slightly-pointed ears. 

Standing, she glanced around at the others, noticing blood pouring from their ears.  None seemed to be conscious and she took her sword and poked the leader in the throat with the tip of her sword.  He didn’t move.

Grinning brightly, she walked across the body and, not worrying with sheathing her sword, sauntered along, trying to ignore the fact her skirt was flipping like fringe with each step she took.

Fortunately, the Raven’s Claw was only two blocks away so she was able to dart inside the building without having to endure a great deal of gawking from the Fellhaven residents.  Not that they were paying much attention to her, anyway.  Apparently women walking along in shredded clothing swinging a sword as though it were a cane was an everyday occurrence.