Vedette cleared the way with a quick fury. He was starting to like her more.
"Who the fuck are you?" one of the soldiers demanded. "Where's Brand?"
"Right here," Ithacles offered. There was a crack and a thump as Brand, and the chair he was lashed to, fell quite unsoftly to the floor. He thought that was a pretty good line, really. Nothing brilliant of course but the flourish of flopping a punch drunk man down to the floor in a broken heap of cheap furniture wasn't exactly something one got to do every day.
Of course, Skandra went and topped him.
Ithacles sucked wind into his lungs as one of the men fainted. He would have gasped louder but he'd actually seen it before (of course, the real Leironuoth had been there for that). Their hands were in the sky quicker than pheasants chased out of the hedge. Ithacles almost applauded but if one thing turned Skandra into a fucking braggart it was encouragement. Never could take a compliment well.
"Well," Skandra flipped the sword around, and shoved it back into the sheath on his belt. "You truly are unarmed, gentlemen. Vedette! Rope!"
"Went with cock humor?" Ithacles asked Skandra quietly from the side.
The man with is John Thomas pointing directly at them, shriveled as it was, didn't look as if he knew what to do. If he dropped his hands surely the Champion would strike him dead. So his fingers did an oddly nervous dance as he realized a lady would be coming towards him.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," was all he could supply the moment.