Skandra came here. Why did he come here? Of all the places in the city to be he had to be here. Aeotha didn't know what to do, her fingers closed on the bronze capped end of her staff and pulled it from her back in one fluid motion. Just as Skandra pulled that odd blade from his hip. She had no time to yell a warning to anyone. Her eyes went wide as the blade with it's pearlescent sheen that caught so much light at once, scored through the armor, and blood sprayed out. Dead before they knew what had hit them. But what Aeotha's eyes saw was not the creamy too white, or darker tan skin of an elf. Instead it was too dark, black. Her heart stopped in her chest for one, then two seconds. There was so much noise, and yet she could hear quite clearly the sound that body made as it hit the ground.
"Stop!" She found her voice. "I said stop!" She turned her head to yell at the Priestesses. It was not trust. It was not loyalty. It was simply a begrudging acceptance. Skandra had killed a Drow. And there was no doubt in her mind that the Drow had been here to kill someone. Lady Fiaethe, or herself. It didn't matter right then. The problem was that no one was going to listen to her, and she only had a moment to act. If the Priestesses kept attacking, then they could hit one of the wounded, or one of them. If the archers let their arrows fly, the same could happen.
"It's a Drow!" A priestess shrieked from too near the now dead body.
"It's Skandra Tyullis!" Shrieked another from across the square.
Aeotha lunged to collide with Skandra before he could collide with Fiaethe. It didn't matter what he was here for. Friend or foe, she was not going to allow him to lay hands on Fiaethe. He'd signed and sealed this decision when he didn't come to her. He had all the time in the world, no matter the reason. A note. A letter. But all of it was lies. He'd never told her what he was really doing. He never told her he was taking the stone. That strange blade. It was in her eyes. That's the stone, isn't it Skandra. Another lie on a pile of them. Teetering to the brink. She could justify only the death of the Drow, not the fact that he'd killed the Priest and kidnapped the Priestess. Even if there was a good reason for both, the fact that he hadn't come forward..
Instead of allowing him to actually hit her, Aeotha struck with one vicious swipe of her staff to his face. She could not just allow him to dive at Fiaethe. She couldn't even trust that he'd explain himself truthfully now. Of course Aeotha assumed there were more Drow, but that did not mean she could trust the man she used to call a lover. He hadn't given her a good reason to believe in him in ages.