Fiaethe moved surprisingly fast in a dress. This was her sole advantage in all the chaos unfolding around them. She was off to the side when the High Priestess moved to intercept her "friend" -- or perhaps the relationship was more antagonistic since the High Priestess clocked him with her staff. Normally the subtleties of relationships were intriguing to her, but she had developed something of a survivor's instinct. As the High Priestess was busy reprimanding the man that almost tackled her to the ground, Fiaethe's eyes fell to the horrible mess of Drow that sat on the floor, not far from her at all.
The carnage was hard to ignore. What caught Fiaethe's attention more than the dark pieces of skin was the armor. This Drow had looked and walked just like any of the soldiers in the square...
It was a stressful thing, realizing that she couldn't trust anyone around her.
Fiaethe did not look at the alchemist. She didn't think she would have to. He hadn't tried to kill her yet and that put him a few leagues ahead of Drow assassins. She instead scanned all the movement surrounding them now that she had an idea of what she was looking for. It didn't give her much confidence to simply be aware of Drow. She certainly wouldn't be able to stop them from killing other elves. All she had for defense was a knife and a complex magic not normally used for battle. Drow were not restricted from range weapons either. And poisoned needles were the last on her list of ways to die after her previous experience.
"Try not to make this spat long winded," Fiaethe suggested in a dry voice. "I am apparently an indispensable sharp dresser, but I do rather poorly in fight with armored Drow."
It was not wise to be sarcastic to either of them, as Fiaethe was again without proper guard, but this crowded square suddenly seemed far more dangerous than a deserted hallway in the middle of the night. She was certain the High Priestess was more than capable than clapping her former alchemist friend in irons at another time.