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Telryn
This situation called for precise movements.
Precise actions.
Precise words.
Unfortunately, time didn't permit such actions, or even allow him a thought process for that matter. Knowing in a fight between him and that crossbow he would come out worst, especially at near enough point blank, and armorless, and shieldless, he needed to act fast.
In the split second he had, he gazed into the crazed eyes of the ex-captain, and muttered "God, I feel so naked" before moving.
In a flurry of movement, impressively fast for an man of his size, he dropped to one knee, reaching out his right hand for the sheathed sword. Detheriel shouted something short, but Telryn didn't catch it.
The abandoned sword wasn't a flail, to say the least. He knew he couldn't swing like a deranged fool hoping to hit something hard enough so that it wouldn't stand back up, as per usual.
His hand wrapped around the handle of the sword before attempting to pull it back far enough to give him some time to unsheathe it...
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