Nafien smiled. This man, whoever he was, was elite. He was also out of his element. As he made his way toward the edge of the town, Nafien readied his scimitars. Softly, he whispered the incantation he knew so well, and his blades came to life. Combustriel, the Hellkeeper, roared for bloodshed as it ignited, and Sparkszan began to glow with a hiss. He didn't need to see this man to know he was heavily fortified. He heard his footsteps in the bar, his rate of respiration, they told him everything. He was moving quickly, but would tire far sooner than Nafien. Although, his weapon did make Nafien a bit worried. Sword against sword was Nafien's strong point, and no matter how good his hearing was, he couldn't dodge a bullet. So as he reached the town's edge, he halted, and sidestepped into an alley. He drew a blanket of cold, wet darkness around his surroundings, as to mask his thermal pattern. In the Darkenwood, where no light shined, dark elves had evolved the use of infravision, so that by merely refocusing their eyes, they could see thermal patterns as clearly as regular vision. Of course, this meant nothing to Nafien's sightless eyes, but the skill that helped him mask thermal patterns did. He knew that the only way this enemy could've seen which copy of him was the real thing was by using infravision of some sort. To beat this foe, he would have to get closer to him, not farther apart. That gun was heavy, and Nafien doubted he would have the strength to swing it like a club. As Nafien pondered these things, the sound of footfalls began to grow louder. His foe was nearly upon him. Nafien held his breath, and stood perfectly still.