Sisters of Slaughter fight at a distance measured in heartbeats — the length of a barbed lash that can flick past a shield-rim, curl around a spear-haft, and open an enemy's guard for the dagger that follows. They advance like performers taking a stage, weaving and feinting where witch aelves simply charge, and they treat every engagement as a bout to be won with style as well as speed.
They are wedded to the arena: aelves given over to the gladiatorial pits where the Khainite cults tithe blood between wars, their ornate masks marking a vow that the fight is their whole devotion. Crowds across the realms — aelf and human alike — pay well to watch them duel, and the temples pocket both the coin and the veneration. Every Sister knows the audience sees sport where she performs sacrament, and she pities them for it.
Order of battle
