The lithe, young Eladrin stood even straighter, something that Ramar hadn’t thought possible, raised his long sword in salute, and intoned, “I challenge you to an honorable battle of skill brought on by necessity. We fight until one surrenders or falls. Let this duel be Witnessed and consecrated by blood spilled in willing sacrifice.”

A silver nimbus surrounded Jhendayre’s blade. There was a sound somewhere between that of a chime and a peal, giving the impression that a crystal bell had been struck.
Every drop of blood reacted to it, seeming to pulse, each pool creating a wave of spikes as if it was a thing alive and in pain. The air rippled and writhed as arcane magic forced a portion of the Feywild to become aware of the duel. Though the strange frenzy of activity lasted only a moment, the feeling of unused energy lingered on, charging the air like bottled lightning.

“Clever, but if you think adding clauses about falls is going to prevent me from carving you up like a feast day roast, you’d be wrong.”