Henry backed away nervously, watching the battle surround him, Felix squeaking his encouragement to do something.
Henry, your friends are in trouble, and if you don't do something, you're going to take an arrow to the back. You don't have to take this one-on-one, but be clever. It's what you're good at. Or at least, what you think you're good at, Felix offered.
"Oh fine, but just because I have to." Henry sighed.
Squinting and screwing his eyes in deep concentration, Henry disguised himself with the magical illusion of a bandit: masked and in black, but still keeping his messy bleached hair. He reached for his ankles and pulled two small throwing knives from sheaths he wore strapped near his shins.
"I really hate this, Felix. I just don't feel right doing this."
He walked over to the nearest bandit archer, who was pulling back another arrow, ready to fire.
With his best impersonation of a gruff voice, Henry barked, "Cease your fire. Orders came down from the boss that we're calling this off. Now."
As the bandit stared back, confused, Henry winced and thrust one of the knives into the bandit's back, sending him reeling to the ground. The bandit tried to stand again, but closing his eyes, Henry stepped into the knife until he was positive the bandit was done for.
He walked away, shutting his eyes until the bandit guise disappeared and he was back to being undersized and agile, dressed again in his Northerner attire.
Felix squeaked his approval as Henry re sheathed the second knife. He slowly drew his sword, and held it at his hip.
"Next time, I'm talking with the bandit's leader over a drink to settle things. Without having to get my perfectly good hunting knife all bloody," Henry said to himself before rushing to see who needed his help.
