Father Spec had advanced confidently, pleased that he would be able to use his magic rope as it had been intended, as a means of protecting his friends. Roused by the hymn he had been singing as he emerged out of the magical silence, his heart could almost burst.
The male drow's blade sliced its way into the armour Spec was wearing so seamlessly. And the first thing he felt was warmth. An artery had clearly been sliced, and as the dark elf raised his wrist above his head, Spec found his body sliding off the blade as he collapsed to the ground. There was no resistance provided by the sword as gravity extracted Spec from the lunge.
Spec is unaware of the blood pooling around him. His eyes are wide but he is not processing any images. The light on his shield still glows, but the rope lies underneath him, soaking up his blood.