He moved the instant the hand tried to grab the sword, his mailed fist smashing at the popinjay's face, his left hand drawing the dagger and jabbing it up at the elf's throat as he dodged. He drew the fist back, and did a short, fast skip forward, getting in too close for the sycophant to properly use his weapon, his free hand lashing out against the elf's belly, before diverting to snatch the blade, trusting the enchantments on the gauntlets to protect him from whatever might be on the blade. He didn't care what the sycophant did, but WAS wary of his blade, it had an edge, likely enchantments, and would kill him if he let it. But he figured the popinjay was used to formal, well regulated duels, not the life and death melee-a-trios brawls that he had survived where death came from every direction, and only the lucky, skilled, wary, and smart survived. He fought dirty, seeking to bind him, and then would show him how the fought where he came from. By lunging forward again, and feinting with the dagger, before slamming his knee into the elf's groin.