Duel:Cornelius vs Kuzial
OOC Notes
Both players agreed that, while this was not a formal duel for stakes, both acknowledged the possibility of maiming and death for their characters, depending on the progress of the duel.
Background
Cornelius had run into Kuzial twice before - once when the Drow fought the Elf Nirarrien, and then the day before in Kelay Tavern.
Cornelius' curiosity as a swordsman was piqued by the Drow's prowess in his battle with the Elf, and when the Drow's glare locked onto him by pure chance one day in Kelay Tavern, he did not back down. However, the presence of others caused both to exercise regrettable discretion.
Then fortune smiled on him, and the Drow once again found him in the tavern, this time with no impediment for either to engage in a test of skill, with both risking life and limb to prove their supremacy in combat over the other.
Scene One: Kelay Tavern
Kuzial stalks into the room, rage evident in all his movements.
Cornelius was standing, already starting his movement towards the door when he recognises the drow. A smile curls his lips.
Kuzial walks in far enough to be standing a few feet in front of Cornelius. The drow glares at the human again, much like yesterday, though this time his fingers twitch with their malicious desire to draw forth his weapons and carve that smile off his face.
Mahri looks up from the despised glass when movement is caught from the corner of her eye. The familiar figure that is Cornelius is looked at first then the drow. Settling back into her chair, the lycan gets ready for some entertainment.
Cornelius smiles at the drow insouciantly, much as he would any street bravo. "I say, dear bean, do those knives do more than cut carrots, or are you this close in order to kiss me?" Relaxed as though he may appear, Cornelius' mind is already entering that cold, black place taught to him by his Maestro all those years ago. After three hundred years encased in stone, he had before him the possibility of the kind of fight he had dreamed and re-dreamed to keep sane. Circles and vectors blaze in his mind as he becomes aware of his space. Will he need to use all the tricks he learned growing up in Vailkrin? He hoped so. "Well?"
Kuzial lets a cold, dark smile form on his own ebon lips. He knows the rules imparted to him by the council of the drow, but he no longer cares. Rules involving lesser races are for weaklings and idiots. The dark elf focuses for a moment on his house insignia; the small metallic object depicts two spiders circling a blind drow. Its meaning is known only to House Stavret, but its power is soon known to all. A globe of darkness appears around Cornelius, and the moment it has manifested itself Kuzial reacts with languid grace. One hand draws forth a dagger, its edge still wet with elf blood. The other hand pulls from his belt a small crossbow. With one motion it is raised and fired where Cornelius stood, its edge gleaming with the powerful sleeping poison that coats almost all the drow's bolts. With casual disregard he drops the crossbow to the ground and pulls forth his other dagger. If he hears the sound of Cornelius dropping unconscious he will surely carve the dandy a new face. If not, he stands ready, waiting to see what the man will do.
Amadriecllya entered the tavern only to see something she very much did not like. It was the man, Cornelius, whom reminded so of her beloved Raoul, and a very angry looking Drow, who appeared as if they were out for combat. She sniffed the air. She smelled poison, and eyed the crossbow as it was dropped. From her extensive research of poisons and the like, she was able to identify where the poison came from. It was the bolts of the crossbow. She eyed the daggers as they were pulled out. Her beautiful blue butterfly wings morphed into her battle wings; a set of small yellow and red butterfly wings. They buzzed angrily. She watched from a distance with keen interest, readying herself to step in to defend either side if necessary.
Cornelius moves the instant there is darkness. One does not grow up in Vailkrin without getting used to it, and one does not learn to fence blindfolded to stand still like a pell. Comfortable in the weight of his cuirass and gorget, Cornelius steps laterally and performs a neat handstand spring over the nearest table, landing on the other side as his hands draw out his weapons - a cruel, serrated dagger, and the Penzance Sabre, a family heirloom partially crafted with the teeth of a dragon which an ancient Penzance warrior had helped to slay. The weapon is still suffused with the magics designed to preserve it against damage: its leading edge, and several hand-spans along the back edge, are still as sharp as the day it was enchanted. If Cornelius' movement hasn't brought him out of the globe of darkness, he closes his eyes, relying on training instilled so painfully by his Maestro. As he hears the twang of crossbow he smiles. He would treat this drow as he would Garath, assuming him possessed of all the tricks that Albino had possessed. Weapons drawn, and foe's crossbow discharged to the spot he has just vacated, he pays close attention to the sounds and smells and air pressure around him. Like a chess player, the Tavern and its furniture are his board, and by all They Who Watch, he would enjoy this game!
Mercutious steps into the tavern just in time to a sphere of darkness enveloping Cornelius. Sighing to himself even as the first bolt pierce the inky black depths, knowing some how that only noble born Drow are able to manifest such magics. Merc just shakes his head even as Kuzail lets the expended crossbow clatter to the floor. Throwing the cowl of his head back the ever present smile was at this time gone, setting the other would be assassin a cold hard stare with his almond brown eyes. Folding his arms across his chest the Deputy Sheriff of Larket watches on.
Azaren sighs as the fight breaks out and walks casually towards the door. He looks over Mercutious briefly as he goes. Azaren exits south.
Mahri watches, narrow eyed and smirking with arms crossed. Oh yeah. This was going to get very interesting indeed. The winged woman is eyed a moment before Amadriecllya is dismissed and her gaze goes back to the fight. Water forgotten or ignored now. If this scuffle gets too close, Mahri'll simply get up and move. She, at least, is confident in Cornelius' skill with his blade.
Kuzial stalks around the side of his darkness globe, his movements silent. He did not hear the man falling to a heap, so he assumes his opponent evaded the crude attack. Deep down he hoped he would; death should be earned, and the way the dandy moved yesterday betrayed him to be a learned warrior. The dark elf's eyes roam the room, glaring a silent challenge to those who seem ready to intervene. But soon enough he focuses once more on Cornelius, seeing the man finally as he stands behind a table. The drow allows a smirk to turn his beautiful angular features into an almost demonic smile, "You're not one of those idiots who spends all their time fleeing, are you? I assure you, foolish human, I will not make mistakes. Come... face me." The drow drops into a crouch, his right hand held in front of him, dagger horizontal to the ground, the left held at his side, ready for the riposte.
Amadriecllya whispered something to Mercutious.
Mahri wishes she had a rum about now. That would make the evening perfect.
Mercutious whispered something to Amadriecllya.
Like second nature, Cornelius takes in the air pressure and sounds, knowing well the distinctive swish and whistle of a moving blade. There is initial confusion as the majority of tavern patrons clear the hell out of the way of Drow and Dandy, and Cornelius makes careful note of the fall of chair and jostling of tables, his chessboard changing with every fraction of a second. Still, if the Drow is kind enough to speak at such a crucial time, he'd allow him that mistake with pleasure. With a grin, Cornelius kicks the table so that it would fall to entangle his opponent's shins as lithe, dancing footwork brings him to the circumference of the Circle of Death. Not having recognised the change in air pressure in the initial confusion of patrons moving, Cornelius is not aware of the Drow's face lying in line with the bulk of the table he has just overturned, and so the initial sabre cut is sent with the intention of a neat slice from shoulder to hip as his dagger is held at the ready for close-in combat. Still, as the patrons clear the combatants' way, his awareness of his opponent becomes clearer
Mercutious, knowing Cornelius can handle himself, his attention is obviously on the attacker. Looking around at the other tavern patrons as he begins to size up the situation to make sure if he was to intervene in such a fray nobody would get hurt. Even as the Dandy over turns the table sending it toppling towards the drow, Merc bolts into action his first few footfalls speed him to the nearest table with lithe graceful like movements he hops on top of it with a single toe tip on the edge, using cat like grace he vaults himself into the air. Stretching his body out as black leather clad digits catch onto the wooden beam. Like an acrobat he uses his momentum to propel himself forward to catapult himself into a flip that lands the deputy onto the adjacent beam. Crouching down he continues to watch the goings on below him.
Kuzial is crouched and ready when the table is sent at him, so he is hardly caught by suprise. His finely honed leg muscles seem only to twitch, but it is enough to send him leaping to the left, away from the wooden projectile. As the dandy comes in with his measured strike, Kuzial is caught slightly wrong footed, landing a touch awkwardly in the centre of the room, right on the wax that drips from the tavern's single candelabra. That small moment where he was regaining his balance is enough for his well-learned opponent. The strike is true, though the tip of the blade doesn't pierce the dark elf's chainmail, the force is enough to send stinging pains down his right hand. With a growl of growing rage, Kuzial slaps the back edge of the fop's blade on its way down with his left handed dagger, before stepping in. He is aware of Cornelius' own dagger, but seems to disregard it as his weapon moves with sickening speed; a mere blur of slashes and stabs, hoping to cripple his opponent then and there and end this fight so the true fun can begin... Slow, lingering torture.
Amadriecllya's eyes filled with tears at the sight of the fight. She hated it. And so- slowly but surely, her armour came into view. It was one of her many magicks; whenever she felt threatened, her armour would slowly appear on its own. And she felt a bit more than threatened at the moment. In fact, she was furious. Her wings buzzed again. She whistled, and in came her band of merrymen, also ready for battle. The Gypsy Queen; Amadriecllya had done something she rarely did; called her men to arms. For the moment, she obeyed Mercutious' orders, and had her men stand on the side.
Mahri slaps automatically at her thigh for the dagger that's not there. Cursing under her breath the vision of shark-head shaped cartilage with a dagger sticking out of it flits briefly in her mind. Well there went her idea. Instead, the lycan'll tense and tug one hand free of its covering. Just in case. And definitely not because she's expecting Cornelius to need her brand of help. That hand will be kept close so as not to accidentally touch anyone else.
Cornelius can remember how his Maestro used to laugh at the phrase 'warrior's intuition'. It took years of lessons and hundreds of brawls and judicial combats on his family's behalf for him to realise the truth of his Maestro's words. Even now, what other swordsmen call instinct, Cornelius harnesses with scientific precision, each shift of smell sound and wash of air across his face gives him data to apply to the scenario unfolding in his head. Were any to look into his mind, they would see lines and circles and constantly shifting vectors and scientific notations flickering at high speed. So it is that the footfalls and subsequent movement from the door as Mercutious elevates himself to high ground are ignored for now. Instead, his attention is focused on the drow, whose position is betrayed with the touch of a sabre. Cornelius' grin, perhaps unseen by all but those with the power to penetrate that darkness, grows wider as the dance begins in earnest. He does not need to protect a certain part of his torso, and so can eliminate a number of the opponent's vectors from tactical consideration. The feel of blade being pushed, and the line of pressure sends him flowing into his opponent's momentum, his dancing steps carrying him in and out of medium range as sabre and dagger work overtime. Still, at the close range the drow is at a distinct advantage, and already some blood trickles from minor cuts to his arm, and one drawn along his face, lined up almost perfectly with the now-healed claw-marks gifted him by another assassin at another time. Cornelius grunts, and whispers a word. The runes on his sleeves flare brightly, like sunlight reflected off a mirror, the wash of light spreading outwards as the runic enchantments seek to undo the sphere of darkness. As he sweeps in a blaze of dagger and sabre cuts from multiple directions, he comments "I hate to say it, old bean, but you are bloody good."
Even as Kuzail is knocked back a bit, Mercutious repositions himself, smiling to himself as he relishes the sounds of mixed heartbeats below him, the vampire inside of him hopes there is a lot of blood. Narrowing his eyes even as he surveys the other beings movements, even as the Gypsy Pixie's armour begins to materialise on her body, he pays this no mind, nor the movements of Mahri, no they did not matter to him, he would keep them safe from harm. Checking his options, he knows that he himself is unarmed. Does it worry him not in the slightest. Even with two duelling opponents below him, both highly skilled and trained with little more than a whisper and a ruffle of fabric he drops from his perch. Like a dark shadow he falls landing in a crouch with another move of grace his right legs snaps out in a vicious sideways kick intending to land it just behind the assassin's knees as his hands move to the floor to help him make such a move possible and throw the other tumbling backwards.
Kuzial growls with a mixture of pain and rage as the fop's armor flares with its inner light, dispelling his own darkness with brutal results. For a warrior who has lived so long in the lightless depths of the Underdark, the change between impenetrable darkness and bright light is like being stabbed in the eyes. In his anger he was foolhardy, and it seems he will now pay the price. His finely honed attention breaks, and though he is loathe to remove himself from such tight quarters; the only position he has true advantage in, he knows he must. So he leaps backwards, dropping into another defensive crouch a few feet away from Cornelius' 'Circle of Death'. It seems he has picked up some wounds in his frantic escape; his speed not enough to evade the talented dandy's strikes. Blood drops from the flapping skin of his cheek, and more surprisingly from a gash in his side, where the man's sabre obviously pierced his chainmail. The pain is great, but for a male who grew up under the female's brutal leadership in the Underdark, pain is something that can be ignored.. For now. The human's words spoken across the distance cause a smile to form on Kuzial's thin lips, "You are better than any human I have faced before. But you are still that.. a human." The drow smirks, "Come face me in the Underdark... Away from these.." He motions with one dagger at the tavern's patrons, "Pathetic idiots. Let us finish this like true warriors..." The fact he has spoken for longer than any other time on the surface betrays his true pain at the wound in his side, but he is a drow - he will not back down from a human, even at the cost of his own life.
Kuzial had moved himself back from where Mercutious had struck more by luck than skill. He eyes the vampire coldly, "You can come too, idiot. I will enjoy tearing your heart out."
Mahri blinks as Mercutious joins the fray. This is entirely too much for the wolf and she'll edge her way to the door. Past 'merry men', armoured fae and all sorts of milling folks to the door. Mahri will just have to catch up to Cornelius later to find out who came out worse: Mercutious or the drow.
His cheshire grin now visible for all to see, Cornelius lets one eye crack open slightly to see if the defensive enchantments have worked. Both eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Mercutious' intervention in his fun, and the smile vanishes. The expression left on the face of the normally dapper gentleman is cold and hard. Even as he parries-and pirouettes away from Kuzial, he fetches a kick to Mercutious' posterior "Your interference is unwanted, Mercutious. I am happy to face two opponents as much as one if you force the issue." He turns to the Drow, now a few feet away. "Agreed, although Vailkrin shall suffice. It is dark enough for your tricks, familiar enough for mine. This place is too crowded for my tastes." He sketches a quick bow to Mahri with a wink
Mahri might be caught making a kissy-face towards Cornelius before slipping out the door. The glove is replaced on the woman's bare hand. Can't be having 'accidents' now.
Amadriecllya listened carefully to Cornelius' words. She decided that at this point, he was a good enough opponent to protect himself, and dismissed her merrymen. Slowly, her armour disappeared from sight. She had to let this one go. She now pulled out medicines from her bag. If she couldn't fight; she'd heal.
Mercutious tumbles away nimble as a cat as Cornelius tries to kick his rump, puts him into a roll that allows him to easily regain the standing position. "Whatever your quarrel with the other man be it should not take place in a tavern. I was asked to intervene." He says flatly while turning to face Kuzail, "If you had been in Larket I'd see you in irons." Placing both hands on his hips he waits for them both to leave.
You grins to Mercutious "But we are -Not- in Larket, old bean. Also, I started this, so you should be directing that threat to me."
Amadriecllya whispered to Cornelius in a frightened tone, as she backed against the wall. The usually battle-strong woman felt weak. It was like watching the battle where Raoul had died all over again. Her wings stayed in their battle mode.
Cornelius murmurs to Amadriecllya "Sorry dear sprout, a Gentleman of Penzance does not let a duel go until a clear outcome of some kind is determined. I appreciate your concern, but it is unwarranted."
Kuzial turns from Cornelius for a moment to regard Mercutious. The drow grins, "You are not strong enough to put me in iron, idiot." That said, the dark elf turns back to Cornelius, "Shall we remove this... cretin... and finish, human?" Without waiting for reply, the dark elf leaps at the vampire with hellish speed, his twin daggers erupting into a frenzied motion of slashes, swipes, stabs and strikes - each one aimed to disable the vampire's limbs, before the dark elf pivots on his heel and tries to slam both daggers into the undead deputy's eyes. Kuzial has left himself open to attack from Cornelius, but he saw in the man's dark gaze that same burning enjoyment of a true challenge. A battle between masters, and such things take precedence over sheriffs trying to be tough in a city that is not their own.
Mercutious turning to face Cornelius as he sniffs the blood in the air, the smell intoxicating. "Looked more like the Drow was the aggressor between the two of you. As for my supposed threat being aimed at one. Your both men as far as I can tell therefore you'd both be in irons." After he finishes he looks at the both of them much as a parent who has caught his children fighting.
Cornelius chuckles as the fray begins anew. At this stage he does not move to assist or attack either, but comments generally to the other patrons "And this is what happens when civil servants flaunt their authority in places where they don't have it. Discretion is the better part of valour, one should think, when considering the option of intervening in a gentleman's dispute of arms."
Cornelius takes a moment to wash his cut face with some whisky left by a fled patron
Amadriecllya whispers something to Cornelius
Mercutious his words barely out of his mouth as the drow attacks him still being a bit new to combat just simply grabs a nearby bottle busts it on a table and waits for the leaping drow to impale himself.
You murmurs in amused fashion to Amadriecllya "When the conflict is over, perhaps. For now, I must concentrate, dear girl."
Kuzial slashed the bottle with his right handed dagger, smashing it to shards, before resuming his attack.
Cornelius cleans the drow blood off his dagger, and achieves the same for his sabre with a casual flick of the blade. He re-sheathes his dagger for now, and pulls out a small empty vial, looking thoughtfully at the Drow and Vampire combatants
Mercutious back-pedals as the enraged drow cuts and chops whatever he puts in his path cursing to himself. "Seriously need to get myself a sword." Grabbing a chair he puts it between himself and Kuzail. "Back, back I say." As he pokes and jabs the wooden legs at the Drow much as a lion tamer would do with a lion.
Kuzial spits on the ground in front of Mercutious, before stalking out of the tavern. "Vailkrin, human. I have no time for idiots like that one."
Cornelius puts the vial away "I'll meet you by the Portal, old bean"
Kuzial exits south.
Cornelius picks up the drow's small crossbow with a smile, and puts it in his satchel.
Amadriecllya wrung her hands together and watched helplessly as the Drow left, and as Cornelius picked up the Drow's weapon. "Oh..." She looked to Mercutious pleadingly. Either calm me down or go after them, she thought to herself.
Cornelius smiles and sketches a courtly bow to the tavern "Well folks, it has been fun. I hope you all enjoyed the entertainment!" He chuckles as some of the drunker patrons cheer
Cornelius waves with a smile "Ladies and Gentlemen, I shall be here all week!" He winks at Amadriecllya before strolling out of the tavern, a spring to his step
Amadriecllya said to Cornelius "Do be careful... Please..."
Mercutious makes his way over to Amadri after setting the chair down in it's proper place. Surveying the damage and the bottle of booze he wasted. He just says and shakes his head. "That is the reason I did not wish to get involved, lets have a drink or two."
Amadriecllya nodded slowly, and followed Mercutious to a table. "I hate it when things like this happen." She turned and waved her hands, repairing the broken items in the room with magic. "That ought to clean things up here..." She nodded to herself when she was sure things were fixed up properly, then turned to Mercutious, her wings slowly turning blue once more. She folded her wings behind her delicately, not wanting them in the way at the moment.
Cornelius grins at the lady's words "But of course, M'dear. Adieu!"
Scene Two: in Vailkrin
Cornelius strolls along roads very familiar to him. While things have changed in three hundred years, the differences have not been so great as to prevent him from becoming familiar with his home once more
Kuzial is standing still under the glowing lamps. He has not hidden to attack his opponent from behind, like many a drow would. There is no pleasure now in deceit. This battle must be won properly; humans are not to be superior to drow.
Cornelius strolls up to the drow casually "Well, old bean, we've both revealed some of our aces, as it were, so it would be rather pointless to go through that process again, methinks. I'll avoid using the runes, if you avoid using that special brand of darkness. As fun as it is to fight blindfolded, I'd rather fight you face to face." He retrieves something from his satchel and lobs it gently. Kuzial would recognise it as his crossbow "You forgot this. It'd be a shame to lose such a fine implement, don't you think?" He scratches his jawline with his thumb musing to himself "Shame Jolie isn't here. She always wanted to watch me fight a drow. Ah well." He returns his direct focus to Kuzial. "Well old bean, what say you?"
Kuzial catches the crossbow with a free hand, his daggers are once more in his belt. He hooks it under his cloak; an enchanted piwafwi given to all nobles of his house, before nodding. "I will not enact my darkness spell. You have my word, as Elderboy of House Stavret." With that same fluid grace the dark elf draws forth his daggers once more. One coated in elf blood, one dripping with Cornelius's blood. He bows, respect evident in his movement. A rare respect given to anyone, be them any race or any person in Hollow. "Shall we finish this, human?" Without waiting for an answer, Kuzial drops into his fighting stance; knees bent, one dagger held before him horizontal to the road, the other held ready at his side. He waits, ready.. eager..
Cornelius bows in return, cheshire grin once more spreading across his face as he steps back to draw sabre and dagger - both freshly cleaned, it would appear. His adopted stance is notably different now that he can see: upright and casual, his sabre extended directly along the line to the drow, dagger held in guard to cover the upper lines of attack. He starts to limber his legs, feet moving to the steps of some unknown dance while the spread-winged raven of Penzance glints off his cuirass and gorget. "As the sole surviving member of the House of Penzance, my word is likewise given that I shall not cause the runes to flare. Now, let us have some fun!" Leaving the line of eternity, Cornelius falls back into the cold place of calculations as he becomes aware of the world around him as a construct of geometric equations. His footwork has him gliding towards the drow as he reaches the Circle of Death and releases but a single sabre cut from a moulinet, whipping the blade to target the drow's lead wrist even as he steps laterally to the offside of the wrist he has just targeted, own dagger at the ready
Kuzial keeps his crimson-hued gaze locked on his opponent as he steps so gracefully forward. The drow is ready, and as the blade is slashed upwards, Kuzial erupts into motion. Instead of parrying the blow, he retracts his hand in, letting it sail past. In the same movement he has crossed his feet, and with devastating speed he spins a tight circle while bending his knees. One dagger is sent in a slash at the man's leading knee, and as momentum plays itself out, Kuzial lifts himself, perhaps foolishly, into a lunging stab with his other dagger, aimed at the man's throat. The move is done with flawless grace, though it is perhaps foolhardy - for with one dagger stabbing, and one out-stretched, he thrown any pretence of defence out the window, as it were.
Cornelius twists his lips slightly as he notes the Drow's reaction speed. Truly, this one was as skilled as Garath had been. While he was already moving away from the expected attack to the leg, content to let the tight circle of his sabre cut bring it back to guard, he had not foreseen a move so foolhardy as the drow lunges for him. Indeed, he is only half-prepared by the half of him which relies on combat reflex. Forgoing a dagger parry, Cornelius instead uses his own retreating momentum to lean into a backwards cartwheel, letting the dagger just graze his gorget with a grating screech of steel on steel. The moment his weapon-bearing fists touch ground in the process of cartwheeling he bunches his muscles to cause him to spring in a neat piking flip off to the Drow's left, landing and resuming guard at the line of Eternity. He looks carefully at the Drow, awaiting his response
Kuzial cannot stop the grin forming on his lips, "You are truly skilled." The dark elf begins to pace to the left, his footwork, even in such a simple movement, is flawless. He remains in perfect balance, having recovered from his brash attack, he truly knows there will be no easy victory. So he paces, stalking, waiting... He knows he will not see any holes in his opponent's superb defence, so he decides he must create some. Kuzial steps in suddenly, his left handed dagger feigning a stab, before it snaps before his chest in a defensive position. The true attack comes from the right as he tries to slap at the man's sword, before twisting his wrist enough to strike at the human's forearm. That sabre, wielded with such consummate skill, must be taken out of the equation if the dark elf is to be victorious..
Cornelius finds his vision has finally acclimatised to the darkness of Vailkrin, just as in the days of his youth. He responds with a cheerful "Glad to hear you say so, old bean" He takes in everything about the drow as the dark-skinned elf approaches: the facial expressions, the movements, even the sharpness of sound from the weight of his footsteps. No longer blinded, Cornelius can bring to bear the full power of his analytical talent, the talent which had caused his Maestro to declare him a master in his own right by the age of 19. As Kuzial attacks he allows himself to fall into the Drow's momentum for a time, guiding the Drow's blades slightly with each parry as he gets a true feel through the clash of steel on steel for the Drow's art. His dancing footwork keeps him moving ever just out of danger as Cornelius acts with scientific precision to keep just out of real danger, albeit at the cost of some minor nicks and one shallow cut between gorget and cuirass, fortunately missing the vital arteries. The pain reassures Cornelius this is not a stone-dream, and that he is once more in a true battle. As the drow levels yet another cunning feint and strike he makes his move, using the tactic which has won him so many duels. He accepts the feint into the flesh of his left arm, twisting that arm like a snake and stepping laterally past with a dancing pirouette. He uses the pressure of flesh and bone to prevent the drow from retracting it fast enough for an effective defence even as his sabre sweeps with the torque of his movement to cleave in diagonal fashion targeting side, shoulder, and possibly a neck or pointed ear if the drow doesn't respond carefully. His grin takes on a rictus look as he subsumes the pain of his own self-inflicted wound with the aid of willpower and adrenaline.
Kuzial snarls in surprise as his feint is turned into a true attack, and an even more devastating counter - something he clearly has not seen before. He attempts to retract it for the parry, but caught as it is the moment of restriction in the man's arm is enough to hold it back from where it should be. Unable to offer a suitable parry, and at such close quarters he knows in that instant he cannot leap back, he is forced to take the blow in the best measure he can. He shifts his weight to the right, taking the diagonal slash across his upper arm. It is covered, as is his entire upper body, in drow chain mail. But such a strike, at such close range, without even a partial parry, is enough to cleave through the links and deep into the ebon flesh beneath. It embeds itself in muscle and bone, and with rage born of agony the dagger his arm held is dropped. The other dagger, held in his left hand, is torn free from Cornelius's arm, and using a similar tactic to the dandy, he twists his wounded arm enough to trap the sabre, before stabbing at the dandy's face - the blow made stronger by his surging adrenaline and the burning desperation that keeps the young warrior, well, young for a drow, in this fight.
Cornelius is used to the pain in his arm, revels in it to an extent even as the dagger is brutally ripped out of his flesh - however, he knows that if there is a morning for him, he will feel the pain of his strategy acutely. But that is a concern for the Cornelius of tomorrow. Cornelius of right now wants to live in this moment forever, and pain be damned. Once again, the drow's reflexes shock Cornelius as he finds his sabre bound up. However, nobody knows his trick better than he, and so it is that as he feels the ruined arm pressing on his sabre he simply lets go, the sabre dropping as his freed hand strikes across his body with precision, driving the heel of his palm into the drow's wrist. With the drow's strength to contend with, he only manages to send the dagger off course just enough to let him bob and weave his head like a pugilist, earning a new facial scar and nicked ear even as he uses his head's momentum to deliver a crushing headbutt into the drow's face, hoping to daze him, or at the very least blind him with blood from the cut above the eye such a headbutt will frequently cause.
Kuzial is caught by the headbutt full in the face, and it seems Cornelius' prediction is true. For it opens a horrible gash above his left eye which goes about pouring torrents of sanguine liquid into said eye. A little dazed, the drow stumbles back. He shakes his head a few times, sending globules of blood flickering around him, before he glares at the human. The look a comical parady of a wink, were it not for the almost tangible hatred flowing from the Elderboy of House Stavret. He takes a moment, one dagger lost, and now with a sabre embedded deep in his arm, he realizes something. That realization causes a sinister smile to replace the glare and strangely enough, laughter to come from a mouth so unused to the sound. He returns his dagger to his belt, and with only the slightest grimace he tears the sabre from his arm with another explosion of sanguine. With a grunt, the drow flicks through a short series of swipes and stabs, before nodding his appreciation. "A fine weapon, human." Instead of attacking, he reverses the sword and offers its hilt to the dandy, "We could continue this fight, for you are truly a worthy opponent. But I realize that even the victor would leave the battlefield bearing wounds which may not heal. I have a mission on the surface; the complete destruction of the elves. When that is done, we can finish this." The drow bows again, and continues to offer the sabre, ignoring as best he can the waves of agony that come from the deep gash in his arm, the bruises growing on his shoulders and the many, many nicks and cuts that cover his ebon flesh.
Cornelius is definitely going to regret the headbutt. It had been a very long time since he had been forced to resort to the brutal in-fighting tactics his Maestro had forced him to learn. Still, the shock of hitting skull to skull is nothing compared to the maulings he had received from his Maestro's bare hands as a youth when he had claimed that such tactics were beneath nobility. Many back-alley brawls had proven the wisdom of his Maestro. He smiles as the sabre is taken, fully expecting it, but the dagger coated with paralytic toxins he had drawn to throw in immediate followup is held poised, as the body language of the Drow and micro-expressions on his face no longer hinted at present aggression - sinister smile and flourishes of blade notwithstanding. As the Drow returns the heirloom to him, he returns the dagger to the sleeve it had been hidden in with a flick of the wrist.
Cornelius sheathes his sabre and responds to the drow's words. The two figures converse a small while, both bleeding from their wounds. In but a couple of minutes they finish the conversation with a bow to each other, at which point the drow turns on his heel and stalks away.
Cornelius watches the drow leave, and pulls out a silver flask and tumbler, splashing some brandy on his wounds then drinking some to disinfect from the inside. Then he too heads off to more pleasant parts of the world.