Duel:Irthos and Skylei vs. Laezila

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Location: South Sage, beyond the orb of darkness
Duelists: Irthos and Skylei (Surface Allies), Laezila (Drow Allies)
Judges: Alvina and Calen
Stakes: If Laezila wins, she razes a significant portion of the forest to the ground, removing cover and making any future attacks on the drow camp increasingly difficult. Also the forest is destroyed and this is a spiritual blow to the elves.If Sky and Irthos win, their success rallies the woodland creatures to fight on behalf of the elves, and all manner of beast invades the camp to destroy the drow scourge. 

(Note: this duel is a continuation of Unwilling Assailants, thus Laezila's entrance is copied directly from that RP. The conclusion of Krice's fight from the aforementioned RP may also be found here)

South Sage

Laezila certainly understood him, and again that sniffling sound came, just very softly and subtly, as she turned away from Krice. "Because when you refuse the First House, you die with the rest of your own. We have to do this. Please leave, Krice, please please." In the natural daylight of southern Sage, Laezila's azure gaze was set to the forest through the eyeholes of her white and faceless mask with her back to Krice. All ten lycan drow soldiers, outfitted in the darksteel platemail layered with chainmail and wielding drow-forged weapons of varying style -swords, scimitars, axes- were scattered around the two, suppressing their instinctive growls as they repeatedly took the scent of the air in attempt to discern the location of any elves nearby. The 'click' of the bladed and slightly armored right glove, as opposed to the tight cloth of the unarmed other, give evidence that her weapon had been present all the while. "I have to burn this forest. I love you, Krice, but I have a responsibility to my people. I can't let you get hurt." One of the lycan drow, having shifted into a large, armored anthropomorphic, violently flew at the steel-haired swordsman in attempt to bodily crash into him, as the other nine closed in.

Skylei is, naturally, found in a tree just above where Laezila leaves Krice. Though not bearing witness to the conversation that had preceded the attack, her first instinct had been to go and help Krice. Her second instinct, the stronger instinct, the one fuelled by hatred of drow and Xersom’s manipulation was the destruction of that lone female. She wouldn’t take much time to dispatch, surely, and then Skylei could go and assist Krice. It made perfect sense. From behind the foliage, the half-blood would peek down at the drow, careful to make no sound save for the gentle chaffing of leathers in the wind, watching, waiting, ready to attack as soon as the time was right.

To the Elven and Drow ears there seemed to be a faint high pitched sound coming from high up in the sky. The gradually the sound got louder and you notice a bright red streak shooting across the sky. You wouldn’t think much of this streak until you could clearly hear that the sound was emanating from it. A flaming little fireball zooms towards the clearing with a clear, “Wheeeee!!!!.” Shortly followed by a distinct, “Uh-oh.” And soon a, “I still can’t land.” With a loud thud of pixie hitting the ground at a high enough speed to make his own pixie sized bowl in the dirt, the mini-mage slowly crawls out, and shakes his head ridding the stars that were floating about his crown. “Ooowww…” He looks around his surroundings and only spots strangers, this in turns made his eyes go wide with the fear of not knowing who he just landed in front of. Quickly he jumps into the air and flits as high as he can as fast as he can, but the impact made his reflexes sluggish.

It was the sound of the high-pitched shriek that grew louder and louder to the hearing of the teenage drow that drew her attention and brought about the hastening of attempting to complete her objective. That haste was only briefly delayed to the sudden shift of the matron's attention was made evident when she whirled in a semi-circle in order to face what was once behind her and azure eyes swept through the area from the eyeholes of an ivory-white, smooth and faceless mask. Provided that Skylei, hidden undetected nearby, could make a bit closer than cursory scrutiny of the woman's gaze, it'd be revealed that it was no mere aesthetic that the hue of her irises were a startling and striking blue rather than red; she could see in the natural sunlight just as well as any human, even if it was incomparable to the hawkeye vision of the woodland elves. Eyes narrowed upon the ball of fire and Laezila D'l'Sel D'issan had a brief moment of surprise; was it an attempt to ignite the forests before she? That would be a relative disgrace, and she did not have the time to deal with it as the events were made more clear by Irthos' sudden departure of his former landing. On the hand of her slender left arm was an armored and bladed glove, unlike the opposite that was merely gloved with neither protection nor weapon, and withdrew from her cloak a small wick-like matchstick. Then, the young and slender woman grunted behind her mask in a feminine exertion to twist about and scan the area for Irthos. She still couldn't find him! No matter, he was probably hidden along the leaves or the brush; the unarmed and unarmored hand drew from her cloak a small wick-like stick, and the girl lifted one boot briefly. The end was drawn quick along its sole and a match was struck, before the boot planted and the match was tossed toward a brush, intent on burning Irthos, and any other enemy lying in wait (Skylei) alive as well as the forest down.

Burn down the forest would she? There’s little Skylei can do to counter the fire that leaps forth from the dead grass; she’s no hydromancer, that’s for certain. That, she hopes will be dealt with later by the contingent of rangers she had lost somewhere within the forest. Instead, Skylei adds to the firey destruction. Loading an enchanted arrow with a rounded tip into her darkwood bow, she mutters an incantation that causes the tip to spark and burn. Then, the half-blood releases the arrow to flight, sending it towards the centre of Laezila’s chest. As soon as that arrow tip makes contact with any physical plane -be it the drow matron, the forest floor or the trees behind her adversary - it will explode, creating a two metre radius of flames to erupt, engulfing whatever remains within it. If Laezila was intent on burning down the forest, Skylei would ensure that the matron burned to the ground with it. Events of late had turned her focus from the preservation of Sage to the destruction of the drow people; this behaviour is a natural continuation of such. Unfortunately for Skylei, Laezila’s previously sparked fire spreads with ease across the grasses and brush, and the tree in which she perches is next in line to be incinerated. She has little desire to burn, and so would leap from the tree, landing with an elegant roll befitting a ranger of Sage just outside the projected radius of incineration of her previously sent projectile. Now on ground level, obviously visible and without the height advantage she so relies upon, the half-elf stows her bow and reaches for the bladed weapons that hang upon her belt. Already the heat from the surrounding flames leaves a sweat on the half-blood’s brow. Things are hotting up...

Irthos’ mind races as his mind processes the lit match and the spreading fire. Also finally seeing someone he knew in the area let him relax a bit more, thus allowing him to think on what his first actions should be. Calculating the elements that make up a fire and his own experiences with fire, his mind was made up. The mini-mage reaches deep inside himself to tap into the latent inner power. His pale, small frame starts to radiate heat, and light distorts around him, as soon as the mutant pixie thought warm thoughts, fire exploded around him. With this Irthos zips across the grass and brush in a wide arc so that he could create a ring of fire surrounding the flames created by both the Elf and the Drow. The pixie then picks up his speed so that he could cause a wake and start directing the fire as he flew about in circles around the fire ring’s border. He whispers a chat taught to him by his mother and his speed increases, this in turn causes a greater wake and a wall of flame rises up to stop the spreading of the first fire.

Laezila was all at once assaulted and that was just what the teenage matron excelled in; multiple opponents and keen awareness were fundamental abilities for her enigmatic ascension to the reign of the Underdark's second drow House. Skylei was first; it was the flash of steel of arrow-tip and its glint in the natural sunlight that caused the woman to peer at her through the eye-holes of that faceless and white mask, only to discover an arrow launched right at her. With a startling dexterity, appropriate for a woman that commanded both lycans and vampires, her shoulders twisted parallel to the assaulting and enchanted arrow for the projectile to fly by. It struck the trunk of the tree behind Laezila and exploded in a deafening roar, fanning the flames and launching the slender woman forward with a lurch that found her right side with vicious burns. Luckily, her mask saved her face and the once-ivory item was now half-charred with burnt black. Irthos was circling around them like a firebug as Laezila scrambled to her feet before Skylei, who had drawn blades. This caused two reactions simultaneously; the draw of her own whipsword, a darksteel-made bladed whip, and an attack upon Irthos. It was apparent that the smaller male was flying in rapid circles, so the drow unfastened her cloak while flames raged around her, to reach outward and hang the chain-inlaid item into the fire, directly in the path of the whizzing Irthos in effort to have him run into it, and blindly fly into the forest for further fire-spreading. It'd only be a moment before she dropped the item at the opportune time, and Skylei then had her attention. Her foot planted before her to carry her weight forward to drive the motion of the bladed whip, to bring it diagonally downward from overhead. The flexible weapon sought to cleave Skylei from shoulder to hip, but in truth the matron expected her to block it; that would cause the weapon to coil around the obstacle and slice at the elf over and over again with each pass.

Damn, Laezila’s smart; but one doesn’t get to be the matron of a drow house without some form of intelligence. Skylei plays right into her hands. Pulling a short sword from her belt she thrusts upwards with the blade, holding it horizontally to parry the full body of the weapon and, unfortunately, providing the perfect surface for the whip to wrap around; just as the drow had anticipated. The whip’s blades easily tear through the ranger’s leathers and bite deep into her flesh. Worse still, the dragging circular motion of the bladed whip around the sword forces those blades successively deeper with each rotation; they feel as though they are cleaving right into her bone. As the blades swing away from her on their second rotation, Skylei would thrust the arm holding the sword forward, releasing the sword as she does, freeing herself of the whip’s scourge upon her shoulder. Unfortunately, it does mean that there’s no way she’s likely to be drawing her bow or wielding a sword with that arm anytime soon; not least because she’s now without sword. The fire continues to rage around the group, gathering pace and igniting trees like giant torches as the halfblood reaches for the only weapon she can effectively wield with a single hand; throwing daggers. Sweat and blood pour off her skin as she throws two of the curved blades on arcing trajectories towards Laezila, one after another. The perfectly balanced blades are very much like boomerangs in that, if they do not make any point of contact they will complete their circle and simply return to Skylei’s hands. In such close quarters, Skylei has little option but to aim at the matron’s neck and attempt to sever her carotid artery, leaving her to quickly bleed out.

While the pixie fireball was circling the area outside the fire to try to contain it from spreading further, some large heavy netting swooped over his form and he hit it hard. While normally that would knock out most other pixies, but Irthos was used to hitting his head on such surfaces. Though unphased the chain-lined cloak did drag him down back to the ground allowing the raging inferno to go free, and soon spread rapidly through the trees and brush with a vengeance. The pixie knowing this of the nature of fire he quickly reaches into a pouch he carried on him, and consumed a habanero pepper. According to his studies this kind of pepper was much hotter than the jalapenos he was used to consuming for his fire magic. The effect that happened next all happened within a rather short period of time. Due to his smaller stature compared to a human, the habanero hit his tongue with the same kind of heat as the inferno around him, the chemical reaction within his body happened almost instantly turning his pale white skin, pink then red, and finally a blood red color metabolism increased and his body generated so much heat that he turns his head up to the sky and painfully screams, “IT BURNS!!” The heat then intensifies around his body and the metal in the chain turns red and begins to melt, the molten metal slowly slides down his body as he shifts the cloak to get it off or until he burns a hole through it. Once free he cries out and releases all his pent up energy in a massive forceful fire blast in an attempt to put out the other flames. ‘Hopefully Skylei would be fine.’ was his last thought before dropping to the ground, his hair and clothes burned off, and his skin blistered. As his eyes closed he briefly saw Skylei doing her best with her wounds, then passed out with a worried look on his visage.

A cruel smile was hidden behind the now half-charred mask of contrasting pristine white and burnt black, and the expression was only evident in the way that the matron's eyes glinted as the whipsword was brought back; the small taunt was for naught, as the next series of events occurred in an explosive matter of mere moments. In consecutive order came the two throwing daggers in succession and immediately thereafter was that desperation of Irthos. The taunting glint in the matron's gaze luckily also allowed her to witness the sudden assault of projectile blades, but the distance between the two with her burns both limited and slowed down her reaction too much to evade the attack as she had the arrow earlier in the fight. But the young and slender teenager's reflexes didn't abandon her entirely; her burned arm lifted (the other holding the whipsword) and her head twisted away in a flinch that ultimately saved her life. One dagger impaled into her forearm and sank into the flesh like a skewer, resulting in the grit of teeth and brief show of blood, but the second joined the first one not even a breath afterward. This caused Laezila to briefly cry out in pain, as both daggers impaled her slender forearm entirely through to poke out the other side. But the cry was short-lived, as the deafening roar of an explosion abruptly swept the scene and further burned the side of the matron as it lifted her from the ground and sent her sprawled several feet away. The original fire had been wiped out entirely from the concussive force, leaving nothing but razed ash and cinder of the burned land, but the attack wasn't controlled at all; it extended beyond by the sheer force, and likely would begin another fire that threatened to consume even more forest than Irthos had originally sacrificed. Disarmed from the blast, burnt horribly on one side, and with two daggers in her arm, the young drow's resolve was incredible; she began to crawl toward where she had last left her troops to deal with Krice.

Winner: Laezila (Drow Allies)

Meanwhile...

Krice didn't need help. It wasn't like the odds were stacked against him at ten-to-one, not at -all-. On top of the fact that he had been surrounded by multiple foes, they were all drow with viciousness already in their blood, not to mention the agility, strength, speed, and aggression inherent in all lycanthropes. These were difficult battle odds to overcome, but he had overcome similar situations in the past. Fast and accurate, the wolf who had initially attacked him lunged from behind with a gaping maw full of sharp, drool-saturated teeth, aimed right at his back. The warrior evaded, grounding himself on all appendages beneath the arc of his foe's attack. Pivoting as he straightened, Krice rose in time to catch the blade of a drow's dagger, its point slicing the flesh of his right cheek. The wound was superficial and gave him little cause for concern; he was too focused on his opponents to notice the cut, anyway. As blood slithered freely over the chiseled slope of his cheek and jaw, the warrior retaliated, more swiftly than the drow had expected, deflecting his new opponent's return-strike with the muscle of his forearm against the underside of the drow's wrist. In the same motion, he procured his own dagger from its sheath beneath his shirt and twisted it mid-grip to more forcefully drive it through the dark male's chest. He punctured a drow lung, but further damage to this enemy would have to wait as a second drow (his third assailant) advanced hastily with his own blades drawn. Another cut tore through his black shirt, piercing the skin of his left pectoral, but Krice quickly adapted to deal with this dual-bladed foe. As the drow thrust both daggers simultaneously at his face, the warrior lunged forward and threw his arms up and outward, hands snap-closing over each of the Drow's wrists. He pulled the other male forward, stepped closer, and then concussed his enemy with an unforgiving headbutt right between the eyes, shattering the drow's nose.

The scent of fire smoke and blood not his own filled his overdeveloped sense of smell but Krice could not divert his focus. As the newly injured drow fell to the ground, more dark-skinned enemies advanced, working with each other to maneuver the man north, out of the -forest-, as directed by their matron. Footwork and evasive actions ultimately drew the fight further away from the three-pronged battle waging further west among the trees, where he was confronted by more drow swinging their weapons in calculated turn-taking attacks. For the most part, he was able to avoid taking more damage, dispatching his foes not with any great amount of ease but certainly efficiently. Five drow were felled amid the warrior's display of battle prowess; two with broken necks, another a pierced heart, the fourth a stab-wound through his right temple, and the fifth a severed brachial artery; number six was the male with a broken nose, still alive but incapacitated. Before he could keep control of the battle for the remaining three, Krice was greeted by the fangs of another werewolf. The beast lunged with enough momentum that Krice was knocked into the ground, onto his back. With one hand on its top-right canine, and the other on its bottom-left, the red-eyed man worked to prevent the beast from closing its jaws on him. Despite his naturally heightened strength, he was -still- only human, and here atop him was a vicious animal with easily many times the bite force than he was supposed to be able to withstand, along with rage for his fallen comrades; all the muscles in both arms tensed and relaxed, constantly readjusting to accommodate the variations in the wolf's bites. With its front claws slashing at his body, and teeth gnashing at his hands, Krice knew that he would have to move - and as quickly as possible. Whilst the human was occupied, the other two lycans circled nearby. As drool splashed across his clavicle and throat, the lycan who shifted first lunged forward to bite at Krice's right arm, but he deflected the wolf above him in time, directing its large, furry body into the path of those teeth. The warrior rolled out from under his enemy in a flurry of silver hair and torn fabric, suffered a moment of dizziness per the poison that was on the weapons that cut him, and then further received a mouthful of teeth into the muscle of his right upper arm, which hurt considerably more than the daggers.

As the lycan readied itself to tear through the warrior's flesh, Krice reached up for his katana and pulled it free of its back-mounted sheath and thrust it toward the wolf. His injuries, poison absorption, and the skill of the beast caused him to miss his first strike, but he struck at it again and found his mark, piercing the wolf's side. It released him with a shriek and he stumbled away, dropping his sword to clutch at the wound on his right arm. Never mind the poison easing its way through his system, or the multiple scratches on his torso; this bite mark was the worst, wet heat burning its way through the entire length of his arm. He clenched his jaws and tensed, trembling from the shock of the battle, whilst the two uninjured wolves recovered from their earlier collision to circle him slowly, watching, waiting. The injured lycan shifted back to his drow form to more easily deal with his own injury out of the way. Would Krice bear the gift of lycanthropy now? Would he become one of them - a Surface Walker tainted by the battle, no longer wanted among those he fought to protect?

Krice began to tremble, not noticeably to his attackers, but noticeably to him; he felt at once ice cold and burning hot. As the lycan circled around him, he released his bitten arm and unsteadily crouched to the ground, reaching out to take hold of his katana previously discarded there. Though he was covered in scratches and cuts, some deep and others shallow, the warrior still was able to move enough to keep the werewolves in his sight, at least peripherally, though his vision was blurring more by the second. As he lifted his right arm to brandish his katana in the direction of the lycan drow, Krice suffered a tremble that reverberated through his throat and caused him to hunch over, his left arm curled firmly into his abdomen to protect the torn muscle from tearing further.

Laezila's soldiers were loyal, but they were brutal; although their orders were to get Krice away from the battle that their matron was engaging in and not to kill the silver-haired warrior, that did not at all diminish the ruthlessness and savagery of their attacks. The first lycan drow was circling the wounded warrior with snarling viciousness that was well suited and appropriate to his shifted form, but the move was also tactful; it was meant to bring that sword further away from the second that began to slowly approach from the opposite side. The third, broken nose and all, was relatively becoming useless in this fight, and began a retreat by moving slowly backward and in the direction that smoke rose from the forest as well as the scent of burning flesh and trees. Then, fur went in a flurry; the first lycan tried to swipe at the sword and knock it away, while the second launched forward in an attempt to bodily ram its shoulder into the arm and cradled abdominals.

Krice's fingers grazed the hilt of his sword before it was knocked out of his reach, at which point he tried to sharpen his focus on the other lycan. He managed to dart out of the way of the ramming attack but only partially; it was more like a desperate stumble, which allowed the lycan to punch its way into his side and knock him off balance. Krice fell with a grunt, hitting on one knee and his right hand. This was an easy posture to recover from but his wounds were such that he could not. He hunched again and clenched his teeth hard, barely able to contain a scream of pain in response to the heat that burned through him. Was the lycan curse trying to take hold?

Laezila 's diseased drow in the form of wolf-men, armored and powerful, knew better than to taunt a downed foe and allow him time to regain any hope. While the broken-nose'd one moved out of sight into the forest, the first lycan drow that had struck the weapon stepped in to the haunched, kneeling Krice, and aimed his pawed foot to try to deliver a devastating kick to the head in the intention of rendering the man unconscious. The second didn't interfere with the first, but was closing in on the instance that Krice countered; such a case would have him bringing a heavy and clawed hand down in a strike aimed between the apparently afflicted male's shoulderblades.

Krice was barely aware of the drow encircling him, too engrossed in the agony that began to consume him. He managed to react to the incoming blow but as he lifted his left arm to do so, another impacted him from behind, effectively grounding him in an instant. On his stomach and covered in blood, leaving his own on every grain of sand and blade of grass that he touched, the warrior grimaced and dragged the hand of his uninjured arm across the earth, sluggishly seeking purchase to rise again. And all the while, that searing heat continued its course through his efficient body.

Laezila's drow shifted back to their imposing and dark-skinned figures, and it was made evident by the sound of their voices as they spoke over the downed warrior seeking purchase to rise again. If he were to glance, their armor would be intact in the implication that House D'l'Sel D'issan had it specifically made for the ability to remain in place before and after transformation, likely some flexible web of plated darksteel held at the core by cords that were stretchable. "He doesn't know when to give up," one said to the other in Drow, ignorant of Krice's ability to speak anything other than common. "Don't underestimate him, he killed seven," the other barked back, which caused the first to step aside and bend down to grasp the fallen weapon of the swordsman. "If this doesn't work, then just break his legs," The second watched as the first twisted, and sought to bring the hilt hard against the silvery-haired head of Krice.

Krice was unaware that the lycans had shifted back to their more humanoid forms, nor did he seem remotely aware of their conversation; he was too busy battling the lava that his blood had become, singing his veins. Before he could rise enough to stand and retaliate, something hard and heavy smacked him in the head and he was downed again with a grunt. It wasn't so painful, bearable anyway in the face of the lycanthropic curse that ran rampant throughout his body. Before he could fully realize what was happening, the warrior lost himself to the resulting unconsciousness and relaxed into the earth, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.