Duel:Quinn vs. Rauva

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Location: Drow Slave Pens
Duelists: Quinn (Surface Allies), Rauva (Drow Allies)
Judges: Leone and Argent
Stakes: If Rauva wins, her actions led to the capture of 15 elves, including one of the NPC member of the Elven council.If Quinn wins, his actions led to the rescue of elven slaves not killed in battle. 

Drow Slave Pens

Quinn had been tricked, he felt tricked anyways. Somehow the elves had coaxed him into the underground and he was still trying to figure that one out. Feeling duped, the lycan walked, those pupil-less azure eyes glowing in the near-complete darkness. The plan on his part was the freedom of the race that helped him, no being deserved to be caged, such was far worse than death. The smell came to him in a wave all too real, hitting his nostrils before his gaze shifted over the pens slowly. This was going to be anything but simple, red-eyed guards were visible, and the clairvoyant felt the agony of memories and pains, as well the pride of dominating another species heavily here. Stifling a growl as his paces slowed, Quinn drew the arrow set upon his bow back, prepared just in case.

Rauva was long accustomed to the smell of the slave pens, the smell of bodily fluids and waste pooling together and sour sweat from the sickly elves. Sickeningly enough, it was borderline pleasant to this drow. Yet as someone seemed to unwittingly wander into the pen – a little fly in her web – she peeks from around the corner of the cage, red eyes there and then gone again in the darkness like a spider in the night. This was her playpen and the spider knew it better than the dog.

Rauva, with her black clothes, piwafwi and aura of reduced visibility, certainly had an upper hand here in this dark and dank cave. The man who stalked into her cave looked like the sort of goody-two shoes that she had hoped would dare a brave rescue of these sickly elves, but she can see that he’s an archer just like she is which only thrilled her: a true test of skill and might. With a ‘thwip’ her first arrow is fired from between the bars of a cage, barely missing some of the elves who inhabit it. Yet whether that arrow hits Quinn or not is of little importance, as it ‘poofs’ upon contact and releases a cloud of crushed amanita powder. Incredibly deadly and debilitating, it would hopefully slow her target: like a fly being subdued by the patient spider. With her first arrow having been fired, the drow has taken the opportunity to roll to the next cage almost soundlessly: firing a broadhead tipped arrow towards Quinn’s hand to see if he’d drop his bow, before firing another one in quick succession at his throat before once again darting to another cage. Like a true drow, she would use the shadows to her benefit and wager that this man would not so easily dare to risk the lives of the elves trapped within the cages she hid so deftly behind.

Quinn was not the same prey to be used and eaten by the spider, having learned from his past. The only benefit of light deprivation came with the alterations his long life and the lycanthropic curse coursing his veins was the theft of a pupil. It lent further illumination into the oculus making his already gifted sight dangerous. Rauva was not seen, but the intentions of this, ‘spider’ came through the wailing agony and the stench of the surroundings bluntly. His steps squelched in the darkness, with nowhere else to go, there was little hinting needed to explain what he might be stepping in, the stench releasing into those flared nostrils was more than enough. The ‘Thwump’ of that bow spun the wolf-kin down, crouching low and twisting as the bolt skewered into the cage behind him, the puff of smoke enough warning in sight as he shifted back towards the safety of the cages. Whimpering grew in sound, Narrowing azure eyes as further whispered ‘Thumps’ came, the arrows followed and there he traced his opponent, Rauva. Grimace upon features the wolf twisted and spun in the tight gap between cages, flicking an arrow askance into the mire with artful luck and the arm of his bow as he moved. His original bolt twitched from placement into balled fists as he drew another, the final arrow from his opponent cutting a swath through silver-tinged chocolate locks to ping against the bars of the cage. His hand drew back and arm tilted, aiming just above the slave-pens. His shot was oddity, arching upwards into the cave ceiling, it hit with ta sulfurous spark before the flare of light gave Quinn sight of the drow and notched his second, bolt tugging back on the recurved bow harder before releasing a held breath and fingers at a gap just paces ahead of the ranger-ess.

Rauva’s thoughts are hardly reliable things, as they skip from one murderous thought to the other: would she rather gut this man like a fish with an arrowhead or would she like to flay him and learn what makes him tick? Maybe she should toy with him, maybe she could do this and that and this and that. By all means, the drow was clearly not entirely sane given the manner in which her thoughts and intentions hopped from one dastardly deed to the next. Unlike most humanoids, Rauva does not cry out or seem to be in pain when the arrow whips past her shoulder and rips fabric and cuts her ebon skin; she likes the pain if that lick of the lips is anything to go by. A sadist and perhaps masochist if there ever was one or maybe just a drow. With the burst of light, the drow chooses to risk a daring shot of amanita powder once again: hoping that it would land close enough to her opponent to disorient. With her red eyes aching and seeing black spots, she darts from cage to cage quicker than the average drow might do given her leather boots of speed. Thinking only how much she’d love to drive an arrow into this man’s eyeball, the drow has swiftly and silently scaled onto the top of one of the elf pens: throwing herself down at Quinn with a savage yet delighted sound. Having pounced in his direction, the drow is intent on pressing the riser of her bow against his throat harshly whilst the hidden dagger of her vambrace shoots out to poke at the tender flesh of his warm throat; her knee firmly planted in his groin and pressing harder still.

Quinn moved with that same intent focus, but the cries of the captives, only help to cloud his judgement of her actions. The thoughts of Rauva take a turn and with the control of his clairvoyance beyond control, the lycan follows the river of thoughts down ward. The cry of startled and frightened elves in pens nearer the ranger catch the attention away from the demented individual he was now combating. The bolt reaches him upon that very moment and the wolf coughs as the weapon impacts into the bars directly to his right. So close to the dangerous fumes, Quinn drops into a roll, roiling into the slick, foul muck, robbing his nostrils of aid and to some degree freeing his form of the lethal Amanita. His body is slowed, feeling the effects of that drug still enough to make him feel almost lethargic. A feral yip pierces the fog from higher, above the upper row of cages and he rolls from hands and knees to his back. Bow drawn, the recurve lifting as the Drowess falls he cannot muster the urge to stop the freedom of his actions. The bolt is not what he’d intended, that rush forcing bad luck as he whips the drill-tipped bolt sharply back, sighting through blurry eyes the center-mass of his attacker before releasing it, unsure even then of its accuracy so close. His body twists abruptly left, away but the lethargic effects of her drugs make him only less the victim. The limb of Rauva’s bow collides firmly into his back, urging him to growl in pain his free hand stripping a hunting blade from one of two sheathes at his spine. Sharply twisting free of the fallen drow-ranger with the anger-fed launch of his antler-handled blade at what he hoped was her throat.

Rauva’s leather bodice is torn into, arrowhead firmly pressed into her abdomen but she would never let such a little injury hold her back. She was a drow, these things were meaningless and she would not be so easily stopped by the fly who was in her web. As he twisted free from her, so too did she twist away from him with the grace of an acrobat: a woman who knew her domain well and the limits of her body well. As that antler handled blade surges towards her throat, she raises her bow to capture his oncoming hand so she might step to the side and pull it with her to throw him off balance.

Winner: Rauva (Drow Allies)