Fight:Kuzial lays down a challenge in Kelay Way

Background

Kuzial, Patron of House Stavret, had grown tired at his lack of opportunity to shed the blood of surface dwellers, other tasks keeping him in the underdark at the height of recent drow/elf tensions

In the direct and pragmatic fashion he was known for, he stood outside the Kelay Tavern and challenged all comers.

First Ranok approached the drow, successfully goading him into an attack despite Cornelius' more direct challenge.

The fight between Ranok and Kuzial was not conclusive, and the impatient Cornelius stepped in to force a rematch with the drow who had come so close to maiming him on a previous occasion.

Prologue: Kelay Tavern

Cornelius strolls into the tavern, a spring to his step

Cornelius wanders up to the message board to browse through the latest snippets of written posturing with the same sense of delight he had on every previous occasion "Oh my. Valiras is challenging Kuzial. I do hope I get to watch."

Eboric said to Cornelius, "Me too. If the drow prevails, he might just be worth my time."

Cornelius turns from the board "Indeed my good fellow. I'm disconsolately afraid he may indeed prevail, wot. He's a decent swordsman, is our friend Kuzial. And I imagine after I cut him up in Vailkrin, he has lost some of the overconfidence and added to his number of shady tricks."

Eboric nods, and smiles rather unpleasantly. "I didn't get the chance to kill a drow during the short-lived war, but maybe I will this time..."

Cornelius chuckles "Well, Eboric old bean, I have no doubt you'll get the opportunity at some point. He's not backwards in coming forwards, is Kuzial. The magic words to enrage him at the moment are "You are not pretty enough to be Cornelius' wife", Say those words, and I'm sure he'll want to kill you and then me. Or vice versa. I'm not entirely clear on who he'd seek out first: the most annoying, or the present threat. Which, let's face it, would be entertaining for all."

Eboric said to Cornelius, "I will remember that. But, like I said, I will watch him, first. I grow weary of fighting people so far beneath me. Like that ogre from the other night."

Kuzial shouted, "Idiots of the surface! I, Kuzial Stavret, challenge you. Come face me; be it all at once or one at a time, I care not! Defend yourselves... Do not make me come hunt you."

Cornelius starts "Speak of the devil!"

Cornelius gestures to the door "Shall we, Eboric old bean?"

Eboric nods, and exits. Eboric exits south.

Cornelius chuckles and strolls out into Kelay Way

Kelay Way: Talk is cheap, but planning pays off

Ranok looks amused, "Hyu two vould kome to a challenge."

Eboric snorts. "And you, Ranok, would be hanging about, speaking loudly but doing nothing."

Cornelius strolls out onto the porch of Kelay Tavern "Oh I say, this should be entertaining! Ranok old bean, show that drow what we humans are all about. I got him last time. It's your turn now."

Kuzial paces about the road like a caged tiger; his rage tangible. His fine weapons rest in his hands like coiled snakes ready to strike. A pernicious glare is sent to everyone, the challenge obvious. "Come, idiots. Who will be the first to die?"

Ranok said to Cornelius, "Hy vasn' avare Hy vas in line. "

Cornelius starts to grin widely, fingering the hilt of his sabre

Kuzial said to Ranok, "Fight, or shut up. I don't want to listen to your pathetic grasp of the common tongue. It offends me."

Eboric merely stands, burly arms folded across his chest, watching the drow with feigned indifference.

Dezerae supposes men will be men.

Ranok just gives Kuzial a thumbs up. He didn't care.

Cornelius rolls his eyes at Ranok then starts adjusting elements of his garb, loosening certain areas, tightening others, even as his grin grows to slightly demented cheshire proportions "Going to stand down before a force of evil are we Ranok? Never mind, I understand that you are merely a smith, and unable to deal with such threats. Go home, my man. Drink milk. Kuzial, care to dance?" The dandy strolls down into Kelay Way, weapons still sheathed, though the drow would know from past experience that meant nothing.

Kuzial snorts in disgust at Ranok. "Pathetic. Go home, idiot." He flashes the smith another disgusted glare, before turning to look at Von Penzance. "I suppose, human, you are the only one of your kind with the balls to face me. I should have expected nothing more from the idiots of the surface." The drow raises his sabre in salute to the dandy. "Come, then. Let your blood warm my blades yet again."

Cornelius grins "Your memory is as short as your temper, Kuzial. Yes, let's have some fun."

Ranok gestures at Kuzial, "If Hy fought him, hyu'd vine dat hyu didn' get de chance. Hy know how hyu feel about de drow, my friend. Hyu und you schtrange kourtship rituals. Hy tink hyu only luv pipple dat try to kill hyu." He wasn't going to be goaded into a fight, the man a little too old to fall for such simple ploys as 'yo momma' and the like.

Eboric casts Ranok a look that's almost as scornful as Kuzial's words, before utterly dismissing the other man, to focus instead on the fight.

Cornelius ignores Ranok, having branded him a coward in his mind, and focuses on the threat before him

Ranok successfully goads Kuzial, and the first fight commences

Kuzial hears Ranok's words, and with a snarl he erupts into quick movement. The dandy is flashed a warning glare, before Kuzial spins on his heel and hurls his dagger at the smith. Without losing his momentum, the drow drops a globe of darkness over Ranok's head and charges forward. His free hand reaches in to grab at his crossbow, but it isn't fired. Instead Kuzial Stavret prepares the weapon for the moment Ranok would leave the impenetrable darkness, and it is then the bolt would be sent right at his heart.

Dezerae said to Ranok, "Good luck." Dezerae exits north.

Eboric said to Cornelius, "Let's see how fast the coward can run."

Mesdoram leans lazily along side the tavern's outer wall, the drow playing a spectator with vague interest.

Cornelius steps to the side as the dagger whips past him, the Penzance Sabre clearing its sheath into a hanging guard, his left hand flicking past his satchel a brief moment. He slows his footwork though, when the darkness falls on another target. Still, the dandy begins the process of memorising the chessboard of Kelay Way, taking in the sounds and scents, in the assumption he would soon be blindfighting the drow once more. He comments to Eboric "I had hoped better of someone who talked a good fight"

Eboric turns his head, noting Mesdoram's presence. Turning back to Cornelius, he says, "I have only ever seen him fight once, and I was not impressed. I heard of another fight he had, where a simple orc beat him bloody. But it just goes to show that any incompetent fool can talk himself up so that foolish women will swoon over them."

Thea 's wings still slightly as she hovers over the crown, curiosity piqued. She alights nearby and asks the first one she comes to, "What is this about then?"

Mesdoram shrugs in response to Thea's question, he also just arriving moments ago.

Cornelius comments to Thea "Kuzial was about to oblige me with some entertainment, your enchanting Highness, when Ranok's ill-spake words altered Kuzial's target. Hopefully only temporarily. Stay and watch if you would, as no doubt it shall be diverting"

Eboric said to Thea, "We're taking bets to see how long it takes before Ranok runs."

Cornelius rests the Penzance sabre on his shoulder, and takes the opportunity again to ensure his daggers are loose in their sheathes

Cornelius taps his foot impatiently, then checks a particular pocket on his satchel is loose enough to be rapidly opened

Thea chuckles to both Cornelius and Eboric's words, "I see. Any chance I could make a small wager myself in that?", she asks with an accompanied wink before taking a seat nearby.

Cornelius comments "I'll wager a thousand neat he stands and fights"

Thea shrugs and shuffles around in her bag for some coin, "I'll see that.."

Eboric said, "I'll meet that, too, and say that he'll fight until he realizes how far over his head he's sunk, and then he'll run."

Cornelius sheathes his sabre and starts filling out a promissory note, redeemable at the Cenril Bank and a particular financial institution in Vailkrin "Alright. Two bets. One to say he stays at the start with Thea, and one to say he lasts the full measure with Eboric. A thousand on both."

Ranok had been choosing his words carefully. In his way, he was rising to the fight. What he wanted was for Kuzial to lose his temper, not the other way around. When the dagger flies, he twitches slightly, a movement born of instinct. But it was arrested as the plating he wore would assure protection against a knife throw, and the darkness descends. It wasn't a shock, as he'd encountered such a thing a few times and even prepared for it when he was calculating how to go about defending himself against Qilaan. He doesn't emerge from the darkness, though he was in there, as evidenced by the clank of dagger meeting metal. A few seconds and the very same dagger comes back out, recaptured and thrown, in a fairly decent approximation of Kuzial's last known position from before the darkness fell. He doesn't emerge from the darkness. While not as familiar with it as Kuzial, he knew that the drow's vision, unaugmented, couldn't piece the magic of his own orb. The subtle sound of a sword unsheathed can be heard, and it wouldn't be presumptuous to assume a defensive stance was taken. Ranok was listening and holding still, breath drawn in between long pauses to prevent much of his position being given away, hoping that the drow's anger would make his approach noisy to give him a warning. He wasn't going to try to fight in the dark, of course, as he had a trick up his sleeve clutched in the hand that didn't hold the unsheathed sword.

Eboric said to Thea, "Looks like you lost."

Cornelius grins at Thea "My dear highness, it was a pleasure doing business with you" Thea gave 1000 gold to Cornelius.

Thea mirrors the grin and turns over the pouch of coin, "Aye..pleasure for you no doubt."

Cornelius bows deeply "An undeniable pleasure at that"

Eboric said to Cornelius, "I've got to be moving along; I have work to do. I'm going to give you my wager in case I lose - which I doubt. But if I do not lose, and you do not return my gold along with your own, I will kill you. Agreed?"

Cornelius pushes the gold away "I'd rather not be laden like a donkey as a holder of your gold, Eboric old bean. Keep it"

Eboric said to Cornelius, "But I will honour the debt if I lose. Fare well for now."

Kuzial slashes his sabre through the air as his dagger is hurled out of the conjured darkness. The wickedly sharp weapon catches the spinning dagger and sends it at Cornelius, though whether this is by desire or mistake isn't known. Regardless, Kuzial continues on his path right at Ranok. As the man doesn't appear from within the darkness Kuzial merely lifts the crossbow and with a thought dismisses the impenetrable blackness. Hoping the human's vision would be somewhat strained from the flash between unending night and bright daylight, Kuzial uses the time to fire his weapon at the man's head. Regardless of his success, the crossbow is dropped and the drow explodes into dazzling series of strikes with his sabre; its razor-sharp edge aimed for any break in the man's armour as it seeks the human's blood in a brutal display of drow swordsmanship.

Cornelius plucks the dagger out of the air, a thin cut opening along his left hand "Dammit, I am out of practice. Thanks for the gift Kuzial my dear! I shall treasure it always"

Tiphareth leans toward Mesdoram, hushed words offered toward his brethren as he observes the Patron's battle with Ranok, "I apologize for my rapid departure the other evening, what came of the dryad girl?"

Cornelius comments "Has anyone got a sturdy frying pan? I mean, one of those frying pans which says "I'm a monstrous cook, and I mean business, wot"

Satoshi unfortunately ate her last good skillet. Was suffering from low iron.

Mesdoram takes note of Tiphareth's wandering gaze, and gives a friendly nod. "None is required, friend." The spell blade's tone softens a bit, "I do not know entirely. I encountered last night, where I proceeded to terrorize her til she drove her mad." The spell blade's grins as he reflects. "Then, another drow unknown arrived that claimed to know her..." His words lingered a little while, allowing Tiphareth time to process.

Cornelius lost his last frying pan to an aggressive muffin.

Kwen slithers into the tavern exchanging information with the public board, and glancing around the tavern to find a -vacant- wooden table. Finding one, he sets down quietly awaiting the barmaid to offer a drink.

Tiphareth furrows his brow slightly, "Another Drow you say? Did he identify himself in any way, or have an insignia of any House?"

Ranok heard the sound of the dagger being deflected. He couldn't have hoped for anything better out of it. As such, another judgement is made and the sword comes up as he hears the drow approaching...and then the darkness drops away. And then a crossbow. Eyes widen in surprise, and another twitch reaction. Luck would save him, as the sword had been up in an attempt to meet the unseen foe. The bolt ricochets off the sword with a very distinct *wa-tang!* sound. Unfortunately, it meant that the surprise attack was ruined, the blade having been moved by the reaction and subsequently Ranok is put onto defence. He backpedals slightly, trying to gain ground as he focuses on parrying or absorbing the strikes. His sword takes some blows, and his much more plated right arm, which seems to clutch something in it, taking some others were it was needed. He makes an attempt to widen the distance between himself and opponent, as his reach was longer assuming that Kuzial wasn't seven feet tall and wielding a longsword fit for a man of that height, and thus would be able to utilize it to his advantage. Kuzial pressing the gap to prevent that from happening would be deterred by a strike that punishes the larger step that would have to be taken to match Ranok's stride, the opportunity to shed some blood taken at the expense of needing another step backwards to gain a different advantage. Throughout this, Ranok wears a mask of calm. His inner emotions mattered little, it was outwardly appearances that weighted. Kuzial was faster, but he was better protected and had the reach. He knew his armour's weaknesses, too, and the modified joints that allowed him better reflexes at the expense of having metal over them, was compensated for with his fighting style.

Cornelius murmurs "You know, I think I'm setting a trend with the old sabre. Last time I fought Kuzial, he preferred daggers."

Tiphareth murmurs back toward Cornelius "Drow weapon's masters are trained in a multitude of devices."

Mesdoram shakes his head at the Eldermage's question, "He did not identify himself. As I revealed to the Dryad my sword, this foreign drow barged in with a feline, and claimed the girl as his." Mesdoram shrugs a bit, "Then the Dryad rebelled against him by transforming into a bear, and attempted to maul him." He pauses again, still somewhat curious of the fight happening right now. "I relayed my message successfully, and left the three of them. The Dryad surely could not have killed another drow."

Tiphareth narrows his gaze, obviously disturbed by the words issued by Mesdoram, "I am greatly interested in this unknown Drow... are you up to the task of finding out their identity?"

Refrit appears from the west. Refrit exits north.

Cornelius comments to Tiphareth "Ah, he was a weapons master before becoming Elderboy and then Patron? No wonder he is so much fun!"

Mesdoram starts to answer Tiphareth, but stops with his mouth open. Refrit's presence wasn't long, but long enough for Mesdoram to notice, "Actually, he just went inside the tavern."

Kuzial does not relent in his attack. He keeps his blade spinning through a series of rapid swipes and strikes, his feet keeping him in perpetual motion to evade any counter-strikes, as well as giving him the opportunity to aim more reckless attacks at the weak-points in the man's armour. As Ranok begins to retreat, the human's blade manages to breach Kuzial's defences and carve a wound into his arm. But it doesn't even slow the odious drow. He simply keeps up his attack going for a long moment, before once again dropping a globe of darkness over the two opponents. Just before the darkness is dropped, he lifts his arm for a massive strike. But instead of following through completely, he starts the attack, then releases his grip on the blade's hilt and lets the weapon fly on its own. With his hand free, he tears a poisoned dagger from his belt and steps forward. Hoping the man is defending from the obvious strike, he uses the time to stab his dagger at the human's eyes, before dropping into a crouch below the summoned darkness and stabbing the weapon at the man's knees.

Mesdoram whispered something to Tiphareth.

Tiphareth makes a mental note of Refrit as he passes by once more, he had encountered the mysterious Drow before and was less than satisfied with the interaction.

Antirahc : The stench of a graveyard fills the area, the fragrance fused with the odour of an unwashed body, both of which stem from the drow vampire that saunters down the road. The dim sunlight causes the male to squint, as even in undeath, he still hates the sun. The ragged clothing he wears hangs in tatters. The fabric has long begun to rot. Wherever this sickly thin drow came from, he doesn't look healthy.

Cornelius notes the glistening on Kuzial's dagger, and double checks the dagger he is holding. Not poisoned. "I am getting careless." He examines the cut on his hand and asks Thea "It's rather impertinent of me, given the success of my most recent wager, but I've heard that among healers you are exceptional? I'm rather hoping to still get a chance with Kuzial" He gestures to the bleeding cut "Any chance I might beg the favour of healing to remove a possible handicap?"

Cornelius said to Thea, ""Might I beg that favour, Lady Thea?""

Ranok doesn't hesitate this time. Kuzial was too close, too in his face. The orb of darkness drops a second time, and the object clutched in his right hand, the reason why he hadn't been using his fists to fight like he normally does, goes flying onto the ground. It was a simple orb, but when it strikes the ground, a brilliant burst of light comes forth. Ranok had his eyes closed, the coming fury of the light spilling forth expected, but he was wagering that Kuzial didn't. The obvious blow was deflected, but it felt wimpy. The driving force behind it, Kuzial's arm, was absent, as he didn't strike at the drow's arm to disarm. Realizing that, he stumbles backwards slap dashed. Such a feint was labelled 'not good', as no sane opponent would give up a weapon without another advantage. Lacking the unwillingness to gamble in the dark, he opens up space in a moment. His defence was wide open, but the second sun that had issued forth from the ground would hopefully pin the drow where he was, counting on his light sensitive eyes burning keeping the drow too busy to attack in the few moments that Ranok stumbles back. However, he recovers quickly, and mounts an immediate attack. The orb had been a gift from another drow, and was carried specifically to combat the orb of darkness that they could use. It was, again, originally intended for use against Qilaan, but one drow was as good as another. It was promised to banish the orb, due to the influx of light, but if the orb would come back remained to be seen. Regardless of the darkness returning or not, Ranok finally mounts up an attack, again using his reach. This time, Kuzial would be afforded no easy press, as these strikes were meant to wound and not harry. Specifically, Ranok would aims for Kuzial's main hand, to deprive the drow of a major advantage.

Thea said to Cornelius, "Oh, sorry! Aye. Was a bit distracted there. What seems to be the issue then? Bit of a snip there, eh?""

Tiphareth notes the torrent of brilliant light bursting forth from the orb unleashed by Ranok, the Eldermage was luckily protected by the ensorcelled veil about his visage, however the contrasting brightness of the flash was obvious.

Cornelius grins sheepishly "I got a bit careless I'm afraid. Complacency will ill-suit me I fear if I am to face Kuzial again. I would be much obliged"

Cornelius blinks in the sudden spray of light "Egads, not quite as foolish as he made himself out to be."

Antirahc staggers backwards as the flash of light takes him by surprise. The flash temporarily blinds him, especially since his eyes are completely attuned to the darkness of the night. A sharp cry of agony escapes him, much to his embarrassment.

Thea inspects the wound and retrieves several components from her bag to include a bit of fresh water, some compounded herbs and a curved needle. Thumb and forefinger work first to spread the gash, "Afraid this will sting a touch, dear..", the water then being poured over the flayed area and added to the herbal mixture. The poultice is then worked into a paste and spread into the laceration, fingers squeezing split skin to meet once more.

Kuzial snarls in rage as his attacks once again miss the large human. Though he is a powerful drow, a former weapon master, and facing a smith who is ageing, it seems the only one who has been damaged so far is him. This does not sit well with the Stavret patron. His expression of rage is cut short, though, when the light explodes; dissolving his darkness and sending shards of burning agony lancing into his sensitive eyes. For a moment he is helpless, but thankfully Ranok has spent that time backing away. His free hand feels around for his finely crafted sabre, and with a grunt of satisfaction he finds its engraved hilt. Through eyes that are heavily squinted, allowing only slight vision, Kuzial rises to defend against Ranok's rather brash attack. He lifts his weapon up, horizontal to the ground and deflects the strike. Surprised it wasn't a feint to another move, something like what Cornelius would do, Kuzial grins. "Enough playing, human." Hurling away any defensive posturing, Kuzial steps forward into range of the man's sword and begins to swing his weapon with brutal efficiency; he doesn't allow Ranok to back away, if that is such his intentions. He keeps the press tight, aiming blow after blow at the man - the strength of each quite formidable, even for finely crafted armour, and through it all a constant snarl is heard coming from the patron's thin ebon lips. His feet again keep him in perfect balance, and he moves left to right every so often, trying to wrong foot his opponent and leave him more open to a strike that would end this battle.

Cornelius stoically endures the discomfort with a smile. The pain being much less than the aftermath of his battle with the necromancer Leifong "You are really too kind, Lady Thea." He ponders a moment "This is probably stretching the mark, but I'm willing to pay money for this: if Kuzial is willing to fight me still, would you heal that cut on him?"

Thea considers the question from her patient as she continues her care, curved needle now being hooked through one side of his gash to dig through tender meat and find the other side. She begins sewing with machine-like precision and mutters a reply finally, "I suppose I could..if he would allow it." She has taken notice of this Kuzial who seems to be quite traditional in his beliefs.

Cornelius smiles in a hard, determined way "I'll make the bastard accept the help if I have to bludgeon him unconscious before we start the proper fight"

Thea 's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug as she continues her ministrations, "Then so be it.", With that, the Druidess' hand comes to a halt with a sharp tug, securely knotting the thread then snapping it abruptly to sever the instrument from it's confines. "There you are then. You will likely wear a scar..unless you'd prefer further aid with magic to do away with it."

Antirahc has by now recovered from the wrenching burn in his eyes. When he can focus again, it is clear that a fight is going on, and that other drow are present. Indeed one of these drow is a combatant in the farce. So far, the surface has proved to be nothing less than a 'walk in eatery.' The surfacers are so desensitised to his undead kind that he can pass as casually as any one mortal. So it is a simple task to snatch a child, or young woman in an unsuspecting, and trusting society. Of course Kelay is only one of many regions to be found, some of the others probably never to be beheld by the vampiric drow. It is enough that he can finally attempt to involve himself in the political unrest that is plaguing the hapless forest elves. Sure the war is won on part of his race, but there is more to do, surely. But the necromancer will not bother Tiphareth until he is finished with his business.

Cornelius chuckles "A scar is a story told, Thea, a permanent reminder of a much-needed lesson. But if magic could prevent the wound from re-opening if I fight immediately, that would be marvellous"

Tiphareth leans in to offer hushed words toward Mesdoram. Tiphareth whispered something to Mesdoram.

Ranok finally cracks, just slightly. A frown, barely noticeable. His mask of a facial expression breaking belays the emotion within. Goading was a fine art. Do it enough to anger your opponent, but not enough to berserk them. Because, if there was one thing that was as bad as a skilled opponent, it was crazy. As the drow began to push the attack, Ranok has no choice but to match. He was strong, as a result of his trade, but was he strong enough? It remained to be seen. At first he tried to back away, for his usual reach, but that was punished by the overly aggressive drow. This cost him a very jarring jolt against his heavily plated armour. It went unseen, but the blow caused skin to break from the impact and blood dropping forth. The signs wouldn't be obvious, as it was covered, but during the course of the fight, as more and more blows get absorbed, the flow would worsen. But Ranok does not simply defend. He slips in his own attacks, as he can, shifting with his opponent. He wasn't as nimble, but he was just as determined. And where Kuzial seems to use only his sabre, Ranok strikes with sword and arm. His feet, however, do not. Those remain as solidly planted as he could, as getting on the ground would be a very bad thing for Ranok. As such, attempts to get him on the ground are met with increased aggression, sword thrusts into vital areas, a mailed fist to anything he could reach. His armour wasn't perfect, and was getting a good number of dents, scours, and the like, but was holding up as well as could be expected. Oh, there would be bruises galore, however, the next morning, should be awake to see it. The fury of their exchanged blows would be fair interesting to see. Kuzial's brutal fury, met by Ranok's calm-as-he-can blows. It seemed that it was coming down to stamina. Ranok was counting on his upper body strength to see him through to the end, the trade of swinging metal for a living giving him something equal to training, at the least.

Thea 's cranium bobs slightly, cupped hands cradling Corny's wounded one as she begins a slow chant that is nary but a whisper on the wind to any others not within their space. Heat permeates between the Druidess' palms to encompass the injured limb, cerulean light peeking through space between whitened knuckles as the magic is infused to bond the flesh. After several moments passing, she smiles to him and offers another wink, "You can keep the scar then.."

Cornelius winks at Thea "Much obliged" He then looks back to see how the fight is proceeding

Mesdoram whispered something to Tiphareth.

Mesdoram snickers menacingly, amused by his own words.

Kuzial evades more of Ranok's strikes then he actually parries with his blade, though more than once ebon sabre meets sword is a flash of sparks. A few slashes cut his arms, but the wounds are superficial and hardly seem to slow the drow. He is struck by Ranok's fist once or twice, but his perpetual movement means the blows are more glancing and cause little damage. The patron keeps up his attack for a long moment, before coming to the realization that for some strange reason he is only attacking the strongest parts of Ranok's armour. Deciding he must be insane, or something, he steps back from the man and speaks. "Enough. It seems all my years of weapon training were a waste of time. I should have been a smith." That said, Kuzial turns from the man and speaks to Cornelius. "It seems you are not the strongest human on the surface. He..." The drow motions to Ranok, "is a better fighter than you. You face him, I have had enough."

Tiphareth whispered something to Mesdoram.

The dandy challenges the drow, and Cornelius faces Kuzial

Something within the dandy snaps "This is simply unbearable. Dammit Kuzial! You impolite bastard, you are meant to be fighting me!" In a fit of what can only be described as 'effete pique' Kuzial's dagger is sent hurtling to land between the drow's legs "Kuzial, we had an appointment, and you are late." The dandy points down at Kuzial "Furthermore, because I don't want you handicapped, I expect you to graciously accept Thea's assistance with that wound."

Mesdoram whispered something to Tiphareth.

Mesdoram motions to his twin daggers, dull and unimpressive. "These things are not reliable, but surely my skill will adapt to them."

Antirahc is surprised to see a human best Kuzial. It is simply that he has seen few non-drow stand against a drow and live. Then again, not many capable surfacers venture into the deeps, much less seek out drow to fight. But the fact of the matter is that skilled fighters come in many forms. Unfortunately, the innately superior can not always win, no matter what genetics, or bloodlines are involved.

Kuzial uses his boot to flick the dagger into the air. His bleeding arm snaps forward and plucks the blade from its flight. With a grunt he puts it into his belt and speaks again, his voice heavy with barely disguised anger, "No healing." He eyed the pixie with obvious distrust, before looking back at the dandy. "You need all the help you can get."

Thea 's gaze darts between Cornelius and Kuzial only to land back on the dandy with smirking lips that part, "Aye, see? I told you." She then delivers a bit of reassurance to the Drow, further assisted by being delivered in his own tongue, "I am neutral in my healing..you need not worry."

Kuzial replies to the pixie in his own language, "That is what I would say to someone, moments before I stabbed them in the back. I do not need healing." He offers a slight nod to the queen, before looking back to the dandy. If he is surprised she can speak his language, he doesn't show it. But it would be remembered.

Thea scoffs and begins the task of putting her things away, once more speaking in the Drow tongue, "If I wanted to do that I would not waste time with reassurances first."

Cornelius grimaces "Damned thickheaded drow, I will bludgeon you into unconsciousness and -make- you submit to healing." The dandy stalks down the stairs from the tavern to where Kuzial is, rolling his sleeves back slightly in the manner of a pugilist. He would rely on the steel bars, and hidden daggers, within the revealed vambraces as a guard against the drow's weapons in the short term. His mind slips into the cold, analytical place of his training as his feet take on the light shifting nature of a dancer's footwork. With a weaving movement he gracefully glides in towards the drow's swordarm-side, careful to gauge the lines of the drow's weapons as he plans a combination of left-hook-and-step to a left-shovel-hook, right arm kept free and ready for the drow's response if he fails to knock the stubborn bastard off his feet. One eye is kept closed, ready for the darkness, a word waiting on his lips.

Ranok seems surprised by the sudden break in combat. His sword doesn't get sheathed, but droops slightly. He's probably still expecting something more. The man breaths in that slow, long way that people do when they're hiding the need to inhale much faster. His face was flushed somewhat at the effort he'd put forth, and a bit of blood drops from his readied arm as it worms its way through the plates. A flicked gaze between the drow and Cornelius. He was clearly mystified. He keeps his body facing towards the drow, and over time relaxes the sword slightly. Perhaps a trick. Something to relax his guard? When it seemed that yes, it was over, the sword would be slowly sheathed. The casual observer would see a man simply carefully sheathing a weapon, but the truth was that his limbs hurt. A lot. He had been neglecting his training. That mistake was one he wouldn't repeating. No witty, or snarky comment has been offered, instead, he simply says, "You name. Vat iz it?"

Mesdoram whispered something to Tiphareth.

Kuzial turns to eye the pixie for a moment longer, before his attention is grabbed and held by the stalking Cornelius. Unconsciously he begins to mirror the man's movements, keeping him within the line of his sabre. The blade, due to its enchantments, is still razor sharp; its constant strikes against Ranok's armour doing nothing to dull its hungry edge. "Are you going to talk all day, noble of Von Penzance?" He continues to pace aside the dandy, keeping him just outside the reach of his blade. "Draw your weapon, human. It is time to die." His hand lowers to his belt and once again pulls forth his dagger, before the patron drow drops into a crouch, ready to react to any of Cornelius's movements. As Ranok speaks, Kuzial replies in distracted tones. "It doesn't matter what my name is. You survived. Go enjoy your victory, or whatever it is you humans do." That said, attention is once more solely focused on Cornelius.

Cornelius spits "Not until I've dragged you up for healing. It's a matter of principle." Lowering his stance to something reminiscent of the Gualon boxer Snake Eye's stance, Cornelius steps in to the drow's swordarm side, as his right up pushes out slightly to knock the sabre off guard as he steps through with the left hook. A further dancing step, easily modified into a hop should Kuzial try for the obvious leg, brings Cornelius into position for a sharp shovel-hook towards the drow's ribcage, his right arm ready to strike Kuzial's elbow to arrest and stop a backwards slash of the drow's ebon sabre. Cornelius finishes his pass with a small stomping kick aimed to the back of the drow's knee. Poised and ready, Cornelius will be ready for the success or failure of that kick.

Thea shakes her head at the situation between Cornelius and Kuzial, "You may as well not force him, dear. As for now, I have a few other matters to attend to. Should you need further assistance, I will call on another for you."

Kuzial allows Cornelius to knock his sabre off guard; he flows with the movement in a tight spin. The first punch strikes the back of his head with a solid 'thwack', but it doesn't slow down Kuzial's turn. His other hand brings his dagger around in a swipe that is merely a feint, and one that is not needed. Cornelius does enough when he punches at the man's ribs. Using the underside of his upper-arm, the patron drow attempts to trap the dandy's arm against his body, before he brutally shifts his momentum forward in a move that would, were it successful, break the man's arm at the elbow. Whether or not there is the sound of a satisfying snap, Kuzial would already have begun to move into a position where his ebon sabre is between them. He doesn't strike yet, though. He hates the man, but after the earlier battle he was loathe to kill an unarmed human, even one as hated as the dandy. He needed to face him, blade to blade, and reassert his racial dominance.

Ranok doesn't reply to the drow, as it'd be pointless at the moment. Into another spat he goes. Fights are not really conductive to conversation, he finds. So, instead, he slowly adjusts the things on his person that were moved during his fight. A frown, when he sees just how bad the armour got in the fight. A strap here, severed, or a scour there on the metal. One eye is kept on the drow and Cornelius, however. He didn't exactly trust Kuzial not to try at him again. After all, that was how it all started in the first place.

Cornelius curses as Kuzial spins in the opposite direction to that expected. He curses even more the solid, stubborn skull of his opponent even as the dagger slices a fine line along his left cheek - the first such mark to reach that spot. Cornelius steps back to evade the sabre blow he expected, as the slanted-upwards angle of a shovel-hook makes it a hard punch to trap with any part of the body, causing the drow's efforts in that area to fall short of success. Hearing Thea's words, the dandy sighs "Very well then. I appreciate your efforts lady Thea." With Kuzial's expectant, predatory gaze on him, the Penzance Sabre is drawn, 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. A cruelly-serrated dagger is removed from a sheath at his belt, an old gift from the warrior Knarl. He adopts the upright, bladed extended stance of the old Vailkrinni school of fence, revealing the first mystery of Sword and Circle "Very well then, Kuzial. If you wish to earn more wounds - Come at me."

Kuzial watches the blood drip from the wound with a satisfied smile. He lifts his dagger up for just a moment to see its edge sanguine with the liquid and lets out an audible sigh. But his brief contentment vanishes quicker than a drop of water on a raging fire. Before him was the dandy, and it is he who would feel the wrath of the enraged drow. "So be it, human." The name is spat with tangible contempt, before the patron of House Stavret shifts towards the man offers a straight-forward thrust with his sabre. Before the feinted strike goes through, Kuzial shifts the weapon to strike against the Von Penzance sabre with brutal strength, the blade's momentum changed in the flash of an eye. He refrains from stepping forward and stabbing with his dagger, instead using his sabre to strike down and across at the smaller weapon, his own held before his stomach to parry any return strike of Cornelius's sword.

Cornelius smiles, cold and hard, as the circle between drow and dandy compacted, speaking volumes to the last surviving exponent of his style. The thrust is left alone, too simple an attack for one such as Kuzial, and when the real strike comes Corny collapses his elbow to turn his blade into a high hanging guard - forcing the line of the drow's sabre down his left side as the dandy steps out to his left - and lashes out with his dagger toward's the drow's sabre-bearing wrist as he circles. Whether the dagger strike is successful or not, the dandy steps back and around, changing engagement of the drow's sabre from his own blade to the serrated dagger as he lets the Penzance sabre fall back past his head to trail behind him, the line of it concealed by the dandy's body. "I like your choice of weapon, old bean. I hope you've been practicing"

Kuzial has the momentum of his attack shifted by the skilled swordsman. As the dagger strike comes through, Kuzial does what he hope is unexpected: He simply lets the blade go and in the same moment, when his opponent's sabre and dagger are close to each other, he brutally steps forward and thrusts his dagger at the dandy's chest. He leaves himself open to many a counter-attack, but he hopes that his brutal lack of self-preservation would end this battle before it could really begin. Were Cornelius to step away from the strike, he would once again pick up his fine ebon sabre. Otherwise, he still held his dagger in one hand, and had more than one blade hidden on his person.

Cornelius grimaces as the fencers' circle of death contracts to its very epicentre in a flash. It seemed that in some ways the drow had learned from the dandy, and yet in more important ways had not. As his dagger slices into the drow's flesh it is entangled in Kuzial's forward momentum, the drow sacrificing pain for position as the dandy had once done to him. Where the drow failed though, was in doing this while the dandy's sabre was free and concealed from his line of site. To the human assassin, the opportunity to show the drow another lesson in human endurance was too much to waste. The slightest flick of the wrist and folding of elbow brings his sabre in line to deliver its point, the dandy shifting his stance low and to the side. The dandy assassin's intention is simple but brutally efficient: he will let the drow's momentum push the dagger into his shoulder, a dire but manageable injury, in exchange for simultaneously delivering a much more serious thrust through the drow's ribcage, deliberately aiming to miss the heart. If Kuzial's momentum is true, the fight will indeed end as quickly as the drow hopes - though not to his advantage. Cornelius at the same time drops the bloodied dagger, and grasps hold of the back of the drow's sabre, to provide temporary protection from a counter slash.

Kuzial does indeed drive forward with all his momentum and he feels every inch of his blade entering into the flesh of Cornelius's shoulder. The dandy well utilizes the visual block to hide his sinister strike, but the man's sword has not been forgotten. And as its fine point enters his chest, so easily driving through fine drow-crafted chainmail, Kuzial viciously drives himself to the left, away from where the strike comes from. A sanguine flower blooms from the horrible cut, but due to luck or innate skill, the blade has not severed his lung, or impaled his heart. It is a horrendous wound that pours massive amounts of blood, but it is not yet fatal. On staggering feet the dark elf back-tracks, an empty hand lifting to feel the flow of unhindered vitae. "Fine... strike... human..." He drops to a knee and coughs loudly, "Fine... enough... to..." As he speaks, with his bowed head hiding his movements, Kuzial draws another of his daggers with one hand, and a small throwing star with the other. He coughs one more time for effect, before driving himself upwards. The throwing star, laced with poison, is thrown in an underhanded-throw at the dandy, but it serves solely for a distraction. The real attack comes with a feigned thrust of his dagger, turned into a low, mid, high slashing routine as he manoeuvres himself into a position to reclaim his sabre. His horrible wound continues to leak blood, but whether it cruelty, pure anger, or something else, the drow doesn't fall. He continues his brutal attacks even as his ebon skin begins to grow more pale...

The dandy's lips form a rictus grin as the drow's dagger embeds itself in his flesh. As torrents of agony register through him, the smile grows wider. Once more he has proof he is no longer contained in a dream of stone, or entrapped in one of the dark fortress' nightmares. As Kuzial falls away empty handed, pulling himself free of the brutal bite of the dandy's sabre, Cornelius maintains hold of the drow's sabre in turn, quickly flipping it to grasp the hilt in his left hand, and not a moment too soon. The dandy steps back, the ebon sabre shifting to deflect the thrown star as the wounded dandy steps to the side, mirroring his starting guard with ebon sabre extended and the right arm hanging somewhat limply, holding onto the Penzance sabre. Cornelius hisses as the drow attacks with dagger, stepping backwards then circling for now, using the sabre's reach to whip tight slashes from moulinets at the wrist, targeting the drow's dagger, content for now simply keeping the drow at a distance. "A fine weapon, this sabre, Kuzial. But you grow pale - I much prefer the look of you when healthy."

Kuzial once again mirrors the dandy's movements with his own, occasionally moving forward to feign a strike, before stepping back. His right hand holds his dagger, the left has begun to lower as the wound in his chest drives the strength from his arm. For a moment he reflects on the foolishness of fighting a skilled swordsman moments after a battle, but these thoughts are pushed back by the inborn arrogance of Kuzial - the very arrogance that fuels his constant cruelty. He paces left and right, keeping outside of what Cornelius would call the circle of death, before a small smile makes its way to his lips. He stops, puts his dagger into his belt and extends his right hand. "You owe me a sabre, Noble of Von Penzance. Return mine and our debt is squared, and we can end this." He remains motionless, though the twitching of his legs betrays the fact he is ready to leap out of the way if the foppish human decides not to honour their debt from the previous fight, which ended in Kuzial returning Cornelius's sword.

Cornelius forms a smile of his own. Expecting treachery, and ready for it, the dandy nonetheless returns the sabre in a long underhanded lob, the Penzance sabre swiftly finding its way into the dandy's left hand should it prove needed again "But of course, Kuzial old bean. How could I forget?"

Kuzial does not return the gesture with treachery, though when he tells this story later he will swear black and blue he only asked for the weapon for some underhanded trick. He snaps the blade out of the air and holds it before him, admiring throughout his agony the fine length of the ebon metal. "We end this, human. Be ready." With a hiss of hatred, no thanks offered for the honourable gesture, Kuzial steps quickly into the 'circle of death' and begins to strike over and over with his ebon-hued blade; his usual finesse with the sword forsaken for the freedom of pure brutality. His eyes, still sore from the flashing light of Ranok's trick, squint even in the day's fading light; but he is a drow fighter, trained to battle in the unending blackness of his homeworld. He doesn't yet summon his innate globe of darkness, preferring instead to keep the battle viciously locked in a test of strength as he feels his blood drip quickly down his body. He knows the acrobatic skills of his opponent, and has spent time beneath the earth training with the most agile drow warriors of his house. He has learned to keep their movements off-beat and stilted by almost straight-forward attacks. But even more he knows to be wary, for a strike can come unseen from anywhere. With all this in mind, Kuzial goes through the motions of simple attacks. Diagonal slashes across his body at Cornelius's shoulders, thrusts for the man's heart, dipping swipes at his leading leg and driving stabs at his throat. Each is designed to force Cornelius into the parry rather than evasion, and each is powered on the breath of his unstoppable anger - pure rage giving strength to already strong arms that so desire the healing rest of sleep. He has already battled this day, and now has a horrible wound; it was time to equally tire the noble Von Penzance before his loss of blood causes him to falter. A fine repayment for the honour Cornelius showed.

Cornelius was not surprised. As the blade landed in the drow's grip a subtle nuance of Kuzial's expression confirmed Cornelius' suspicion. With an agonised shout the dandy wrenches the dagger from his shoulder and drops it into his right hand, even as the adrenaline keeps him alert through the pain. Three hundred years encased in stone fending off insanity's slow advance had given the Vailkrinni swordsman a willpower to rival that of his opponent. As the drow comes in, the first round of defences is sturdy but not inspired, the dandy's attention taken up with forcing his awareness of pain back into a place of black ice, and so the drow's sabre slips through to open up minor cuts along the dandy's right arm and shoulder. Flowing away from the drow's movements, the dandy dances to the side to throw his dagger at the drow's thigh, his hand brushing by one of his pockets afterwards. Whether the thrown dagger lands or not, the dandy will let the drow in close enough during one parry to snap his fingers with a muttered "Lighten up, Kuzial" and let the flash paper retrieved from his pocket flare before the drow's enraged eyes. The dandy closes one eye at just the right moment, then opens it and closes the other as he steps back, sabre whipping slant-wise to catch the drow's knuckles with the flat of his blade, attempting a disarm even as the dandy's sabre flows through into yet another high hanging guard.

Kuzial is caught within the dance of death so completely his own pain is forgotten; but it is a debt he will have to pay later. When the coursing adrenaline fades from his ebon flesh he will fully taste agony's sweet kiss, but that time is not now. Staying within this consciousness that is fully engrossed in this deadly fight, he reacts with his inborn speed from the thrown dagger - a tactic he himself utilizes often. He merely shifts his leg to the right, taking a glancing blow from the thrown blade that opens a slender wound. It is forgotten before the pain can ever reach his mind, though. He is all to aware in this state for such straight forward tricks. But alas, he is not aware for another flash of bright light. His eyes, already feeling like needles are being slowly driven into them, cannot take another such burst. The slam shut and refuse to open, even as Corny slaps the flat of his blade against tightly clenched knuckles. The blow isn't enough for Kuzial to drop his sabre, though. It hurts, but what is a drop of pain in the ocean of agony that drowns the dark elf already. Blinded now, he does the only thing natural to do. He takes a short step back and casts a globe of darkness over himself, locking it onto the ruby soul-stone that incarcerates his father's soul. The globe is large, but whether or not it has encompassed Corny is yet unknown. Regardless, Kuzial is crouched and ready - keen ears open to the slightest sound, every other sense bar sight aware for any motion that would betray the dandy's position. And it is there the patron drow waits, confident even in his weakened state he can out-fight the foppish human with both devoid of sight...

Cornelius halts his movement the moment the darkness envelopes Kuzial, finding himself just within the edge of the sphere. Keeping one eye open and one eye closed as he had before, he stills his breathing with an assassin's trained discipline, and waits to hear the first tell-tale drip of drow blood - of which there would be plenty by now - onto the dirt. Poised, and ready, it seems like an hour passes in those few seconds. But there it was - a tiny but distinctive sound. Kuzial might hear a faint rustle as the concealed dagger is withdrawn from its sheathe lined with tranquillising toxins. Cornelius would wait to see if that drawing of dagger drew Kuzial's attention - if the drow moved, so would the dandy to avoid whatever attack came, even as Cornelius uses the drow's movement to maintain awareness of his position. If the drow doesn't move, well, even better for what was to come in that impenetrable darkness.

Kuzial has remained motionless within his sphere of darkness, listening for any movement from the dandy. Blood does indeed betray his position, having moved from an occasional drip to a steady stream of droplets. He feels his mind starting to wander as the loss of blood takes its heavy toll, but with vicious determination he refuses to relent. The sound of the dagger being drawn is indeed picked up by Kuzial's keen hearing, and he lowers himself further, his sabre held across his chest ready to parry any coming attack. But he will not strike first. Blinded by the light of Cornelius's earlier attack, he will not leave his conjured darkness 'less it is to his advantage. He is content to wait, and confident he can deflect any coming projectile, or any unranged attack, though with every drip of blood his confidence does shrink. He will not be standing for long; soon this must be ended.

Cornelius waits a moment longer, the agony in his shoulder finally under control for now. The drops of blood seem to gain a different quality of sound, a shorter cadence. Aaah... the drow was closer to the ground. A moment of consideration for the dandy. Knowing the drow had senses generally superior to his own, he could assume he had been heard. But then, why not attack? Cornelius smiles, and murmurs the command word to activate the defensive runes upon his sleeves. As the runes sought the undo the enchanted sphere of darkness, they pulsed with a light similar to that of the sun reflected off a mirror. The dandy still waits though, for any sign of an attack, as well as to see the outcome of the runes' efficacy

Kuzial stands in a tightly defensive crouch, his eyes locked shut. He is unaware his spell of darkness has been dispelled by Cornelius's runes. His face has begun to grow pallid, as far as a dark elf's can, but his muscles show he is ready to react to any movement heard or sensed.

Cornelius smiles to himself and sheathes his sabre, drawing out a second glistening dagger from a similarly concealed location. He would wait another moment, then cast the two daggers, both with sleep-inducing toxins. The throws would be one after the other - one to see which way the drow moved, for Cornelius knew the first dagger was likely to be evaded, the second, thrown with his uninjured left arm, would be to intercept Kuzial, and hopefully give the injured drow some much-needed, if unwanted, rest.

The fight ends, and Kelay Way is quiet once more

Kuzial hears Cornelius's sabre being sheathed and knows something is coming. He can feel it... sense it upon the air. Then, as the first dagger is thrown, he reacts with his custom speed - he rolls to the left over his back, ignoring the flaring of pain that comes from his injured chest and other less notable wounds. When he gets to his feet he takes one step forward, before realizing the first was merely a faint. With all his speed he snaps his sabre downwards, but can only clip the thrown dagger. Its altered path is enough to slice through the flesh of his thigh, dangerously close to where the earlier dagger cut. He smirks, "Not good... goooood... enoooughhh.." He feels his senses swimming and knows what has happened. That clever, so clever, human had laced the weapon with a toxin much like the type used by his brethren. Time is not on his side, and he knows the battle is over for now... Ignoring the deadly pain, he opens his eyes and gives the dandy a glared, bleary stare. "I... expected... expected more... from a..." He cannot even finish. With the last of his strength the drow turns and sprints away. His running gait is awkward, a stagger each and every other step, but he manages to shift away from the man as best he can. His crossbow is forgotten, as is the discarded dagger upon the ground. He would run until he collapsed, hoping it was at least far enough away from his many, many enemies for him to survive until the toxins exited his body. Then he would return for the dandy once more...

Cornelius calls out to the healer Thea had sent "Follow him - if he collapses, heal him." He gives a shrill whistle, and a man appears with rope burns around his neck "Eric, make sure neither healer nor Kuzial come to harm. I want the drow to live and experience the shame of a second defeat" The man nods, then follows after drow and healer. Cornelius stands a moment longer, then slumps to one knee, the pain filtering through once again

Rowen the little rat limps over to Cornelius, her whiskered face full of concern. She utters a prayer to Daedria on her friend's behalf.

Cornelius grimaces as his vision blurs with the effort of trying to restrain the pain-signals through his body. He recognises Rowen, though, and manages a pained 'My liegelady, you see me in a most undignified state. I do apologise"

Ranok tsks as he gets up off the rock he had observed the whole exchange on. "Eksperience anodder defeat? Konsiderink dat dere's more blood out uf hyu den in hyu, Hy vouldn' go und run my mouth qviet yet if Hy vere hyu." His own arm had been wrapped up by now. He took the opportunity to check the wound while the two brawled. It wasn't bad as if could have been. Regardless, he walks over to the dandy to look him over. A shake of the head. "Und den hyu send uff de only healer ve hef on hend to go und modder him. Hy svear. Are hyu mortal enemies or not?" He sounded more amused then scolding.

Rowen the little priestess sniffs at her human friend looking worried. She looks over his injuries. The rodent lays a paw on the man's ankle, the nearest bare flesh she can reach. The she closes her eyes and prays, channeling the divine energy from Daedria into her patient, concentrating it on stopping the bleeding for now. When she has finishes she tells him. "Your shoulder will need stitching and we should bathe all your wounds with antiseptic herbs to prevent infection. We should get you into the tavern, Mesthak keeps a healing kit being the bar for me." She looks around. "Who can help my friend inside please?"

Cornelius glares at Ranok through the pain "I have no enemies, Ranok." A gasp, hiss as the dandy draws in breath to counter the agony "Merely antagonists playing on the same stage of life. In fact..." The dandy stops as the sensation of Rowen's intervention seeps through his wounds, easing them a little " In fact, old bean, I would be distraught if I didn't get another opportunity to fight him. He is such an entertaining swordsman, after all. Some call Kuzial a piece of work... but his swordsmanship is a work of art. And I collect art, I do not destroy it"

Rowen snorts at Ranok."He has the supreme empress of the known universe to tend to his wounds, worry not."

Rowen said to Ranok, ""Please help him inside so I can sew up that gash in his shoulder!""

Ranok bends over to help Cornelius up. His strength had returned to more or less full, as far as it could be told, it seems. "Like Hy saeed, Hy don' judge hyu und you veird kourtship rituals. Now, up vith hyu on tree." Still with the more amused then insulting tone. Being snarky was just how he was. He'd yet to really find a person that could dish as well as take, however. On the count of 'tree', he would get Cornelius up onto his feet. Probably more dragging then helping, but Ranok isn't going out of his way to be gentle. Nor is he rough. More serviceable then anything. "Onless hyu kan find a seamstress vith a schtrong schtomach or a healer, Hy'll hef to be de vun to schtitch hyu up. Let's hope ve kan find zumone else." Not because the man was squeamish, but because his stitching left rather ugly scars. Where a healer would be nice and neat, his hand would be fairly rough.

Cornelius grunts with pain, but manages to stay upright "Scars don't bother me old bean." With Ranok's assistance, he would half-stagger, be half-supported, into the Tavern

Rowen explains to Ranok "Fear not, the supreme empress of the known universe is a dab paw will a needle." She then limps into the inn to see Mesthak about dissolving antiseptic herbs in water and heating her needles in a flame to sterilise them.