As the large doors swing open, a figure emerges. Cloaked in a drapery
of living, writhing shadows, the mysterious figure is said to be a drow
shadowmage named Ravenscloak. The name seems honest enough, though the
obscure figure is said to be as evil as the night is black. The shrouded
dark elf is rumored to be here as Lolth's personal executioner, come to
destroy as many surface elves as the Demon Queen of Spiders demands. And
those drow who number amongst the arena competitors know that the Spider
Queen's hatred of the surface elves knows no bounds. Those in the crowd so
curious as to study the newcomer as carefully as possible can just make out
the glowing red pinpricks of the dark elf's eyes within the aura of shades,
but nothing more.
At the other end of the Arena the gray elf, Archie, enters, flying a few
feet above the ground. His elven chainmail gleams, and a sneer of disdain
for his enemy is plastered on his face. Behind him come several others,
mirror images of the archer. Stepping forward, and spreading into a line,
all seven of the Archie's aim their loaded bows at their foe. Their bows
taut, and each loaded with two arrows, the Archie's wait for the announcer
to start the fight. Suddenly the magically enhanced voice calls out to
begin, and over a dozen arrows fly across the Arena.
As the voice of the announcer fades, from out of the mass of shadows
emerge a swarm of shimmering black icicles, looking much like angry hornets
swarming from the nest. Too many to count, the stygian missiles streak
across the space between the combatants, spreading out as they go.
Just as the icicles start across the space, the arrows reach
Ravenscloak. As they hit one after another fades away to nothing, mere
illusions from the false Archie's. Two of the arrows are not illusions
though, and both of them hit Ravenscloak square in the chest. However, they
seem to do no more damage than the false images. There is no sign that
either has any effect, as they ricochet off the drow.
Quickly going into a rhythm, Archie begins shooting arrow after arrow
across the Arena at his foe. The magic of his bow teleports arrows to their
position, nocked and ready to be fired. By the time the first arrow reaches
the midpoint of the Arena, Archie is releasing his third shot.
The Shadowmage remains where he is. Whether he is concerned or not
isn't obvious due to the black shroud which clings to him like a moonstruck
lover. Just what he is doing isn't obvious either, at least not until a
brilliant, blue-white streak of lightning bursts from the air near the
Archie's with the sizzle of bacon on a grill.
The seven images of Archie all scramble to the side, but there is no
time. In a flash the lightning is upon them. Six of the images disappear
into nothingness. Only one remains, the one at the edge of the lightning
bolt, and least affected. With the departure of the images, the icicles
flying across the Arena begin to melt, collapsing into puddles of water
before they reach the remaining Archie.
Gritting his teeth against the obvious pain, Archie continues to fire
one arrow after another at the drow. He nearly collapses when the lightning
bolt rebounds of the stone walls and slams into him from behind, but manages
to get off his final shot.
Winging their way across the Arena, the arrows fly straight for
Ravenscloak. The archer's supporters grow more and more discouraged as each
of them in turn ricochets off the drow. A groan breaks from some of the
elves in the stands as Archie's final arrow is deflected by Ravenscloak's
protections. Ten arrows and not a single one was able to harm the drow.
Flying upward ten feet, Archie begins firing another set of arrows.
These ones have been painted with red with black markings, though what
signifigance that has remains to be seen. He has barely gotten off his
second arrow when Ravenscloak spits out a few arcane words. Several dots of
blackness streak out from the shadows that surround him, hurtling toward the
archer.
A brief look of confusion is quickly replaced by a smile of recognition
by Archie, as he continues to fire his arrows. Just as the first of his
missiles reaches their target, stabbing into Ravenscloak and knocking him
backwards, the globes of night reach Archie.
However, the magically summoned globes seem to dissipate just before
they hit the archer, who continues to empty his quiver, happily watching as
the first of his red arrows hits their target.
Ravenscloak staggers back as arrow after arrow stabs into him. By the
time his lifeless corpse collapses to the floor of the Arena, there are
nearly a dozen arrows sticking out of him. (
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