For a Fistful of Rope

Fred sat with his legs crossed, on the cavern floor, and sized up the two opponents. Both were called elves, but they were different. The one called Leuoth looked like one of the young clerks that took care of the bookish work for the great lords of the manor and the church. Such men knew their place in Allaria. Still, Fred would concede that, for his kind, he might have been formidable, and thought that perhaps he was of the elfish equivalent of a noble house. If he fought well, perhaps he should talk to him and see if this were the case. He would possibly be a pretentious windbag, as elves were reputed to be, but a polite chat short chat should not be too taxing. The combat would be useful to watch, at least, as the Ia'adoire creature that he was to fight was similar to Lueoth, and might have the same reactions.

The other opponent seemed to be a woman with the soul of an animal. It was those eyes. Even Checkers with her wings seemed more 'human' to Fred. Fred stared at Artizza, and her beady black eyes reminded him very much of those of a shy field mouse. And this Aritizza looked to be of commoner clay than Lueoth - much like the difference between a fine Allarian calvaryman and a dirty thief from one of the roving bands of robbers in the barbarian west.

Astra C dropped the rope, and the two dashed in to grab it. Neither were going to let the other have the initiative. Both had grabbed for the middle of the rope, and both had a grasp on it now. Fred thought, I think that it is slipping from Artizza's grip. Not quite. I see now. She let it slide it down and then twisted it around her knuckles.

1. Lueoth lets the rope go.
2. Lueoth tries to retain his grasp on the rope.

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