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Demont stands silently upon the darkened path near the Fountain. The vampire's nostrils flare several times as the scent of blood invades them. His cloudy gaze wanders from he fountain to the drow before him. "A drow..." A sneering trails the last syllable. He brushes a lock of ashen tresses from his pallid face, you notice that the ring and middle fingers are missing. Quickly and silently the assassin snakes five slender digits about his blades hilt. The assassin maneuvers his left hand quickly to his side, pulling a dagger skillfully from his belt, concealing it behind his wrist. A slight tensing of his muscles resonates throughout his body as he readies himself for his attack. Bringing his hand holding the dagger behind his head, grasping the weapon between his thumb and forefinger he snaps it violently foreword, releasing the dagger when his arm extends to hits full length. As the projectile fly’s towards the woman’s torso, he presses his back leg from the ground, sending his body foreword at an astonishing speed. Nearing the drow, he brings the demonic blade downwards in an arch, ready to cleave the woman in half.

Jenevieve studies the vampire in front of her carefully, taking note of every detail from the intensity in his eyes to the length of his sword, and carefully goes over her spells and chants in her head, making sure she remembers what she has learnt in her short time in sorcere. As Demont snakes out the name of her kind, with a sarcastic sneer, Jenevieve cringes in anger of the disrespect she has been shown. Standing ready, she places her left hand in her pouch, the other on the leather-bound handle of her poisonous crossbow. As the vampire moves his left hand to his weaponry, Jenevieve uses her innate Drowic abilities and casts a Globe of Darkness to encompass the surrounding area, making it impossible to see even the brightest shimmer. By instinct, she lays flat on the ground, pressing her back against the cold earth as the dagger flies towards her with the greatest speed she has seen from a vampire. Avoiding the harmful slash of the dagger, Jenevieve begins to quickly pull herself up from the ground to release the bolt from her crossbow into the general area of where Demont was, however, as the vampire enters the Globe of Darkness and slashes with his mighty sword, Jenevieve’s own empowerment works against her as she cannot see the vampire until there is a great throbbing, stinging pain in her right shoulder. As a reflex, she tenses her muscles from the pain, and forms a fist with her hands which pulls on the trigger of her crossbow, sending a poisonous arrow towards Delmont’s pectoral muscles at point blank range.

Demont's eyes quickly adjust to the darkness. Feeling his weapon make contact with flesh, he quickly pulls it free, and instinctively moves to the left. Not noticing the crossbow, the arrow strikes the upper locale of his shoulder, embedding it's self deeply. No pain is evident upon the assassin's face or in his tone as he rolls to the side, taking advantage of the darkness and his skills that accompany it. Demont pulls three daggers from his belt and throws them rapidly in succession toward the female. "Damned drows..." he mumbles as the blades race towards his opponent. He makes his way as he did before at the drow, following his daggers. This time, instead of bringing the blade downward, he swings it horizontally at the backs of her legs, however a painful throbbing coursing through his arm yields him from following through his attack with as much force as intended.

Jenevieve is angered at the vampire’s disrespect for a higher race, and feeling the slight breeze from the vampire’s twirl to the left, she pulls out her hand from her pouch and quickly throws the contents of her fist in the direction of Demont. Several drowic words are barely recognizable under the heaving breath of Jenevieve’s pain, however as the contents of Jenevieve’s spell components touch the ground, flames start to spark sparatically at the points of contact. Still enrobed in darkness, Jenevieve begins to walk violently with great determination towards the vampire. “You need to learn a lesson, assassin…” she states with the sharpest tone of hatred. As she steps into her second pace, she is stopped by a sharp pain in the right hand side of her stomach. Then again, in the pit of her knee. As she drops to the ground, she feels another sharp pain in the crest of her shoulder, just above the previous wound she endured. Saying just one word in a quite whisper, with a barely recognizable slur, she casts a purple glowing sphere around herself for protection, and although not very strong, she is praying to the Spider Goddess that it will be enough to blunt another Vampiric attack for long enough for her to catch her breath.

Demont's blade bounces harmlessly off the protective barrier Jenevieve has summoned about her form. Demont leaps backward as violent flames lick at his shins and upper thighs, scorching them. "I've learnt all my lessons I need, drow. Your race is nothing but a foul, lowly breed of ingrates." Upon the last letter falling from his lips, he sends a powerful leg sideways at the drow, aiming to embed the dagger in her side farther into her flesh; Flames race rapidly up his leg. He hopes the high heat ripping at his decaying flesh will add to the destructive power following his muscular leg.

Jenevieve glares crimson eyes at Demont, the opalescent surroundings reflecting the glow of the flames. “You will surely regret your words, dear blood sucker” she says with the clarity and coherence of tone that you would believe that nothing was ever wrong with her. With great vigor and rage running rampant in her dark veins, she stands up quickly to resume her straight, proper posture once more, ignoring the pain and welcoming the new-found adrenaline of the anger. With bloodied hands, she aims her palms towards the vampire and closing her eyes, she speaks the prayer she was tought as a young girl. A bright light seems to appear from nowhere and rids the clouds of darkness that enrobed it earlier. With now clear vision, Jenevieve is able to see the intense look on her opponents face, the expression of frustration that plagues his eyes, and she chuckles a bit. Seeing that he is coming her direction, she begins to step towards him just as Demont’s leg snaps her in the back of the leg. With a pain unlike that which she has already endured, Jenevieve continues towards the vampire as though there was no hit at all. Placing her dark-skinned hand on the vampire’s neck she says “we shall meet again, dear Demont, for this has proven to me what you really are”. Jenevieve smiles slightly as she turns away from the assassin and walks towards a healer.

Demont smirks, pleased. He pulls the arrow from his limp arm and drops it upon the ground. using his defective hand, he replaces the sword in it's scabbard. "I'm sure we will."