[center][h1][color=ff5000][b]Renar Hagen[/b][/color][/h1][/center]

Even knowing that the trapper could conjure impediments out of thin air, Renar hadn't expected a goddesses-damned pit of all things. Another data point to mark in his understanding of this foe, though one that came almost too late. Clearly, he was underestimating this wretch. 

And then there was a torch. Fitting, with the fire theme. Concerning, with how much pitch he was currently standing in. The moments the trapper took to raise the torch and hurl it passed by in slow motion to Renar. He could predict the trajectory, analyze how much time he had before it landed and the flame spread. The pitch he was standing in would need a moment to get out of, but that was one he didn't have. A throwing knife wasn't guaranteed to knock the torch off course. Think, Renar, [i]think[/i]! 

Inspiration struck. One swift motion ripped the orcish cloak he bore as a treasure and trophy from his back and hurled it at the torch, sending both mantle and flame flying back towards the Wild Huntsman. The now-flaming cloak falling over the trapper's face ought to distract him, though Renar followed up by shifting the grip on his poleaxe and hurling it speartip-first like a javelin straight for the fae's chest. He didn't expect it to kill, and quickly clambered out of the pit as best he was able. 

By the time the trapper dealt with the twin nuisances he'd just been assailed with, Renar could be seen standing before him, sword drawn in one hand, his other free. The Bastard of Brias radiated cold fury as his off-hand pointed towards the trapper. More specifically, his flaming cloak.

[color=ff5000][b]"Mine for the taking."[/b][/color] He snarled, his fury moreso at himself for being put in a position where he'd had to sacrifice one of his most prized possessions. That cloak had been material proof of his first true triumph at dueling an orcish warchief and earning him a position in the Iron Rose. To have had to sacrifice it to escape from a situation of his own making was [i]galling[/i]. For that, the trapper would pay a debt in more than blood. The flaming cloak would serve to sate his rage. 

Renar surged forward, a pair of vials suddenly in his free hand. A clench of his fist, and they shattered. As soon as he was in range, he hurled the sand and crushed glass he held straight towards the trapper's helm and visor, where the blinding powder had proven effective previously. Another step forward, and he held his sword in mordhau, aiming to smash the crossguard of his sword into the trapper's helm and head.