Lavorra keeps the guards busy

Can Lavorra defeat the Daemon guards?

Yes/No (Likely): [2,1] No but... she is able to keep them busy.

—

Lavorra moves a little faster than she’s used to, in the light armour she’s cobbled together. And that might be where it all goes wrong.

The **** of her first swing, catching the Daemonspawn unaware, carries her too far forward.

Though the Daemon howls in pain as her sword scours his flank, Lavorra stumbles past him. They are on her in a moment, one bringing his polearm down over her head, trapping her arms and chest under the hard haft of the weapon. The other, wounded Daemon grips her wrist, twisting tightly, and causing her to drop her sword with a yelp of pain.

She starts seriously to consider that her continuing shit-awful luck may be the result of a curse.

“Spike-eared bitch.” The wounded Daemon growls, slapping the flat of his palm across her face. Lavorra flinches, but keeps quiet, hair tumbling over her eyes.

“Look who’s talking horn head.” She retorts.

Sorry, Zeya, Kali.

The one holding her squeezes, forcing the wind out of her. To her horror, she feels something stiffening against her rear. If she can just keep them distracted a little longer, give Zeya time to open the barrier, give herself room to -

“Hands away from that!” The wounded Daemon barks, spying her fingers flipping the flap of her hip bag.

She winces, then tosses her hair back, looking at him with a wary expression. “You caught me. Fair and square. What are you going to do with me?”

“Should take you to the Fleshworks. Get you bred along with the other Elflings.” He sneers at her.

Other Elflings?

His comrade, the one keeping her held in place, chuckles. “Don’t need to be in a hurry though. Reckon we deserve to break her in first. All armoured up like that, she’ll need some training first.”

“Oh. No.” Lavorra blurts flatly, then quickly affects a more frightened aspect. “Please don’t, not my virtue. I’ve not known the touch of man nor Daemon before.”

“Find that hard to believe, the way that rump of yours is feeling.” Her captor leers, his breath hot on her nape. She shivers as he drags an elongated tongue across her neck.

Just a minute more.

She concentrates, twitching her fingers. Her bag shifts gently.

“Get her on her knees.” The wounded one barks, “She cut me. I get first go.”

“But he caught me.” Lavorra murmurs demurely, “I can’t break free. Shouldn’t I be his.” She rolls her hips as though squirming weakly, her bottom rubbing against the Daemon’s straining erection.

“She makes a - hrm - very good point.” She can practically feel his grin. And then she feels the wight of her sling bag lessen.

Yes!

“Magic rope!” She yells the command word. Not the most inventive, but she and Zeya had agreed that, in a pinch, it would do.

In a whipping motion, the magic rope taken from Sir Henry’s stores encircles both Daemonspawns’ feet, lashing back to drag them heavily onto their backs. Lavorra side-steps deftly, as the rope swirls acrobatically, swooping around the two guards and binding them tight together, even as they bellow and howl in frustration.

She doesn’t waste time, not wanting to find out how long the enchantment - or the bonds - will hold, and jogs back along the rippling tree line. She spies Zeya as she rounds the curve, seeing her kneeling in the grass with a hazy, washed-out expression.

She hurries towards her.