3 opening shots and I’ve put away my bow, while you close in for the easy kill on a lowly Shadow Warrior. As I draw my blade and hold my ground, you salivate at the visions of a bloody corpse lying before your feet. Your fury and frenzy as you chop, slash, and recklessly flail at me only drives my calm posturing and precise melee stance.
I toy with you.
Stepping to the side, whirling around behind, parry after parry your blows ring without effectiveness. My stinging aggravates more than you dare to believe, not from an elf, surely not from an elf with a bow. The path of the ignorant fuels your decision to continue the battle, one that you are losing. One that you will not escape alive. The first time you fall thinking to yourself, “Surely, it was a fluke. I was specced for mobs. I’ll go out looking for solo PvP and defeat this little elf.”
The second time, I do not even draw my bow, daring you to enter into melee again.
This time, the duration grows shorter, and the victory is more heavily in my favor, I laugh at your feeble attacks and give you another embarrassing defeat at the hands of an elf, with a bow undrawn. Defeated a second time, you enrage and stomp back onto the battlefield demanding a victory against this petty elf. This skinny, weak, pathetic elf wielding nothing more than a toothpick against you.
You amuse me, so I draw my bow and a third victory is guaranteed. Before you close into melee distance, you are on the verge of death. I make it even more quick and dominating, taking mere scratches while ravishing your body. Nearly untouched, I give a smug grin at your third fallen corpse. Do you respect me yet? Of course not. I’m just a mere elf, how could you? We meet in a scenario, and I hunt you down only to meet a group of your party. I beckon, you advance with your allies as a single force, too embarrassed to face me in front of your peers.
When I fall, you laugh, and stomp, and taunt me. I have already expected this, as cowards do not adhere to honor, cannot show weakness amongst peers, and will not fight a battle they know they will lose. You respect me, secretly, and painfully. Holding it deep inside, refusing to show anyone your weakness, the next time we meet on the open field, alone, you flee.
Good. As it should be.
However, that does not stop my hunt. That does not stop me from griefing your allies at their camps. It does not stop me from chasing you down and taking your backside, time and time again. In melee combat, against a true melee class. Continue your mockery when you fell me under greater numbers, but fear me alone and in the open.
With my bow undrawn.