RP:Escape from Slavery

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopisis: Nymh uses his gifts to escape House D'Artes, and he's almost clear of Trist'oth when the D'Artes guards catch up with him. The fugitive faces death or worse, but Krice, who just left House D'l'sel D'issan, chances upon the squad of guards closing in on Nymh, and intervenes on Nymh's behalf. Krice cuts down the guards, giving Nymh ample time to escape. Nymh reveals that Emilia is no longer in the safe house. The pair decide to travel to the surface together. However, Nymh's cursed glass dagger afflicts his mind at the worst possible moment, and the ex-slave gets lost in the Underdark.

Trist'oth City Limit

Krice walked through the eastern edges of Trist'Oth, his stride relatively strong despite his condition; the injuries with which he was first afflicted were of course a little more healed, sixteen days later, but still plagued him. On top of those concealed wounds, the warrior had to contend with new ones; a fresh cut across his upper-left thigh from inside to out, a narrowly dodged groin-slash, and a slightly deeper cut over the curve of his right shoulder. The broken skin still wept blood, indicating that they were very new. Down the left side of his face, from eyebrow to jaw, three deep gashes marked his flesh, some kind of animal attack--likely lycan, given his recent incarceration in the House of Half-Breeds. With his katana held down at his side, wiped of blood--some red smears remained upon the steel--the silver-haired man moved onward, stepping quietly down the narrowing cavern hallway, cautiously seeking the exit.

Nymh had very poor luck, it seemed. He'd finally found the possible means to be taken into the second house, where he might no longer be slave garbage among Drow society, and had instead been victimized yet again by the ill contentment with his presence inspired among the other slaves by Rauva. The half-breed had caused trouble for them, and now he was getting to go to a new house, sold to the house of misfits where a gray might be treated as an equal to true drow? They'd whispered into the ears of the guards, and with Nymh's personal keeper of late taken out of the picture by the gray haired warrior Krice, it'd been easy enough for him to wind up in the less gentle care of one who was easily bribed into practicing his malice upon those less fortunate than he. Even a slave could do a useful favor, in a place that thrived on deceit and secret plots of murder. Nymh wasn't beaten too badly yet, but they'd just gone beyond the gates of the second house, where they were to have Nymh presented for inspection, and were going to be returning to the first house... late. And without the slave, no less. "You're not very good at making friends, are ya, little gray elf? Got skin like a drow, but you're not. And even the other slaves hate you for it!" The drow laughed, along with his several warrior friends. Nymh had his hands bound behind his back, and stood stock still, breathing heavily, sweating. He knew what was to come. "That's such a nice dagger at your side. Tirst got a nasty bleed, trying to take it off of you. But once you're dead, I wonder if it'll be so choosy, hmm? I could make use of a pretty blade like that." Nymh looked him in the eyes, with his one working eye, and gave a rather uncharactistically malicious grin. "It'll be your curse, then. That'll have to be revenge enough for me." The drow smirked. "We'll see." He was driven to his knees. "So pretty, the little songbird. That's what you were called in your other house, isn't that right? Pretty, pretty. Like the exotic birds from the surface. Like them, though, you just weren't meant to live long..." A dagger raised on high, as Nymh poised himself for the end.

Krice was a silhouetted figure against the faint light of the tunnel's entrance, Trist'Oth at his back - freedom right ahead. Motionless was the tall, silver-haired man, with his katana at his side and nothing in his eyes. He was staring at the main aggressor against Nymh, and as the dagger was risen to strike the little half-breed bard, a smooth voice sought attention to delay the strike: " Hey."

Nymh recognized that voice, but thought he'd imagined it, for a moment. He was used to hallucinations of all sorts, and this was the sort of moment that she would do such a thing to him. But the dagger did not fall, and he'd look up to find his captors looking at the bleeding man. One recognized him. "It's the warrior. He was in the dungeons... the one that Laezila came for." They all looked to each other, than back to him. "Bet his return would be worth a pretty piece." Nymh watched as the half dozen started moving towards the man, leaving him where he was, with only one to hold his arms at his back. This was going to be his only chance, he knew, and he'd dip nimble fingers into his sash, drawing that poison dart, as the drow watched on. "Hold still, half breed. We'll get to you." The drow seemed to all be warriors, most wielding long blades of dark elf craft, and some drawing their hand crossbows, prepared with, most likely, small doses of paralytic poisons. D'artes warriors were well equipped, and well trained. A flash of fingers gave the silent signal to finally attack, and they'd erupt into violence, three bolts flashing towards Krice, as the other three warriors came on with blades swinging and thrusting.

Krice 's head turned minutely to watch the six drow warriors, first their reaction to his single word, and then their turn to advance upon him. Both shoulders rose with a slow, deep breath, steeling himself for the onslaught to come. Six drow, all of whom carried themselves with an air that told of their yet-to-be-revealed skill; more skilled enemies, combined with generalized weakening of his own body due to numerous battles and resultant wounds, made this encounter a slightly more dangerous one. Though he showed no sign of apprehension or weariness, the warrior did seem to hold himself with an air of caution--watchfulness without cowardice. First order of business was evading those bolts. He barely heard them eject from their launchers--be it crossbows or poison pipes--and almost got stuck with one right in the face as a result; a last-second pivot to the right ensured that the poison sailed harmlessly through long strands of silver hair, curling behind him as he moved. Second order of business was dispatching the drow who had drawn closest to him in that time. Lifting his sword, Krice arced it wide to slice the tip through the other male's throat before he could get too close. If that missed, he'd rush forward on one step and lift up his other leg on the next, to kick away the drow and gain himself enough time to deal with the others. Steel clashed with steel in an array of calculated, varied angles to deflect the strikes dealt against him, though with so many enemies to deal with, and his strength waning, Krice was slowed -enough- that he was intermittently scratched by the blades of the drow. Superficial wounds marked his face, neck, and the wrist of his wielding arm, too shallow to divert him from his intent to kill the drow surrounding him.

Nymh needed his ocarina, to have any real effect on the battle, but it was in the possession of one of the warriors Krice nowfaced. Blood was spilt, as he wiggled out that dart, trying to stand, only to get roughly shoved back down to his knees. He was taller, than most drow... and had a physicality greater than most drow males, where the females were generally physically superior. He had an advantage of weight, and strength against the male behind him, and when he lurched backwards he caught him off guard, jamming that bolt into him, then rolling forward, kicking off of him as he came to catch Nymh. He caught him square in the gut, and as the drow drew his hand crossbow, colliding with the wall, he'd feel the poison in that bolt take hold, his bowels running wild, and waves of nausea hitting him, debilitating and terrible. Nymh had just enough time as the drow was caught off gaurd by his sudden illness to get his hands on the hilt of Shatterscourge, and he did so... promptly taking it, and stabbing it at the wall, where it broke into many tiny red glass pieces. The shards shimmered, and hovered in the air a moment, before slicing through his binds, freeing his hands, and then following his movements as he struck with the handle towards the sickened drow, clashing into him, and moving in between the chains of his mail armor, slicing through flesh and draining his blood as they went. The drow screamed, but his company was busy dealing with Krice. Nymh would look for a way to aid Krice, as the drow began encircling him, one of their number felled by a slice to the throat, and encouraged by the small wounds the warrior was gaining. He was a powerful foe, but they clearly felt they had the advantage, still, even after his displays of monstrous prowess.

Krice was temporarily distracted by the scream of that afflicted drow; it wasn't enough to make him look away, given how occupied he was, but his attention wavered a little to the point that a more substantial injury afflicted -him-. Whilst dealing with two drow in front of him, a third at his back managed to maneuver his sword into the warrior's side, through flesh and muscle, just below his recently-healed floating ribs. Krice grunted and buckled toward that side but turned in the same action, a frustrated growl reverberating from the depths of his throat. He spun toward the offending drow and thrust his free hand out, fingers bent, to grab the other male's face - nose squished beneath palm - and shove him backward and down, slamming him hard into the earth; the drow took with him the sword he'd used to pierce the warrior, which alleviated some of the pressure in his side. Krice turned, his features tense with reserved pain, and took a step back to better assess the remaining assailants, katana held out, ready to attack.

Nymh watched as Krice took a rather substantial injury to his back, wincing. It looked terrible. Without his ocarina, a song of healing would be too weak to do him any real good, and it was still close to Krice. So, charging headlong into battle with his cursed blade, he led with a whistled sonic boom, a spell simple enough he could use it without his instrument. It came down on the three drow to left Krice's side, staggering them with its force, and popping their eardrums hard enough to hurt and throw them off balance. Then came the shards of Shatterscourge, flashing bloody red as they sliced through the others, distracting them with the intense pain of small razors cutting into their flesh, and draining their blood. A very disturbing sensation, to be sure... He had to spread out the shards, though, to get the maximum effect of distraction on the drow, and none of their wounds would be too serious from it. Still... it would buy the moments Krice needed.

Krice 's gaze drifted toward Nymh when he heard that whistle, familiar and sharp, but soon the shards of the drow's cursed blade drew his focus and he watched them - as best he could in the dark and with waning focus - cut into the warriors who surrounded him. Fascinating... and helpful! With the D'Artes soldiers distracted by their niggling injuries, the silver-haired Producer of Bad Pick-Up Lines ignored his own more significant wounds and darted forward, into the group. He drove his katana downward through the closest drow's neck, hoping to at least bleed him out via a severed carotid, if not kill him outright with decapitation, before moving on to the second soldier nearest him, who received similar treatment except from the opposite direction; curved steel arced upward, under the throat of the slouching dark-skinned man. With both hands around the hilt, Krice turned his sword again and stepped forward to deliver the same blow to the remaining Shatterscourge-fragmented drow, completing his trio-attack in just under a handful of seconds. He turned, steeled his gaze and tensed his jaw, and poised himself to dispatch whoever remained.

Nymh was close enough to actually fight, only to find that Krice had dispatched another three of the remaining drow, leaving only two still standing, two of those staggered by the sonic boom. They looked at the odds anew, and decided to flee, both racing towards the dubios safety of the second house, and Nymh sent the shards of shatterscourge to harass them, encouraging them to retreat faster. When they'd run off some distance, he called the shards back, and shatterscourge reformed into a blade, clean of any blood, which he put back in his sash. He looked back at the one who'd felt shatterscourge's bite the worst, along with that poison bolt, and winced, noting the suffering the drow was going through. He'd find his ocarina, pulling it off one of the dead, and race back to the drow, slitting his throat with shatterscourge. There. He'd actually killed one of them. Krice five, Nymh one. He would walk back to Krice, wincing yet again as he remembered how little his healing magic had done the man before. "I'd offer to heal your wounds as thanks for my rescue, and thanks be to whosoever controls the flow of fate and destiny for it, as I doubt you came just for my sake... but I remember that my magic seems not to affect you." And he could heal him greatly, if only it did. Krice had a number of injuries, and Nymh would frown. "We've enough clothe around for bandages aplenty. I could..." He let that trail off, wondering if they had time for as much, even as he said it.

Krice didn't wait for Nymh to finish speaking, nor even for Shatterscourge to completely return to him. The warrior rushed forward, running after those fleeing drow despite his injuries, and gave a mighty toss of his katana into the base of one drow's skull; he fell face-first into soil and concrete as the silver-haired man arrived at the remaining foe, who was felled similarly to the male who had pierced his back - this time with a hand on each of the drow's shoulders, muscled arms tensing and recoiling to pull the soldier into the ground, forcefully hitting his back and head. This left the drow concussed whilst Krice retrieved his katana from the brain stem of the other. He withdrew it and, with a clinical lack of hesitation, drove the curved steel down into the neck of the stunned soldier, killing him outright. It was an odd juxtaposition of violence and mercy. As he rose to his feet, the surfacer panted through his nose, jaw tense, and reached up to press his free hand over the through-and-through wound in his side, attempting to lessen bloodflow. Rather than linger longer than necessary, and thus draw attention to himself, Krice returned to Nymh, his gait slow and weaker than before but not yet wavering to the point that he needed to rest. -Yet- being the operative word. " They would've alerted others," he explained, justifying his actions whilst seemingly completely oblivious to any words spoken by the bardic half-breed.

Nymh just nodded dumbly after Krice's display, and his words. Of course they would. Nymh hadn't really thought of it, though. He hadn't really thought of what all this meant, as far as he was concerned. What was he going to do now? He blinked. He looked off, towards the second house, and then back along the tunnel, where Krice was headed. Escape, to the surface. Away from this life of violence, and horror. Perhaps not all wood elves would hate him, as the one he'd met. Perhaps... well, it couldn't be worse than slavery, could it? He'd look to Krice, then back along the tunnel. He wanted to see the stars, again. The sky didn't burn his eyes, so much, like it did pure blooded drow, with their scarlet eyes, like Krice's. "Right. We don't want to go back and sneak around the second house, so we should... keep heading this way." He'd never been far out this way, but he knew the underdark's ways better than the surface warrior did. "I'll guide you as best I can." He'd begin walking, hoping to hell there was a way up, instead of just tunnels heading deeper down.

Krice was injured and tired and -so- sick of fighting, and so -definitely- sick of smelling drow blood, but he pressed on; standing still and awaiting capture, when they'd both come so far, was just a ludicrously bad alternative. He walked southward with Nymh in tow, something he didn't seem too bothered about; perhaps he intended to take the half-breed up to the surface with him? Or maybe, his reason for the escort was revealed in his murmured question: " Where's Emilia?"

Nymh blinked. He looked back to Krice. "She came, for you." He guessed perhaps she'd magically know that Krice was free, now. That was a silly thought though, wasn't it? Still... it was a dreadful knot in the pit of his stomach, that became his next words. "She's still in the safehouse, in the city. We'd have to go past the second house, to get to her." He'd offer up the next bit, in spite of his better judgement. "I... know the city well. I am well trained and experienced in stealth. But I cannot guarantee we can get past the second house, the both of us. Especially with your scent, exotic and strong, stronger as you're bleeding." He was downright pungent, to the sensitive noses of the lycan drow. He was baffled that the hounds weren't following Krice already, honestly.

Krice slowed to a halt at Nymh's revelation that Emilia was still in the city. Past the Second House, and yet he had failed to detect her. Those red eyes were turned upon the half-breed for the remainder of his words, which seemed in favour of finding the Genasi. After a final, pensive glance in the direction of what -had- to be the exit, Krice schooled his thoughts, diminished his pain through mental prowess alone, and turned to enter Trist'Oth once again, past the corpses of the drow who had stayed to fight, past the bodies of the two whose chosen path had been flight. Though he knew his pure blood would draw attention at -least- from House D'l'Sel D'issan, the warrior had to brave it to get his friend out.

Nymh looked back at Krice, shaking his head. "What do you intend to do, in that condition? It's suicide! I left her there with a month's rations, hidden. If I do not contact her, she is to return from whence she came as best she can. I told her that. None will find her, if she does not leave. Only I can find the place she is hidden. If we leave now, you can rest up, and we can try when you are healthy, entering from a place I know better, where we will have better chances. It's... it's even possible she's left, already! Back to the surface, to get more aid. The worst decision you could make is to go for her now though. Think about it! Even if you find her, get to her, how can you help get her out, after? You'll not have enough blood left in your body if you make it so far to walk even unhindered back to the surface."

Krice halted again, this time more abruptly, and with a modicum of irritation. Though Nymh's logic frustrated him, it was -logic- in the first place, and logic dictated over emotion. At least in this case. Pressing his lips together in a firm line that reflected his frustration, the warrior turned his gaze upon Nymh and spoke a query, his voice slightly unsteady - indicating that his wounds were causing him more discomfort than his expression let on. " Can you use your magic to sense if she's down here?"

Nymh hesitated, at Krice's turning, and hesitated again when he spoke. "To sense? I... have never tried such a thing. Perhaps I could tell if she's still in the safehouse, though it's far, and there are many other beings in the way." He looked towards the city, wondering. He knew where it was, though much was in the way. He walked over to stand next to Krice, wondering. He knew the stone, knew the sounds of the city. Perhaps... he'd sit, slowly, grasping at an idea that seemed at once foolish, yet feasible. He drew forth his ocarina, and brought it to his lips, breathing life into it, even as he laid down, pressing his ear to the stone. He played only one note, long and deep, and played it again, and again, and again. He changed the note after a moment, then changed to another. He seemed to be focusing intently. After a few more moments, he blinked, and would stop playing, standing and looking to Krice. "She's... not in the safehouse. There's no one in there. That means, she has left, most likely of her own will. If so, then it's quite likely that she is already at the surface. Though, I cannot say for sure. I can only say with surety that I do not know where she is."

Krice nodded to Nymh, letting him know that 'sense' was what he meant, and as the half-breed sat down to apparently attempt such a thing, the warrior reassured, " Concentrate. I'll protect you." Turning his gaze outward, he watched the city around the bend of the exit tunnel for any sign of creatures coming after them, following the smell of his pure blood - which dripped everywhere as he moved. When Nymh revealed that Emilia was not in the safe house in which he had left her, Krice tilted his gaze down to scrutinize the expression of the half-breed, even through the darkness - to which his eyes had long since adjusted. " Good work," he praised, turning his attention out to the city again. He didn't want to leave unless it was a sure thing. Perhaps Nymh's sureness about not knowing where Emilia was at -all- was something for them to focus on. Maybe she really was -out-. " Okay," said the silver-haired warrior, swallowing once before he repeated the word and turned for the underground corridor.

Nymh let loose a sigh he didn't know he was holding in when Krice turned to leave. It would have been suicide to go back for her, especially now that they knew they didn't even know where she could be, down there... but he also knew, without a doubt, that his sense of duty to those that relied on him would demand he did his upmost to help, even if it were to be the death of him. "If we do not find her on the surface, I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to help you find her." It was his responsibility, as well. He'd given her his word, that he'd help her, and look after her. It didn't escape his attention that the man was unlikely to trust his word, as in the end, he was still of drow blood, but he meant what he said. He'd place his ocarina in his sash, and follow Krice, searching for a way to the surface.

Krice didn't do or say anything in response to Nymh's pledge; whether that be because he was a half-breed, or simply because the warrior wasn't the trusting sort, remained a mystery. As he walked through the tunnel toward a possible exit, his steps slowed just a hint every few metres, as if his wounds - and the energy expelled to battle such annoyingly persistent foes - was catching up to him. Still, this did not distract Krice from noticing the guardsmen up ahead, at the bright end of the tunnel, and he reached out to press his right hand into Nymh's chest, pushing the half-breed and himself against a bend in the wall. They were obscured by rock and soil, but for how long was anyone's guess. " Guards," whispered the warrior, peering around the edge of their temporary hiding place to fully acknowledge the scene ahead. " Go hide. I'll sort it out." Even as he said it, the silver-haired man was tightening his hold on the hilt of his katana, poised to step out into the view of the drow guards."

Nymh wasn't there, when Krice reached his hand out to stop him. Why would probably remain a mystery to the man.