RP:Hungry Like the Worm

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Krice's escape from Trist'oth is suitably traumatic as he is forced to face off against a pair of drow guards and an angry and very hungry deep worm. After killing all three of his assailants in various gruesome ways (including jumping into the mouth of the deep worm) Krice escapes with his life... just about. (Note: NPCing by Skylei who is the best deep worm ever. True story.)

Faintly Lit Tunnel

The passageway between the Underdark and Vailkrin narrows from a bustling street way, to a smoothly walled cavernous passage to the area of the tunnel where the two sentinels stand watch. The wall is jagged and unforgiving as the urban turns to wild, the light of Trist’oth peters into nothingness and civilisation gives way to nothingness. Even the embrace of Trist’oth looks appealing in comparison to this pathway. This is one of the lesser used passageways between the Underdark and the surface and thus there are far fewer guards here than on the numerous passages in and out of the city; just two to be precise. Every few hours the two drow on watch would swap their positions; no one, no matter how lowly, was willing to stand at the city limits for longer than they had to. The drow knew better than anyone what lurked in the Underdark and they had no desire to expose themselves to the beasts that lay waiting for a fool to enter their lair. The guards themselves are warriors of one of the lesser known and thus less important houses, so unimportant in fact that on first glance you wouldn’t even be able to ascertain their affiliation. Guard duty is hardly the most glorious of duties and thus it is doled out to the gutter scum that are the lesser houses of Trist’oth (you’d be hard pressed to find even the lowliest member of House D’Artes on guard duty at such a place). These two guards, dressed in the unofficial colour of the Underdark (black, naturally) are heavily armed and heavily alert; non-drow approach with caution.

Krice was entirely perplexed by Nymh's disappearance and looked around, searching only with his eyes for sign of the half-breed. There was none, and the warrior cursed his condition for clouding his ability to sense others. Returning his attention to the two guards up ahead, the warrior peered once more around the rocky obstruction between himself and these new foes. Though he had not seen their kind before--the uniform, most specifically; he had seen -plenty- of drow--he regarded them with notable apprehension. His condition was not conducive to success in -another- battle. Krice pressed his back to the obstructing wall and breathed out a quiet, steadying sigh, his right hand once more flattening over the exit wound in his side. Blood flowed freely. Rather than immediately stepping out to encounter the two guardsmen further east, the silver-haired man tilted his head to search the pathway from whence he had come, perhaps looking for a niche or cave in which he could recover.

The two drow guards are drawing close to the end of their shift and both are growing antsy. You can tell by the shuffle of their feet and the way the edge ever further towards the light of Trist’oth. There is a high chance that they will attempt to slip off a couple of minute early, thus leaving the passageway completely open for anything that wants to slip out of Trist’oth to leave and anything that wants to get in to enter. Herein lies the issue. As the drow guard leave they will have to pass by the wall behind which Krice is currently hidden. Indeed they’re near enough ready to leave. The first, the taller of the two turns to his partner and speaks in drow, “We’re leaving. The others should be along soon enough. Let’s go.” The other offers little argument, simply sheathing his sword and walking towards Trist’oth.

Krice hadn't expected that. With the wall deep enough for him to effectively hide behind, perhaps the drow would walk right past him and not bat an eyelash? Very carefully maneuvering his katana against and lightly behind his thigh, he hoped to hide it enough that what little light in these caverns would not be reflected off the blade, therefore alerting the passing guard to his presence. Unaware as to whether or not their noses would detect his blood, the silver-haired man flattened himself to the wall, quieted his breathing, and waited apprehensively for the guardsmen to pass.

The guards don’t smell Krice. He’s been down in the Underdark for long enough that at least most of the scents of the surface have been disguised for those without a superior sense of smell. But as they move away from the tunnel mouth they detect him in another way. Perhaps the most useful drow gift is the ability to detect the heat signatures of all living beings. As most drow citizens choose to disguise their own with piwafwis and thus it is only natural that they assume that the figure hiding within the wall is a slave hiding from a beating or an intruder looking to flee the city. Almost unnecessarily the second would speak to the first, “There’s someone there.” Their steps fall more heavily as they more towards Krice’s hidden spot; really they seek only to ensure that there is no evidence of their tardiness on the job – who’d want it to get out that the drow guard are slacking?

Krice was completely motionless as the drow duo advanced, nothing but a patch of heat against a backdrop of darkness, almost as if he was merely the impression of a person, left against the wall from someone recently pressed to it. The moment those drow got close enough to touch him, however, the wounded warrior unfurled into action, swiping at the drow to his left with an upward thrust of his curved blade. During the same action, he drove his other hand forward to grab at the second drow, to push him away with a solid punch that would give Krice enough time to dispatch the first without interruption. His gaze was sharp and focused, and he breathed only when absolutely necessary as concentration - and killer instinct - compelled him forward.

It was the stillness of the warrior that caught them unaware. The way his heat signature didn’t move, not even a flicker against the wall, until it was far too late for the first of his would be assailants. Perhaps they thought him an easy target, a sitting duck, just waiting to meet his end on their blades. Well, that was mistake one. The first drow has no chance; he steps straight into the warrior’s fatal blow. As Krice’s upwards blade stroke severs the upper part of his abdomen and cuts him into the cavity of his chest, he realises his mistake. He will likely bleed out in minutes, if not sooner granted some further injury. The second drow is likely to be more of a problem. Krice’s fist makes contact with the least protected part of the drow’s body; his face. In an almost comic book fashion, the man find himself being physically forced in the opposite trajectory to the one he had previously been taking. For a brief moment he forgets himself and clutches at his soon to be bruised cheek, but that moment is only fleeting. Remembering himself, his race and his place, the drow would regrip his sword and aim a blow towards Krice’s ribs, aiming to hurt, hinder or at the very least wind. Those close enough to hear the sounds of battle as the mill the edges of the streets of Trist’oth’s edges don’t bother to intervene or even engage. This is the Underdark after all, and death is commonplace.

Krice took the time to exact upon that fallen drow some mercy; driving his curved blade down, the silver-haired man pierced the fallen male's chest, puncturing his heart, and shortened his death from minutes to seconds. This was enough consumption of time that Krice was made vulnerable to an attack from the remaining guard. As he rose to deal with him, the silver-haired man pivoted just in time to unwittingly protect his ribs, but sacrificed the health of his right arm as a result. He winced as flesh and muscle bruised beneath the impact, but he did not stand idly. Krice recoiled from the blow and in the next action turned forward, facing the remaining drow as he brought his blood-covered katana up, angled it horizontally, and struck to sever the Drow's head from his shoulders.

Ah, the angled strike of the blade towards the neck. A classic. That’s the first strike you learn to defend on day one of Drow Warrior School. After all, it’s pretty common for drow to try and slice each other’s head’s off and thus the drow defends himself with ease, countering the strike with a downwards sweep, starting and his neck and ending by the opposite knee. With a flick of his wrist he then sends a quick swipe towards Krice’s knee, not sharp enough to sever the lower leg in its entirety but enough to leave a nasty cut and a hell of a lot of pain.

Krice 's movements were still faster than his more average peers, but his naturally heightened speed had slowed due to the numerous injuries he'd acquired - and battles in which he had fought. As a result, he was still pulling his sword back from the missed neck-strike when the crouching drow struck at his knee, which drew a growl of pain from the throat of the surfacer as he went down on the injured joint. This brought him face-to-face with his attacker, whether whilst on the ground or on his way down--on the drow's way up--and he thrust out his sword, intent on either pulling the other male to the ground with him, or at least pulling him closer, onto the slightly blunted--thanks Gevurah, dark-skinned bitch--tip of his upward angled katana.

A rare grin spreads across the face of Krice’s assailant as that guttural growl leave his throat. He’s so distracted by his own joy that he’s unable to defend himself from Krice’s outward thrust. This is the problem with drow, they take so much pleasure in causing their enemies pain that they can be easily distracted from the true task at hand. And thus he is easily knocked down as he tries to stand to enacted vengeance on the man. The drow falls flat on his chest suddenly, swiftly and with a heavy thud that would leave bruises across his chest and sternum and, with swords in both hands takes longer to push himself upright than the average warrior would. He struggles to plant his palms on the floor leaving Krice with the perfect opportunity to strike him down.

Krice took that opportunity as soon as it was presented to him; leaning up, on that bleeding knee, he gained height over his fallen assailant and drew up his blade, striking downward with as much force as his injured body could conjour. The steel was driven toward the final drow's neck, into his brain stem, seeking a swift, merciful kill. This also served to end the battle quickly whilst the silver-haired man still had strength left in him.

There is nothing the drow can do to prevent the strike of Krice’s blade. Before he even knows it, his spinal cord is severed and in a split second all the life has been drained from his body. With that drow dead, Krice’s passageway into the Underdark is secured; there is no one else here to block his way. That said, new guards will be arriving in minutes, so the man would be wise to scurry fast.

Path of Bones

Krice leaned on his sword, its blunt tip stuck in the ground, through the second drow's throat. He was panting, such exertion testing his limits. With both hands wrapped around the hilt of his katana, he took a moment to compose himself, attempting to ignore the pain in his injured knee - not to mention the other wounds that littered his body, though his knee was the most recent. Eventually the man remembered that he was still in enemy territory and, with a grunt of effort, he pushed off his katana, lifted it from the ground, and turned from his recent kills to limp his way eastward. Down the tunnel he went, intermittently stumbling into walls despite his want to spread as little blood as possible across the surfaces that he passed--it wasn't wise to leave a trail of one's scent--because his body threatened to fail him. One positive to spending three weeks in such darkness, however, was his ability to adapt to the conditions surrounding him. Pupils were large, nearly covering every millimetre of red iris, to let in as much light as possible, and this enabled him to see somewhat well in the darkness. Well enough that he could navigate his way out.

As Krice stumbles from wall to wall along the long cavernous tunnels of the Underdark, he is subject to silence and darkness. The caves are dank, the air heavy as though it rarely witnesses movement, and the smell of death is all around. Underfoot are the crunch of stones and occasional bones; those belonging to travellers who’ve made the mistake of lingering in these caverns too long. The worst is the occasional softness that falls underfoot; whether it’s the body of man or beast, their flesh spans the caverns at odd occasions, unavoidable and rotting. For maybe an hour, all that would accompany the man was stench, darkness and stillness. Then he would feel it. After all that time with nothing but himself for company, the change in the environment would be beyond recognisable. There is a gentle rumble in the earth, way below the tunnel’s floor. Then nothingness. Then all of ten minutes later he would feel that same rumble again, only closer and this time in the wall nearest to him. There’s something inside the rock and it knows he’s there…

Krice walk-stumbled for what was the longest hour--in a recent history of very long hours--he'd ever experienced, shuffling over bones and rotting flesh, stumbling into walls. The Underdark tunnels seemed neverending, and though he was a superhuman of sorts, even -he- would not be able to retain consciousness and strength enough to move forever. His injuries were many, some of them severe, some of them already days into the healing process, though a lot of them were recent, and received in close succession. These were difficult odds to overcome. Add to them the possibility of a large, literally groundbreaking Underdark creepy-crawlie stalking your every move and you might as well lie down and welcome death with arms wide open. Krice wasn't the sort to give up, especially when he had people to return to, friends to protect. Still, this admirable drive to ensure the safety of his loved ones - and even strangers, in some cases - didn't prepare him for the fight he had to endure. The first rumble undergound was more uniform than a natural terrain event so he halted, gave him some of his attention, mulled it over. Aware that he had little time to linger, irrespective of earthquakes or other such phenomena, the silver-haired man pressed on, following the bends and curves in the earth to find his way out. He tried to keep his sword off the ground to limit the noise he made but, as his strength left him, his left hand intermittently tilted and dropped the point of the weapon downward, its already-blunt apex scraping against the earth. A blunt sword was the least of Krice's worries, however, as too was finding an exit out of the Underdark, because he was still stuck -in- the Underdark, and something was rumbling behind the wall beneath his supporting right hand. What the hell? Krice turned his head, shooting a drowsy-eyed stare into the soil and stone, and after a mere ten seconds of contemplating this closer, definitely-not-natural rumble, he released an exasperated grunt and broke into a sprint, stumbling his way through the darkness toward a distant incline, where the tunnel bottlenecked and the ground sloped upward. He wasn't driven by panic, but urgency and instinctive want for survival ensured that he moved as quickly as his broken body would allow.

Krice may not be driven by fear, but he should be. Every few seconds the rumbling would draw a little closer, the shake of the stones that surround Krice a little more rapid and even the sound of a deeply muffled growl. It was as though, as Krice ran, the beast in the walls was running alongside him, like a loyal dog in the park, only far bigger, far more carnivorous and far more likely to attempt to devour him whole. Eventually the rumble of the worm within the walls draws so close to the surface that small rocks and stones break free from the hold of the cavern and rain down to the floor. But still the worm doesn’t strike. It’s almost like the creature toys with the man as he continues to move closer and further from the surface, attempting to send Krice into a frenzy of useless panic before drawing him to his death…

Krice wasn't used to being toyed with like this, forced into different directions of flight by a relentless - and large, by the sound of it - foe. Though the unseen, creepishly-growling creature -had- succeeded in causing him momentary panic--it was instinct that drove him to run -away- from the vibrations--the warrior opted not to let that dictate how he would spend his final moments in the darkness of the Underworld. As much as he wanted to keep running, as much as it hurt his ailing body, he skidded to a halt as succinctly and quietly as he could and stood in place, without movement even above his hips, let alone his feet. He was rock-still, grimacing silently at the concentration and muscle engagement required to achieve it, and waited to hear what his submerged pursuer would do. Was it tracking his movements? Vibrations through the soil and stone underfoot? Or could it smell his blood? If the creature continued its pursuit of him, then he'd resume running, but if all went silent... Well, time would tell.

When Krice stops running, the tunnel falls to complete silence. The stillness returns. The beast pauses in its pursuit and Krice is left with naught but darkness and bones underfoot. But, the scariest part of all horror movies are those few second of silence before the actual jumpscare. They might seem the most benign moments, but in those few seconds the anticipation rises, the expectation grows and that basic human knowledge that something just isn’t right here grows until you feel a deep sickness in the pit of your stomach… And then the second is over. From beneath the ground of the cavern the worm bursts free and into the body of the tunnel metres behind the human. Rocks scatter all around as the worm makes its appearance and begins its pursuit. It’s a disgusting beast, so Krice might be grateful for his limited sight at this point; fifteen foot long with an anaemic pink, hairless body from the lack of sunlight the Underdark provides, the face of the beast is little aside from a gigantic teeth filled mouth. From that cavernous mouth, the worm emits a guttural roar. Though slower here than it had been within the caver n wall, for a beast of such proportions, its speed is a little more than impressive. Krice had better start running again.

Krice's right knee was on fire, the puncture through his right side wept fresh blood, and his body in general felt leaden as if every efficient fibre of every muscle was ten times its natural weight and half as flexible. Exhaustion was creeping in, and it played havoc upon his mental fortitude. As silence followed his cessation of movement, he took a moment to try recover some of his strength, but he was so injured that recovery from short bursts of downtime was just not possible. So, in the seconds before the large, disgusting creature's self-revealing, the silver-haired man focused on the sounds of the tunnel around him, tried to hear -through- the rock of the walls and ceiling and ground, to track the unseen beast. He struggled, especially given his condition, and only was aware of the creature a whisper of a moment before it surfaced behind him. Krice twisted, responding to the noise behind him; he glanced over his left shoulder at the enormous mobile goiter, and then wasted no time returning to flight. Though his damaged knee was hurting, the warrior managed to push through that discomfort and kept running. However, the underground behemoth gradually began to gain on him, closing the space between them. Krice didn't waste time or risk falling by glancing over his shoulder as he ran, like many stupid victims in slasher flicks, and instead focused his awareness of the beast into his hearing alone. As soon as he neared the end of that tunnel, as soon as he -could-, the man lept from his feet and gained two metres of height, propelling himself upward on mostly the strength of his healthy left leg. Into the sloping grounds above he drove his sword, which was an anchor onto which he could hold as his back found the opposite wall and he prepared himself for the breach of that teeth-head. The moment it reared, undoubtedly cracking the wall against which he kept himself aloft, Krice released his hold on his surrounds and, with his katana held along one leg, dove head-first into the open maw of the worm-like abomination.

Crash, crash, crash. Every so often as the worm fell behind his pursuit of Krice, he would dip back below the floor of the tunnel and then resurface a little nearer than he had been before. Eventually he reaches the point just before Krice. His mouth opens as he growls hungrily into Krice’s face. If the smell of the air in the Underdark was bad, then the worm’s breath was noxious. Gangrenous meat, burnt flesh and hydrogen sulphide were all mixed into the vomitus cocktail of the worm’s breath. Just as Krice leaps, the beast leans forward, keen to devour him. In his surprise, the beast fails to let his rows of violently pointed teeth chomp into the flesh of the man and thus he enters the belly of worm unscathed. In mistaken victory the beast lets out another guttural growl of pleasure. His diet so rarely differed from the other beasts of the Underdark and the odd stray drow from Trist’oth, or Vailkrinian vampire that this rare species of man was something worth celebrating. Thumping the end of his pale tale against the ground as though sending warning to any of the beasts around that he was there, the deep worm prepares to dive back underground and await his next snack.

Krice was gone for all of a few seconds, emerging again right as the worm-like creature finished thrashing its tail in premature victory. The warrior himself was not immediately visible because, let's be honest, he was swallowed whole, but somewhere in the disgusting organism's throat, it would feel at first a pin prick, and then a deeper stabbing pain - literally - and then finally, a multitude of lacerations one right after the other. The warrior was striking at the beast from within, strategically cutting at its internal flesh from the bottom of its throat in a circle around himself, all the way up to the underside of its nape, and then back down the other side; clearly, he was trying to behead the revolting thing.

The pain at the stabbing motions into this throat and then the slicing of the knife at the circumference of his throat is agonising. In response, the worm thrashes violently, attempting to rid himself of the cretin within its throat. So hard-headed, the beast doesn’t even seem to feel pain as it smacks its head off of the roof and the floor with incredible vigour. As he does this he chomps his teeth violently. The aim of this is merely to dislodge Krice and then slice him into little pieces.

Krice couldn't hold his breath forever. As the stubborn worm-beast thrashed about and attempted to dislodge him from his purchase against the back of its throat, the warrior squeezed his way through, trying to remain -behind- its tongue, and thus away from those many teeth; his own breath rushed out of him and he was forced to breath in the sulfuric stench of the worm's body. Just being inside such a vile capsule was doing him further damage, so with his back against the beginning of the revolting worm's tongue, he pressed his sword upward and sought the location of the creature's brain, digging his katana violently into the flesh and bone above him for anything vital that would end the beast's existence before -it- ended -his-.

As katana makes contact with brain tissue, the violent thrashing of the beast unwilling picks up its pace. It’s almost a spasm as the brain of the worm loses the power of control over its body. Now it is the whole disgusting pale body that writhes, wriggles and crashes around the tunnel. Crashing off of the walls and ceiling causing rock falls with near enough every wretched spasm of the worm’s body. If nothing else, the capsule of the beast protects Krice from much of the falling debris that topples down all around them until the great worm falls still. This time, it is no act. The worm is dead and fortunately, with his mouth wide open, leaving Krice with a clear passage to freedom.

Krice fell against the tongue of the beast as it finally ceased to move, panting heavily--unfortunately breathing in all that gasy grossness--and struggling to find the energy to leave. Even though the ugly worm's mouth was wide open, he didn't trust the processes of death enough for it to be a clear exit; after all, the mouth could snap shut reflexively if tampered with, and all those teeth crushing his body would undoubtedly end his struggle. So, in favour of seeking a more secure route out of the belly of the beast, the man pushed to his knees and continued cutting upward into the nape of its neck-area. Eventually a hole was made and in fell dirt and debris from the damaged tunnel. Krice turned away from it, practically hacking up a lung with the loose soil and sulfide hovering in the air. His suffering would continue outside of the creature, however, because he spent no longer than necessary standing on its limp tongue. Pulling himself up through the cavity he had made, the warrior reached the comparitive fresh air of the tunnel and fell over the side of the huge worm, flopping to the ground in a weak sack of fluid and worm-blood. Disgusting, but who cares. He was alive, albeit barely. After just two minutes of lying on his back with next to no will to move, Krice somehow gained enough motivation to roll onto his side, and then onto his hands and knees, and pulled himself a few paces toward the exit. He halted at the base of the ascending pathway and looked up, barely-open eyes scaling the grade and height of the incline. He sighed in exasperation, still panting heavily, and suffered a moment during which he knew that he wouldn't be able to overcome to enormity of the task ahead of him. Maybe if he just rested here for a moment...

Krice would be safe for a while. The thumping of the beast in its untimely victory and then in its gruesome death had scared most of the other Underdark beasties and sent them scurrying into the furthest depths of the darkness, out of harm’s way. He had time to rest and recover. At least for now.