RP:Kesslenic meets a terrified drow runaway slave named Wretch

Setting

The cave behind the waterfall plus on a journey towards toward the underdark 12th September 2011 Kesslenic is Fickle's character of the moment. Wretch is npced by Sophie.

The fugitive drow hears some nightmare creature approach

Kesslenic : Clack...Clack...Clack...Even on the water-slicked floor clawed feet sound an approach, the movement of a large, bipedal creature. The silhouette outlined before the waterfall, the outline shown by the light filtered through the cascading torrent does not show a friendly-looking thing. Claws that come to murderous points, wings and a tail that look all too able to throw a smaller creature around, the draconian looks like some sort of crazed predator. The swords at his hips, the larger sword on his back...neither help dissuade the notion. Clack...Clack...Clack...more steps inward, and there he crouches, those claws of his drawing sparks off the ground as he runs his fingertips over what looks like a wet footprint.

Wretch was given his cruel name by his mistress before then, as a slave-child he had had no name. His attention had been attracted by shouting 'slave' or 'boy' or more often by kicking or whipping him. His fear-filled drow eyes can see well in the dank, dark cave, he fears the monster may plan to eat him, or torture him to death, or even, a far worse fate, return him to the cruel mercies of his mistress. The small thin, drow, dressed only in a loin cloth, bolts, making a run for the northern exit of the cave.

Come out, come out, where ever you are

Kesslenic : The creature at the mouth of the cave looks up, a soft growl rumbling in his throat. Something's in the cave, running further in. Hiding. Up he rises, stalking into the cave at a much slower rate than the escaped drow, tracking dripped water rather than trying to find tracks. Sapphire eyes look upward, to the sides, and his head shakes. His primary weapon will be useless in here, if it comes to that. He speaks, that scaled creature, his words coming in a language few would know, even among the drow, and each draconic word is directed at himself. "Where are you," he comes to say in the common tongue at length, his bass voice rumbling out like a rockslide. "Come out, come out, where ever you are." Deeper into the darkness he goes, following the trail left for him.

Wretch speaks only the drow tongue and so understands none of the draconian's words. The volume and general tone of it terrify the poor man immensely however, he lets out an involuntary cry of pure terror, and quickens his pace, though the burns on his feet from the most recent time his mistress took pleasure is torturing him make running agony.

Kesslenic : That yelp has the draconian nodding to himself. So whatever it is in here, it's humanoid. Wings rustle as he picks up his pace, would have spread if he had room, would have lifted him into the air had there been open sky over him instead of a cave's roof. Each heavy step brings with it a loud scrape, some sparking, others not. He is determined to catch up with his quarry.

Wretch is frantic to escape the terrible overworld monster chasing him

The unfortunate drow male is frantic to escape whatever terrible overworld monster is chasing him. There were tales told in the slaves quarters of the foul deformed evil creatures which roam the surface, though those slaves who were of suface races, captured and forced to serve the house tended to tell fewer tales of the horrors of their previous home, claiming that the underdark was a far more hellish realm. Wretch, in his panic to escape, slips on a mixture of water and blood from his wounded feet, he falls onto his front , and begins to scrabble desperately for purchase on the slippery cave floor to attempting to regain his footing.

Kesslenic is, indeed, reminiscent of one of those hellish beasts the drow tell stories about. Everything about him seems built around the ability to hunt, to kill, to devour. Even when he opens his mouth the motif is continued there, each tooth from his eyeteeth back a razor-sharp fang. "Stop running," he grumbles to himself, though his voice easily carries down the cave. The slip is what benefits the hunting draconian, his long legs easily closing distance while the drow scrambles. Eyes narrow at the sight, but the dragon-kin slows himself. Only the way his tail sways behind him gives away any sense of apprehension. Or maybe agitation, to the paranoid mind. "Stay right there," he calls to the frightened slave, one hand going to the hilt of a sword, the other reaching out in an attempt to placate. A pity it looks more like he's trying to mime clawing the dark elf's face.

The slave wrongly assumes that such a terrifying creature must be female

The terrified slave has in his panicked scrabbling to regain his footing managed to achieve a crouching position, the look the horrific nightmare of a beast gives him, removes the last speck of hope from the mind of the long ago broken spirited drow slave. He reacts almost instinctively in the only way he knows of -possibly - avoiding being brutally tortured by those who terrify him. He kneels on the cold wet uncomfortable cave floor, pressing his forehead to the floor. He speaks in drow, the only language he knows, begging pitifully. "Please, mistress,"the slave wrongly assumes that such a terrifying creature must be female."If you plan to kill me, please do you quickly, no more torture please I beg you!" The poor slave is shaking in with incredible fear, and dread of this unknown fiend.

Kesslenic cocks his head to the side as the drow prostrates himself at his feet. The words are a jumbled mess to him, drowish not at all being one of the languages he knows, and so he crouches down ignorant of the plea for death. "Calm down," he tells the drow despite being not at all understood. A clawed hand goes out to pat against the drow's exposed back. "I am not here to hurt you." The draconian probably should have softened his expression at some point, but he hasn't. He looks as severe as any foul-tempered murderer.

Wretch wonders what plans for him the brutish overworld monster has

Wretch flinches as that bestial hand with those deadly claws, reaches towards, him, expecting to be torn apart, but instead, he is patted almost gently. The poor fellow has been so ill-treated that this actually frightens him more. His tormenters would often pretend to be kind to the slave, patting his head and calling him a good boy, just so as the next brutal torture suddenly inflicted on him would be all the more horrific for being unexpected. The unfortunate man has learned to dread words of kindness, and any seemingly gentle touch. He whimpers pathetically cowering in terror, wondering how long this brutish overworld monster plans to torture him for, if it plans to slay him, or keep him as its own pet slave. He hopes desperately for the former fate.

Kesslenic shakes his head at the sight before him. Such behavior is a clear indication of the sort of thing the drow has been through. "C'mon," he rumbles, reaching under the drow's arm to lift him to his feet. "You stay in here, you're going to catch a cold. Stay in here with a cold, and you're likely to die." He gestures towards the entrance of the cave. "Let's get you out of here, hm?" The draconian fails to realize that in lifting the drow to his feet, he may very well have just dug his claws rather keep into the dark elf's flesh.

The slave cries out in pain as those razor sharp claws dig into his flesh

The slave cries out in pain as those razor sharp claws dig into his flesh, which is in many places still raw and tender from where he has been savagely flogged. He makes no resistance as his new owner, or so he thinks of the draconian, tries to lead him from the cave. The slaves had always been told that escape from slavery was impossible, that every escapee was recognised at once as such, was recaptured and suffered terrible unimaginable agonising punishments. As a child he had, again and again been told. 'You are nothing but a worthless slave, you can never be anything but a worthless slave. There is no escape from your condition. Should you try to escape you will learn pain beyond your most fevered nightmares, some slaves who attempted to escape have been kept alive..and in complete agony ...for decades. You cannot even escape slavery by dying. When your mistress finally tires of you and tortures you to death, you will await her arrival in the afterlife, there to continue to serve as her slave for all eternity, boy.' He limps along, wincing from both new wounds and old, still shaking with dread.

Kesslenic frowns to himself as he watches the drow limp. "Why is there never a priest around when you need one?" he grumbles to himself, and the gods only know what the drow would think him to be saying in such a tone. As they near the waterfall, he almost smiles. The sunlight will be a welcome escape from the darkness. At least, to him it will be. He looks at the drow and frowns again. "Gods be damned," he spits with a growl. "I forgot your kind don't like the sunlight." He stands there pondering for a few moments. He has nothing to use to blindfold the drow to ease the glare of the sun. Another curse is spat.

The sunlight is terribly painful,burning stinging

Wretch whimpers and cowers in abject terror at the angry tone in the huge draconian's voice. The sunlight is terribly painful,burning stinging. The drow closes his eyes and covers them with his hands too. It is probably fortunate that Kesslenic has nothing to blindfold him, since the pathetic tortured slave associated being blindfolded with cruelty and pain. His mistress, would cover his eyes, at times, that the poor slave would be completely unaware of how, when and where the next agonising pain would be inflicted on his helpless form.

Kesslenic grumbles once again, this time in draconic. "Nothing to be had for it, I suppose," he finishes in Common. He points at the waterfall, out towards that blinding light. "We have to go through that. I will not force you to keep your eyes open. However, I will warn you, should you try to run I will be forced to assume you are trying to flee to gather forces, and I will cut you down." What do you know. The only real threat he has offered. "I promise I will not hurt you otherwise." And so, he gently pushes against the drow's back, urging him forward.

Wretch understands nothing of the words, of course, but he has heard enough threats in his pitiful life to recognise one when he hears it. Since it is obvious the monstrous reptile who is his new mistress (still he asumes that one so horrific must be female) wishes her slave to head towards the burning light. Keeping his eyelids tightly shut, and covering them over with his hands, the slave moves in the direction he is ordered.

Kesslenic : Once he steps into the light, it becomes obvious that he could conceivably be misconstrued for a female. Unclad as he is, for all appearances it looks like he has absolutely no gender distinguishing features. That does not stop him from guiding the drow with gentle pushes to one shoulder or the other. He does pause, however, to look at the body of water the waterfall feeds. He neglects to stop the drow.

Poor wretch shivers with cold, as well as fear as he sightlessly walks through the icy waterfall. Even through his double barrier of eyelids and hands, a little light is still registered by his sensitive dark elf eyes, but it is only enough to be irritating, not truly painful. It reminds the slave of the terrible agonising consequences should he try to see in this hellish realm. Used to being ordered in this direction or that by being kicked or shoved or whipped, he follows Kesslenic's directions, and as he has been taught, on no longer being guided, continues to move forward, only to trip over a large boulder in the stream that flows from the waterfall outside, crying out in shock and fear , as he is thrown into the icy, if shallow water. Forgetting for a moment to keeps his eyes closed he is blinded by the terrible burning whiteness, as pulling himslef onto his knees, he firmly closes his eyes once more. He is speaking, meekly begging wretchly for forgiveness for being so disobedient as to trip and fall.

An awful misunderstanding about what will help Wretch

Kesslenic curses as he hears that splash. He rushes over, jumping right into the shallow water to help pick the poor fellow up. "Gods, sorry about that," his voice rumbles. "I thought you'd stop." He looks around, standing there in the water like he is, trying to figure out where to take the drow. "Where to go...Back to the Underdark, perhaps? You'd probably be happier there, wouldn't you?" Kess doesn't care that his words aren't understood by this point. It just feels more natural to talk to the drow. But he's decided. Towards the Underdark they'll go. And so, with a soft push, he starts the dark elf off in that direction.

The poor escaped slave doesn't undertand Kess's words, which is in a way fortunate for him. If he had understood, he would most likely have tried to drown himself in the stream there and then, rather that risk the possibility of being returned to his cruel mistress, there to suffer the fate of almost all re-captured runaways, to be tortured in agony, in public as an example to any other slave who might dream of freedom, for as long as he can be kept alive. Ignorant of their destination, and with his eyes tightly closed, he once more obediently follows the draconian's directions limping in whatever direction he is guided.

One makes a comment in the drow tongue about castrating the runaway

Kesslenic guides Wretch as unerringly as he can feasibly muster. He's having to remember his way to the nearest Underdark entrance, after all. On the way, however, there comes a sound Wretch may very well find more frightening than the draconian that guides him; more drow are nearby, speaking in their own language. And by nearby, that means Kess puts them right in their path. The drow, a trio of them with a female as their leader it seems, give curious looks at the sight. "Why do you have one of our kind?" the female asks the draconian while the males both eye the escaped slave. One makes a comment in the drow tongue about castrating the runaway. Kess doesn't understand a word of that. "I found him in a cave nearby," the warrior explains. "I was hoping to escort him back to an entrance to the Underdark."

The slave's bare feet, are becoming more and more painful, with each step he takes, after all only the previous day his soles had been repeatedly branded with red hot pokers, he begins to cry out in pain with each step he forces himself to take. He is far, far too terrified of the horrific consequences of disobedience to stop, until finally, the pain and exhaustion become too much for the painfully thin drow. His mistress had enjoyed tormenting him by withholding his food for many days at a time, as well as in countless other ways, so the miserable drow does not have any great reserves of strength or stamina to draw on. It is sheer mindless fear which keeps the man moving onwards. At the sound of the female drow's voices, he loses any last remaining hope. He collapses into an exhausted, whimpering terrified heap on the ground, still covering his eyes he begs miserably for mercy. The comment about castrating him makes him grimace in terror. One of the younger drow females, walks up to the quivering heap of terrified slave. She kicks Wretch hard in the ribs, then draws her whip and cuts deep into his flesh, she will continue to so flog him for some unless stopped.

Perhaps I'll be taking him elsewhere

Kesslenic : "I am glad that you found him," the leader says, watching as the drow collapses. Kess, however, is watching the female with the whip, watching as she kicks and starts to whip him. "Hey!" he shouts, moving over quicker than someone his size should be able to, grabbing the drow woman by the wrist and yanking her away from the prone man. "There is no call to beat him. He is already beyond his wits." The woman snarls at him, but the draconian easily throws the woman back to her comrades. "Perhaps I'll be taking him elsewhere." One of the male drow draws a pair of dirks. Kess just smirks and draws his great sword.

Wretch his eyes tightly closed can only hear what is going on. In any case as a slave he has never so much as been permitted to touch a weapon, or to put up any kind of fight. The poor tortured man gains a little reprieve from his torment as the drowess with the whip is pulled off him by Kesslenic. He assumes that his new draconian owner is fighting these drow for attempting to steal his property, that is, himself. The bleeding slave lies in the helpless near exhausted heap on the floor where he has fallen, groaning and whimpering quietly, hoping that he might die while the cruel mistresses are too busy fighting to notice and heal him to make him suffer more.

Kesslenic leaves the pitiful Wretch with a healer

Kesslenic : The drow with the shorter weapons hesitates, looking from his own short blades to Kesslenic's, then back again. "Either he stands down, or you all die," Kess tells the leader. She's red with anger - or as red as a drow gets - but she waves him off. Putting his sword up, Kess goes and picks the fallen drow up and carries him away, glares staring daggers into his back. Luckily, he knows of a healer in the woods not overly far from there.

Wretch cries out in pain as he is lifted into the draconian's arms, any movement causing his weak, terribly injured body further suffering. The behaviour of the being whom he believes to be his new owner puzzles the slave. He has never heard of a drow bothering to carry any servant who has collapsed in exhaustion. In such a situation, a drow will often slay a slave, or if the wretched, worthless creature deserves the punishment of further pain-filled life, will drag its body along in the dirt. The slave is terribly confused by this strange, surface world. He dare not let himself hope it will be any less horrific than the life he has heretofore known, such hopes in the past have always been destroyed, it is hence easier for slaves merely to despair.

Kesslenic gets the drow to the healer in due time. Sure, it takes a while, but a trek from the mountains to the forest is often takes a few hours. When he reaches the healer, he lays the drow down on a cot before going over to the crone. "I do not know the extent of his injuries. Do what you can for him, yes?" The crone simply nods and holds out her hand. Coin. Of course. Everyone wants coin. He gives the old woman some, then leaves her to her business. "I'll be back to check on him within the next few days.