RP:The Gladiator Falls

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: After chasing off Gheneroc, Gevurah and Eyris must find a way to escape the noxious, partially collapsed tunnel before the acidic claims their lives. Using the priestess's ability to manipulate stone to mud and back again, and the gladiator's ability to manipulate ice, the pair carve out a new tunnel to safety. But just as Gevurah flees towards fresh air, Eyris turns back towards the caustic tunnel and chooses his own death. Gevurah escapes with superficial but unsightly acid damage.

Entry to the Underdark

Eyris hacked and wheezed, his lungs filled with the toxins of Gheneroc's foul breath weapon. All these years he survived as a gladiator to be undone by a dragon. He supposed it wasn't so bad. At least he could say he fell fighting a mighty beast instead of a lowly elf. He could barely move, his body fallen against a wall, his sword lost from his grip. He stared at everything and nothing at all, cursing himself for getting involved in the conflict. Why did he get involved? The war had nothing to do with him, save that drow victory would have ensured less attention on his movements as they continued to supply resources to the surface. But there had been a priestess, of that he was certain. The magic that had caused him to grow was not arcane. And a priestess meant nobility. How he loathed his situation. Either he would be dead soon enough, or he would be a slave again. Either way, he lost.

Gevurah's shield gives out as Gheneroc is forced to retreat. In pain, her life under threat, she has no wits or will to celebrate her unlikely victory. She coughs and sputters as the acid eats at whatever flesh is not covered by her enchanted piwafwi. Her natural magical defenses, particularly to darkmagic and poison, slow the acid's progression, but she doesn't have much time before the acid leaves irreversible damage. Her infravision finds no exit. She throws orbs of faerie fire into the cramped space of collapsed roof above her and searches by its light for some escape from this stone tomb. Instead she finds Eyris, fallen but still large. She remembers his ability to manipulate ice and totters over to his side. On her knees and panting, she whispers another spell and breaths sweet air against his face. His lungs should lap up the clean air gratefully. It won't heal, but it will stop the toxin's advance. As for his skin, his hardened hide will resist the acid in the air for a few more minutes before the acid poses a risk to his life. Gevurah's hair and brows is already melting into a sticky, cotton-candy like goop. "Look there," she points towards a cluster of fallen boulders. "See how there is a gap big enough for us to pass through, which is later blocked by rock? Put ice in there. I have an idea."

Oh, what bliss! Clean air, sweet breath of life! But he had this look on his face, a look that seemed to say Gevurah had grown multiple heads. Had a noble truly just saved his life? But why- ah. His expression hardened as he turned his gaze to the fallen stones. Of course. She needed him to help save her own hide. So be it. If it kept him alive, he'd play nice for now. Up he rose, his lips twisting as he fell into the cadences of spellcasting, all while moving closer to his fallen weapon. When this whole fiasco ended, he planned to stay armed. He snapped the last syllable off, two fingers pointed at the boulders indicated by the D'Artes priestess. The air about them chilled, but not nearly as much as where those stones rested. First a frost sprouted, reaching its icy veins across their surfaces, but soon the frost gave way to true sheets of the frozen liquid. Ever expanding, it reached inside the crevices between the stone, in the end forming tight hold against itself. "There, he said, his voice strained from the damage already done to his throat and lungs. "Now do what you plan to do, and do it fast."

Gevurah would normally give a slave a lashing for taking that tone with her, but death destroys caste. When staring down into the infinite void, we are all flies caught in the web, trying to escape before the spider descends. Even the High Priestess to Vakmatharas, God of Death, does not know what comes next, and in many ways her service to the God of Death is her way of grappling with the existential fear that haunts all sentient creatures of Hollow -- even those who refuse to admit to the fear, like Gevurah. But her bravado crumbles as quickly as this tunnel just did. She dashes towards the ice-woven rocks like a hare escaping a wolf. She blurts out a prayer as quickly as her tongue and lips can twist and purse. The stones melt into mud and mold around the veins of ice that Eyris created. Had the ice not been there, the boulders would have melted into a massive heap of mud that blocks their exit, impenetrable thanks to its scale. Gevurah repeats the prayer, stammering near the end as she trips over The Fear. Some of the mud becomes stone around the ice, new archways lending them passage once the ice is clear. However, some of the mud, that in front of them, remains and blocks their path. "Clear the ice under stone so we have passage, but this," She taps the ice that just up against mud. The thin ebon flesh over her knuckles begins to boil and pus. "Use this ice to ram through the soft mud and mold a new path. I'll harden the mud to stone once you're created a passage." And in this way, with two more clearings, they should escape the noxious cavern and inhale the stale, humid air of the Underdark, the most unlikely of elixirs.

Eyris watched as his ice was used to shape a cave, the beginnings of a tunnel. He came up behind Gevurah with less haste than the priestess - he wasn't melting yet, after all, though he could feel the effects of the skin hardening spell wearing off - but still quick enough to hear the commands coherently enough. He had hoped long and hard to never have to take orders from a noble again, had prayed to Vakmatharas and the Spider Queen before him. Clearly the gods have a twisted sense of humor. He laid hands on the indicated ice, his eyes closing as he chanted the required words to perform the necessary task. Some ice, that which was no longer needed, melted away into a quick puddle, which was even quicker to evaporate. But the ice that needed moving, that started to groan. Louder and louder the groaning grew until the mud started giving way...or, more specificaly, being shoved down behind the wall of ice. The hole looked just big enough for two normal sized drow to fit through. Gevurah would fit just fine. Eyris, however, would need to wait until he shrank.

Gevurah wraps her piwafwi around her head and face as Eyris manipulates the ice. Once the final passage has been created, the hardens mud to stone. "Melt the ice." Realizing Eyris is still too big to pass through the tunnel and he may want to secure his own survival before committing to this final cross-class collaboration, the priestess touches his arm and speaks a single word. He own spell dispels with ease. He should quickly shrink to his normal size. Gevurah taps her foot impatiently. "I value my flesh as much as my life and will reward you for saving both."

Eyris felt that dizzying sensation that accompanied the sudden size change. He staggered for a moment as he adjusted, leaning against the wall of the cave that he was helping to create. He was mildly surprised that she was helping him escape, but then, she needed him for that moment. The irony made him start to chuckle. Regardless, he did as he was bade, his hand lifting to the ice coating the mud-turned-stone, murmering the arcane words needed to melt the ice that went down the tunnel. She spoke of rewards, of giving him something in return for saving her life. But he was a former slave. He knew the types of rewards he could expect from the drow nobility. And so he sneered at her, waving a hand towards the tunnel. "There. You have your escape. I will not become slave to a noble again." No matter that the priestess would live. He had seen the damage that was starting to her skin. He hoped she would scar, that she would live in pain. He knew he wouldn't live to see it, however, one way or the other. He turned and went back into the cave full of the cave dragon's breath. He'd wait for the stoneskin spell to fade, and then he'd die in agony. How befitting of a drowish gladiator.

Eyris's preference for death over life, and his presumption that she would enslave him again, gives her pause. A sentimental hesitation. The feeling that she should convince him to save himself is so fleeting that she can't even interpret it as such. The gladiator is free to do as he wishes - die or not. His life means nothing to her. The noble feels no remorse as she flees down the open tunnel to the safety of pure air. Her lungs gasp at the dusty air hungrily, renewing her strength enough to flee to the safety of her estate. She leaves the tunnel open for the gladiator should he change his mind.

Eyris waited. And waited. All the while the spell that hardened his skin had finally worn off, and his flesh began to mimic Gevurah's earlier. It was painful. It felt like having acid poured on his skin. Perhaps he might have fled after he felt the priestess was far enough away. He could save face if he managed that. He'd just have to go into severe hiding again. He looked at his hand...and just laughed. No, it was too late for that. His pride was his downfall. There would be no Eyris by the end of this day. Not a living one, at any rate.