”If Prince Thrandel thinks he can come at me again, he is painfully mistaken,” Mundhir said with a smirk. He drained another cup of Westwind Brew, and savoured its sweet hoppy taste.

Before him, sprawled across a simple oaken table, was a badly worn map of the Eblistan Sultanate. The cloth that the image had been stitched onto was centuries older than he, and it stung his pride to see the vast expanses of territories that his people once controlled. Nillanor, Irongarde, Thraxton – all bended the knee to his forebears, and those nations that did not, ever shook with fear at the monstrous power the Prophet’s children held.

Picking up a small metal soldier, roughly an inch tall, Mundhir mused at it. On the aged map, it represented his “army”, and he quickly became embittered by the fact that it stood alone. Opposing it, ten centimetres east of Baalor, were five similar metal figures. These represented Nillanor’s recovering army; an army he had bludgeoned in the ruins of Eblistan’s ancestral capital city.

“Why wont father help me? We can make a difference here, we could end this war once and for all. Yet here I am, lauded for war crimes by going against his wishes, holding the very borders he and my brothers have forsaken. Don’t they see? If we don’t stop the Elves here, they will take more and more ground until the Citadel is an island of humanity in a sea of hostility. We’ll be cut off, besieged – forced to surrender before long, no doubt, and the Prophet will look upon us with shame,” he ranted to himself. Another cup of Westwind Brew followed his words.

“My Prince,” came an unfamiliar voice from behind him. Mundhir turned with the grace of a seasoned warrior, and narrowly removed himself from the arc of a sword swing. An assassin, masked in blackness, stood before him. Footsteps from his left and right confirmed that he was not facing just one adversary.

“Who sent you?” Mundhir demanded, drawing his sabre. “Tell me now, and I’ll ensure you are entreated to a warrior’s death.”

With a gasp, Mundhir awakened. Every single bone and joint in his body ached like fire, and his lungs felt as if someone had replaced them with iron kettles. Sweat poured down his brow, and felt icy cold upon his skin. His vision was blurry, and every time he attempted to focus on something, his vision exploded with a searing light.

He attempted to move, and it was then that he realised he was restrained to a wall. Looking down through shimmering visions, he made out dark stone, torches and a throng of people. He sniffed the air, and grimaced; he knew where he was, there was no mistaking that smell. A smell of death and decay, of waste and misery.

A swollen tongue and cracked lips, coupled with a throat as dry as a desert, hampered his ability to talk. If he wanted answers, he’d have to find another way of communicating. He tugged weakly at his restraints, and was surprised when one his hands came free. He figured that whomever had put him here, had thought him dead, and wanted his body to rot as a final insult to him; they must’ve paid little attention to the functionality of his restraints. A follower of Duranar, denied a decent and correct burial, could never find their way to the Undying Promised Land. The thought of being stuck in a black void for all eternity rattled him into action.

Using his free hand, he quickly unfastened the worn leather straps pinning his other limbs to the wall, until finally he fell with a thump onto the damp stone beneath him. The impact, though only light, sent shockwaves of pain rippling through his body; it was several minutes before he dared to rise.

The first thing he did, was press his face against the cold granite wall. With his swollen tongue, he jabbed at the tiny streams of moisture that had accumulated there, and did so for some time, until he finally felt well enough to at least hammer out a few words.

Turning, he looked at his fellow inmates. They were a colourful selection of varying nationalities, races and backgrounds. Murderers, thieves and conmen no doubt – ill company for a Prince of Eblistan, but it wasn’t as if he was in a position to complain. Besides, he had other things to worry about; namely, escaping his father’s dungeon and finding out who it was that tried to kill him. Their skull would decorate his house for a thousand years, this he promised himself.

A draft billowed past him from some hidden vent. He realised for the first time that he was naked as a babe, and as his vision returned to him in earnest, he was horrified to see a spider web of blackened veins spanning his torso; they emanated from a nasty looking wound down under his left breast.

“By Great Duranar, Lord of All, was I struck by Ice Venom?” He hissed aloud. He prodded a finger at his wound, and instantly regretted his childish curiosity as he doubled over in pain.

Ice Venom was the last of a dying, black art that had prospered in Eulona for centuries. Collected from the giant arachnids way up in the frozen north, it could be easily applied to blades, arrowheads – food and drink. It was guaranteed to kill anyone, by turning their blood into a thick blue jelly in a matter of minutes. A common tell-tale sign of its use was the ugly blue veins that would span the victim’s body, as his or her blood vessels became constricted with sludge. How he had survived, was nothing short of a Duranar given miracle.

Arranging for not just one assassin, but several, to murder him using one of the rarest of poisons in the known world, would have cost someone dearly. This left him with two possible conclusions: either Prince Thrandel of Nillanor had stooped to dishonest combat, and arranged it – or someone within his own Royal house had been responsible. The latter notion shook him to the bone.

A commotion erupted from beyond the wide iron bars that acted a wall for one side of the large cell. He could hear the guards, chuckling to themselves merrily, and the sound of their weapons rattling in their sheaths told Mundhir that they were prepared for trouble. He took comfort, however, in knowing himself as a beloved war hero – one of these men would recognise him - and likely set him free immediately. Then he’d be able to take revenge on those that had tried to murder him in the foulest way.

Barging his way through his fellow inmates, and paying them very little heed, he rested against the bars and waited for the guards. Already his tactical mind was deciding his next move, once he was beyond the depressing constraints of his father’s dungeon.

Aevah sighed, the stench of the Eblistan Citadel Dungeon making her ill and the simple burlap garb they'd given her to cover her body itching incessantly. She grimaced, when you had a sensative nose the smell in here wasn't just unpleasant, it was downright disgusting. Sure, as a thief she'd spent her time in some pretty rank places but this was... She reached up and fingered the hairpin hidden in the thick hair at the base of her skull. It was the only one they'd missed. For the past hour she'd been considering her options... She could attempt to pick the lock, hoping it wasn't enchanted and risk one of the others ratting her out and thereby sending her to her death much more quickly than originally planned... OR she could set here, hoping the others would cause enough of a ruckus when the Guards came for her to slip away unnoticed.

There was just ONE, major flaw to her plans... the other Guards. Even if she got out of THIS part of the Dungeon there would be more Guards waiting. She'd never make it out alone, stealth would only get you so far. The chains on the wall beside her rattled and her topaz eyes flicked towards the man attached to them, finally opening his eyes. Fancy that... She'd thought him dead for sure by now, he definately looked it. She didn't worry more about him though, she had other things on her mind... Edging around her cellmates warily, careful not to brush her skin against theirs, she made it to the front of the cage and frowned. The lock was one she'd picked before but she couldn't imagine it NOT being charmed in some way. She sighed one more time before making up her mind, she was going to die if she didn't do something and she doubted any of the others wanted to die either... so why rat out one of their few chances at escape?

She knew the Guards were in between shifts, she'd been paying close attention for the past few days she'd been in here without food or water. Now, she took advantage... She had about five minutes before the Guards returned, plenty of time to work on the lock if it wasn't enchanted. She held out her hands, cupping the lock and frowned again. There was magic, it was dull and weak as if whoever maintained the spells had failed to do so for some time. Carefully, she clutched it and her palm pulsed with heat... Normally, she was sure it would probably have burned her badly. Now though, all it did was heat her hand unpleasantly. She'd have to hurry though if she didn't want a burn. She slipped the hairpin from her hair and twisted it with her teeth. If she let all the prisoners go and they tried to escape all at once... how likely was it they'd catch ALL of them? She began fiddling with the lock, glancing irritatedly at the ones in the cell making too much noise before returning to her work.

There was a soft click as she smiled her triumph, she'd just slipped the lock off the door when the the familiar sound of Guards deflated her joy. She grimaced and immediately backed away from the front of the cell just as the man who'd been chained to the wall made his way forward, a risk taker she may be but not suicidal. Let someone else either take the blame for unlocking the door or let them attempt escape first... She slipped back into her little corner, going back to trying to appear a small blonde half-elf unworthy of anyone's notice. It had worked for her for the past few days, why not keep using what worked? Her palm stung, she'd held on a little to long but the burn was only a mild irritation... worth it if someone took the shot she'd given them. Still, if half the prisoners were as wary as she was they'd all be out of luck because no one would be stupid enough to make the first move. She licked cracked lips and hoped someone was indeed... that stupid.

Kyrtaar fell screaming into the void. The night sky wasn't so beautiful when you knew the malignant celestial beings that lived deep in the abyss. Kyrtaar's naked body fell into a black hole and was compressed and ripped to shreds. Somewhere there was a laugh. He came out on the other end fine, and was pulled into a bright white sun. He felt the skin melt off his body, pain and consciousness lasting much longer than they should. He could feel his bones turn to ash as he made a decaying orbit of the star. He could see the stars flock together, a flock of carrion birds descending on his corpse, ready to tear the soul from his body.

Kyrtaar burst awake, kicking. He had been rolling and kicking the entire time, a common occurrence. He rolled up to a sitting position without the use of his arms. They were bound together by rope at the wrists, and open palms flat against his chest. Another rope was bound around the top of his chest, locking them there, and one around his waist. Another rope length ran from around his neck down his back, keeping the other ones in place. The guards had seen what he could do.

"Elf. Come with us." Kyrtaar looked at them. "For?" He had asked. "Theft from the King's Market" Kyrtaar had scoffed, he didn't do it. "Why?" He asked. "I stole none of your paltry goods." The guard smiled. "You think we care?" Kyrtaar had wiped the grin from his face with an eldritch blast. The other 4 guards however, were enough to restrain him

Kyrtaar slowly stood up, trying to stretch his stiff body. His arms, back, and chest were an awful motley collection of purple and white. Bruises from being beaten as he was taken into custody. His eyes were black, but somehow, his jaw and nose weren't broken. Must be thankful for little blessings, he reminded himself. Kyrtaar watched the dead man prove everyone wrong by being well, not dead. He watched him stumble over and wait against the bars for the guards. Kyrtaar rolled his eyes, and looked at the rouge, who made her way to the gate, and after some fondling the lock, decided to pick it. Finally, someone with some sense, and a thirst to not die here.

Kyrtaar addressed the group for the first time. Release me from these ropes, and I will help us escape." Whatever misgivings they had of him, from his nightmares and the obvious attempt to restrain his hands, once he was free, he rubbed his wrists and stretched his arms, finally able to do it. He cracked his neck, and Kyrtaar's eyes began to glow a fierce, bright green. Looking at them would cause them to see two glowing orbs for a few seconds after, as if they had looked into two miniature suns. He felt strength return to his body. His prodigious will gave him power, but later he would pay for it. He had been underground for days. He needed to see the sky to "recharge".

Kyrtaar walked to the gate, and flung it open, looking for the first Guard. Green vapor was rising from his hands. He looked down the hall way to freedom, and saw the first guard. The man's hand was on his sheathed sword. "Hey! You! Return to yo-" He never finished the sentence. A green ball of energy the size of a basketball destroyed his chest, killing him outright. Kyrtaar turned and looked into the cell for a second, before striding down the hallway. They would either stay and die, or follow him to freedom, and he cared not which. Though if they stay, he would surely be outnumbered and killed.

Kyrtaar looked down at the book attached to his belt. It was made of simple brown leather, and bound shut with chains. It had reappeared every single night after the guards had taken it from him, the morning prior. He was sure the other prisoners noticed the supernatural book, always returning. None had asked about it, directly. "Not today." Kyrtaar whispered to himself, and the book. "You aren't taking my soul today." He would not go gentle into that good night.

Shorus woke up in a small cell, he was chained to the wall with iron chains.
"Hey monster, what are you doing here?!" he remembered the guards words before they attacked. He was able to fight them off without too much effort, but then a little arrow stuck into his neck, making him sleepy, the next thing he remembered was waking up here.
Shorus smelled the air, the smell was not bad, reminded him of his home village.Shorus stood up and pulled the chains with all his strength, the chains broke.
The minotaur looked around, there was nothing interesting inside the cell besides himself, he knocked on the walls and found nothing interesting either, besides the fact that the internal wall that separated his cell from the adjacent one was a lot thinner than the others walls. At this moment, Shorus heard the sound of a breaking lock in the adjacent cell and saw a green eyed creature walking out of there and attacking the guards. "I might as well help him, no point to remain in the cell" thought the minotaur.
Shorus leaned his head forwards and ran into the inner wall that separated his cell from the adjacent one, leaving a huge hole in the wall and entering the adjacent cell.
" We help to green eyes, no point staying here waiting for death!" said Shorus to the inhabitants of the cell, one of whom looked as if he was injured by a poisoned arrow.

A rhaspy snakelike voice echoed through the gray cobbled stone walls and rattled the old iron bars as Rin leaned his body against the cool damp wall in his cell picking up rubble and tossing the debris at the bars in rythm with his hymn.

"Oh look at the fish, the nasty fish
The nasty fish, the nasty fish.
Oh look at the fish, the nasty fish
Fancy fish, yancy fish.... "

His claw scratched the top of his snout as he tried to figure out exactly what he did wrong. It was just a cow, cows get eaten every day. He offered to pay for it, but the guards confusing words led him to believe it was free. "No mere coin can determine the sheer elegance of its breed and the love our duke has for such a fine stier." Rin mocked out loud to himself as if taunting the cobblestone. Puffing out his chest and giving a long sigh as the itch along his snout grew worse. It often did when something felt not right to Rin.

"If its blue, gots some fishin ta do,
if its brown, set that pole down." He continued to sing before he noticed the man with blue veins managed to free himself and fall to his knees. Rin frowned a bit since he made a bet with the cobblestone wall that he was surely dead, now he owes the cobblestone a song. "Good for you fleshy one, Rin did not think you would live to see the next moon. You have a good hist skin, Rin would of died if he was you... good thing he isn't!" He said as he began scratching his nose again. Something was really bugging his senses.

Just then another prisoner managed to open up the cell across from him and show some pretty impressive magic as he turned a nearby man into swiss cheese, although probabbly not as tasty as actual swiss cheese.... hmmm perhaps he should taste and see. Looking up to see the glow from the mans eyes and an adjacent roar from a beastly cow thing from the cell next to his, he jumped back in fright as the man-cow agreed with the mans murderous rampage and offered his help. It was obvious that Rin did not belong here. He does not kill guards, they were only doing their job. No sense killing them for what they were supposed to do no? Plus their skins would not fare a warm coat or a pretty set of boots either, so what was the point?

Rin yelled over the commotion. "If a guard asks about the big hole in the dead one there, make sure to say it wasnt the Lizard. Rin does not want to get blamed for eating this one too!" He said while squeezing his foot through the bars to push the corpse away from his cell so as not to get blamed. He then leaned against the opposite wall away from where the corpse lie, hearing the heavy breathing and rants of the crazed cow-man on the other side of the cobblestone.

9 was being paraded around the city, "The Great Beast from the East!" is what they called him. The bad men would yell at him, pull the chain when he lagged behind, or just throw rotten food at him just for the fun of it. Women would faint, children would scream and look on in wonder, but they all looked a him. It made him supremely uncomfortable. As he lagged behind again the bad men pulled on the chain, causing him to fall into what was definitely NOT mud. The bad men began to laugh which quickly ignited a storm of laughter from the crowd. All the shame, the pain, the ridicule, the humiliation. Something inside 9 snapped, along with the strap of leather that muzzled his maw. Lunging forward 9 bit down on the closest bad mans leg and began to shake, the screams of terror and pain resounded around the block.

Quickly the bad men started to flog 9 with whips, chains, clubs, anything that happened to be on hand. But it mattered not to 9, all that mattered was making them PAY. With a titanic heave, 9 tore off the bad mans leg and let out a roar of triumph before being beaten back into submission, then some. At the end of it 9 had bumps, bruises, and a dent or two but he showed them he wasn't some beast to be paraded around. Plus, their little show of brutality damaged the chains holding him captive. Give a little force and he could break out and leave this dreadful place.

The now forcefully retired badman was carted off somewhere, hopefully to fester and die, before they began to bring him towards a nasty looking place that smelled of decay and misery. When they entered the building there was some commotion, something between the bad man and some man who stood guard. Whatever it was it was solved with an exchange of shiny objects. 9 was then moved into a small cage, like the one he stayed in with the pointy eared one. Uneasily, 9 saw several pointy eared ones. However he knew they weren't THE pointy eared one so he wouldn't devour them...yet.

---

That was several days ago, or so he thought. Truthfully time seemed irrelevant since he didn't have any windows and nothing ever really happened besides someone new joining or leaving. 9 wasn't wasting his time however, ever since he was locked in here he has been testing the chains. Flexing and seeing them bend, straining to contain his bulk. If he were to give one big flex he was sure that he could escape, the door wouldn't be that much trouble either. So he waited, 9 might not know much but he knew that the key to a good hunt was patients, something he had much of.

His persistence came with a reward as a pointy eared one escaped and caused a ruckus, fallowed by a beef man breaking his cage. With all the chaos happening at once, 9 found his chance. With a mighty strain, he popped the chains and was free of their bondage. Moving to the door, 9 brought his talons down on one side of the door before straining and peeled the iron back and escaping. Freedom at hand, he began to move to other doors and began to give them a similar treatment, just to spite the rulers of this land.

Leaning against the wall next to the metal bars of the cell Tarwin had his eyes shut, he hasn't been in the cell for very long, a few days maybe and in all that time he hadn't relocated from that spot except to lie down and to go to the back and do his...Business. He hadn't eaten since the evening he was caught and his stomach was beginning to feel like it was starting to eat itself, nevertheless he tried to stay in high spirits even if that meant he somewhat annoyed his cell mates. They were an odd group but when he was tossed in he introduced himself. "Hey there." He'd said with a grin. "I'm Tarwin, it's great to be hear I'm gonna be your jester for the next few days." Telling jokes and stories was how he'd passed most of the time, he'd told them the one about the three elvish queens and the story of how dwarves first came into the world through the great cave of the ancients old stories that he'd heard since he was a boy. In the first few hours the smell of the cell had been almost unbearable but he'd managed to get used to it after a little while, at least he didn't gag every time he inhaled. For the first time since he'd been thrown into the cell Tarwin began to think about how he'd ended up in his current predicament, letting out a long sigh he began to remember the night of his detainment.

The mighty and imposing structure of Duranar stood before him, the sun setting cast it in a wonderful orange glow. The human stepped closer, and glanced around to check the guards weren't around, as he had planned it was the transitional phase of shifts and the perfect window of opportunity. Untying the rope from around his waist he began to fix the grappling hook on the end before whirling it around and tossing it to the ramparts above, it snagged and he tugged a few times to make sure it was stable before starting his ascent of the castle walls. Thankfully no guards passed by and spotted him, nimbly hopping over the top of the wall the fortune seeker crept carefully inside the structure itself and began sneaking his way through, it was easy given the relaxed nature of guards inside the building itself. Sticking to the shadows and making note of any guard patrols he spotted he soon reached the restricted catacombs, rows and rows of ancient books, rarely touched and many left abandoned for decades. He strolled around knowing he was alone in the maze of texts and eventually found what he had come for, taking the ancient map book from it's shelf he flicked through the pages until he found what he was looking for a page detailing the location of a long forgotten tower containing the vast wealth of a dead king. "Gold mine." He laughed to himself and shut the book, putting it into a small satchel around his shoulder before leaving the way he had entered...Unfortunately he had lingered too long underground and waiting for him on the castle walls next to his rope were five heavily armed guards, he had drawn his sword and prepared for a fight but it had been a pointless move as by the time he was ready to charge he had been outflanked and hit over the head and knocked unconscious.

Suddenly Tarwin was snapped back to the cell, eyes opening wide at the sound of a slight click sound. He focused on the female half-elf in front of her and gave her an approving nod and smile. "Nice work." He said, leaning in and speaking quiet enough so only she would hear. Since he had first entered the cell and seen the odd assortment of people and different races he knew he wasn't going to be executed, he knew it was only going to be a matter of time before one of them came up with a way out, and this half elf had proven him right. Now it was just a matter of some body leading the charge for freedom, and it was an elf who stepped up to do so rushing out and blasting a guard with magic. Letting out a slight cheer he followed suit, gesturing for the others to follow him from the cell and grabbing one of the guard's sabres as he passed the body, as well as a set of keys At the same time he noticed two more escape and join the rush to freedom, he noticed one in particular a hulking beast that had been chained up in the opposite cell was now freeing the other inmates, the more the merrier as they say. Tarwin ran ahead and sliced with the blade cutting another guard across the chest, then he took the keys and used them to open up the other cells in the hall that the creature hadn't got around to yet, a proper prison break, everyone now had the chance to go free. "C'mon! Death waits for no man but that doesn't mean you have to stay here and wait for death!" He laughed a little, sounding a bit like a madman he followed the elf magician to what he hoped would be freedom.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. They always were. Find the target and kill him. Her employer told her that this target had a routine, and would no doubt be by the docks precisely at sunset. An inconvenient time frame for her as she would not have the darkness on her side, but she was confident that she could complete the job without it. As she took her position atop a nearby roof, Nessa noticed how still the air seemed to be that evening. It was quiet, but she took it as a sign of good fortune; she hadn’t encountered a single guard yet, and was hoping for her luck to continue.

She should have known better. It should have been so obvious that it was a trap, but Nessa had trusted this particular employer too much. He had been a long term client, a regular of hers, but anybody with that many enemies to kill had to be bad news. She didn’t even have a moment to curse herself as several guards ambushed her a split second after she realized her mistake.

Even though the sun had just set, just enough light lingered to render her shadow tricks useless. Several guards attacked her at once, and taking advantage of the chaos, one managed to land a heavy blow from behind while she was distracted by the men in front of her, knocking her unconscious.

---

Since the lack of hospitable environment slowed her recovery, Nessa did not wake up for a several nights. When she finally did regain consciousness, she was starved and close to dying of thirst. Her vision was blurred when she initially came to, but she could make out several figures in the cell she was contained in. She didn’t have much energy, but she preserved most of it for a more opportune moment, spending most of her time lying down and moving unnecessarily.

The clock was ticking though, and she didn’t know if her chance would ever present itself. Nessa was destined to be executed–she knew that since the day she was born–but she didn’t want to let a stupid mistake cut off the rest of her life.

Her injury had been reduced a dull ache when she was lying down, but now, as she sat up, her head throbbed with pain. Again, her vision faltered, blurring objects in her sight beyond recognition, but she could make sense of the sounds she heard. Her pointed ears tuning to noises outside of her cell, Nessa could hear a guard approaching. Perhaps to fetch them and lead them all to their untimely deaths. She must have missed something, since soon after, she heard a gate slam open and loud blast, more specifically, the destruction of a wall. Somewhat adjusted now to being upright, she could now see a minotaur standing in front of a gaping hole in the wall.

“Idiots!” she thought, “Using brute force to break out of here. There’s no way they’ll be able to make it if they keep attracting so much attention,”

She watched some of them leave through the gate, presumably following the person who initially opened it. Deciding to use her remaining energy now, she cloaked herself in a veil of shadows and stood up. Nessa moved toward her exit, close enough to be able to slip out easily, but stayed within the safety of the bars. As she approached the front of the cell, she noticed the nearby body of a not-quite-dead prince. She almost laughed. More than familiar with the trade, Nessa could tell he was suffering from a failed assassination attempt. She had heard rumors about the job through the grapevine, but to see him here, clinging to life was ironic to say the least.

However, this was no time to be noting trivial details; she had to stay focused and figure out an escape since she knew she would not dive headfirst into combat. Her fellow inmates were rash, but they’d be able to clear out a path and hopefully draw most of the guards toward them. If they were intelligent, they might want to search for their possessions, but relying on them was a gamble. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much of a choice. Planning to follow their trail from safe distance, Nessa remained in the cell, waiting until the clamor outside the cell subsided a bit and grew distant. It seemed like it would take a while since she heard the destruction of more metal bars. Were they planning on releasing everybody?

A big mouth stretched and flashed overlarge teeth, stained by blood near the roots. There was a whole cracked dry lake of it around his mouth, and it broke and flaked in shrinking chips when he grinned. "And a good morn' to you, Bull-man. You've just got on my favorites list." Wisdom had no idea what had just ran into their room, but he – she? - was too large for the cell and very proactive about breaking down people's walls.

He was a late join to the party, and had to do without the shackles – since they were all broken or used. Wisdom had only spent the night – the blood and sprain was fresh when they dumped the elf in this black pit – disappointed by the absence of elaboration, skill, and craftsmanship of the royal dungeon. Not a red carpet or gargoyle handle to be found.

The cell's space was stuffed to be cozy with company, which was a mixed lot. Wisdom had plunked his rear in the large gap neighboring the other alien, colossal lifeform he'd seen in the past hours. It gave Wisdom the chance to stare and observe the multi-limbed creature minutes before he passed out, and away from all his “brothers” and “sisters.” None were Oenann, all too pale or gray and lacking the family resemblance, though maybe distant cousins. At least one was a dark elf. They were their own sort of bastards, and not so clean and prim. But with his neighbor, the lizard, and a man with an entertaining biological experience painting his torso, the flaws were compensated for. And the chatty one....Trevor? Tanin? had passed the waking hours.

It turned out snubbing moneyed people got you into a cool place with some fun faces and a free out from hanging. The softer, plainer elf was smart with locks and broke open a flood of action. The brother with the odd green eyes was already leaping out in the hall. Wisdom caught the color-matching light rip apart every string of cloth and flesh from the torso of the first sucker in the hallway. Wisdom's scowl sank deep into his hollow face. Magic. Sneakier than poison. Wisdom never learned the kind home taught, and he never trusted it.

Wisdom hollered over, “How are we supposed to wear his armor now? There's a head-sized hole where the heart is.” and jumped out the open cage.

The fighter slipped up the sword from the dead man, as a green singe flashed at the edges of the wound like dying embers, guts piling to the floor. Wisdom's brown bug eyes shrunk into a suspicious glare back at the glowing pair. “You better not zap me with that green fluff, blondie,”

Tar...Tar's....T's chuckle sounded down the hallway, as the cellmates burst from the metal doors. Wisdom lit up at the chaos and ran up to the human, catching three strikes of pain from the bad ankle and a less broken shield along the way. “You people really liven up dungeons and dying. Got a riot 'n' everything. D'ya guys know where my stuff'd be? The city thinks it's theirs now.”

It was his sixth day in the prison, and he was the last one. All his comrades were gone, dragged to the interrogation room one by one. They never came back. Kareth cursed the day he ever met Krenshaw. It was that bastard's idea to become bandits, and his idea to go after the treasury shipment. He was shit at finding jobs, he was a shit commander and a shit leader. He should have left the Raiders months ago.

Kareth sighed and released his anger. It did not do well to besmirch the names of the dead. He remembered the words his adoptive father taught him: “All men are equal in death: Learn what you can from their choices, then move on.” Krenshaw was killed almost a fortnight ago during his arrest, and Kareth learned of his fate from Jekel and the rest. Jekel disappeared into the torture chamber four days ago. He was the only one Kareth really liked in the Touchstone Raiders.

He had spent his entire stay in the dungeons watching and waiting for an opportunity. The warden, a grizzled old man, had him beaten and whipped simply because he didn't like the way Kareth looked. Kareth's lips curled slightly at the memory. The warden had good instincts to try to break him before he tried something, but it wasn't nearly enough to dissuade him from an attempt. Perhaps the warden found the effort pointless, knowing Kareth's ultimate fate. They took his shirt then too.

Sure enough, his silent vigil was rewarded. During the shift-change, a half-elf girl picked the lock to the prison. He watched as she slinked back to her seat, nonchalantly. Smart girl, letting others go first. He reached into his breeches and pulled out the small bone shiv he had hidden there. He didn't know the details of where it came from, but Jekel had given it to him the day he was taken away. It was the worst possible weapon he ever held, but it was a weapon. Stab a man in the right spot, the neck for example, and it would kill.

An elf stood and asked for help with his restraints. Kareth recognized him as the one plagued by night terrors and that magical book. He didn't need to know details to realize that he was trouble, but he remembered another saying of his father's: “The enemy of my enemy is a problem for later. For now they might be useful.” He approached the elf, his manacles clinking. The moment was soon, and he wanted as many allies as he could muster. He used his shiv to saw away at the hempen bindings, then returned to his seat; though he seemed calm in all this, he was coiled like a cat or a spring.

The moment came disjointedly and without the action he expected. The elf opened the door and blasted the first guard with a spell of considerable power. A minotaur burst through a cell wall, vowing to help. Some... beast tore through the iron door to a solitary confinement cell and began to tear open the remaining cells. Kareth was on his feet now, somewhat surprised by diversity of prisoners thinking along the same lines as he. Freedom must truly be one of the archetypical concepts of the world. A young man seized the blades and keys off the slain guard, fought off another and began opening the cells the beast hadn't yet pried open. Kareth quickly approached him and got his shackles released. He decided to keep the shackles for the moment. They could be used either as a makeshift flail or as a garrote, both better than just his shiv. He decided to stick close to the minotaur and the beast. Their muscle would be invaluable in the tight confines of the prison corridors: the prison guards could easily block up the corridors with bodies, and great strength would be needed to push through them... or to create an alternate exit.

---

There was a concept of time, a universal belief and religion that attested to its self, in that the world will continue to move on should you perish and in this confine of a dank, dismal hell she would rather be dead. Death was a balm to the sluggish crawl of seconds and dwindling life of the shoddy masonry assemblage that was her solitary cell. Bound in crude iron shackles with an equine bit shoved unceremoniously between her lips, and twined shut by the chafing leather of a mocking muzzle, or should they be dubbed as her unofficial reins, the creature that was personified of life and warmth was incarcerated because of the very nature in which she lived. Bridled with their cruel amusement, the diminutive figure in the corner with her arms fastened high above her literal crown of thorns and antlers had been confined to this dungeon for such a time that she could not recall or remember; they had never even offered her a scrap of clothing despite the downy fur of her breast. That concept had been cruel in its avoidance and allowed her mind to fester and her psyche to crumble beneath the silence and droning woe that permeated the stench of filth and long forgotten detainees.

In her time of her captivity they had discovered unique tortures to her gender, customized and tailored to her physique and her genetic materialization, to assuage and impair, to rend the blood asunder from marrow and skin alike from the bidding maliciousness of her aggressors. For they had never had the sadistic pleasure of imprisoning her kind. These unique devices of cruel intent had burned and marred her, had been specified and designated to be a rather hellacious reminder in her meddling with her betters. In the initial wounds and lashes of crude iron, she had screeched and bayed wildly like an animal caught in the snares of her obsessed hunter, writhing from the burning; the pain; her song of agony had struck deep inside the masonry and there it would be a memory in blood that had been the colour of evergreen pines.

Kylmi had, in that single moment of hopeless despair, allowed her heart to be surrendered to the dark and it was illustrated in the curling ends of her usually chartreuse hair that was beginning to wither and die in the bruising of brown tones. She wasn’t meant for the shadows or the despairing confines of prison and never had she been concerned for such. She had lived life and enjoyed each and every pleasurable splendor it had to offer, even in her torturing she had found a masochistic desire within the branding and lashes - thinking about it allowed a muffled chortle to slip beyond her mask. But now they had directed their attentions else where, forgoing her near ritual treatment in favour of the troupe of convicts locked and withheld in the largest cage designated for those to be sorted and separated later on in their own cells. That in itself gave testament to how long she had been held here, not to mention the deterioration and literal decomposing of her body that accumulated in stages.

Eyes narrowed within the dark as her elegant ears swiveled and rotated in kin to a fawns and were just as sensitive. The scrape of metal in the dark, the drone of voices varying in baritones and pitches, all receding back to where she was withheld in one of the last blocks. A sort of vain hope tore through her heart and with it the crumbling of walls. The stones fell upon the brutal force of something big, incredibly huge though she could not see, but the sounds assaulted her ears none the less and she cringed behind her crude, leather muzzle. The bar to her cell trembled with the commotion and her eyes once dimmed with woe lit up in a spark of leaf green when something monstrous loomed beyond the doors. It was a creature she did not know, not even back home in the woods of Isildier, but he was something to behold and revere in that moment and terrifyingly beautiful . His talon came down upon the iron and she strained with the chains and shackles still holding her back, freedom loomed just beyond those shattered fixtures and she nearly whimpered when the beast moved on to other doors.

Her arms strained and her soul screamed as she flailed her body to try and dislodge the links from the wall, her peculiar feet decorated in thorns and claws scarped the cobblestone in her struggle but without the sun she was weak and dying, a plant withering in the dark. The Nymph screamed around her cruel bit and threw her entire body toward the gaping cell door and whatever divinity existed out there [for the White Stag was no more] she managed to sever her chains. Rust flaked and metal scraped as she fell forward and clawed at the dungeon floor, desperate in her need to get out here, she needed the sun, the brims of life, she needed air that wasn’t rank with the dead and the dying. Kylmi tore at the muzzle of leather and with a sharp cry also yanked the iron bit from her mouth and coughed out the poison of it festering on her tongue. Webbing of black taint was splintered across her cheeks and lips, veining down her neck as she braced against the nearest wall and glanced down at the iron shackles still donning her wrists. Those would be harder to remove, the iron was poison to her much like her Fey cousins. Already the dark blemishing was crawling up her arms, blackening her usual palour, she grimaced at that and finally glanced up to her surroundings.

Fallen princes and beast folk, mer of various blood and man. Such a gathering, she mused.

The entire situation was chaotic at best, various creatures and races piling out from their prisons and making their last desperate attempts for freedom. She could admire that at least, she could even taste the potential of it all as she stumbled and wished in vain for the plains of grass and the thickness of trees. All she had here was stone, hard and unforgiving, but she wouldn’t allow herself to surrender to that hopelessness once again. With a shrill cry like that of a bird capering in the sky, Kylmi used the walls to push herself forward despite the toxin boiling still in her skin. She launched forward in an adrenaline rush, cheeks flush with her new found energy - she was in no condition to fight and was entirely out of her element here. Options limited and conditions deplorable, the Nymph could only linger in the last line of their sudden offense, depending on these impromptu saviors to charge their way through the masses.

Shorus didn't waste any time, he wasn't as quick as the elves, but he didn't mean to sit on his hands either.
With tremendous power he ripped the shackles of every prisoner in the cell who was still bound, then he ran into the hallway with a loud battle roar.
Shorus gored a guard who was trying to flank the elven warriors with such power that the poor man was literally smeared on the wall. Afterwards he kicked a lock on a nearby cell with his hoof, breaking the lock and opening the door. This lock was a joke in comparison to the lock on his old cell, it couldn't even hold a teenage minotaur!
Goring, kicking and fisting his way along the hallway, Shorus broke every cell lock that was still intact and not meant to hold a minotaur and ripped every set of shackles that was still bounding a prisoner. He then found himself facing a fragile nymph, standing in the hallway with iron shackles remaining around her wrists. Shorus broke the nymphs shackles, releasing her from the heavy bracelets and roared to her to stay behind him. "We need make secure this floor and then see what do next! shouted Shorus to the other warriors with a typical minotaur accent.

Mundhir Sadek stood with his mouth agape at the scene he had just witnessed. A skilled thief subtly picking a lock, an Elf of mysterious power blasting the Prince's Eblistani kinsmen to ruin and a hulking Minotaur crying the thunder of war. Had he just stumbled into the halls of the world's greatest warriors? As his former inmates rushed past him, and into the corridor beyond the cell, Mundhir grimaced as he heard the many shouts of the dungeon's guards abruptly end with blood curdling screams.

"What madness have I awoken to?" He muttered, pausing to wipe sheets of sweat from his face.

A high sounding screech of bending metal stole his attention from the bizarre and bloody scene. A monster, never before witnessed by his eyes or in the books he had read as a child, was busy wreaking havoc on the dungeon's many bars. It growled with a rage that shook the Prince to the bone, and left him on the verge of weeping. For a moment he figured he had died, and rather than being taken to the Undying Promised Lands, he had been denied Duranar's favour and cast to the Underworld.

"We need make secure this floor and then see what do next!" thundered the Minotaur's grizzly tone.

Mundhir stepped forwards, and into the corridor. The stones beneath his feet were slick with the blood of several guards, many of whom had been pulverised and dismembered. He kept his gaze away from their faces, in case he recognised them. This was heresy! Treason! An attack on the Caliph's men was an attack on the Caliph himself, and Mundhir's hopes of speedy retribution were dashed by the realisation that he'd be guilty of such crimes by mere association. His father would pardon him though, if the Prince could reach him before word got out that his seventh son was leading a revolution in the Citadel's dungeons.

Kneeling down, he picked up a bloodied sabre, but shied away from taking a dead kinsmen's clothes. A true Eblistani did not loot the dead. The nakedness of his form would have to serve as apt protection from the swords of those he served for the while.

"The Citadel houses a hundred such guards," he called to the group. "They'll be down here soon. More than likely, the City Watch is on its way too. We cannot dally here. I cannot forgive any of you for murdering my people, but I have little choice in this matter. If we can force our way to the guard barracks on the next level, then there are several tunnel ways that will lead us into the Great Palace. From there, you can all escape." He paused to think for a moment, "I would be grateful if you could kill as few as my countrymen as possible; they are honourable warriors, doing their Lord's duty. It is nothing but a bizarre twist of fate that I am giving my assistance, rather than attempting to apprehend you for your crimes."

He took in this mismatched group of warriors. They truly were the most ridiculous regiment of fighters he'd ever bore witness to, but then he figured, if he had a thousand of such peoples, he could conquer the known world in a week.

"Follow me," he shouted, and darted down the corridor. He knew the dungeon well - there would be a secure oak door, and no doubt the Minotaur would remove the obstruction with ease. Beyond that there was a guard post, most likely heavily manned at this point. If they could overcome his kinsmen there, then the stairs to the guard's barracks and interrogation chambers would be easily accessible.

Pulling apart the iron was easy, if not a little tiring. One could say it was therapeutic, the squeal of iron as it bent was highly pleasant to him. 9 was dissapointed to find that another prisoner had began to open the doors, but with that taken care of he took stock of the situation. Most of the others had left, except for the man who smelled of decay and had a weird looking chest. Giving a quick scan of the body 9 found out it was a poison. Having nothing to cure his ailment, 9 continued on his way and hopefully that he would make it out alive.

Stepping out of that terrible place, 9 found himself in a massacre. The guards never stood a chance. They were burnt, crushed, gored, and dead. 9 ignored the smell, there is nothing to be gained in eating right now. Lumbering his way across he saw a familiar sight, the antler one. She had been there since before he had arrived and the tortures he felt through the air were almost as bad as his, maybe. At first he just wanted to get the others out, but now seeing her struggle to move awoke a feeling in 9 he hadn't felt since he was back in the nests, watching over the eggs. The elders had always said that 9 was a protector, that he would bring down all that threatened them. He failed that, his friends were dead and he was lost.

He wouldn't fail again. Lumbering up to the antlered one, cutting down an insolent guard along the way, 9 put himself right in front of her. With arms and talons spread wide, 9 let out a warning roar to scare off any would be attackers. After a few seconds, 9's eyes began to glow as he sent a message to the antlered one.

"Do you need assistance walking antlered one? I can carry you. The sound came simultaneous with his hissing and low rumbling growls as he remained in an aggressive pose, trying to scare any would be attacker off.

EDIT: ((OOC Warning: Part of this post came a touch early as Shorus has not yet knocked away the door and therefore they cannot yet be in the Barracks. Consider this post as coming after that happens.))



Aevah had no sooner gotten out of the way than chaos broke out. Out came a Minotaur, a monster with many arms, a lizardman was released from his cage, some kind of Dryad or similar Fae being was also freed.

She paused at the lizard-man's cage, "If you stay they will kill you, whether you attempted to escape or not... do you want to wait for your death or risk your life for freedom. With this many people we may have a chance..." She didn't usually care about others but right now there was strength in numbers.

Everyone set off, the Guards were massacred due to their large friends and magic wielding companions. Aevah played it smart and lingered behind the others, letting them do all the heavy work and noticed that another was doing the same. The woman was a dark elf, or at least she so assumed since she'd never seen one in person before. As the Nobleman shouted directions, Aevah smiled somewhat... If the Guards had been planning to sell their things, the Barracks would be where everything was so that they could split the goods to sell once their prisoners were dead. Since they did not plan on dying this day, she supposed they would not mind too much if they reclaimed their lost items... or at least whatever had not been sold.

Aevah did very little fighting, mostly she did a lot of looting. She took a dagger each from two dead guards and that would serve her well enough for now. As they fought their way along, Aevah desperately avoided touching any exposed skin of her companions and especially the dying guards, she couldn't risk slipping into that dream-like state right now without risking her throat being cut. Once they'd finally managed to reach the barracks, Aevah was forced to do a little hands on fighting since there were several guards still here. She ducked a blade and sent her dagger up through his chin, she released it as he toppled over and grimaced. She disliked killing people when it could be avoided, when a blade was aiming to decapitate her however... it was time to fight. She headed immediately to the tables where some of their things lay and grabbed a pair of boots and what had been her clothing before she'd been captured... Her necklace was not in sight but there were several chests near the table which she was sure held more of their goods.

"Our things are here, not all but most... hurry. We don't have time to look for more than what we absolutely need."

Not really caring for her modesty for the sake of speed and alertness, she quickly yanked on the clothing... not really worrying about tidiness either. She eyed the locks, they weren't very strong or well crafted, unlike the ones on the cages that had held them in the dungeon. She used her booted foot to stomp a few off and threw them open. After some quick digging she found what she was after and slipped the necklace on. She had no more time to waste on finding her coinpurse, backpack, or her bow... she'd have to craft a new one later. She kept an eye on the doors, figuring those who didn't need armor would be doing the same, the Guards WERE coming... they didn't have much time.

"When we get to a locked door... stay out of the way. I can open it, if someone doesn't blast it open first... that might be more effective in this case but the more noise we make the more guards will come running... Speed or stealth? It may be too late for stealth..."

[Nephriel, the door to the guards post is still not broken and the heavily maned post is not cleared, Aevah couldn't access the barracks at this time! Please read Hamsters post. I will send the post where the minotaur breaks the door after everybody had a chance to post]

Within seconds the entire dungeon turned into a huge jailbreak. Cows breaking walls, prisoners unlocking cages including Rins and the blue veined man taking lead in the riot instead of vouching for Rin in not starting this whole thing. Most left aside from a few stragglers including a small framed woman of elven decent he thinks.

"If you stay they will kill you, whether you attempted to escape or not... do you want to wait for your death or risk your life for freedom. With this many people we may have a chance..." the tiny woman said.

The scent coming off of her reminded him greatly of the hunter that took him in. No doubt she was of similar profession, someone who's words he took with great trust. It would probabbly be safe to consider her words to be truths as well. Rin let out a frustrating cry as he pounded the ground like a child. "Awwwww your right little one, plus I'm sure Rin would get blamed for all this if he stayed, even though YOU really started it by unlocking the gate. Yessss Rin saw you-you can't hide it, Rin sees everything." He kept talking but the elf didn't seem to care nor listen as she took off and started pillaging the bodies for weapons and making her way towards the guard barracks. Rin quickly followed behind attempting to stay out of the fight and nimbly moving over the trail of bodies keeping a safe but somewhat close distance from the elven girl.

"Our things are here, not all but most... hurry. We don't have time to look for more than what we absolutely need." She said as she started rummaging through the chests.

"Oh good! Maybe Rins treasures are there as well-" He cut himself short when he caught the eye of a nearby trash can that kept most of his things in it along with leftovers from the guards lunch break. Letting out an aggitated hiss, he pulled out all his skin pouches filled with various bait and herbs as well as the self made hemp rope, the piece of raw glass was clouded and stained from spilled wine and there was no sign of his staff anywhere. Instead he spotted a nearby suit of armor on display holding a large poleaxe. "Ahh this would do nicely!" He said as he pulled the axe from the armored hands and without warning smashed the head of the axeblade clean off with the strength of his tail. "No sense keeping that part, it could hurt somebody..." he mumbled to himself as he stared arkwardly at the elven woman as she changed her clothes. "You almost finished with your second skin little one? Rin can smell others coming so we need to be quick." He said while scratching his snout with his newly blunted staff.

Peeking his head around the corner he noticed the large bug like creature protecting one of the other inmates and cringed a bit as the red mist sprayed across the hallway managed to reach his nose. He did not want to get in the way of that thing if possible, he remembered seeing those someplace before and they dont do much talking, only biting, slashing and killing. Taking a big gulp in fear as he turned back to the little elven woman. "Ummm do you think we could take a different way out? The cold one does not look so friendly." He said pointing to the big bug.

Kyrtaar stood still in the hallway, as the freed prisoners flooded by him. He smiled, as they looked to have a good chance. He leaned against the wall, feeling the effort of his casting weighing on him. He had only sparked the rebellion, and it had already taken it's toll. He took a deep breath, and followed out the massacre. The prince was running around naked, and he found himself wondering if the poison had affected his mind. From some other cell, a minotaur had come bursting through the wall, and some giant insectoid monster. He found this motley crew of criminals to be more than enough to allow him to fall back. The light had faded from his eyes, from just a single eldritch blast.

Kyrtaar followed the group thorugh the dungeons, and into the Barracks. He watched the elf and lizard lead the rummage party and started to help. He was happy to take a backseat to the break out, as each spell cast drained him horribly. He needed to get into the sunright to recharge. He found his belongs, and quickly donned his top, and vest. He pulled his cloak on over it, and fastened it. He found his sword, and placed it on his back, but could not find his bow, so he took one from the wall, and a quiver, putting it on his waist. He turned to a closet, and opened the door, seeing a guard hiding from the onslaught. Kyrtaar looked at the boy, no older than 16, and brought his finger to his lips. He spoke only loud enough for the boy to hear. "Might want to barricade this, if you can." and turned, and closed the door. Kyrtaar stood by the door as everyone regrouped, letting anyone who tried to enter know it was empty so they didn't try anything.

When everyone was in the room, he decided to try and honor the prince's wishes, and to try and influence their decisions. "Lets try to just wound them, not kill from here on out. No sense in needless death." Kyrtaar said. Afterwards, when everyone was ready to depart, he would follow them to these tunnels the prince spoke of.

A high pitched shriek caused a shudder to run through Nessa's body, shaking her to the core. Looking toward the source, she couldn't help but stare in awe at the magnificent creature who, by the looks of it, must have been tragically ruined by unexplainably harsh torture. Stepping aside, she let the nymph brush past her, unintentionally holding her breath as she did so. It seemed unbelievable that such diverse people were housed in one location, and the amount strength and talent of these prisoners combined was an incredible stroke of luck that only added to the miracle. 

Finally, after they all disappeared out of sight, she cautiously stepped out of the cell, alert for any stray guards. It seemed that none of the corpses had any of her preferred weapons, so her best chance was to avoid getting caught but still be able to follow the horde of audacious prisoners. The torches along the walls provided light, but her shadow cloak would still keep her out of sight. It was a passive skill of hers, and one that she liked to have at all times, though with varying intensities. 

She moved through the halls silently and swiftly, but she didn't want to catch up to them until the broke through the more heavily manned areas. Hearing the prince's yell, Nessa realized that he probably knew what he was doing, regardless of his pitiable state. Following them would prove to be more fruitful than she initially expected.

A few guards obstructed her path every now and then, but they seemed to have been retreating away from the main group and, since they had suffered injuries of their own, were relatively easy for her to bypass. Soon, she caught up to everyone once they reached the barracks. By the time she arrived, many of them had already retrieved their possessions and were equipping their armor and weapons. With a bit of rummaging Nessa was able to find her own midnight gear and crossbow. Finally reunited with her belongings, her confidence was restored. Without wasting another moment, she adorned her armor.

The elf that had initially opened the gate spoke up, suggesting that they should not kill the guards that would no doubt continue to pursue them. She had heard the prince’s words earlier on, but Nessa wondered why he would even bother. How could he worry about his enemies’ lives when he was so close to death himself? The others too, seemed to have no qualms about slaughtering the guards, specifically the big guys. If they were dead, they wouldn’t be able to get back up to try again; however, she wasn’t in any position to question them at this point. She wasn’t the strongest person in the room.

Once she was properly dressed, she removed her conjured veil in order to address the others in the room. “Assuming we do make it there alive, and assuming the palace isn’t heavily guarded, where are you all planning to go? It’s not like there are safe havens for fugitives waiting for our arrival,” She wasn’t exactly a team player, but she would use the benefit in their strength in numbers for as long as was necessary. It would no doubt be advantageous to stick to them for a while.

"They'll be down here soon. More than likely, the City Watch is on its way too. We cannot dally here. I cannot forgive any of you for murdering my people, but I have little choice in this matter.”

Big words for a living corpse raked with sick blue roots.

“Don't blame me. I didn't get to start yet.” Came the indignant whine. ''His' people?' Wisdom snorted, “'Sides, you want pacifist fighters? Why? No one gets a vegetarian dog.”
If a sword swerved for the tribal's head, a sword was going to politely return the greeting. Wisdom wouldn't sit and pray while the swordsman took a sloppy swing and got the blade stuck in his neck. He revered and respected parts of the Eblistan Citadel and its culture, but no respect took his life.

“If we can force our way to the guard barracks on the next level, then there are several tunnel ways that will lead us into the Great Palace. From there, you can all escape." He paused to think for a moment, "I would be grateful if you could kill as few as my countrymen as possible; they are honourable warriors, doing their Lord's duty. It is nothing but a bizarre twist of fate that I am giving my assistance, rather than attempting to apprehend you for your crimes."

The elf uncommonly bit his tongue at the promise of passage, his mouth stopping as it opened. But as he revved up to a sprint, his broad face crunched inward with a difficult, sluggish realization that Wisdom was missing something. “...And...why would you be apprehending us?”

The half-bull reached the end and made short work of the wood. The fists pounded a dull, heavy thud, then the clang of broken metal and the door scraping on the floor broke Wisdom's ears for one burning moment.

The rogue elf spotted the storage, “Our things are here, not all but most... “

Wisdom blindly burst up the stairs for life, nearly tumbling backward when his shoulder caught the hulking brown mass that was living key #2. He swung awkwardly forward into the collection sprawled out on the wood. “-Yesss,” One hand snaked its fingers about Wisdom's sack and sword before he thought to do it. “Good catch.”
The bad substitute Wisdom had caught in the hallway flopped to the floor with an outward fling of his wrist.

The Oenann bounced the sword like it was playing with a babe, letting it float mid-air and feeling its weight. “I'm not about to complain, but might be you're gonna get interrupted by some swords and arrows piercing through the door. Bet they've got a wizard, too.”

The dark gray skin and black eyes of the other woman slipped into the side of sight. Wisdom snapped his head up. She ran fast. And dressed fast.

“Assuming we do make it there alive, and assuming the palace isn’t heavily guarded, where are you all planning to go? It’s not like there are safe havens for fugitives waiting for our arrival,”

A grin crawled up Wisdom's face. “Not up for a little action, Ms? Being alive's no fun if you don't feel it. A good long fight and some cat-and-mouse is good for the soul. Either way, I'm not leaving 'til I got a dozen after me and a fainted lady. Don't know after that.”