Mik-tik the Goblin halted his cart of gruel in front of the cage where the man-thing was chained. Muscled and tanned, the filthy human was bound with his hands above his head, hair over his eyes as his head hung limply into his chest.

"Food now, man!" Mik-tik the goblin called, banging a elf's femur bone on the cage to get the fighter's attention. It seemed he was asleep however, because the street-rat did not move. Narrowing his pig-like eyes, Mik-tik banged harder on the cage in anger, calling for the man to wake up so he could eat. But it seemed that the man could not hear the goblin's cries, and Mik-tik knew if he did not feed all of those in the dungeon, his master, Fel'dregar the Archmage, would obliterate him.

Mik-tik, like a number of goblinoids over the past few months, had been compelled to flee the mountains and bogs to swear fealty to the master of this fortress, where the Witch-King once dwelt. Castle Perilous, the citadel was called, and it hugged the mountains blocking Vaasa from the Sea of Frozen Tears and it's horrible, scything winds. Not that the desolate land south of the mountains was warm save for a scant few months during the height of summer, but all manner of humanoids were stubborn. Orcs, goblins, trolls, and ogres made what life they could, raiding and picking the land for what little sustenance they could find when they could not rip it out of the hands of men or dwarves.

Mik-tik grimaced, remembering being hunted by mercenaries in the mountains a few winters ago. The men and elves and other putrid civilized peoples in Damara filled his little body with immense hate. This thief did not appear to be a local, but he was human. Mik-tik spotted a rock, and picked it up. With a wicked smile, he tossed the stone into the cage, striking the man on the crown of his head. Still, the man did not move or flinch at all. Mik-tik blinked. Even if he was asleep, he would have been awakened by that! Unless he was not asleep...

Grumbling, Mik-tik planted the cart of gruel next to the cage, and rummaging through the many keys at his belt, he found the keys to this cell door and opened it. The door swung audibly with a creaking screech, and Mik-tik wandered into the cage. "You! Are you dead?" The Goblin asked, approaching the still form of the man. Inch by inch, Mik-tik drew closer, until he poked the man's leg with his elongated fingers. The man's muscled calfs were strong, but still he did not move.

The Goblin seemed satisfied that he must be dead, and with a 'tsk' he turned around to walk out of the cage, and that was when the man exploded into motion. Long, powerful legs whipping out and wrapping around the now surprised and terrified goblin. It took only a few seconds (and a calishite curse) for the man's legs to snap the goblin's neck, and Mik-tik found oblivion in Maglubiyet's realm. It took considerably longer for the man to maneuver the goblin's keys with his feet to reach his hands.

Once he was free, Amal stretched, his aching limbs freer than they had been in what seemed like weeks. He sighed, satisfied, and then greedily ate some of the gruel the goblin had brought. His stomach rumbled, but he found it soon calmed as the food slid down his gullet and filled his belly. Even for a thief, the gruel was not a desirable meal, but he felt as if he had been starved. His keen eyes found a small bucket of clear water and a ladle, and he drank to his content, small drops of water slipping down his fine chin, sliding down his neck to wet his chest.

Once his thirst was quenched, Amal found there was only one corridor leading out of the dungeon. Along the walls, strange mushrooms glowed, providing an ethereal blue light to contrast with the spare torches along the wall, posted every now and then to provide a more familiar lighting. He grabbed one torch, and as he walked with the keys, the next room had another cell in it. The man drew closer, and inside this cage was something slim, beautiful even. She looked severe, but exotic and terrible in a way that only a Drow could be, for that's what she was, Amal realized. The calishite cutthroat was intrigued, but he also had to admit privately he was a little intimidated. Dark elves were legendary in not only their cruelty, but many aspects that spelled doom for men.

Amal found that quite sexy.

Still, it would be best to leave her in the cage, right? He did not escape and take a rock to the head to be stabbed in the back by a drow. However, the presence of something vast weighed upon him, and wherever they were, he knew this was no slaver's pen. Against his better judgement, he decided he was too desperate and admittedly curious to leave the elf there. In one outstretched finger, the ring of keys jingled enticingly. "Can you understand me, witch?"

The squeak of that infernal goblin and his cart making its way through the corridor pulled the Drow out of her reverie, slowly opening her eyes and training them on the door. The goblin- she had heard his name, but saw no reason to commit it to memory- did not seem to like coming down here at all, but he especially hated having to come in here with her; shackled or not, he was rightfully terrified, and she delighted in making his work as frustrating and drawn out as she could. A small part of her regretted not having chosen to file her teeth, because it would have made forcing him to force whatever it was that passed for food into her mouth all the more entertaining.

Refusing to cooperate was as much as she was capable of at the moment. All her limbs were shackled, her feet resting on the floor but her arms pulled high over her head, just past what was comfortable. (She always found it interesting that surface dwellers so loathed the brutality of the Drow but were all too eager to carry out the same when the situation presented itself.) Curiously, her fingers were free to move, and she had not been stripped and gagged, and yet she could bring no magic forth; this was certainly no ordinary prison to entirely deny her any of her abilities with so little effort.

And so she had been waiting here, biding her time. Once she found out what she was being held for, she figured she could offer to make herself useful, find more suitable stock for whatever-it-was. Whether she actually would was another matter, but she could figure that out when the time came.

Although from the sounds of it, the time would not need to come. She heard the sound of a scuffle in the next room. The snap of bone. The keys shifting, releasing someone. Eating, drinking. Walking.

And now, walking towards her.

The figure loomed in the doorway. Charynrae surveyed him with silver eyes. He was a large human, which could be a problem, but he was also a man, which canceled out any concerns she might have had. He was an attractive one, at that. That could be useful.

A frown flitted across her face, disappearing as soon as it appeared. “I am no witch,” she said in response. “You have come here to propose something, I imagine. What is it you want?”

It occured to Amal the drow was not too surprised to see someone other than a goblin, and he noticed her pointed ears poking out of her thick white hair. He would not be too surprised if she could hear his heart beating. At least she was able to understand him. He knelt down to speak on her level, eyeing her through the bars of the cage, the torch in his hand basking his dusky skin in a warm glow. He saw her own form was ebony, almost purple in some ways, save for her sharp silvery eyes and her shock of white hair tied into a messy bun.

"Sorry, I did not mean to offend you," He remarked, though he could not suppress a mischievous twinkle in his eye. She was truly unlike anyone he had ever seen before. He had only met a few elves in his life, and none were of the accursed subrace that lived miles underground. Perhaps she felt more at home here than if they were to escape outside, but he would cross that bridge with her after he had escaped.

"You're right, I am here to strike a deal." He acknowledged slyly. He would assume her question meant she was interested. He was a consummate liar, but he decided he would start with some honesty. "I don't know where we are. Last I remember I was on a galley in the moonsea, hoping to get as far away from Mulmaster as I could, and then I wake up here, wherever this is. I would bet you experienced something similar, yes?" It was a rhetorical question, he would find out her situation soon. "If I free you, I say we find our way to the surface and kill or sneak past anything in our path, and then find out exactly where we are. If you wish to part ways then, so be it. But I like living, and I would think you don't wish to meet your god so soon. I won't stab you, you won't stab me, and everyone wins. Deal?"

He had to curb the urge to make a quip about her looking quite fetching with her arms raised in that position, not only because it might offend her but he found flirting with a drow was a bit too risky, even for someone like him. Instead he waited patiently, and if she said yes, he would fish through the keys and unlock the door to her cage. Then he would unlock her shackle, biting his tongue as he searched and eventually found the right key. Once the shackles clicked free, he would take a step back and cross his strong arms, casually waiting to see if she would leap up and try and rip his throat out or not.

He was being polite, so either he was polite, or he knew how to use politeness for manipulation. She kept her eyes on him, as always looking for what was underneath what was said and done. He did not seem particularly out of place here, and although there was no malice he certainly did not engender any trust in her. (Admittedly, no one engendered any trust in Char, and she imagined no one would be surprised to discover this. This was very much the way of the Drow, and it was a difficult thing to shake off.)

While he spoke her eyes wandered over him, though her only interest at the moment was in where and how she would have to strike to kill him quickly if need be. Just because he said he wouldn’t stab her didn’t mean he would keep his word on it, or that he wouldn’t stab her once their time together was done, and she wanted to have his internal organs mapped out ahead of time. “We have a deal,” she said once he had finally finished speaking. It was an easy choice; better to chance an escape with another prisoner than wait for the jailer.

“I had left Elmwood and was near the coast of the Moonsea, soon to reach the Elvenflow. But I was on foot,” she told him as he began the cumbersome task of sorting through keys to find that which would release her. She locked his look of concentration away as she searched for something else to say; she was used to silence, but humans were not, and long bouts of it left many of them particularly unnerved. Then again, he was on a hunt for the right key, so perhaps he did not notice.

When her arms finally dropped down to her sides, it was like she could finally breathe again. She took a step away of her own and promptly pulled at her hair, her face crinkling in a look of disgust. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know why her hair had been taken down and put back up, because this was certainly not how it had been set before waking up in this place. She began raking her fingers through, coaxing out knots and errant pins. Fortunately, her hair was not in a terrible state; nothing had happened to it in her time here beyond the goblin yanking on it while trying to get her to open her mouth. “Was there anything else interesting you found when you started your escape?”

She was, of course, listening carefully for anything that might be on the way to confront them, but at the moment, all sounded quiet beyond the room. Once she was satisfied with her hair in its unbound state, she quickly worked it into a braid that wrapped around her head like a crown. It was far simpler than what she would normally do, but anything more complicated would take more time she did not want to spare.

He had expected to see her movements as a spider entwining a web, but even with the stiffness in her arms, she was graceful and imperious. Granted, Amal had always been a lowly street rat and he realized any elf likely seemed noble to him, but it still had a small impression on the thief. He stood back to give her space, wanting his 'ally' to not feel skittish. Amal had backstabbed "friends" before, but only at great need. He preferred being casual, even with someone who was rightly feared by every surface dweller.

"Just some gruel and water, but nothing big. I have a feeling we'll find something, though." He remarked with an easy smile as an answer to her question. He gave her a wink, gesturing with a curt movement of his head. "Come on."

Amal moved out of her cage, spinning the keys around the ring until he deftly maneuvered one of the more narrow keys between his index and middle finger as a makeshift punch-knife. He took the front, to put her at ease. He always kept an eye behind him, however. There was likely going to be a part of him that suspected treachery from her for a long time, but that was only pragmatic.

The rock walls around them were natural, ribbed with ubiquitous wear from ancient water flows and jagged with stalagmites and stalactites at the entryways into other cavernous chambers. After a long, dank tunnel, they found one such passage, yawning before them like a toothed maw. Within they heard the pitter-patter of diminutive feet and small curses in a guttural tongue. Amal paused, holding his hand out to signal her to stop.

He turned to her and placed a finger on his lips, and with a wry smile, he bounded forward. To anyone unused to the dark, it would look as if he just disappeared, however Charynrae's keen eyes saw his skillful and silent movements over the next half a dozen meters, slipping by small pitfalls and imperfections in the floor as if they existed not at all. Amal poked his head out gingerly to view the sight of the next chamber. There was a large firepit near an exit on the far left, and two goblins knelt before it, holding small sticks with rats impaled upon them, chattering to one another as they awaited their meal to finish cooking. Another goblin strode across the room, it's long ears notched and half-cocked like a mongrel dog's. Amal's eyes followed its path, and he smiled broadly. On the right side of the room, past another passageway that led Ibrandul knew where, was a table and a back shelf with a variety of weapons and shields, piled but more or less separate in some small measure of organization.

Long years thieving for Calimport pashas had taught him peripheral vision was often the most important in detection, and so he waited. Amal waited until the lone goblin passed him, and the moment he knew the small, cruel thing could not spot him, he fell upon the thing with one jump. Amal was swift and brutal, holding its mouth closed as he twisted his strong arms sharply, snapping the thing's neck like the swift kill of a pouncing tiger. It fell limp in his hands, leaving only a small groan the other goblins were too busy speaking to hear, or rather acknowledge. Amal slowly placed the goblin on the floor, and then took a small, notched dagger off its belt.

He twirled the weapon in his hand and even flipped it over his head into his other hand, showing off a bit. The small show did not last long, however. He stalked across the floor, and the two goblins did not even know what hit them. With a strong kick, he sent one flying into the firepit to burn alive. It screamed in pain and shock, letting out miserable shrieks as it tried vainly to climb out. The other goblin was too slow to turn, as Amal placed the knife against the thin neck of the goblin before it could grab at the small spear it had on the floor next to its dropped meal.

"Where are we?" Amal demanded, and the goblin snarled at him. Amal grabbed the back of its head and grabbed its spindly hair, shoving it down to knock into the stone floor. He brought it back up and pressed the dagger harder. "Speak! And in a way I can understand, or shall I give you to my friend here?"

It seemed to understand, as it's eyes widened in horror as Charynrae came into view. Even goblins seemed to be intimidated by the sight of drow. "P-Please don't hurts me! I am just here to serve the great masters!"

"I won't ask again. Where are we?"

"Zhengyi's lair! Castle Peri-luss!" It barked. It wasn't until it stammered out the words "V-Vaasa" that Amal had any inkling of meaning from its words. Whoever or wherever they were, apparently they were very far north.

Among the piles of weaponry and shields, Charynrae and Amal would find a number of weapons. In a corner lay an obsidian mace of blacksteel, flanged wickedly. A few longswords and long daggers of middling quality lay together, though one longsword seemed castle-forged of fine quality with a mirror polish. On the table were small, bearded hand axes, usable to throw or keep as one-handed weapons. Across the table's expanse lay a larger battle axe with a spiked back embedded into the wood. A kite shield behind it had the emblem of waterdeep emblazoned upon it, with a steel center and a gilded trim. At the edge of the table was a staff evidently made of darkwood, slightly taller than Amal. A sailor's buckler and a cutlass kept the staff from rolling off. Against the wall, a brass-colored round shield of what looked to be dwarvish work leaned, and beside it stood a leaf-headed spear with wing tips, easily 9 feet in height. Twin daggers of what appeared to be elven make were crossed and sheathed in a black belt, both the belt and dagger hilts were stylized with the symbol of the unicorn. A light crossbow with thirty bolts in a pack beside it sat atop the shelf, and in a leatherbound sheath was a sailor's saber with a kraken upon its hilt. Finally, there was a seemingly iron-made one-handed warhammer with the head wrought in the shape of a red dragon laying atop an iron shield with a similar design, save the shield's emblem was the open maw of the wyrm.

A small, scattered collection of copper and silver coins and a rolled up piece of parchment lay upon the table, scattered and seemingly thought of as useless. After some fishing, they might find two burlap sacks with accompanying straps.

Before Amal decided what to do with the pitiful goblin, a movement from the largest exit drew his eyes. He heard a growl like that of a wolf's, and at the entryway stood a hairy, angry bugbear. Its fingers were long and powerful, and its nails were sharp. He had only seen one once before in his life, the biggest goblinoids usually far north of Calimshan. Broad shoulder, it stood as tall above Amal as the man did to Charynrae. It's yellow eyes went bloodshot as it realized just what was happening, and it grabbed at a wicked, spiked mace at his side.

"Experiments!" It roared, and Amal felt like it was calling both he and the drow that. Either way, the bugbear was ready to charge either Amal or Charynrae.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about the man’s apparent friendliness. He was not overly so, but people were usually coldly polite to her at best on first meeting. And charm was always an excellent cover for duplicity. She had no doubt he had used his to his advantage before. He was at least not entirely unintelligent, keeping watch on her following behind him. It was foolish enough that he had put himself in this position- not that she would have agreed to go ahead of him.

She stopped where directed. She was quite frankly impressed with his movements, especially given the lack of light. Most humans could not manage that level of grace even with light. When it came to killing, he would have not been entirely out of place in a Drow society. Burning alive was a special kind of torture, as was the threat of passing the goblin off to her. They were incredibly cowardly on their own, so to send a sole goblin to a Drow?

Zhengyi’s lair. Castle Perilous. Vaasa.

She locked the information away, but her brow furrowed as she stood there waiting. Had she heard something?

The growl told her she probably had.

Of course there was a bugbear.

“Experiments?” Interesting. While she was not really asking a question of the creature, her voice drew its attention. With a snarl, it ran at her; she let it, quickly springing out of the way just before it could contact her. She lifted a hand and gestured, and four glowing orbs blinked into view, merging into a blob that might be mistaken for a person. It only distracted the brute from her for a moment, but she only needed enough time to sprint behind him to the table with weapons. She was not normally one to wield hand axes, but they were the first things within her grasp.

She ducked down to avoid being struck in the head as the beast swung his weapon, scrambling away from the table so she had more open space to work with. It was like a dance, round and round in circles; he kept trying to hit her, both with his mace and with his empty hand, and she kept dodging just out of his reach. She looked altogether unconcerned, even when those nails came dangerously close. All she had to do was wait. The more frustrated he got, the more chance he would give her the right opening.

And there it was.

He had put a little too much force behind a swing, making him twist just so. She swung and the blade of one axe sliced through the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel as he howled in pain. She struck again with the same one ending up wedged in the back of his other thigh and he collapsed forward.

He scarcely had time to scream before she buried the second axe in the back of his neck.

“Just like home,” she said dryly.

Amal had always been strong and agile, and many thought those were the best qualities when being used as a thug or thief by the guild leaders in Calimport. He had never really thought of having a different life, and honestly he had never really desired one. He was good at what he did, there was good pay with loot or commission, and even the excitement of a life or death situation wasn't off-putting to him. He took what he needed and (mostly) what he wanted, and it had been enough. However, his life had changed drastically over the last half a year, and now he found himself underground watching a drow wield magic and cut down a brutish bugbear with an almost casual indifference. Life was strange that way.

"Whoa," He said, honestly impressed. Most women where he came from weren't warriors and only seldom were they wielders of magic. She could do both skillfully, and while he had thought it likely considering what he knew of dark elves, it was a different thing seeing it for himself. It actually found it attractive, he realized.

The goblin in his grip whined pitifully, having none of the courage to free himself even during the scuffle. Amal had expertly danced out of the way of the charging bugbear, and even though he had thought to aid the dark elf, it seemed like she needn't the help. Luckily, nothing fouler seemed to be skulking further within either of the newer entrances to the chamber. Amal wasn't used to caves but he knew sound carried far and he heard nothing else echoing.

His main attention was on the drow, however. Even as the goblin tried vainly to pry himself out of Amal's strong grip, the thief knocked the goblin out with a single strike of the knife hilt, without even looking at the diminutive creature. He dropped the four foot creature to the ground, and tossed the knife hilt away. "Good job," He told her earnestly with a grin, approaching the dark elf female and the assorted weaponry. "So you've killed these things before?"

The thief looked past her, letting out an appreciative whistle as he let his eyes wander the arsenal. "There are weapons here from Baldur's Gate to Thay..." He marveled, grabbing the sheathed saber and, taking it by the hilt, unsheathed it to admire the craftsmanship. It was longer than a scimitar, but nimble and gently curved. "I figure we question the little one a bit more when he wakes up. Eat the rats they were going to eat, take the silver, and find a way back to some outpost or city." He thought aloud as he appraised the keen bladed weapon. He found that would do for him, and nabbing the belt with the elven daggers, he slid it around his waist and buckled it, finding a space at his hilt for the saber.

"Sound good?"

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. She wasn’t sure if she was grateful for the compliment for something so ordinary to her, but surface customs tended towards showing grace for politeness’ sake. And he did seem very… genuine. She really wasn’t sure what to make of this man. “Yes. Bugbears are usually compliant workers, but they need to be put in their place every once in a while like all slaves. And sometimes they choose not to learn,” she finished with a shrug.

She could admit to herself, at least, that his fascination with the weapons was a little endearing. Now that the immediate threat had subsided, she went to the shelf and pulled down the crossbow and its arrows, setting them on the table to ensure everything was in working order while he did his own inspections. With these and the axes she was set for now, so her next move was over to a wall near where they had entered where she had seen a particular blue moss. Her fingers gently ran over the surface to find a spot to pull it up from. “Your plan… sounds… good,” she said as she worked it off the wall.

She managed to roll up a decent amount and brought it to the table to set down. “This is also edible. It may be an acquired taste, I don’t know. If you do like it, don’t harvest it yourself, because there is another that looks similar that will make you sick. You won’t die, but it will not be pleasant.”

She paused for a moment. She was looking at him, or at least in his general direction, looking conflicted. Finally, she said, “I can show you a few Undercommon hand signs. Whenever you’re ready. It will make it easier to avoid making noise if we need to.”

It did not register with Amal at the moment that he and other humans were the usual slaves for drow. So he merely shrugged and nodded thoughtfully. Still, to take out something so large and ferocious with little to no fear was impressive. As he donned his weapons and grabbed one of the satchels, he idly wished he had a reflective surface to see how he looked. He imagined his mane of dark hair was somewhat disheveled from the number of days he was a prisoner.

He grabbed the two sticks, the crisp rats smelling fairly delectable to his tastes. He had eaten rat plenty before as a child, and it was almost nostalgic smelling the cooked meat once again, after at least fifteen years. But before he could bite into one, he saw the dark elf collecting something off the wall. She approached him and explained herself, presenting him with the blue moss. He was looking forward to the rodents, but he didn't want to offend her, and it was interesting learning about her particular expertise of the underdark.

"Thanks," He said, and gingerly took a bit of the moss to eat. Once it was in his fingers, he didn't hesitate, dropping the handful into his mouth. He blinked, surprised at how sweet it tasted, though that quickly gave way to bitterness, with a pungent, strong taste of raw vegetables throughout his chewing. He swallowed and cleared his throat. Not as good as cooked rat, but it was surprising how much he did not mind living off that, at least if the need arose. "Not bad. Here-"

He presented her with one of the sticks with a rat on it. "I'm not sure how much dark elves appreciate meat, but I heard your surface cousins aren't a fan, which likely means you might appreciate it. After all your tastes are far more refined." It was true he was playing to her prejudices, but honestly he had no surface elf loyalty and this drow was the most help he had ever gotten of one of the fey folk. Plus, while one might survive off moss, meat was still filling and he wanted her to be at tip top shape.

"And yeah, that's smart. I did not know you had handsigns, but I'm ready to learn once we eat a bit." He said. Couldn't be much harder than a thieves cant.

“Thank you,” she said again, this time actually grateful. ‘Sharing’ food, or anything, in the Underdark generally meant humiliating someone with it. “Even noble Drow do not always have the luxury of being choosy with what they eat like surface elves. Rat is more a staple for commoners, but everyone eats it.” She chewed and swallowed the still-warm meat quickly, no savouring of the food to be had. “Most meals centre around mushrooms.”

She paced as she ate, which was nothing unusual, but internally she was also feeling ever so slightly unsettled. She was underneath a castle in Vaasa, with no idea how she had arrived there or who had brought her or why, having to depend on a man and an unconscious goblin that she was only trusting because goblins were too stupid to lie to save themselves. She tried to focus on the cavern itself instead of the nagging feeling of wrongness; learning the walls, walking herself back in her mind to the cell she had woken up in. That almost made it worse, because she did not belong in a surface cave.

“Most people only know a particular few hand signs, but you can have an entire conversation about anything without speaking a word. I’m surprised we kept speaking at all.”

She would not have normally spoken so much of Drows and the Underdark, or at all, really, but it was unusual to have someone take an interest in interacting, period. It had to be feigned, an act to get on her good side- what human called a Drow refined in anything but cruelty? And yet as loathe as she was to admit it, it was nicer than being alone, and there was strength in numbers, so long as no one stabbed the other in the back.

What was it that humans said? Better the evil you know? Which reminded her…

“Is there a name I should call you?” She could just call him human, or not at all, but somehow it seemed too… impersonal. Which didn’t normally bother her.

If she had been a human he would have patted her back, but he had the distinct feeling touching her at all, even in a friendly manner, would end up with him being stabbed. And to be fair, he was sometimes friendly and open so he could potentially kill a mark later without them suspecting. But here, he wasn't planning anything nefarious of the sort. He ate the rat nearly as quickly as her, pulling the little bones out and tossing them onto the cavern floor with nonchalance.

"Hmmm, I guess you would continue talking in case you were not within eyesight of one another?" He said somewhat obviously, though he hadn't the appreciation of how being silent meant staying alive in the millions of caverns in the underdark. Even if moving silently was a major part of his own trade. He planted his elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand as he watched her move back and forth. Her robes were almost mesmerizing, and her hips moved nicely, he thought absently.

However she broke his thought process with her next question, and the thief laughed when she asked him his name, mostly for his own lack of thought on the matter. "You are right, we should know one another a bit better. I am Amal, former thief and bandit under Pasha Buldaro of Calimport." He unsheathed one of the elven knives, running a finger over the keen blade idly. "Now I am a current thief and bandit for myself, or whoever wishes to pay me the most."

The dagger was sharp as obsidian, which suited him. He sheathed the weapon again, and hopped up off the chair. "And I think I am ready to learn a handsign or two after you tell me your name." He declared, running a hand through his thick dark hair before he reached her. The firepit made the room quite cozy, and it made Amal feel a bit more amicable. He was used to the unrelenting heat of the sun in the far south, after all.

Amal glanced at the goblin, but thankfully it was still out cold. He'd wake him once their lessons were over, the cutthroat decided. Then after that, he would probably have to kill the little guy. Nothing personal, but it was just how the world worked.

“Likely more because speech is more easily made intimidating. And because of the possible difficulty of torturing someone while also insulting them.” Well, she supposed it could just be humiliation. Or interrogation. Not that there was always much difference between the three. Everything went hand in hand. “If someone is out of sight in the Underdark, it is better to wait until they are in view again. They may be trying to distract you so they can kill you.”

The longer she spent in the World Above, the more incredulous the Underdark sounded. Of course no one could really be trusted up here, but no one would assume that anyone out of sight was out for murder. Everyone in view was liable to want blood in the Underdark. No exception, even for flesh and blood.

In fact, that might just make one a more enticing target.

She could tell he was watching her, but he wasn’t doing anything, so she paid it no mind until the blade came out. It was not a conscious movement, but she stopped and watched him intently until it went away. “You would be dead right now were I some other Drow, you know.” It was a simple statement of fact, no threat or malice in her voice.

Why was she giving him advice? Maybe he was meant to die at the hands of a Drow. Probably not hers, but only time would tell for that one.

Being a thief and bandit would explain all the scars. “Charynrae. Or Char.” Humans often had difficulty with Drow names, although hers should not have been a particular problem. “I used to be a priestess of Lolth and now I… am on the surface.” It was a complicated situation.

“The first one everyone learns is sound,” she said, gesturing with her hand up by her ear. “Often followed by pointing. To… show where the sound is.”

"I'll remember the warning," He said to her, choosing to not view it for a thinly veiled threat. He let her give her name, and said it aloud for emphasis. "Charynrae... nice name." He said breathlessly, letting it roll off the tongue. "I'll call you your full name, unless we decide to stick around a bit together. Once I call you Char, you'll know you've made it."

He decided to stop messing with her, his smile disappearing as he concentrated on her swift teachings. He mirrored her movements as best he could, repeating them multiple times in repetition. Drow hand signs were exceedingly hard. He wondered why she thought the names were difficult when she was going to show him something as advanced as this. Luckily, he was dexterous with his hands. He had to be in his profession, and he caught on quickly, only fumbling once or twice.

Once they got through nearly ten phrases or words, Amal stretched his fingers by entwining them together and thrusting his hands out. "I think I got the gist, thank you. I would tell you the thieves cant, but it might be more useful in the city rather than for underground stealth." He remarked. As he did so, the goblin stirred. Amal winked at Charynrae, and then grabbed the goblin by the nape of the neck. The little creature groaned pitifully, and when its big eyes opened it was face to face with the drow woman.

It screeched in fright, and Amal whispered in its long ear, quietly menacing. "Answer our questions or she will feed you to a thousand thousand spiders." He promised darkly, smiling wickedly behind the goblin so only Charynrae could see. "How do we get out of here? How many of you are there? How do we get back to civilization?"

He was impressive. Well, she was impressed. There was a reason most Drow only knew a few signs. The human- Amal- managed them with ease, his movements far more fluid than she would have expected after only a short amount of time.

The goblin shut its eyes tightly, flailing uselessly. It shook in fear, a long, high pitched whine emanating from its throat. Its silence so far was perhaps one of the bravest things she had seen from a goblin. It would be for nothing, she was certain; it never took much for these ones to cave.

“Iblith, you really should start talking,” Charynrae said, sounding like she was very much enjoying this. “I will like what happens if you choose not to. You will not. My friend is the only reason you have been shown mercy at all. How… do we… get out?”

As expected, he cracked, letting out a squeak. Goblins were never much fun to interrogate, because they were all too easy. “Th- that way,” he said breathlessly, pointing towards the passageway by the fire pit. “First left! And then, then, then-“ he paused to take a breath, only somewhat successfully. “-straight. Until the cross path. Then the one going down!”

“Down? I am not going to the Underdark. How do we get to the surface?”

“You go down-“

“Down. To the surface?”

“Yes, down, I s- s- swear it! Take the third right and it goes back up! And then just straight! Takes you to- takes you to the east exit!”

“And where do we go from the east exit to reach civilization?”

The goblin had fallen silent again, whimpering and shivering. Charynrae’s hand went up to its face, forcing it in her direction, not that it had its eyes open. “Goblin,” she said, her voice deathly quiet. “I like to take my time. I am giving you the chance to finish this quickly, but I am fast losing my patience. How do we find the city?”

“Map! On the table!” His voice was pitiful. She glanced over to where his shaking hand pointed.

“It has everything we need?”

“Ye- yes! Continue east…”

“How many of you?”

“I do not, I do not know!” He whimpered when her hand squeezed more firmly at his first denial. “The Master does not tell us anything important.”

She let out a sharp sigh. “Who is your master?”

“I cannot say, he will-“

“I am sure there is no punishment he has that will compare to what I will do to you,” she snapped. “Who is he?”

“Master Fel’dregar!”

Charynrae looked over at Amal, locking eyes. “Anything else you might like to know? I don’t know how much more use this one is, but we can always try.”

Amal would have found it humorous that a woman less than a full head shorter than him commanded so much fear and obedience, even if it was a goblin on the receiving end. Only he had to admit she played the part well, or rather, she simply was that way, and he understood why the goblin felt the way it did. He wasn't afraid of her, but had he not allied himself with her and was similarly restrained, he would be intimidated. It piqued his interest, actually. Mostly because she was so unlike all the women he had known.

He stroked his fine chin when she inquired if he had anything further to add. "Is Fel'dregar this Zhengyi?" He pointedly asked the goblin.

It shook its head, ears flapping like leather. "No, Zhengyi isss who the master tries to use. Someone master did call master..." It croaked, and when further prodded, the goblin had nothing further to add save for his whines. Amal guessed the creature really did not know more, and he wasn't surprised it was told nothing concrete about any of the operations or goals of those above. The two satisfied, Amal hesitated a moment, and then snickered, before striking the goblin in the head again as he did last time. The little thing barked in pain, but it was dazed, and he tossed it to the floor.

If Charynrae gave him a questioning gaze, he would give her a grin. "He'll either keep quiet, or he'll have to admit he helped us escape." He explained, before Amal added slyly: "Best to leave him to the mercy of his wonderful master."

Amal swiftly grabbed the map, and tossed one of the satchels to Charynrae to take with them. An easy throw for one of the agile elves. Afterwards, he gave her the handsign that marked he was ready, more for practice than to prove anything to her. The cutthroat drew both of his elven daggers, flipping one easily.

"Shall I follow your lead, and then we switch when we reach the sun? Or do you still not trust me?" He said playfully. Of course she did not fully trust him. Even for someone non-drow, they had just met. However, he felt it was obvious it was in his own best interest to not betray her, even if he would have an easy way to strike her from behind. While he was good in the dark, her eyes were still better than his and he did feel she should take point.

"If we make it out of here alive, I'll buy you a drink..." He shrugged, adding as an after thought: "If the city lets us in, and if you drink that sort of thing, and if we don't freeze to death..."

She caught the satchel with ease. “I will not be trusting you,” she said as if the idea was preposterous. For a Drow, it was. She wasn’t entirely certain their kind had the capacity for trust at all. “But you are also of no concern to me. I will lead.” She had been following him for far too long, and it was better for the both of them if she went first, since she could actually see. She didn’t need him walking into a pit and making noise that might draw anything in the tunnels near.

She nodded at his gesture, readying an axe and turning to the exit. She could not help but be impressed by the ease with which he had picked up the signs- nor could she understand why she couldn’t let the fact go. “If you require more light at any time, tell me. If conditions permit I can create some.”

She gave him a look at his offer. Humans generally had no interest associating with the Drow outside of a handful of situations. “Hm,” was all she had to say. She was not interested in accepting a drink with him, but it could prove useful, so she couldn’t very well refuse it outright, not at the moment. “Why would the city not let you in?” she asked, sounding taken aback. He had been a thief, she supposed, but it seemed he had enough skill that she imagined he would avoid detection.

As she walked, she walked herself through what had happened. They were in some castle- Castle Perilous, in Vaasa. In Zhengyi’s lair. The goblins served a Master Fel’dregar, who served Master Zhengyi… who Fel’dregar was trying to… use?

“I think we were taken by a necromancer.”

He had been on a galley in the Moonsea, going away from Mulmaster. She was near the coast of the Moonsea heading towards Elmwood.

“What is the last thing you remember doing exactly? Before here, I mean."

Amal was often considered somewhat of a maverick, even in the guild. Most thieved because they could do nothing else, or because they were good at it, and others because they had the life thrust upon them. Amal was a product of all three, but most importantly, he enjoyed the life. The danger was addicting, and doing it for so many years had him take other parts of his life with such recklessness. He had been quite serious about the drink, though he doubted she would acquiesce even if she did happen to be on the surface. The reason she was above ground (or, was, before she was thrown down here with Amal) was a curiosity to him, but he decided they could talk more about it later.

He crouched beside her, giving a grin. "I do not know where you are from, but cities on the surface are not always open to all, even humans. Some leave beggars or thieves at the gates, and others require a tax or an endorsement by some lord or patron. And if I am traveling with you, their opinions of drow might extend to their companions as well." He shrugged as if it 'was what it was.'

"Last thing I remember was being on the deck of the ship, and there were pirate sails on the horizon. And some sort of flash..." He whispered, trying to recall what he could. "I had thought it lightning, but now that I think of it, the sky had been clear and blue. Perhaps it was a wizard's lightning, or maybe I was just hit from behind. I don't know. I guess I should thank Ibrandul I wasn't killed or maimed and just brought here."

They crept forward, following the goblin's directions. The cavern was roughly hewed, but easily traversable. They moved in near silence until they reached a fork in the tunnel, and Amal peered down the right tunnel, letting his eyes adjust from the now distant light of the brazier behind them. The air was slightly cooler now, and it irked him to guess the colder it got, the closer they were to freedom. He would need some thicker clothes.

He turned and gave her a roughly displayed hand sign that showed the coast was clear. In the near-darkness, her womanly silhouette looked fetching, almost sensual. He pushed the thought aside, the cool air brushing against his caramel skin bringing him back to reality.

Ah, the opinions on drow. Charynrae had experienced a variety of opinion in her time above ground. There were the cautious, who would be polite in public but concerned behind closed doors. And the outright fearful, who would freeze, or run, as if she were a predator. The firebrands that were convinced that all Drow were the enemy. The curious (mostly children). The ones who desired drow (sometimes, an incredibly easy way to make money).

The precious few that ignored drow the way they ignored everyone else were a treasure.

She had known of some cities not being open to all, but had not realized the extent. "I assumed that only the important cities were done as such," she said. It was no real surprise. The only real difference between beings above and below the surface were that denizens of the Underdark were honest. No creature of the shadows sincerely pretended to be worthy of trust. Humans, elves, what-have-you on the other hand- they would swear up and down they would never do you harm while plotting how to stab you in the back.

Even though she had seen many since leaving the Underdark, it took a moment for her to picture it: blue sky. Faerie fire could be blue, so it was one of the easier colours to place. Purple and green, too, and she knew yellow well only because it was almost painful to look at in many of its forms. She could spot the faintest difference in shades, but naming the tone of a thing was always a challenge. There was little variation in colour in the dark, and so it was not used as often to describe things, nor did it have to be as precise as it sometimes was on the surface.

She pondered their situation as they walked in silence. She had been walking in the shadows that fell across a wide path in a forested area, near a stream, but not the open water. She, too, remembered a flash; it had blinded her. And then… nothing.

“Are you not cold, Amal?” she asked, glancing back at him. He was incredibly bare for a human in these conditions; perhaps his bulk helped ward off the cold, but usually they all bundled up regardless. Her eyes flitted across the scars on his chest before she turned back to lead the way again. Scars in the Underdark brought mixed feelings to many, a sign that you weren’t fast enough, but you had survived.

Amal gave a wide grin that showed his white teeth. "The important cities? Depends on who you ask." He said, though he understood her point. His point, however, was that even the lesser cities did their best to emulate the bigger ones like Calimport and Baldur's Gate, and whatever city they came across in the frozen north likely tried to treat itself as the pinnacle of civilization. Easy to look good when next to a frozen moor or a burning farm, ravaged from an orc raid.

The two skulked along in silence, until Charynrae halted her thoughtful musings to pose a question to him.

He stopped, and his smile slipped away when she had used his name, and what's more asked how he felt. It was unexpected, even after they had introduced themselves to one another. It almost seemed familiar, and it caught him off guard. He shrugged his broad shoulders. "A bit. I usually can handle bad conditions, even cold ones. But I think before we leave I'll need something more than my vest to keep me well for a few days. You likely might as well, I think." He reminded her.

His words were suddenly caught off, when they heard a low, heaving growl down the tunnel. Instantly Amal had his knives out, swinging around Charynrae to land in a crouch, ready to spring at the slightest hint of danger. But nothing appeared. Instead, they saw a faint light, and a vast shadow gliding across it, along the tunnel wall. Amal crept forward quietly, one dagger flipping into a back-handed grip, and he peered around the corner.

The next chamber was larger than the last, and far colder. Amal first noticed barrels upon barrels stacked in the far right corner, with blankets haphazardly draped over them in a mockery of concealment. Closer, he saw another tunnel leading back into the cavernous underground at his right, and a few crates placed there, with a few coins and a dagger atop them. To the left were two orcs, both arm wrestling for a slab of meat they had between them, grunting and showing their tusk-like teeth, porcine yellow eyes narrowed in effort. They weren't the gravest concern, however. Beside them, just settling down to take a load off, was a massive ogre. It squatted on the ground and picked at its teeth, huge club now resting on the ground beside it.

But the most important detail of the room? The large oaken door, half opened directly across from the tunnel Amal and Charynrae hid themselves in, and the light of day poured into the room.

“Of course. I meant cities that are trade centres,” she said. Humans had a peculiar habit of apologizing when in her situation, even when there was no reason for remorse. Charynrae did not apologize.

She would have offered her cloak had she thought of it earlier. Next time. (Why did she think there would be a next time?) Having lived in a cavern most of her life, and being a drow, she knew the cold would bother her less than her companion. Much less, if his skin was any indication. Humans only became that colour in the sun. He was right, though, that she would need something more substantial if they were to make their escape.

Despite her time aboveground, Charynrae still had much difficulty with the sun. Her eyes narrowed against the daylight, her vision slowly, very slowly adjusting. Fortunately, the things-in-the-room were moving; that was always the first to adjust. She took no more than a quick glance around the corner after discovering the light.

Two orc. One ogre. Correct? she signed to Amal. She could not be entirely sure, but context suggested to her that she was indeed correct. Anywhere to lead them? If she could draw a couple of them off, they might be able to take out the one left behind. She carefully pulled out her crossbow, her movements almost silent. That was supposing someone stayed to watch the door. A distraction would still give them the upper hand.