As Fyr kept working on the mushrooms, he thought of having spotted something in the far corner of his vision. The familiar sight of Dalious and someone else behind him, probably Cicero ? He didn't turn his head to take a closer look for losing focus of his actual work would only have had potential to trigger the guard's attention. If he could see his fellows, so the guards could too if given a hint and that was the last thing Fyr wanted to happen.
For him, it was pretty clear what was going to happen at some point: an attack. And it was also clear to him that he'd help once the time had come, but he didn't know whether it would happen now or anytime later. Somehow he'd have to communicate that he was ready...
For a couple of seconds he just kept digging and hacking through shrooms until there was a particularly shiny sample in his hands along with some others. Sorting through these weird plants also always meant throwing away those obviously unsuitable due to already being in a state of decay or the like, and pretending that he was just messing up something with his gross motor skills, Fyr tossed the shiny example away into the depths of the cavern. The depths pointing somewhat towards Dalious direction, that was. Not far enough for anyone observing it getting the man himself into view, but far enough for Fyr to have an excuse to rise to his full height and walk over to pick it up again. As he did, he blinked several times hoping that Dalious would both see and interpret it correctly.
Gwyn's brow furrowed in concentration as she prepared her spell, waiting for Ashe to press down on the lever far enough. Wait for it...Soon as the weight was balanced right, Gwyn froze it fast. The door opened up behind the lever arm. "Let's go!" Then rushed for it, sure her companion would follow right behind.
Dalious pointed out Fyr to Cicero. "That one, the large bald one...Fyr I believe they called him. He doesn't much talk but I've heard stories from the others that he once killed two guys with his thumbs. His f*ckin' thumbs, can you believe that sh*t!? I believe the stories cause I also heard them from the guards. Man's built like a bull. Anyway they didn't scold the lad cause he works so good. I've spoken to him once or twice and he gives me vibes that he'll help us out. One time I think he even laughed at one of my jokes...or at least he chuckled...eh, it was a sly grin but who's judging?"
When he and Fyr looked right at one another, Dalious gave a soft and polite wave. He tried to give a hand signal to the worker but his gaze ventured off. "He saw us right?? He's not ignoring me or something!?"
As Fyr tossed a mushroom closer toward them and began blinking as he went to pick it back up, Dalious raised a brow. "What's he...? Does he have a fly in his eyes or something, the hell!?" It took a moment longer but Dalious just then figured out he was trying to tell them something though he didn't know what. Dalious turned back to Cicero and took a deep breath. "I have a terrible plan. See that hallway over there? There's a spike trap in there, a relatively newly built one thanks to Finny. I'll distract them all and run in there, hopefully some chase me. I'll leap over the trap with this spear, giving you time to kill as many as you can from behind. Try to work your way to Fyr and the others, I'll double back and we take out what's left. Sound good?"
Dalious didn't even wait for a response, he simply rushed out and made his way toward the hallway yelling and singing an old pirate shanty as he went, "What would you do with a drunken sailor, what would you do with a drunken sailor, oh what would you do with a drunken sailor early in the morning? Put 'em in the brig until he's sober, puttem in the brig until he's sober, oh put him in the brig until he's sober early in the morn." He had reached the tunnel hallway and ran in, not knowing if any were giving him chase but it sure felt like they were on his heels. "Way, hay and up she rises! Way hay up she rises, way hay up she rises early in the..." Dalious reached the spike trap, dug the spear head deep into the dirt before him, and attempted to pole vault over while screaming "morninnn ahgghhh!!"
wyn's brow furrowed in concentration as she prepared her spell, waiting for Ashe to press down on the lever far enough. Wait for it...Soon as the weight was balanced right, Gwyn froze it fast. The door opened up behind the lever arm. "Let's go!" Then rushed for it, sure her companion would follow right behind.
Ashevelen pressed the level until it arrived at perfect balance. A feat which was very easy now that they knew exactly how much they've got to press. In a matter of seconds, the weight froze off and Ashe removed her hand even faster. As soon as the door opened, Gwyn went through. The ice started to melt quickly and Ashe knew she didn't have much time. Putting everything she had, she ran to the door and went through before it managed to close and seal her fate.
Taking a deep breath, she looked at Gwyn and smiled, behind her mask. " Good job. I'll make sure to share your tent when we're outside of this place if you can make things so cold, so fast. "
Cicero listened to Dalious intently. As he did, the one Dal called "Fyr" went to pick up a shroom and blinked several times. It was obvious he was signaling them he was aware of their presence. Dalious eventually figured it out and before too long the crazy pirate blabbed his whole plan and made a break for a hidden spike trap.
"There he goes.." Cicero muttered plainly. "Dear Lord make this work." Then Cicero unsheathed his dagger and waited for all eyes to be on Dalious.
It didn't take long, his inspiring sea shanty had the entire workforce and guards' eyes trained on him. Some of the men even joined in at the chorus.
The slaver leader yelled furiously, "Don't just stand there! TAKE HIM!!" Snapping out of it 4 guards ran after Dalious with various makeshift weapons in hand. The leader remained with three others to keep an eye on the rest.
Cicero wasn't about to wait around. He attempted to silently run toward the nearest enemy and shank him before anyone knew what was happening.
1d20+2=12, Success
The man fell with a thud, Cicero's dagger retracted from the man's back.
The other's quickly scrambled into position. The gang leader called, out, "Where are all these rats coming from!? KILL HIM!!" His voice was hoarse from yelling so often. But Cicero could hear a twinge of fear under his bravado, "I'll give you the same chance that I gave your fellow back there. Drop your weapons and I'll let you live."
The man was taken aback by the statement, "You would command ME?!! FINISH HIM!" The other two hesitantly headed toward Cicero, their pick axes at the ready. Cicero glanced at Fyr to see if the others would come to his aid, "If the slaves don't take freedom for themselves, who could? Cicero thought to himself.
1d20+2=9, Fail
Meanwhile, Dalious found himself leaping over the spike trap, but with his rib broken from earlier, the pain was too great. He ended up missing a clean landing on the safe side. instead he had to grab the ledge on the opposite side. His right foot ended up getting stabbed with a spike point. The pain was excruciating. The four who followed him stopped abruptly before falling in. They saw Dalious dangling from the other side and laughed hysterically. "The fool falls in his own trap! Lucky we didn't go in after him eh fellas?"
What would the pirate do in his precarious situation?
Dalious didn't even feel the pain upon impact, his adrenaline enough for him to hoist himself up on the other side of the spear trap. Then it hit hard. A sheering pain in his right foot, looking down at it he could see it was covered in his blood. The pain became so overwhelming that he just stayed there for the moment, listening to the four guards laughing and making fun of him. After all, he was supposed to distract as many of them as he could to let Cicero do his thing. This wasn't how he foresaw it going down but nonetheless it was kind of working.
The pirate just sat there holding his foot and started yelling, "WHYY!? WHYYYY!!?? F@#$ING HELL, SON OF A B/+#$, MOTHER &$$&&#¥€√, SEVEN F&$##--&$ HELLS. SO STUPID!! IM SO F$#@&ING STUPID! SON OF A &$@$&!!! @$&&$#_$#@#_&&$##_--++-$-(+&$$_-!!!!!!"
Movement
1d2=1, heads=success
He was then able to get up, using the spear he somehow still held as a cane. He began simply limping away, still swearing at himself under his breath.
Ashevelen stopped quickly as soon as she heard the guards. She quickly mock-tied Gwyn with a wink with her rope, arranged her clothes with a few slaps.
Stepping forward into the light, she pulled Gwyn and shouted a few curse words towards her.
"Hey boys! Just hear this. I just got hired and look what I caught on my first shift! This one looks quite nice, eh? Maybe we can have some fun later on with her. " said Ashe with a laugh as she approached the guards.
As Fyr was about to walk back from his current position towards the spot of mushrooms he had been working on previously, he could suddenly hear something very fancy to say the least. What was that ? Someone drunk singing about someone being drunk or just some madman ? Only a few moments later he realized how daring and elaborate of a diversion maneuver this probably was meant to be -- and that this was his chance to start hitting back.
"Slaughter that elephant before he stampedes!" was the order blasting through the chamber and, as Fyr's eyes had finished their survey of the situation and locked onto the first guard, the latter had already found a companion to change course with in order to attack him.
What was he supposed to do now ? Try to fight two men with better equipment with a primitive mushroom chopping tool tied to his wrist ? Not the worst idea given the overall situation probably, but Fyr thought about something else. His already rather enormous chest started to swell to proportions that made the dilapidated piece of cloth wrapped around it burst in a few places, then he released the inhaled air in the form of a shout.
The two guards raised their weapons just in order to hold their ears and almost stopped dead on their path. Even as the scream itself was over, they still did not dare to pick up momentum so fast again. At the same time the foreign words had alerted some of Fyr's 'coworkers' as well. They were anything but vigorous, but Fyr made a rather unmistakable, pointing gesture towards them anyway so the two men would help attack the guards he had to deal with. They weren't any better equipped than he was, but not worse either. In response to his show of courage, one of the men came to Fyr’s aid stating, ”Freedom, or death.”
Cicero bided his time. That gang leader had his own long sword in his grasp. The same one that was used to frame him for the death of the King of Alvion. It was a formidable weapon. Though he could tell, the user was not accustomed to wielding it. His form was awkward and sloppy. Perhaps Cicero could bait out an attack and disarm him with one clean strike from his dagger.
He knew one thing, being struck with his finely forged long sword would be bad news for any unarmored foe. Including himself.
Cicero changed his stance and raised his weapon hand to bait a strike toward his own midsection. If the opponent went for it, Cicero would attempt to lunge for the opponent's hands with his own dagger.
1d20+3=19, Success, Disarm
vs
1d20+3=10, Interrupted/Fail
The trick worked. The Slaver leader swung horizontally at the opening. Cicero lunged forward in perfect step opposite of the man's swinging side. With one hand he shoved the opponent's blade downward. Then he plunged his dagger straight into the slaver's hand.
The man grunted in pain. He immediately dropped the weapon and clutched his left hand. Blood streamed from the wound. Then the gang leader backed away and drew out a dagger of his own. He called out, "Help me!!" The duo focused on Fyr came to his aid, flanking him. There was no telling if the men down the hall heard the call or not. However, if they didn't reduce the number of opponents, their little group would be overwhelmed in short order.
Cicero picked up his long sword. It felt perfectly balanced in his hands, "Welcome home." He said quietly. Suddenly he lunged to the enemy left of the gang leader.
1d20+3=10 vs 1d20+1=6, Success
The slaver raised his weapon to defend himself, but it was too late. Cicero's blade cleaved through him diagonally from left to right. The man keeled over in a splatter of blood.
Fyr had some reason to feel happy that the two scoundrels changed course again, but it was beyond obvious that he needed to help Cicero now -- long sword and an injured gang leader or not. He could certainly have done with a bit less of a bloody mess unfolding in front of his eyes though as the knight's weapon ended one of the men's lives..
Attack roll 1d20+1 = 17 against defense roll 1d20+1 = 4: Success
Fyr lunged at one of the other individuals and rammed his left fist into the rib cage from halfway behind. As the air was forced out of the man's lungs, so did a loud cracking noise announce the breakup of one of his bones there and he stumbled onto the ground in agony. Fyr followed behind with a downwards kick to smash more things as the opportunity was there until he was sure that the man would at least not move for a while. In fact, the slaver died fairly quickly to an array of internal injuries.
Cicero attempted a strike at the gang leader, only hit air. In response, the gang leader closed the distance on Cicero with his dagger. Cicero pivoted away causing the blade to merely graze his armor. ”Little help?!” Cicero chuckled nervously.
Fyr was quick to respond. He swung at the gang leader, but ended up striking the man's armor, bruising his fist more than hurting him. His fellow slave used Fyr’s opening to spartan kick the leader over.The man was stunned.
That's when the other four slavers arrived from chasing Dalious. Fyr lobbed a large stone at two of them, missing. His ally threw a rock and missed as well.
Cicero was ready for them as they flanked their leader. Cicero feinted a stab toward the leader. As one of the men went to block the blow, Cicero turned his stab into an overhead slash. The blade connected, cutting the man deep from his left shoulder down into his right leg. The slaver collapsed with a sharp cry of pain. However, the other man swung his shovel in response. The end struck Cicero in the side of his armor. He grunted from the blow. Nothing fatal, but definitely painful. The gang leader began to hobble away from the troop slowly down the hallway.
The other two slavers struck at Fyr and his companion. The one directed at Fyr narrowly missed in the melee. Unfortunately, Fyr's ally was not so blessed. The other slaver smashed his head in with a shovel, killing him instantly.
Cicero struck back at the opponent who had hit him. His blade cleaved through him from left to right. The man fell in two halves, dead.
Meanwhile, Fyr wrestled a shovel away from one of the men with brute force, easily overpowering him.
In the chaos, the gang leader made a break for the hallway Dalious had run earlier.
In sight of their former oppressor fleeing, the other slaves ambushed the two last guards. Swarming them. Pulling them to the ground. Spitting, kicking, punching them down. Screaming, yelling. The days, months and years of abuse were finally reaping something each slave had inside. Revenge. They were merciless. The slaver's cries were completely ignored and with good reason. Cicero looked on grimly. He would not intervene.
Fyr decided not to intervene in an attempt to stop the carnage for he felt it would have been pointless. He had been able to feel that kind of anger himself, maybe the only reason he was not joining them was that he had not been here yet for so long. He did not force himself to look at the mess in its full, bloody length either however, but rather focused on his hearing: footsteps becoming less and less loud and suddenly no longer accompanied by the sound of crushed gravel reflected from solid stone walls. The gang leader… he was still on the run and apparently had left the large cavity they were all standing in at this very moment!
They could not allow that scoundrel to escape… Yet as Fyr was about to accelerate his bulk towards the sound’s origin, loud screams told a story about there no longer being any need for a rush. The voice unmistakably was that of the gang leader and equally unmistakable was the great amount of pain in it. Fyr would know of the spike trap they had placed earlier. The one who abused them was the victim of his own folly.
Gwyn blinked, then swiftly fake struggled to play along.
The guard nodded approvingly. "She would at that. Still, have to get her checked in with the other prisoners. Go ahead and meet up with Damian at the dungeon."
New doors to the left of Gwyn and Ashe opened, revealing two other guards and a long flight of stairs downward.
Dalious was dragging his hurt foot, he used the spear as a cane and kept moving forward. It hurt... Looking behind him, he saw a trail of his own blood.. His mind was moving, hallucinating possibly. Everything felt surreal.
"Why do you keep going?" the spear suddenly spoke. Dalious furrowed his brows, unsure if that had actually happened or not. He kept slowly trudging on..."What's the point?" the spear seemed to ask.
"I'm in my prime spear, at least until you started talking! Also you have a literal point! Dalious took a pause and stared at the weapon. "Anything else on your mind?" he asked.
...Nothing. As if it never happened.
"Well, good conversation I suppose...you did f*ck me over on that jump. It...it really hurt landing on that spike."
As he reached some stairs he could do nothing but look intently at the light coming from above. "Am I dead?" he wondered.
The gang leader's screams still echoed through the caverns as if trying to resist the silence that would inevitably set on now that the fighting was over and so many people were either injured, dead or just tired. Fyr's mind too took a noticeable while until noticing just how annoying that yelling in agony was. A short nod towards Cicero and the others later, Fyr was on his way to investigate.
What he found was a scene that would have invoked his utmost pity had it not also been such a striking case of retributive justice. The gang leader, pinned down by one of the spike traps and seriously bleeding by means of yet another hole -- this time in his foot. A bit of a more close scrutiny of the situation, much more relaxed than ever before for Fyr was absolutely certain the other man could not really move anymore, revealed however that there was no immediate threat to the man's life.
Good!
"Would you like me to break your ankle and amputate your foot using my bare hands and this shovel or do you prefer just telling me where to find my axe ?" Fyr gently bumped against the gang leaders injury with his foot, causing the screaming to intensify momentarily. "Just kidding. The amputation part, I mean. Not the axe part! I also want the rest of my stuff back and that very much includes my freedom, you know ? And perhaps something else to eat than those damn mushrooms!"
Oh just how much he would have liked to start force-feeding the man with those shrooms until his belly was bloated like a large cushion! Fyr, at this point, felt as if having to hunt down whatever wild animal this desert could offer once out just to dry its meat in the open sun and eat it raw! The lousiest lump of bread was more preferable than just one more mushroom meal!
"Do you really want to give up your life for this ? Your foot... that'll buff out, I can tell that. But only if you make me hesitate to just crush you to death! Where is my stuff and where's the way out of here ?"
Cicero followed the large tattooed man who had come to his aid. Despite his apparent malnurishment, he was a hulking figure. His bone structure was built like an ox. He began interrogating the gang leader with force. Cicero stood alongside the man over a large spike trap. Dalious was no where to be seen. He must have leapt the thing? As he looked he spotted blood on the opposite side, but Dalious wasn't there. "He must have barely made the ledge." Cicero thought to himself.
In response to Fyr's questioning the former gang leader replied through groans of pain, "I don't have your stuff..the demonfolk have it all! I'm just tasked at keeping you all in line..Please..don't kill me. I'm trapped here like the rest of you."
Cicero scoffed, "So that gives you the right to abuse these men? It would almost be a mercy to put you out of your miserable existence. Though, I'll leave it to you." He nodded to Fyr. "Say, how should we get across?"
Ashevelen pulled on Gyw's rope and guided her down towards the doors.
"Thank you boys! I'll get her over to Damian right now. " said Ashe as they went down the stairs.
As soon as she was sure there were no guards around, she leaned towards Gywn's ear and whispered "Good that we didn't attack, 4 guards. A hard fight. Let's keep up with this charade until we find our people. ". Before making another step, Ashe broke an arrowhead off and gave it to Gywn. "Watch your hands. Don't get cut on it. If you see an oportunity, pretend to trip towards a guard. "
To say that Fyr was disappointed by the gang leader's statement would have been a serious understatement, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Even when trying to forget about the unfortunate circumstances the man was currently in, he still looked far too humble and miserable to be the one actually in control of everything here. Whether torturing of any kind would be able to squeeze some information out of him still ? Fyr deemed they simply did not have the time for that.
He just ignored the gang leader, leaving the latter to his own devices. The trap would take care of him, he would not be able to interfere with their escape anymore. Just one more thing: A firm fist against the man's head knocked him out of action, thereby preventing any further screaming that could attract more unwanted attention.
"You want the man's dagger ? Could also hand it over to somebody else. I for myself will take this thing here." Fyr asked Cicero and pointed towards a pick axe laying nearby. With some imagination that thing could maybe feel relatively close to a real axe -- and it certainly had killing potential even if used without pinpoint precision.
Fyr looked at the trap, then back into the cavern behind them. There were plenty of stones and plenty of people around, they could fill up the trap maybe. That however would take time, too much time even given the workforce available. One of the liberated slaves had already paid attention to the situation without a word however and presented Fyr with a bunch of wooden boards long enough to cover the gap with the spikes underneath.
It was a bit of a dangerous looking operation though, at least in Fyr's case. The board was not really broad enough to cover his feet in their entirity, requiring a bit of balancing instead of casual walking, and it sagged a lot with his first step onto it already. He made it by avoiding to step right into the middle, but one thing was for sure: Cicero would have it significantly easier!
The spear wasn't talking. He was sure now...was he? Yes. Maybe. Pull it together. It feels wrong...but it's reality. Dalious sat at the beginning of these stairs and rested in thought. He brought himself back to reality then... some characters were atop the stairs in the light. A soft voice spoke his name, her face disguised by the darkness and the light.
The pirate squinted up at her, he just stared until her face came clearer and clearer. It was Gwyn, and if Cicero hadn't told him earlier that she was here he might've mistaken her for an angel. Not that he believed in such a thing anyway.
"Gwyn!!! Seventeen hells it's good to see a pretty face amongst the muck I've been left in for the past while! I mean, these bastards don't even have mirrors here. How am I to look presentable in such times?" he shouted, some of his tone sounded as if he were in agony. "Listen love, there's a few things we need to discuss quickly...most importantly you look great. Have you changed your hair? My gods you've been blessed. Are you single still or...oh gods is...he...a thing?? Hymmn. Fuck, damns it this is not the time for small talk Gwyn. My gods I need you to focus. So, I just escaped those bastards but Cicero was with me, I think he died. Anyway, my foot landed on a spike and I'm literally dying right now, do you still do that thing you do with magic healing?? If not, I'm going to die. And if I do, please tell your children about me. With Cicero...your Cicero children..maybe name a few after me. Maybe.."
He laughed, but the pain he was in cut it short. It was then he realized that there was another. He squinted a few moments until he realized Gwyn was actually being held captive by a guard. Dalious gripped the spear tightly and pointed it forward.
"You!!he shouted at the other. "You shall not pass!. He tried to look tough enough but his pain was evident, and all he could do was point his weapon forward as menacingly as he had the stamina in him to project.
...how he hadn't noticed the guard before...he was slipping. He was...dying, he thought. Everything felt surreal...
Cicero followed Fyr over the planks. They held his weight surprisingly. Afterward, the other slaves began taking everything of value from the former slavers. Including the leader.
Fyr and Cicero could here his pleas behind them as they made their way toward the stairs that Dalious walked. They could tell by the droplets of blood that dotted the sand.
The gang leader would not last long Cicero surmised. As they continued, Cicero remarked to Fyr, "The name is Cicero Bladewalker. I've since given up trying to hide my identity. What is your name?"
Ashevelen was on guard as they descended down below, her senses primed to as much as they could. Hand gripped on the hilt of her sword, ready to strike at anyone that would see through their ruse.
A figure a bit below appeared, Ashe could almost feel the blood leaking from them. The person started talking, a never-ending triade of words which Ashevelen fully ignored as she stepped down a few flights of steps sword pointed at the person's throat. Before she could strike him down, his clothes and general bearing combined with Gwyn's words "Dalious?!" made Ashe stop before she could strike him down.
" Friend of yours? " said Ashe barely looking towards Gwyn. Her sword was still pointed at Dal's throat.
"Fyr." he answered with his usual, deep voice. "Fyr Harnann, but you can just call me Fyr." Saying this, Fyr blinked towards the knight. He really didn't care that much about his name and that was not just because he had learned a long time ago to stop fighting the fact that most people outside his homeland seemed to get the pronounciation wrong.
"Mind if I say that the name 'Bladewalker' suits you ? Given your admirable fighting style, I mean. I couldn't do that!" In front of his inner eye, Fyr imagined him even trying, coming to the conclusion that he'd already fail at gripping anything more delicate than a two-handed weapon because the handle might be a bit too small.
"Any suggestions on which route to take ? I could try to make a good guess, but that might take a few moments." Some sort of fire would definitely be good. Even a very small flame would move in the wind and tell where the latter came from. In any closed system of caverns, fresh air could only come in from one place: the exit!
