• Closed • [Krome] Illegal Fighting Pits

[Warren]

☯ Common ☯ Irarian ☯

2nd Trial of Ymiden, Arc 717

The rumbling of voices reverberated down the rock hallways, sounds of clashing iron and grunts accompanied the noise and, roused the body of a being from the itchy confines of a bed of hay. Blue eyes bore out beneath thick lashes, staring at the wall in front of them as there was nothing more to do but wait. Wait for the inevitable.

That’s the way it was here, Warren found. There was nothing you could do but wait for when they called upon you to fight for your life with weapons so broken, it was better just to use your hands. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew the spectators were people not to be trifled with, and probably folks in positions of power too. He could tell because they didn’t roar with excitement the way normal spectators preferred, and from the glimpses he caught beyond the cage he fought in, there were guards positioned next to every exit and armored to the teeth.

What place was this?

The season before, Warren had been casually resting next to a fire, hunting down a group of bandits who’d stolen a number of children from settlements outside Yurrova when he was knocked unconscious and stolen off to a ship. Weeks had passed while he lived in the bottom holding cells of the ship, crammed in with a number of other people who’d been kidnapped or taken prisoner. Little by little, people had started dying from lack of food and sickness. The sailors manning the vessel never ever bothered to venture below for the bodies and instead, left them there to rot.

By the time Warren got to wherever he was, he was thin and weak. At least, he reassured himself, he was fed everyday.

Groaning softly, the man pushed himself up from the floor so that his aching body rested against the bumpy rock wall of the cell. On the right hand side of the cell were scratch marks that ticked the number of days he’d been there, while in the front and left parts were iron bars that stretched from the low ceiling to the ground with just enough space to slip an arm through. The wall was covered in tick marks, suggesting the man had been there for quite a while.

Reaching a hand up, Warren rubbed callused fingers against aching temples. Yesterday he’d participated in another cage match and barely escaped with his life. They’d pitted him against a brute of a Lotharro, someone he thought was purchased specifically to kill Kade, but in the end, a headbutt to the right part of the man’s temple had daze him enough to bash his skull in with the club. Warren had won, much to the disgruntled silence of his spectators but he supposed he did something right because the guards had come in a little while later and threw him back into his cell.

He’d fallen asleep shortly after, only to wake with his body feeling as though it would fall apart. He was bruised up and his lip, nose, and eyebrow were busted open with caked blood stuck to his purple and red flesh. Even though he looked broken, he held the demeanor of a fighter.

The sound of plated footfalls echoed down the hall until two guards walked by his cell with another prisoner in hand. This one was female and appeared to struggle within their hold. It took some effort, but the two managed to open the cell and toss her inside before quickly closing and locking it. Words muttered from one of the men’s mouth, he spat in her direction then, frustrated, walked off. Warren said nothing but watched from shadows within his cell, looking then between the bars to the woman that just arrived.

[Navyri]

⌘ Common ⌘ Rakahi ⌘ Euthic Sign ⌘ Grovokian ⌘

They gripped her arms, digging their dirty nails into her skin and twisted, holding her hostage. Navyri bucked against their hold, trying to tear away and miraculously throw them off balance. Maybe she could knock them back, run to the exit... No. There were too many. Her bright eyes tried to scan the grimy cell, her night vision allowing her to see each detail with disgusting clarity. She sought out an exit strategy but found none. What other tactics could she use? Weaknesses to exploit? Could she seduce one of them? As she was in thought, she scanned the faces of the other prisoners, most of which smelled terrible.

No... She certainly didn't belong here. She dragged her feet, hands trying to pry the rope tightly bound her manicured hands. Her pointed nails clawed furiously at the twine, and she hooked her boot on her intended cell to buy her time as they tried to pull her free, one of the men swinging at her leg. She unhooked her toe, just before his strike connected with her. The rope was snagging; loosening. So close... She was so close-

“Wait, w-” she tried to twist from their grip again, ramming her back into an armored chest before the cell door was open and she was tossed inward. She yanked her arms, tearing at the tattered rope and pulling it enough so that it slid from her wrists. By the time she was whirling around, hands-free, the cage was now locked and her heart sunk.

Until the guard spit at her.

Navyri gasped, jumping back as the gelatinous muck shot through the opening of the bars and barely missed her. Some spittle flecking upon her arm and she shot out quickly, clawing like a cat at one of the shoulders of the men as he turned. Her sharpened nails did little damage to his armor, causing light marks to slide proudly down the leather, and she grabbed the cell, putting her face to the metal, “Better keep your lanterns lit, boys,” she purred threateningly, prowling behind the bars, walking with them as they moved, “We are not so easily kept when night falls.”

We. Naerrik. Shadow monsters. She watched them hesitate, how they exchanged nervous glances, remembering the horror stories of their childhood. It was hard to convince people she was something other than a terror, but always easy to utilize the rumors and fear for her advantage. Now that she saw their doubt, she had an advantage, even if small. Navyri glanced around to see if there were any windows, still leaning against the cell bars as she examined her surroundings. Pretty soon the footsteps of the guards faded, along with their nervous whispers, and her bright eyes snapped upwards, looking over at her audience. A large battered man watched her, his blonde hair matted. Behind him, along the walls were markings signifying his time... Assuming it was right, he had been here for quite some time.

Poor, pitiful fool.

Had she not been in a similar predicament, she would have looked at him with disdain, and ignored his presence. Now she returned his gaze, her own lined with dark kohl – the only makeup that touched her face. How did she appear to him, she wondered. Was she as sad looking as he? Surely not. Her clothes were fresh and her hair was washed. This had been... an unfortunate turn of events and a bad bet. She would get out... Eventually.

She closed her eyes, listening, searching for the pull of consciousness that was not her own. When she found it, she smiled mischievously, knowing that she still had one card up her sleeve so to speak, and slid her hands down the bars, stepping backward to the far corner, where she could feel the shadows kiss her shoulder blades.

“How often do they patrol us?”

[Warren]

☯ Common ☯ Irarian ☯

Warren watched the scene with mild interest, his eyes moving with the forms of the men. They seemed unnerved by her hissed threat and went about lighting an additional torch that sat on the wall by her cell and brightened nearly the entire area except for the farthest corners. Even though there was darkness, it wasn't enough to truly transform the woman into something dangerous. They checked the other torches, making sure they had enough oil to remain light for a while before venturing back down the hall they'd come.

Settled within a small bed of hay, azure eyes glance back to the woman and found her staring back, sliding from the bars in a somewhat tempted manner. She looked like a cat, prowling to inflict pain, as if that would free her from the cage and her anger. Warren knew better and when she asked about the guards patrol, the man closed his eyes and tilted his head back, a small chuckle echoed from his lungs and bounced against the chamber.

“You'd be better to conserve your strength.” He told after a pause. “They know you'll try to escape. They won't make it easy.”

He knew because he'd tried more times than he could recall. “What's your name?” Warren asked. “How'd you get here?”

[Navyri]

⌘ Common ⌘ Rakahi ⌘ Euthic Sign ⌘ Grovokian ⌘

His voice was deep and reverberated around the room, and she cocked her head slightly as she saw his amused smile, “Well, they don't have to make it easy,” she mused, admiring her cell and all the damp flooring that came with it. Was that blood or piss? She narrowed her eyes, stepping cleanly over it and headed towards her own sleeping area, kicking the straw and half expecting a rat to go scurrying across the floor, “Only possible. We have a terrible tendency to want things we’re not allowed to have,” The Naerrik lowered herself, squatting as she inspected the floor for bugs and tentatively pressed a hand against the makeshift ‘mattress’, “Call it a character flaw, if you will.”

The dark haired woman frowned, and shuddered, trying not to imagine all the filth that had laid where she was about to, and ever so carefully began undoing the laces of her boots. The blondie was right, unfortunately. She would need information before she could really escape, and the best way to do that was to buy time. Navyri slid upon the straw cot (if you could call it that) and removed one boot and then the other. She behaved as if she was in a shoddy inn and not a prison cell, tucking them at the edge and lying back to lounge.

Navyri tried to listen to the consciousness again, to feel one of Delroth's gifts, and thought she caught glimpses of the building outside. Just a brief flash of an avian view, and then she was back in the cell, hearing two questions directed at her, “Hm?”

She rolled on her side, propped up on her elbow, as she crossed her ankles, “So curious,” The Naerrik smiled slowly, saying her name clearly, “Navyri.” Often times, given her youth in Augiery and then her later teenage years travelling, she often had a soft, unrecognisable accent that made it hard to pin down exactly where she was from, “Isn't there a rule? You know... You're not supposed to ask why someone's in a prison? Be careful. You wouldn't want to get shanked in the shower.”

Navyri was teasing him (of course, he didn't get to take showers. Just look at him). With a soft sigh, she was about to roll onto her back until she remembered what kind of mat she was laying on. It would be best to stay awake for a while. Talking to the man was pleasant company, and he seemed interested enough to pursue conversation. Perhaps his busted face was making his brain just as muddled, or the brightened room made him feel confident, “Let's just say we made a gamble. An unfortunate judgement call that resulted in a debt we are now paying for.”

“And you? What is your sin of choice, stranger?”

[Warren]

☯ Common ☯ Irarian ☯

Her voice was smooth, pleasant, confident, and spoke like such a cage could never hold her as it did him. This piqued his interest, his gaze studying her as she took in her surroundings, watching the expressions she made with obvious disgust etched there. Then, how she handled herself, her shoes, he let out a full on laugh before leaning forward to stand with a grunt and stepped into a darkened corner to empty his bladder. "Sure," his baritone voice answered. "You could leave the way Benn did."

When he was finished, he straightened his pants and moved over to the bars, his cell adjacent to hers, "He snapped the neck of a guard and the others cut him down. Right there." Warren pointed to the other end of her cell. "Him and his wife had been taken from their home in Gawyne. He found out last night his wife lost her life in the pits." Leaning into the bars, Warren gripped the cold iron and looked down at her, allowing a moment of pause so the information could sink in.

Navyri looked clean and beautiful, soft and strong and smelled great compared to the stench in the chambers. Warren paused, then moved away from the bars to the front of his cell, opting to put some distance between them. "Don't you know where you are..?" He asked. "These are fighting pits, probably illegal and owned by some powerful people who will force you to take lives in the most brutal of ways. As long as you satisfy their bloodlust, you will remain here. And if you don't, they will kill you..." his voice faded.

A smirk lifted his lips at her comment. "I would gladly take a shank for a shower." Humor laced his tone as he turned his form to face her better. "Especially if the assassin isn’t half bad looking.”

“But a gamble, huh?” Inspecting her, he appeared to want to say more but instead, kept his mouth shut. Navyri looked like the gambling type. She looked like a high maintenance individual and Warren knew not all of what she wore could have been bought with her money alone. Who was she? Did he even care to know? The woman probably had her face pinned up on some bounty board for people like him to collect.

“Me?” He questioned, “Committing a sin is not the reason I’m here…” Warren seethed for a moment. “I was ambushed by a group of bastards I’d been tracking for a fortnight. They were wanted for kidnapping kids. I thought they’d traveled further that day, but I was wrong. I guess that was my unfortunate judgement call.”

Again, the sound of plate metal clanking on top of metal sounded from the hall, but it was more pronounced than before. Warren simply continued to lean against the front of his cell, his frame relaxed and steady as a dozen guards came forward to fill the hallway, their weapons drawn and pointed at his door.

“Step back, Kade!” On guard growled, sliding the blade of his sword between the bars to aim at his gut. The giant of a man stepped back, though still hunched as the cell wasn’t big enough to contain him at his full height. “Hands forward!”

“Shit...” He cursed, expression filled with rage as he gritted his teeth. “I had a match last night..!”

“That fight was to be conducted by your cell mate. Your match is tonight. Arms forward!” Warren cursed again but yanked his arms forward so that when they opened the cell door, the metal shackles were snapped tightly around his wrists and chains were made to pull them against his chest so he could not break free. Once the guards were comfortable with their security measures, they dragged Kade from his cell by several chains connected to him. He never once looked back at the woman…

He’d ventured down the halls many times before. This was an underground pit, and so most of the halls were rock and lined with wooden beams to prevent tunnels collapsing, much like how they did in mines. If Warren thought about it, he wouldn’t be surprised if this area was an old mine turned fighting pit. It would have been the perfect place for such a thing. They descending down familiar tunnels towards an area with many torches lining a circular cliff face.

When they entered, Warren looked up from the pit he was in, watching several eyes stare back at him from their positions on the dias circling the edge of the pit. The spectators were seated next to tables and everything looked lavishing from what he could see through the shadows. As the guards began to unlock the chains from Warren, mutters sounded within the room until a voice from the darkness halted the soldier.

“That’s enough.” It said, “Keep them on.”

“The chains?”

“Yes.”

Dirty blond brows furrowed as only one arm had been freed from the mess of chains and that too was still shackled to the other wrist. He knew he could not argue with what the judge wanted, as so proceeded to thrash within the chains the moment the guard stepped away and locked the doors behind him. Warren cursed loudly, attempting to escape the confinements before his challenger face him, but they were already being let out at the other end of the pit.

Warren started to step back, wiggling his left hand from beyond the chains and inched over to the wall of bloodied weapons to grab at a morningstar. His biceps tensed as he held the heavy club, swinging it back and forth to get momentum up while he finally registered his opponent.

It was the lotharro from yesterday?!

Warren stopped, his eyes wide as the man approached him rather slowly. He looked extremely different, so much so that Kade hadn’t recognized him from the get go. He was paler and… meaner? How was this possible? Warren has watched the man take his last breath… he’d been the one to cause it.

“What is this?” He called out as the murmurs around him escalated, and then the Lotharro was upon him, swinging his giant fists with no real precision. Warren dodged, leaning to the side as he swung the morningstar up and slammed it against his opponent’s side. They didn’t even budge…

Grey, film covered eyes turned toward Kade and two palms quickly reached out, grabbing at the chains before lifting the mortal and throwing him across the pit and into the rock face. During his flight, the morningstar fell from Kade’s hand and he became dazed upon colliding with the wall. On his hands and knees, the man coughed up blood, gasping and shaking ever so slightly.

There was no reason to stay in this place any longer… Benn had been slashed down and so, his promise to free him and his wife had faded in the eyes of the dead man. Warren was going to make his escape tonight by calling on the powers of the mark to put him in a state of death. Too bad the bastards forced him into another fight so soon after the last one, and now he wasn’t too hopeful he would live through this one.

A kick to the face saw Warren on his back, blue eyes looking up to witness the bloody end of the morningstar being raised to fall upon his skull. Warren grunted and rolled, doing so again, and again when the weapon was brought down time after time. He finally had an opportunity to stand and so, stumbled to his feet and rounded back, dodging the swings until he saw an opening to give the guy a right hook.

Flesh collided with flesh and it was obvious the Warren had probably dislocated the man’s jaw from the pops he heard but the guy didn’t even budge. He just stared emotionlessly at the human. “What is this?!” Kade howled, reaching for a battleaxe. Spinning, Warren swung the battleaxe with a mighty arm and planted it right into the Lotharro’s chest. Any normal man would have fallen from such a wound, but the Lotharro kept on without so much of a noise. Warren’s features twisted, witnessing the disgust of an abomination before his eyes. The creature was undead, brought back to life by unholy means and for that, Warren felt a special obligation to finish the monstrosity off so that he could lay the man to rest.

Bringing his foot up, he reached for the handle of the battleaxe just as he kicked the thrall forward hard enough to rip the weapon from its chest. Grunting, Warren charged forward and planted it within it’s skull.

He knew the kill wasn’t enough for the spectators and so, followed through with blow after blow from the axe until his clothes were painted with what looked like black blood. In that moment, Warren felt like an animal and was as disgusted with himself as he was with the thing he just murdered. His eyes moved up to the darkness, all silent except his ragged breathing. Then a male voice boomed, “Concluded.”

Dropping the axe, Warren fell to his knees. “Father of the Heart, forgive me…” He muttered, bowing his head, “Descend your palm upon this corruption of flesh and cleanse it from the evil within...”

Whether or not Vri heard his prayer, Warren didn’t know. He had little time to say anything else because he’d been dragged up to his feet and fully shackled again. Warren didn’t pay attention this time and only knew he was back in his cell when they tossed him into the hay after undoing the shackles. His wrists were rubbed raw and nose bleeding, it might’ve been broken but he didn’t know...

[Navyri]

⌘ Common ⌘ Rakahi ⌘ Euthic Sign ⌘ Grovokian ⌘

Navyri didn't move much as he told the story of Ben, keeping her face rather clean of emotion as Warren looked down upon her. The Naerrik's mind was still caught on the concept of peeing in front of him when the time called for it. She glanced at the corner, toes curling in displeasure at the thought of squatting like a dog in a corner that smelled like death. Absolutely foul. Could she at least convince someone to offer a bucket?

The bruised blonde moved way and caught her attention again. He spoke of bloodlust and entertainment and she finally sighed. She knew where she was, but thinking on the bleakness of it all... that was too much. She would look at it as a mission and nothing more. Win some rounds, pay off her debt, find a way to escape. Navyri was well aware of the consequences if she failed, and so instead preferred to focus on what would happen if she succeeded.

Failure was not an option.

Only survival.

His comment on the shower made her smile and had she known him better, perhaps she would have laughed. It was a good sign to see his humor, it meant he still had his spirit. He was no Naerrik or Biqaj, but perhaps he was worth something. Judging how he was alive, he could obviously fight and while his face looked worse for wear, he was strong bodied.

Warren told her of his own story, tracking kidnappers through the woods and her smile dropped suddenly. 'I was kidnapped' she almost admitted, before realizing where she was and the weakness she was about to admit. She didn't want to think of her past, would not think of it, and certainly not voice it to him.

“A sinner and a saint.”

Metal scraped from somewhere up the hall and Navyri was on her feet, already scrambling for her shoes. The guards that came – and there far more than necessary – were fully decked in plate armor, not like the ones that had escorted her. These were brutal men, cruel and they pointed a sword into the man's cell, shackling him and yanked him out. And then she was alone.

It happened so quickly, Navyri had barely tied one of her boots when her source of entertainment was taken. And yet, she did not speak. Protesting for his life was not worth garnering unwanted attention towards herself; not when there was enough testosterone to choke a brothel. Instead, she stayed quiet, imagining herself blending into the walls until she heard nothing but her own breath and the faint cries of a crowd from up above.

Up above!

He would be in the arena. Navyri threw her other foot into her leather boot and tightened the laces. When she began to create loops, her eyes grew distant and she saw him.

Curio, her owl, must have been circling the location and she wanted him to move closer. Sensing her yearning, he swooped closer to the arena, still high enough as to not draw suspicion.

She could see... a man. Blondie. And... Someone else, and judging by the size difference, he was... enormous when face to face with him. Navyri was back in her cell, staring at the wall and blinked, dazed a moment as she regained her bearings.

She heard the stomping of feet, the steady drums of battle. She tried to focus again, but slipping back into Curio's mind was harder this time, and she couldn't tell who was winning. And then Blondie launched an ax in his chest and then-

Navyri was standing now, thinking over what she had seen. The opponent, the large man, he hadn't been fazed. The blood. It looked so dark. When it was her time, who would she face? What would be her challenge? Convinced her prison mate would be swapped for a furious mass of muscle after his death, the Naerrik tried not to feel so nervous as she ran her hands down her arms, looking at the feathered markings that trailed to her wrists.

"You've saved me once," she whispered, thinking of the time that had passed since her deal with Delroth, "I don't suppose we could revisit old times?"

Unlikely. At the time of her salvation, she had promised to retrieve something for the Immortal. Almost fifteen years had passed, and not a word... He had yet to tell her what he wanted, and she had yet to fulfill her promise. Asking for things with nothing to trade was how she got into this predicament in the first place and she had even less to offer now than she did the day they met.

Someone was coming. The roar of a crowd grew louder and then was drowned out behind the closing of doors. Was the fight over so soon? Navyri tried to feign disinterest, leaning back on her straw and evening her breaths, until surprisingly, Blondie was brought back, covered in black muck and bleeding.

Navyri was impressed.

They unshackled him, and he crumpled upon his straw pile, face a battered mess. He looked even worse now and smelled like he was the corpse and not the other way around. One of the guards eyed her up and down and she met his gaze, challenging him, but there was no need.

The flames flickered, casting their dramatic shadows along the stone walls, and Navyri moved to press herself against the bars that separated them, trying to eye his wounds. He had come out better than she had been expecting, "We didn't think you would win." the Naer said with cool honesty, "It was an unfair fight."

Would he wonder how she knew such things? Navyri arched a thin brow, lowering her voice, "Were you scared? When you stabbed him in the chest and he did not fall?" The question had an obvious answer, and yet that was not why she asked it. Navyri was telling him she had eyes on the outside world. She had an advantage and yet did not need to say it so explicitly. It was the Naerrik way.

The late Benn might have failed, but she still had a chance. And whatever Warren had faced, it was a thing of nightmares, like herself, and she waved towards his gruesome attire. He looked defeated, more so than before and offered some advice, "A man who bleeds black is hardly a man at all. You did what you had to to do and now you live another day."

The red blood on his nose and mouth made him look threatening. Would they ever have to fight each other in the arena? "Come here if you can," Navyri slipped a hand through his cell, curling her sharp nails in a beckoning motion, "I want to see your face."

[Warren]

☯ Common ☯ Irarian ☯

Warren hadn’t expected an interrogation upon arrival to his cell. In all honesty, he’d forgotten the brunette was still there, hovering within the cell his prison mate had occupied until last night. Caught up in the panic of the moment, when he realized he would have to fight so soon after the last one, the blond offered little thought of the beauty until her smooth voice washed over his ears once more.

If he had to admit anything, it was that his cellmate was indeed an enchantress of sorts and after having suffered this torture for far longer than he had to, Warren was easily tempted. His body ached, however, and not in the pleasant way that he missed. Used and bruised muscles strained and tightened with tension when he attempted to roll over. Even if he wanted to move, he was easily swayed by the pain not to.

“We?” Kade’s gruff voice answered from the floor. “Who is this we?..” Had Navyri befriended a guard while he was fighting? Did she have someone in the place, someone she knew, looking out for her already? That was good, Warren thought, he could call upon the power of the mark to feign death and escape from this place without having to worry of the woman’s existence.

It wasn’t that he cared for her particularly. No individual should ever be condemned to this place. The sooner Warren could leave, the better. He had to find help…

There was the next issue at hand. He didn’t know where they were.

When Navyri spoke and a clawed hand stretched toward Warren through the bars, the man shook his head and grunted harshly, using the last bit of strength he had to lift himself up and lean against the rock wall. “I am no fool, Woman...” Warren tilted his head towards her hand. “I know what you are.”

[Navyri]

⌘ Common ⌘ Rakahi ⌘ Euthic Sign ⌘ Grovokian ⌘

The battling had put him in a foul mood, and while she couldn't quite be upset with him, his sudden abhorrence to her was unfortunate. Warren pulled away, propped up against the wall and watching her with suspicious eyes. Her hand hesitated, fingers stretching and then falling, hanging from her outstretched wrist. If he looked close enough, perhaps he would see a strange curve to her fingers, the glimpse of a sign, and then she pulled back into her own cell, tapping her fingernails against bars and resonating smooth high notes.

What should she address first? The use of "we"? The we is me, she wanted to say, remembering her days in Augiery and how they addressed themselves to others. She still found herself slipping into her old habits, even after so much time. "Our reputation precedes us."

"Very well," Navyri tapping abruptly stopped and she rose to her feet to make her way to the door of her cell, craning her neck to see if any guards were further down the hallway. "We just wanted to see if your nose was broken. Untreated, we're sure you'll have a lot of fun with it."

The Naer stuck her left arm through the front bars of the cell, bending at the elbow and trying to feel for the lock box. The metal plate was rough under her fingertips, but she found the keyhole and began to gauge its size. She rested her forehead against the bars, body blocking her activity from the tired cellmate, "But what do I know?"

She dipped the sharpened tip of her fingernails into the keyhole, focused as she tried to feel for anything that could give her a hint as to what she was dealing with. Navyri had picked a lock only once before and they were always to personal homes. She had no idea what she was up against in a cell door, or if it was any different.

A small scratching sound came from her movements, but nothing loud enough to draw attention and for that she was thankful. Imagining what was in the lock as she was trying to feel it, her nail caught on a number of small pins. Her lips moved silently as she counted them, body fully pressed against her cage. The Naer gave an experimental twist, but nothing moved, and the strain made a pain shoot through her nail.

Navyri gave a low grumble, attempting it again. She would try all day if she had to, or at least until this form demanded sleep. Her mind searched for Curio, willing him to find her with each failed lockpicking attempt. If she could just get out of this cage... she could snuff the lanterns... Could freedom really be so close?

It was wishful thinking, but she tried to raise the pins undeterred, her arm aching at such an awkward angle, and tried to turn her head for more comfort and shaking the dark mane from her face, "Where do the guards keep the keys?"

Maybe there was another solution she was overlooking, something far simpler. She pulled her hand free, massaging the fingernails that now ached, "After all, you know what I am," she prowled back to where she had reached for her cellmate, voice barely a whisper on the wind, "So you know that if I get out, all I need is darkness; no lanterns, and our chances of escape are much better than Benn’s," She smiled, her bright eyes almost glowing as her voice soothed him, "Don't you want to help a damsel in distress, Kade?” Navyri remembered what the guards had called him and used it now in hopes of persuading him, “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours."

[Warren]

☯ Common ☯ Irarian ☯

The right corner of his lip cocked up as her words touched his ears. So she'd been wanting to help him, huh? In the dim light of the dungeons, Warren watched her clawed fingers fall, then retreat back into her cell. Probably for the best, he thought, she could easily use those talons of hers to blind him or worse. The man wasn't about trusting strangers, especially those that ended up here.

He leaned his head back against the wall and listed to the sounds Navyri made within her cell, the slight scratching noises and echoes of failed attempts to do something. Curiously, Warren opened an eye to look at her, then another until his head was proper up watching her body attempt to press and curve around the bars. Was she trying to pick the lock? Oh, but she was, and with her nails no less.

Warren chuckled, the deep sound resonating within the space before her voice carried to him once more. Why did she assume he had such information? Maybe because he kept tabs on the number of days he was in here?

"I don't know," He answered, "They're smart enough not to wear them when handling their captives."

When she eventually gave up and turned her attention back to him, Warren pulled one knee up so that he could rest his arm against it. "Our?" He smiled. "You enjoy your games, don't you?"

"If I can't help myself, what makes you think I'd want to help you..?" Blue eyes danced back to the front of his cell. As far as he was concerned, it was time to buckle down and sleep. His mood had shifted again and so too did his body as he laid back into the hay once again. "Best to sleep, Little Damsel. Maybe you'll find your knight there." And with that, he said not another word.

[Navyri]

⌘ Common ⌘ Rakahi ⌘ Euthic Sign ⌘ Grovokian ⌘

He was smarter than he looked and jaded enough to keep his distance. Perhaps he wasn't as much as a fool as she had originally thought. Even still, the offer had been genuine, so Kade's dismissal was met with slight disapproval. When he commented about her games, she grinned momentarily. It was clear to her that the conversation was coming to a close. Kade was tired and she was getting nowhere, in conversation or otherwise.

Unlike her cell mate, Navyri didn't want to sleep. She didn't want to rest. Doing so felt like an acquiescence to her condition, trapped like a bird in a cage, but she settled upon her pile of straw. It smelled damp around her, like piss and sweat and mold. Somewhere she could hear the scurrying of tiny nails against the stone and the slithering of rat tails following, the flickering of the lantern flame kissing the corners of the small space. And then Kade was telling her to get some sleep, calling her little damsel.

Her laugh was soft and hollow and finally, relenting. An amusing, almost insulting nickname for what she was outside of this terrible place, usually considered a terror. Even still, she laid back and rolled on her side, closed her eyes, and tried not to dream of any knights for fear they would kill her in her sleep.

So many enemies to have accumulated over the last fifteen years. It had gone by fast - too fast - and now she would be forced to face her demons and atone for sins she hadn't fully remembered. Navyri thought of Curio, deeply missing him, and imagined being home when tears crept past her lashes.