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 [i]was[/i] 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?"