Amal's eyes scanned the room, lingering on the chamber another few moments before silently and swiftly, he slipped back into the shadows and approached Charynrae so they could talk in whispers. He had good ears, but hers were far better, and it was his human hearing that couldn't handle breathing small sounds across the long tunnel. He also knew the numbers one and two in her sign, but she moved so quickly with it, best to talk it out.

"There's two other directions. One to the left and one to the right. I don't know where left leads, but the right goes further down into the mountain I think." He said, stroking his fine chin. He wasn't aware at how close they were, but their body heat made the two of them marginally warming as they conspired. "If we can just get the big one out, we can handle the orcs. You can shoot one and I can take the other by surprise. Do you have magic that might help get the ogre off his ass?"

Once she answered, he would nod. "If we have time, there are barrels and crates out there, and a blanket covering the crates we could take if nothing else. But we will need to move quickly. We can always sneak back in if the elements are too much and steal more. But hopefully we'll be long gone before that happens." He tried not to think about it, but it felt very nice being so close to such a beautiful woman. He had to quell a more carnal thought from his mind to complete the task at hand.

"I'll follow your lead. Give me the signal and we'll move." He said, giving her a wink. Idly he wondered if drow even knew the concept of a wink. If not, he could fill her in later.

Charynrae was making a mental map, envisioning the entire room in her mind based off Amal's description and the quick look she had taken. She could handle the unknown, but it was always better to gather information first. "Of course I do. It will be child's play."

Every drow was a warrior; she was a noble, so she also had to be a tactician. Not that this was a situation that required a particularly refined skill set. It was simple: Lure the ogre to the path on the right. Two orcs left. Amal would take whichever was closer, she would take the other.

She crept up to the passageway, locking her eyes on a specific spot in the right tunnel. "Ul'trin", she whispered, and just like that- voices in the tunnel. The ogre stood, club now in his hand.

"Who goes there?"

She had a moment of fear that the ogre had spotted her, but he turned to the tunnel. The voices stopped briefly. And then there they were again, this time, a little frantic, a little farther. (She wanted it to sound like some people trying to escape. Just like them.) The ogre growled, his grip tightening on his club. "Show yourself!" he bellowed as he stomped off into the right tunnel.

She readied her crossbow.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Go.

Amal rolled into the room, knowing even if he were to attempt to lurk in silently, the orcs face one another and one would always have its peripheral vision on their entrance. Instead, Amal made sure the one who saw him would have only a split second to warn his comrade. It was too quick for the bewildered orc, but not for the cutthroat. Orcs were tough and brutally strong, but Amal was as swift as a zephyr. His dagger planted into the back of the orc's neck just as it had started to turn from its companion's warning.

A crossbow bolt bloomed in the eye of the remaining orc, and Amal whistled quietly at the marksmanship. The two brutes were dead, but the shadow of the ogre still lingered as it strode down the hallway, angrily searching for prey that did not exist.

"Quickly!" He whispered as loudly as he dared, rushing to the barrels and leaving Charynrae to the crates. Amal pried one open, and then another. There were dates and dried, salted meats used for travel, likely meant for whatever army this necromancer was cooking up. Amal grabbed what he could and shoved it in his pack, taking the tarp and wrapping it around his shoulders to serve as a cloak. If Charynrae grabbed the other, they might be able to cut the two and make some more insulated garments.

Pity, he had been looking forward to seeing her in her priestly robes under daylight.

He kicked the door open, sunlight flooding in and making the small torchlight seem bland and gloomy. "Come on, let's get to the treeline so we can make a fire!"

Charynrae was precise, as evidenced by the crossbow bolt in the eye of the orc. Precision was key to many things in the Underdark, at least in her eyes. She sauntered over to the freshly dead orc first to retrieve the bolt, wiping any remaining matter off onto the corpse. She frowned down upon it- though she was good at it, she did not particularly enjoy killing. After that, it was over to the crates. She grabbed the dagger first- the more weapons, the better.

"I aimed for my spell to cause an echo. If all goes as it should, we have more time than you think," she said, her stance and movements projecting calm as she stuffed hardtack into her satchel. "Or he could already be frustrated and coming back this way in a rage." She would have heard if the ogre was that incensed by now, though of course, with them it was always a risk. "I suppose we will know soon enough."

Another crate held a variety of root vegetables and small bags of dried herbs. And, curiously, a bag with a small handful of polished stones, which she also took, of course. It could have been mistaken for a bag of herbs at first glance, though its weight gave away that it was not for culinary purposes.

She followed his movements, grabbing the remaining tarp, turning right into the path Amal had cleared for them... and the sunlight. She had adjusted well enough while it was just in the room, but directly in her eyes? She stood frozen, wide-eyed for a moment. The flash of fear was gone from her face as quickly as it came. "I cannot see," she hissed as she started moving tentatively towards the exit. She had some understanding of blindsight fighting, but she was no expert and this was a door she needed to get to, not a brawl.

Amal laughed, though not loudly. He admired her carefree attitude in such a dangerous situation. He was used to being cavalier in dire circumstances, but as a thief he was also someone who appreciated the act of taking an escape route while it was available to them. Still, he managed to rummage for a few more choice cuts of beef jerky before he took her hand and helped her forward.

"You'll see better at the trees, and night is not far off." He temporized to her. Despite himself, he found her discomfort something he wanted to alleviate. When she was annoyed it reminded him of a pit viper, and somehow that was not off-putting. And truth be told, if he was smart he would simply kill her now, as they had made it out of the caverns and into freedom. But he found he did not do the smart thing, and somehow he felt neither would she.

---

---

Amal whistled appreciatively, and for once it wasn't at Charynrae's backside.

On the small hill at the cusp of a miserable little dell, they had finally spied civilization past a copse of trees. It wasn't a hut or a cabin, or a guard tower to watch over the ruined lands of Vaasa. Instead, it was a massive wall that had dammed a pass between the Galena mountains that had loomed over the horizon for most of their trek. From southwest to northeast, the wall stood like an impenatrable bulwark, and Amal honestly did not know how an army could conceivable assail it.

"It looks a half a mile wide, and sixty feet in height." He breathed, for once putting on a professional air. Amal was quite good at ascertaining the length and breadth of structures, as he had been required to scale them more often than not. His sharp eyes could only see a handful of men, however. Well-armed men, but still. If he had to guess there was less than a thousand to guard the entirety of the vast structure.

The white wind of Vaasa suddenly picked up, ruffling his dark locks and sending another chill down his spine, as if to tell him he and his companion had overstayed their welcome in the inhospitable land. It had been rough going, rationing their food and finding little water to drink save for the brackish or muddied bogs and moors that dotted the landscape. Once they had spotted a troll and had kept hidden, the long-limbed monster loping across the murky, wet landscape to disappear into the gloom. Amal had swore he had seen a dragon in the distance as well, once as he had kept watch, but by the time Charynrae had awakened, it was gone.

He was ready for a warm bed and some food that someone had actually cooked. Even living off scraps on the streets as a boy wasn't as loathesome as trekking through that gods forsaken wilderness.

"You may want to keep yourself cloaked until we find a room," He surmised, his cloak hanging about his shoulders, almost making him look the part of an exiled prince. Amal then shrugged. "Or not, and let them take you as they will. I've gone this far with you, I won't abandon you now."

Charynrae had heard of Vaasa and its empty expanse. It almost felt like home to her; just like the Underdark, it was cold and damp and little would grow. Despite all it lacked, the landscape had its own, strange beauty.

There was still a part of her that was wary of Amal. He had not killed her, but that could simply be because it was helpful to travel with someone when traversing the wilderness. And yet she trusted him more than she would have trusted any companion in the Underdark; utility could not always save you down there.

He was just as accustomed to discomfort as she was, it seemed, not that that was much of a surprise considering what she knew about him. What was a surprise was that he almost seemed to want her around. Truth be told, she was glad for it, not that she would admit it. This was possibly the least lonely she had felt in her entire life.

She squinted at the structure in the distance. “I will take your word for it,” she said. Between the light and the distance she was sure to get a headache if she stared at the wall for too long from here; at least the stone was dark, for pale colours were yet another thing her eyes did not quite like.

With the wisps of silver that peeked out from beneath the hood of her makeshift cloak, she might have simply been an old woman (and indeed by human standards she was). As her companion had discovered, she carefully rebraided her hair every morning. It was fortunate that she needed so little sleep, being a Drow, because some days she took quite some time on her work. Never enough to cut into their travel hours, she was careful of that; there was so little daylight as it was, and they needed it for travel.

“No, I will keep myself cloaked,” she murmured, ensuring her hands were tucked away and her face well hidden. “Just because I can survive out there does not mean it is enjoyable. You can do whatever talking is necessary, I presume.”

Up close, the walls were even more impressive. Amal wondered if djinn had helped create them, despite their northerly aesthetic. The ballista and catapults stations atop the walls looked well maintained, and though the men were spread thin, they seemed well trained and carefully drilled. Voices from their captains and the men returning filtered out from the parapets as the two approached. Luckily for them, the large iron gate was open. It took them a number of minutes walking on open ground to make it, but the shadow of the wall was a comforting weight after being exposed to the elements for nearly a week.

Small bands of adventurers and lowly travelers trickled out of the gate as they approached, and though Amal was curious, the two of them steered clear so Charynrae was not discovered. Amal himself would probably draw an eye or two, and not just for his good looks.

With his keen eyes, he saw the guards questioning travelers every now and then, but Amal got a beat on the flow of the questioning, and with some small guidance to Charynrae with his hand gingerly taking the silhouette of her forearm, they managed to infiltrate a small number of peasants entering the gate, keeping to the middle and staying out of sight. The two entered under the tunnel of the gate, and a darkness cloaked them. Before them, the white of day illuminated the exit into Bloodstone pass, but Amal knew Charynrae likely felt more relaxed now than anytime the past week.

Likely, being the keyword. She was still surrounded by surfacers. And none likely as charming as he.

Closer and closer the light came, the two passing by large doors embedded in the stone, likely leading to more guard quarters. Seconds passed, and Amal then stepped into the light and blinked, taking the hood off his head and gazing about. To the left and right, there were shops and taverns and entertainment hugging the wall, some even carved into it. Men and women gambled and sang and mingled, some looking around aimlessly and others stalking with a purpose. Most were human, but Amal saw no shortage of doughty dwarves, and even a few halflings and surface elves. Beyond the wall was a small plain filled with makeshift shacks and tents, forming a shantytown almost two miles long. The populations were much the same, but many were mercenaries or thrill seekers, Amal guessed. He saw bards stringing their harps and tough men setting fires under cooking pots. Men in wizard robes held up maps and spoke in hushed tones to fighters or armored men with holy symbols. But of course, the largest portion of the men looked to be workers. Squires, curvasceous dancers, repairmen, true cooks, and the like. He grinned when he saw a few skulking figures from his vantage point, his trained eyes knowing the shadows of thieves when he saw them.

"Almost reminds me of home," He said to himself, though he did not doubt Charynrae heard him. He nudged her. "Come, let's see about getting a drink and finding a place to stay. Maybe I can even find some dice. Do you gamble, Lady Char?"

Charynrae was watchful as always, careful to keep her face obscured as her eyes swept the way in front of them. She let Amal guide her; it was unnerving and comforting all at once, to have someone assisting her. Much less a human.

Once they were well inside the town walls she chanced lowering her hood. There were definitely a few second looks, and she could hear murmured words about drow, but no one seemed alarmed. They might not like her, but this was not the type of town where she would be driven out. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught an elf sneering at her, but she ignored it.

She pointed towards the wall, at one of the entities carved right in. “Black Dagger. Inn, tavern, bath house,” she read off the sign. “I would say we start there.” It made sense to keep them all together, at least to her, especially up here.

“Gamble? Not often,” she said. “As you can imagine, it can get… bloody, where I am from, and given its unpredictability, most avoid it. You said you were reminded of home. Where is home for you?”

"Calimport. That is a bloody city too, though gambling does not always end in that. But it can."

Amal spoke with a fond smile on his face, as if to ask 'what can one do?' He gave a shrug and began to walk toward the establishment Charynrae indicated, letting her follow in his wake so he could grab what attention they might garner. It was a good thing she was slight of stature. An orc would be harder to conceal, and even a duergar would have its troubles. Drow were also much more nicer to look at, he decided. More interesting company too, though Amal had heard a strange tale of a Duergar assassin before. He would be interested in sharing a pint with that one, too.

"Calimport is far to the south. Maybe one day you'll see it. I'm sure I won't be as hunted in say, ten years." He said offhanded, and the two stepped into the common room.

It was fairly spacious, with men and women from all over Faerun carousing and conversing, drinking and laughing. To the left was a small section to sit down, but to the right, against the wall they had just walked into, was the bar, and further right was a larger room with more tables. Amal supposed it was a sturdy place, being built under the stone of the great wall guarding Vaasa.

"Excuse me sirs, but we'll need to confiscate your weapons." A broad fellow in a dark surcoast said, brown beard ensconcing his strong jaw. He looked congenial, but there was a hardness behind his eyes that showed he was not unused to forcing the issues. Amal pursed his lips and nodded, relinquishing his daggers and his saber. When he placed them in the hand of the fellow, the bouncer marveled at the make. "Magical?"

"No, but well forged. Keep an eye on them for me. Oh, and my chultan friend is quite shy. He'll hand his over, however." Amal remarked, turning back to give Charynrae a subtle wink. The island of Chult was even further south than Calimshan, and the men there were of even darker skin than Amal. He seriously doubted any Chultan had ever been so far north, not within decades, at least. Charynrae could extend her hand at least, and she would not be incriminated by the man if he thought she was from the steaming jungles in that far off land. Though if her eyes were seen, that was another story.

"Do you serve any arak here?" Amal asked to keep the man moderately distracted.

"Arak?"

"A drink from my homeland."

"I doubt it, stranger." The bouncer remarked, rubbing his thinning head of hair. "But we've got good mead, beer, ale, and a nice stout."