The City of Thentia was not as large as many of the various city states that dotted the inland sea, but it was quite prosperous for its size. Its mercantile interests were plentiful, and though the city's military was small, made up of a few dozen cavalry units, they were trained as elite. Its citizens were independent and fierce in their self determination, and though the nobility was present, they were only granted a few marginal aristocratic rights above the laymen. Though it boasted no mages guild or academy, there was an abundance of independent mages that lived in the city, selling off their services or taking on apprentices to those who could learn and pay for the privilege. In its entirety, Thentia seemed like a model city.

That's what Malcador thought when he arrived three years ago. Now, sitting in the dungeon in shackles, he was not so certain anymore.

Damn! They had even sealed the dungeon with wards to fend off any magics he might attempt to escape it. Well, this was a fine predicament he found himself in. Ugh, the air was stuffy and the ground was dried and mysteriously wet in ubiquitous areas. He could barely see out of his cell, more for lack of light than his position, but he still would rather have had a chair or even a cushion to languish on while he was spending his youth incarcerated for a crime he was shanghaied into.

Originally from Neverwinter, Malcador had been discovered to have a penchant for spellcasting at an early age. Originally placed in the Neverwinter Academy, he graduated, albeit with a bumpy and pugnacious tenure due to his extracurricular activities and being friends with numerous thieves. However, he had given up those proclivities and had sought to continue his studies with a new master, finding himself in Thentia under the tutelage of the wizard Galrod Farthallow, a notable diviner and conjurer who was predisposed to lecture even when discussing what he had for breakfast. Unfortunately, Farthallow also had ties to the Zhentarim, Malcador found out recently, which meant Malcador had ties to the Zhentarim.

Now, Farthallow was unfortunately dead, and Malcador was found guilty by association. It was ironic that the portion of his life the mage felt it was best to give up a life of mischief, that he was prosectuted. It was also unfortunate he now found himself in an empty area of the gaelor's dungeon. Or so he thought.

Humans are idiots, one and all. Absolute idiots.

That was the first thing Serphia learned upon stepping foot into this bright world. She understood her people's history and the humans’ feelings towards that particular history. She was warned by her family time and time again. “If you go up there alone, you'll be killed or captured in a dungeon for the rest of eternity.” She hadn't cared. She thought herself above the law. What could a human do to her that she couldn't just slip out of? She was born and raised as an assassin. She had even brought one of the many spider pets to come along with her. And yet, there she was, bound to a wall with her wrist secured above her head, strapped into loops bolted to the stone. They took her armor. Her weapons. Her pack! Everything! They had stripped her down to her skivvies and locked her within this disgusting cell. It reeked of feces and urine and she was pretty sure she was sitting in a pool of half dried blood. You would think they would at least clean the damn cell from time to time.

You may ask what she did to even end up in this situation. Nothing! That's what! She was simply defending herself from that noble's son. He had apparently taken a liking to her silver hair, lilac skin, and purple eyes. He thought her exotic and mysterious. One would think her people's history and the large assortment of weapons she had strapped to her hips and back would be enough to keep any logical person at bay. Then this man showed his stupid face. He tried compliments, stupid little comments that she wasn't even sure human women would swoon for. When she continued to ignore him and head along her way, he grabbed her. The idiot grabbed her, like she was some slave that was not listening to his orders. What was she to do? She had punished him accordingly! She took his hand. She didn't even kill the bastard! By the time he had stopped screaming, the guards were upon them. Dozens of the bastards! It was a bit of an overreaction! The man could still find work, somewhere. There are plenty of one handed slaves in the Underdark. He could still be of use!

When they proclaimed she was under arrest, she didn't even fight it. She just simply put her hands up as they grabbed her and dragged her off. What could she hope to do with that many guards? She would only die tired.

She went without a fuss, at least she had tried. It was when they took her pack that she had caused a ruckus. Her pet spider was in her pack and she raised that thing from an egg! If they saw a cat sized spider sleeping with the pack, they would likely kill him. But there was only so much her unarmed self could do and before long, she was chained in that cell and her pack nowhere to be seen. She only hoped the guards wouldn't open it. If Arloke died, she would kill every single one of these guards and burn this place to the ground with everyone else in it. He was her only friend.

She had been in that disgusting cell for, what, a few hours now. Her stomach rumbled loudly and her arms were quite numb. She continued to move her hands and fingers in a futile attempt at getting blood flow back to her extremities. She just had to wait for Arlocke to wake up, assuming he was still alive. He would seek her out and help her escape, she'd no doubt about it. But for the time being, she had nothing to do to keep herself occupied. That was until the guards brought in a new prisoner. Her darkvision allowed her to watch clearly as the guards shoved a man into the cell across the way before heading back to their duties elsewhere. She remained quiet for a long time after, unsure if sparking up any conversation with a human man could benefit her in any way. After all, he was a criminal. A bad one at that. He probably wasn't worth her time but as the clock ticked on, she eventually found herself calling out across the way.

“This dungeon is disgusting, isn't it? It's even worse than the dungeons in Underdark. At least there, we water the things down from time to time.” Her purple eyes flashed a moment in the darkness as she situated, or at least situated as best she could with her numb hands shackled to the wall. It was incredibly uncomfortable. She was just a tad too tall for the spot so she was half sitting, half lounging on the stone. Her lower back screamed at her in protest but she couldn't do anything about it. Not until Arloke woke and came to free her from this filthy place. She hoped beyond hope that he was still alive. Perhaps her family was right. Maybe she will rot in this damn cell for all eternity. No! She had to get out of there! She had to prove her family wrong. Arloke! Wake up!

He decided he would close his eyes and meditate, musing on the winds of magic and the ways of Mystra. It was an old trick apprentices learned. It was not meant to pass the time, but it served the purpose well enough. Gods, he wished he had a woman to pass the time instead, but it was like wishing for the moon, he thought. And then the last thing he could ever expect, happened.

A mellifluous voice appeared out of the darkness, echoing gently in the deep. It was both lovely but high; an elven voice if he was not mistaken. He'd been lucky enough to hear a few before. Female, he realized. Then the words reached his mind, rather than just his ears, and he realized what she was saying. Disgusting? Yes the dungeon was positively dreadful. That he could agree with. However, the underdark caught him off guard. He could hardly see, but he blinked in surprise regardless. Peering into the gloom, following the voice with his eyes, he began to see twin indigo orbs in the dark looking directly at him.

"By the nine hells and mystra's arse," he breathed, his blood running cold. No, a drow being here? That was impossible, he thought. A female drow as well. What sort of debacle drew such a dreaded creature in this underground jail? If the stories were true, they were even more dangerous than the men. Though she was speaking congenially, or at least in a way that spoke of a shared fate. If nothing else, this would make a fine story if he ever got out of here, and if not, it was another way to pass the time. Though this was not necessarily how he pictured doing so with a woman.

He didn't know he was sitting in the same position, thinking extremely similar thoughts on just how uncomfortable he was. Truth be told, his ass had not felt so sore in a long time.

"I've not made a habit to visit many dungeons, admittedly, but I do agree this one is quite disgusting." He said aloud. Malcador had always been blessed with good looks and a smooth voice, though evidently it had not served him well enough, or he might be out of this shit hole. He had been under the false impression a drow might have a predilection to a place like this, but this seemed to be a learning opportunity for him. "I won't ask why you're here, but am I remiss in guessing you've not been here long?"

He let the question linger before inquiring. "And are you a dark elf? Because if so, that's the most interesting thing I've heard in weeks, beyond being thrown into this pit of destitution."

He did not have a plan on getting out of here, though he could pick locks. First he needed to find a suitable lockpick however, and somehow get it into his hands. He wondered if previously prepared spells could work in a warded space? He did not wish to try it immediately though. There was always a chance it could set off a beacon or alarm to whatever spellcaster had placed the wards. He did not wish to draw attention to himself so early in the game. Plus he was far too curious about his new jail companion. Even if she were just a surface elf, it was still a rather enticing prospect.

A frown crossed her features as she watched the human's confused expression, then the flicker of fear that crossed his eyes as he truly heard what she said. Her keen sense of hearing picked up his breathy words and her lips puckered. Like any typical human, this one was afraid of her. She knew before she even stepped out into the light that the humans above would fear her. She had expected it, longed for it. Within the black tunnels of the Underdark, she was a common sight. She was no different than any other assassin trained within the families. She was to play the hand of justice, the executioner of their enemies while her mother played her little games of politics. But Serphia grew weary of it! She was sick of all the dreadful politics the families played. Sick of constantly having to peek at her shadow, lest another assassin drive a dagger between her shoulder blades.

It grew so tiring after doing it her whole life. She heard of the tales of other drow finding their way to the surface and making their own living there. She craved that, away from the chaos of her mother's control. She even went as far as to cut her hair short as a final display towards her mother. Using the very dagger that took many lives in her mother's name, she severed her connection. With a mighty swipe, her long braid fell to the floor before she turned from her enraged mother and left her family home for the last time. Not a single tear was shed that day for her removal from her familiar bonds, only plans to train another assassin. For that was all she ever was in her mother's eyes, a tool to keep her power secure.

So why now did she find it so distasteful for the human to be fearful of her. Perhaps she had hoped a common criminal would not hold her in such regard. However, as he spoke to her, she found his voice smooth, cultured and not at all what she had expected. He had a way of using his words in an educated manner, reminding her quite a bit of her mother and the other matriarchs of Underdark. So, he wasn't just a common, petty thief after all. Perhaps this conversation would turn more interesting.

“I've been here for half a day, at most. They captured me after I severed the hand of a noble's son. Humans seem to dislike violence as punishment towards each other.” She droned matter-of-factly. She hummed deeply in her throat, thinking of how the foolish boy would have had his throat slit the moment he laid hands on her if she was back home. She truly thought she was bestowing mercy upon the man. After all, being treated like a lowly concubine would have resulted in torture then death by any of the other families’ hands. Humans have far different rules than what she had spent her life following. It would take her more time to get used to them and finally follow along.

Her eyes flashed in the darkness as if in response to his question of her race. She watched him a moment before she shifted lightly. “I am.” She said as she peered back at him once more. “You are human, yes?” She asked in retort. She normally would not get so hot and bothered by a simple question she had answered time and time again, but her uncomfortable position and numb limbs were making her a bit more unwelcome to obvious questions. She had not figured that he could not see her as easily as she could him. Humans did not have darkvision naturally, after all.

She lingered there a moment in silence as she attempted to figure out how to better continue their conversation when she heard a quiet shuffling off in the distance. It sounded very much like the sound of stone or something hard scraping against tough fabric. Had Arloke finally awakened and was seeking her out?

It would not seem luck was on her side, however, as a guard stepped up into their hallway, carrying a torch and peering down into the dark. He scanned their cells before stepping back out, casting them back into the meager light of the dungeon. She huffed lightly as she watched the man go, disappointed splattered on her face. It was just the changing of the guard. The sun must have surely set by then if the guards were rotating. That could only mean Arloke would surely be waking soon if he wasn't awake already. She hoped he wasn't getting lost in this forsaken place.

She pushed her tongue against her teeth and release a loud, shrill whistle that echoed off the stone walls and reverberated down the halls before finally ending in silence. Her little spider friend should, no doubt, hear that call. It would only be a matter of time before he found her now.

Well, it was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.

At least, as far as meeting drow went. He could have been placed beside a halfling lech or a dwarf pirate, or even a githyanki zealot. A drow that simply did not seem to understand the laws of the surface was not an awful person to meet, necessarily. His scholarly side took hold, and he began to realize how much he might learn from her. His incarceration might not be an entire waste, just a majority of one. Well, he'd take what he could get, he supposed. Her logic was somewhat telling of how she thought of humans, in a way. Not entirely as cattle, which was good, but she was also very quick to rid a noblemen's son of his hand. Malcador wondered if the boy was trying to touch her, or if there was a cultural difference she did not see and he wished to shake her hand? He couldn't be sure.

"I believe you'll find no shortage of violence in human lands," he corrected her, albeit gingerly. "However, you're right. Human nobles tend to rule, and they're picky on who they allow to cut the hands off of their heirs. Usually it's nobody." He smiled to himself at the blunt statement. "I'm certain there are nobility and commoners where you're from? Aristocracy never likes being treated like everyone else."

At her question on whether he was human, he replied. "Mostly, yes."

He did not have time to elaborate, the replacement nightwatch taking a leisurely stroll through the catacombs they were sequestered in. Malcador made certain to look suitably destitute and depressed as the lamp light passed him and the guard gave a scrutinizing look. Being downtrodden was not too far from the truth, regardless, so he needn't act too hard. However, once the light was around the corner, Malcador stretched languidly to prepare himself. He might as well try and escape, he had little to lose at this point.

The wizard closed his eyes and summoned his mage hand. He had prepped the spell before being confined, and for a brief moment he thought it might not work. However, he felt a satisfied elation when the weave of magic began to coalesce around him, and the invisible appendage formed to begin performing his bidding. Out of his sock floated a small, thin implement that wafted into his left hand. Once his fingers enclosed around the lockpick, he nearly dropped it at the shrill whistle that broke the silence. What in the hells was she doing? He would ask later. Gathering his nerve, he began to pick the lock of his opposite hand, finagling the small pick in his practiced manner before he heard the telltale 'click' and the release of the manacle. Malcador took a deep breath, and began to work on the next one.

"If you promise to do no violence to me, and help me get out of here, I promise to do the same for you." The young wizard remarked, albeit quietly. If she really was a drow, and he did not doubt it at this point, her keen ears would hear him. Dark elves were not known to be particularly trusting, but then again not many humans were either. Hopefully she saw the wisdom in forming a temporary alliance so as to escape. A few moments later, and Malcador was out of his shackles and working on the door. It was a more difficult, more robust lock, but eventually he undid it as well. Glad his childhood shenanigans had not been a complete waste of time, he briefly mused on simply leaving the drow and escaping, but without his magic he was not a capable fighter, and he had given his word...

He began to unlock her cell.

When the mage explained that nobles tended to not like people cutting off their appendages, Serphia scoffed. That boy wasn’t deserving of the title noble. She took his hand with ease. He had a sword at his hip but he didn’t even try to contest her. When she removed his hand, he simply dropped to his knees as he screamed. Did he even know how to use the sword he carried on his hip? The shame his family must feel at the display of his weakness.

“Of course there’s nobility and commoners in the Underdark. The matriarchs play by different rules, however.” Her voice drew somber as she locked her eyes on the man across the way. As she spoke again, her voice dripped with venom. “A lot of blood runs freely in Underdark.”

His answer intrigued her. What did he mean, mostly? Was he a half breed? Perhaps two species mixed together? Or perhaps he was a full human at one time but somehow lost that, giving himself over to the gods? She knew of Drow who had done such things before. However, before he could answer, the guard made his round, peeking in on them before continuing his route. She silently watched the guard leave. When the light faded once more, she turned her eyes back to the man.

She silently watched him as he casted a spell. She could sense the subtle flow of magic. She situated as best she could, pulling on her shackles as she tried to lean forward to get a better view of what the man was doing. As the manacles fell away from his wrist, the Drow allowed an eyebrow to rise as she rested back against the wall. “You are an interesting mostly-human.” He was sure to begin working on the other manacle and then his cell door next. His freedom was at hand. She couldn’t help but feel jealous of the man. He would get out of this disgusting place.She had no doubt he would leave her to rot. He had no reason to free her. He didn’t know who she was and couldn’t possibly hope to trust her. However, as he began to work on the other manacle, he offered her a truce.

Her teeth flashed in the dark in a vicious grin. “Oh, you have nothing to fear from me, human. It’s not you I have eyes for. Release me, and I will get us both out of here.” While leaving blood through every step of the way. These men had imprisoned her. Her honor could not allow such a thing to leave this place. She would make sure they couldn’t speak of it- ever again.

As he began to work on the lock of her door, her ears picked up the slightest sound of something skittering along. She peered past the mage, her eyes scanning the darkness for the one making such a noise. Arloke was always so good at sneaking. As the man pulled her door open, a quiet chittering could be heard from the darkness. Her eyes slowly rose to the ceiling before the same vicious grin crossed her face. “Ah, there you are Arloke.” The cat-sized spider slowly lowered itself from the ceiling on its own silk. Its body was surprisingly furry and its multitude of eyes locked on the mage. It hovered there on its threads, just behind the man’s head.

Her words gave him a grin that showed his teeth. He had to admit, despite his uneasiness, he liked her manner. She had a way of thinking that was clever, but deceptively uncouth by surface standards. Likely from her being more used to her own dark speech. Either way, he found it endearing. Then again, he told himself, it would be amusing until he was dead. Another few twists of the lockpick, and he entered her cell. It was dark, and he felt a sense of dread being in the same cell as a drow, but being a wizard was about discipline. "I believe you. Though if you betray me, keep my face intact. It's my best feature." He joked, before bidding her: "Stay still so I can unlock these, just hold tight." The young wizard tried not to stare at her too long.

It was surreal being so close to something he had been told all of his life would curse him and eat his still beating heart. Drow were cursed by Corellon of the elven pantheon, sent into the depths of the underdark to toil under the Spider Queen. Despite his nerves, however, he had to admit she was rather attractive in a terrifying way. Her face was sculpted and her exotic eyes were indigo in hue, not to mention her shapely, lithe form. He pushed both his fear and salacious thoughts away, or at least the latter. His fear returned when she gazed at the ceiling, speaking into the darkness as if it were a pet.

"Mystra's tits!" Malcador cursed when the shadows began to move, almost searching his repertoire of spells to see what could obliterate a spider that size, at least when he realized what it was. However, he stopped when he gathered she spoke to it in such a familiar way. "Gods, you need to tell me if you have a pet spider." He remarked, indignant. He did not want to bungle their deal, however, and knelt beside her, trying to concentrate on the lock until he freed her left hand. At first he was distracted by her in two ways, but now his focus was solely on the spider that watched with six unblinking eyes. The irons popped open, and he completed the circuit on her next hand. Soon, both shackles were unlocked, and he stepped back to grant the dark elf room.

The lockpick was almost broken. Four manacles and two doors had spent it, and he tossed it aside. His cool, collected manner had returned, and the mage inclined his head. "Glad to be of service. I neglected to introduced myself. I am Malcador of Waterdeep."

It wasn't a full introduction, he did not want to grant his true surname yet. But it would suffice for now. Maybe if they survived, he would feel more ready to speak.

His face was his best feature? Serphia locked her eyes on him, quickly scanning his figure then his face. High cheekbones, a strong jawline, dark black hair; she could see the appeal. He wasn’t an eyesore to gaze upon. However, it was power that attracted most drow eyes to their partner. She would have to see him in battle to judge just how attractive he truly was. She would get a chance to judge him properly in the coming time.

When he comments on her telling him she had a pet spider, her eyes turned from Arloke to the man now knelt by her side. “Why would I share any information with a man who could have left me for dead the moment he was free from his cell?” Her eyebrows quirked up as she gazed upon him, not truly seeking an answer from him but to simply show how foolish of a statement that was. “And what is your fascination with tits and arses? Surely you have a much better curse than that at hand?”

When her shackles were finally released, she dropped her arms and gave them a violent shake. Her elbows were slightly stiff from being locked in the bent position for hours and her fingers tingled painful as the blood flow was finally returned to them. “I thank you.” She said quietly to the mage before turning her eyes back upon her spider. “Arloke, my bag, if you please.” The spider lowered itself the rest of the way to the ground and scurried forward until it was crawling into her lap. Strapped to its abdomen by spider silk was a medium sized satchel. Serphia took the satchel from off the spider after giving it a loving pat to the top of its head.

“They took everything I had,” she grumbled as she began to dig through the bag. Finally she found what she was looking for and pulled free a dagger with its belt, still tightly tucked into its sheath. “I need to get my weapons and armor back.” She placed the dagger on the ground next to her before continuing to dig. Next out of her bag was a water skin that she silently tossed to the mage. She wasn’t sure the last time the human had anything to drink and she wasn’t going to be lugging around an unconscious man, so he had better drink up. She gave her word she would get them both out of that prison but she wasn’t willing to do it while hauling dead weight. He would have to hold his own. “It’s not poisoned,” she said as he turned her eyes on the mage. “Just water. I made a promise to you. I intend to keep it.” She wouldn’t hesitate to leave him behind, but her pride made her want to follow through to the best of her ability.

Last to come from her satchel was a leather bracer that she quickly slid onto her wrist and tightened. This one wasn’t meant for fighting. It was only protection as she sharpened her blades, especially her poisoned ones. However, it was all she had in means of armor. It would allow her to perform arm blocks, or at least direct a sword that would come at her. It wouldn’t protect against a strong blow but it was some kind of defense, meager as it was. She placed the satchel back in Arloke’s silken threads before beginning to rise. The spider scurried off her lap as she finally stood to her full height for the first time in half a day. She let out a low groan as she stretched, pulling the tension free from her lower back at last.

Her purple eyes locked on the man in front of her as he introduced himself. She stood there silent for a moment, pondering the best course of action before she finally spoke up. “I will give you my name when we leave this place alive.” She bent down to pick up her dagger off the ground before securing it to her waist by its belt strap. “Until then, you may just call me Assassin.” With that, she scooped up Arloke before depositing him on her shoulder. The spider shuffled a moment before securing itself to her back, its abdomen pointed upwards, with a few strands of spider silk. It settled in as she jostled him a time or two until he was comfortably situated there. High in the rafters, she could see the silken threads Arloke had used as secure lines while he scurried along the ceiling. She could follow those lines to where they had kept her bag, and most likely, the rest of her things. With a loving scratch to the spider’s leg along her side, she began to walk.

She listened intently to every noise that carried down through the stone halls. Her darkvision allowed her to see even in the darkest of rooms. She was silent as she walked, her body slightly hunched over at the waist so she wasn’t at direct eyeline in case they encountered anyone as they progressed. Slowly, she approached the end of the hall, listening for any hint of people on the other side. The sound of footsteps echoed softly in the distance and she held a hand out to let the mage know to wait there for her. She lowered her center of mass even more as she crouched down. She deliberately unsheathed her dagger before giving a quiet click of her tongue. Arloke shuffled just slightly as she silently made her way into the adjoined hallway.

As the footsteps slowly grew louder, Serphia raised hand just over Arloke’s abdomen and gave a quiet click. The spider produced a sticky glob of silk into her palm before she moved her hand back to her side, the glob of silk in one hand and the dagger in the other. Her dark skin provided her with a bit of protection from being spotted too quickly and when she slapped her hand onto the guard’s mouth from behind, he was none the wiser. The silken glob filled his mouth and covered his nose, keeping him from screaming out and alerting anyone else that may be down the hall. She brought her dagger up and through the ribcage, quickly piercing his heart as she slowly dragged him back away from any possibly looking eyes. The man struggled for a moment, muffled cries getting stuck within the multitude of silken threads. He thrashed in her grasp, trying to pull the dagger out from between his ribs. She gave the blade a sickening twist. He convulsed a moment, unable to take a breath through the silken mess on his face before he finally went still. Dagger still in his side to not get blood all over her tunic, she moved quickly.

Dragging the corpse of the guard back into the hallway where the mage was told to wait, she only spared the magical man a quick gaze as she hurried past him and brought the dead man into her cell. Judging by how little they came to check on her during her stay, she imagined this part of the dungeon didn’t see much action. Perhaps it was too far from the main office and the guards were simply lazy. Nonetheless, she found this one just down the hall. So she would have to be careful where she hid the bodies and continue forward. It was bound to only grow more active as they moved deeper into the prison.

“He was the only one I heard in the halls for now.” She said as she situated the body onto its back, pulling her dagger free and slowly closing the man’s eyes. She pulled the silk from his face and snapped his jaws shut once more. He may have had to die for her pride, but she wouldn’t deny him some dignity in his final resting place, even if it was in the very cell they kept her locked in. She wiped her dagger upon his pants before straightening once more. “I’m sure there will be more the closer to the exit we get.”

She flicked her silver hair out of her face. Some days she regretted cutting off her long braid. At least that way her hair was tightly secured and didn’t fall into her face as often. With this short bob, she found herself constantly tossing her head or having to physically move the bangs from her eyes, especially during a fight. It was tedious and annoying. With a frustrated huff, she turned her eyes onto the mage.

“Ready?”

Well that was visceral.

The wizard had seen many things in his time. At Neverwinter, he had been allowed to experiment with a multitude of expensive ingredients, like the pincers of an Umberhulk and the brain of an intellect devourer. He had cast a number of destructive spells that ripped a tree to pieces, he had divined the coming of events that would lead to his graduation, and he had charmed an unruly horse into allowing him as his rider. Even past those, his greatest strengths were in abjuration and transmutation, and if allowed to cast freely, no doubt the 'assassin' as she called herself would be impressed.

However, he was like a wet blanket at the moment, and he just saw her smother a man with silk and stab him to death.

Effective, but unnerving. Basheba, at least he found the one honorable drow this side of the Aunorach. He had followed her closely, doing his best to not make noise. He was good at that, admittedly. But physical fighting was not his forte, the wizard desperately wishing for his staff so he at least had something to strike someone with if the need came.

"Yes, I'm ready." He whispered to her, nodding. He might not have her darkvision, but his midnight blue eyes were keen, and there was still the occasional torch he found. Plus, he was used to skulking in the dark from his youth. He might be clumsy compared to the drow, but to most he was rather nimble and alert in the dark. The two would-be escapees continued forward, Malcador letting the assassin lead as he kept an eye for someone trying to sneak on their flank. Every now and then he would feel something silken and sticky run across his cheek or shoulder, and tried not to shudder, knowing the small bits of spider silk likely led to the exit.

Down a corridor, they passed several wooden doors reinforced with iron, likely with criminals and various thugs that required solitary confinement. The stone floor had bits of crumbs and dust, even a leaf, likely from the slight breeze Malcador felt on his face and the prison cooks bringing in whatever foodstuffs were to be brought to the prisoners. To the poor souls behind the doors, it was survival, but to Malcador, it tasted like freedom. They reached the foot of the hall, and it led to an old, dilapidated stairway going up. At the top, there was a warm glow, and once they reached the lip of the stairwell, Malcador realized they were at the barracks of the guard station. He watched as two men in half plate armor and thentian surcoats stepped out of a door, and sunlight streamed in from beyond. At the sight, his heart began to race.

There was a fire in a hearth at the left, and a sleeping man snoring on a cushioned chair beside it. In his hand was an empty bottle of something Malcador couldn't guess. To the right, a round table with three men playing cards, mumbling to each other and snickering at intervals. Two of them younger men, likely recruits. The third was older, a veteran probably. There was a carpet on the floor with blue and gold thentian colors. He could smell whiskey and freshly cooked pork, and for a moment Malcador was afraid his stomach would rumble. He motioned for the assassin to back down with him, and halfway up the stairs he whispered to her.

"If we can make it out of here, as soon as we leave that door, I can teleport us away. Not out of the city, but we'll have a head start." He explained, glancing up the stairway. Mystra knew he was tired and hungry, and still stiff. He sighed. "Well... I should not say 'I can.' A quick teleportation spell requires a bit of thread, a splash of alcohol, and the silk of a spider, and the somatic components. We have two of the physical components."

He swiftly ripped a small thread off of his garment, whipping it before him before pulling it taut. "I'll follow your lead, tackle who I must. But I need one of those bottles, and some of Arlocke's silk. Once we make the door, leave it to me."

He closed his eyes, and began searching his memory for the right incantation. His tether to the source of magic was severed, but he still vaguely felt...something. Perhaps it was their proximity to the exit, but it was not quite as absent as it was below. However, he still could not conjure a spell yet. Instead, he went over the complexities of the phrases and gestures he would have to perform to call upon the weave, and once he familiarized himself from his memory, he opened his striking blue eyes again. "I'm ready. Lead on, assassin."

Serphia gave a swift nod as the wizard said he was ready. She led the way out of that hallway, heading into the one where she had found the guard. Along the way, she grabbed at Arloke’s silk, pulling it from the ceiling and balling it in her hands. This silk wasn’t sticky like the rest. It was a support strand to help him if he were to lose his footing and fall from the ceiling as he crawled. It was sturdy and as she balled it up, was quickly turning into a decent weapon she could throw if she had to, though she was more interested in feeding the silk back to Arloke after they escaped this accursed place.

As they passed along the iron enforced doors, the assassin took a moment to peer into the cells. Most were empty but a few held criminals bound to the wall just as she had been. She took note of the larger looking men within the cells. They could do some serious damage if left to their own devices. She would find a way to free them if she and the mage found themselves between a rock and a hard place. It wasn’t ideal to step into a situation you didn’t fully prepare for, though she could do it when the need arose. She did have a few meager spells under her belt, though magic was not her speciality, and she had Arloke. The two had worked together ever since she hatched the critter from its egg. She didn’t imagine they would need the help of the other prisoners but one never knew. It was good to have a backup plan.

Serphia paused at the stairs, dropping her body low so as to not be seen. Her eyes scanned the room of guards with a frown. The fireplace made it impossible to sneak into that room without being seen unless she cast Umbral Shroud. She peered down around them, taking note of the many shadows that littered the small stairwell. The ability would allow her to step into the room but that would be about it. She would have to douse the fire if she wanted to be able to work properly.

When the mage signaled for her to move down the stairs, she slowly slid her body along, her purple eyes locking on him as he explained what they could do if he had the proper components. Her eyes moved to the ball of silk she still had in her palm and gave a small nod. She slowly reached back to pass the silk to Arloke who diligently wove it into the current threads holding him to her back.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” She said as she peered up the stairs again, her heightened hearing listening for any sudden movement from the guards. All she heard from them thus far were chatter and grumbling. Someone must have been losing rather badly at their card game.

The problem would be ridding the room of the guards. Ideas flew through her head at a million thoughts a second. It would not be the first time she took out a room of people but she usually had the time and means to prepare, poison in their drinks, torches mysteriously missing but now she had to think of a way to handle this situation without any preparation, or her items.

She gave a few quick clicks of her tongue and Arloke slowly lowered himself off her back. She reached out to scratch him thoughtfully as he came to settle just next to her on the stairs. Slowly Serphia moved back up to the lip of the stairs, peering into the room as she tried to come up with a tactic. She needed to put that fire out if she wanted to have any chance to take these men out. She peered up at the top of the doorway, finding a sturdy looking frame. An idea began to brew in her mind as she quietly jumped up, grabbing a hold of the frame and quickly pulled herself up. Arloke hurried along the wall, seeking to stay as close to her side as possible.

She paused a moment, balancing precariously as she listened for any change in the sounds from the other side of the room. The three guards didn’t seem to notice and she still heard the loud snoring from the one in the chair. With a wave of her hand, she called the shadows to her, encasing herself in their darkness and disappearing into the abyss. She dropped down on a knee, using one hand and her leg as a clasp to hold onto the door frame as she peered into the room beyond. The fire lit up quite a bit of the room but there were places where its light didn’t touch, mostly the wall that the fireplace was built into. A large pot of something steaming was hovering over the flames and a few skewers of pork roasting right by the fire.

That wasn’t too helpful to her as she moved her gaze from the room down to Arloke. She needed a distraction and though she didn’t like using her beloved pet as such, she had no choice in this matter. She clicked her tongue a few times, exposing her hand from the shadow cloak so that Arloke could see her point to the table of men. His eyes moved from her to the table before he began to crawl along the wall, slipping out from the hallway and scurrying along the ceiling.

Covering herself in the shadow once more, she watched as the large spider made his way towards the middle of the room, pausing a moment just over the table. He waited there for her signal and as she let out a low whistle, he dropped down directly into the middle of the table. Chips and cards went flying in every direction as the large spider landed, the guards staring at him in confusion for only a moment before that confusion turned into disgust and anger. Shouts began to sound as the guards got to their feet, pulling their swords and getting ready to attack her spider friend.

Serphia moved then, flipping through the doorway and into the room. Moving as fast as her legs would take her, she made her way to the fireplace, her shadows slowly pulling away from her to expose her once more as she drew closer and closer to the flames. With a swift kick to the pot that was sitting just inside the fireplace, she watched in relief as the large pot of stew overturned and spilled out onto the flames, dousing the fire with the sounds of harsh sizzling. Smoke poured into the room and Serphia called the shadows to her once more. She whirled around to see Arloke frantically trying to get off the table as the guards took swings at him.

She rushed forward, sending a swift kick to one of the guard's knees directly before her. The surprised man yelp out as he found that leg no longer supporting his weight and dropped to that knee. Serphia vaulted over him and grabbed a hold of Arloke before she threw him up and towards the ceiling. The spider latched onto the rafters above with some well placed silk as Serphia turned onto the four men in the room, the sleeping one having woken up the moment the ruckus began.

Time to get to business.

Basheba curse the whole situation, he thought. Malcador was not an assassin, but he had seen hard men and professional killers work before. He had expected more stabbing. Then again even if she went in there and promptly stabbed two of them, they would still have a fight on their hands. Briefly he pondered sprinting past everyone and then turning the door into a block of ice with his cone of cold spell, but he wouldn't betray the pretty drow or her dog-sized spider. As much as he might feel the thought creeping in, something held him back, for good or ill. Damn, he hated having a conscience, as small and weak as it was.

He had to admit the guards were hard men. He had expected a few of them to squeal and fall out of their chairs at the sight of a spider that size, but they drew their swords after the briefest hesitation. As the smoke poured in, noting that, at least, was a very smart play, he wrapped a cloth around his handsome face in anticipation. Drawing in a deep breath, he steeled himself and watched the chaos unfold. Webbing shot out, covering the arms and hair of the guards who had not had the foresight to keep their helms on. The dark maiden waded into them, going about her deadly work with impressive efficiency. The wizard knew it wouldn't go her way if he did not help, but he had a distinct fear of blades entering his body and had given up on physical combat after the academy. Even with his past of running the streets, without a weapon and against armored men, he did not like his odds.

Instead, an instant read of the room had Malcador's eyes catch the man that was still just waking up. He was not only drowsy, but was taking in a lungful of fresh smoke and staggering away from the fireplace, desperately trying to find clear air where his eyes could focus without stinging. He dropped his near empty bottle to roll across the floor and feebly reached for the sword at his belt. While the other men turned, trying to find the source of the commotion and the location of the spider, Malcador sprang from the lip of the stairwell and charged the staggered guardsman, hitting him from behind with the entirety of his weight and driving him to the floor in a heap. Immediately he felt a bruise welling from a piece of plate slapping into his forearm, but he yanked the helmet off and grabbed the man's head of hair before he used all his strength to slam it into the ground thrice, each time hitting audibly as the cries of alarm rose across the room. He grabbed at the hilt of the sword in the now limp hand, and withdrew it from his scabbard, rising with an arming sword in one hand as a duelist, or more aptly, a battlemage might.

He kicked the head of the fallen man one more time and then ran in to the flank of the confusing melee, trying to decipher just what was happening. The smoke and the webbing and the assassin's whirring blades made it difficult to ascertain, but he still waited as long as he could for a well-made strike, suddenly seeing a bare neck out of the smog. Malcador stabbed at it, but missed. Luckily he made a pull cut and gashed the man, who cried out in pain and turned, his eyes wild and his face screwed up from the smoke and pain. Malcador desperately blocked a clumsy cut from him, before cutting his hand, causing him to drop the blade. Malcador stepped forward and smashed the pommel of his sword into the man's face. He fell like a downed tree. It was a lucky exchange of swords, but he wasn't going to complain.

"Assassin! Let's get out of here!" Malcador cried, drawing a small modicum of the other men's attention. He backpedaled out of their line of sight behind the smoke, but he had to admit he was also finding it difficult to breathe and see his surroundings. He lowered himself to the floor in a crouch, deigning to make his escape before he saw the fallen bottle had rolled into the wall. He went for it, glad to see it still had enough of the swill to be useble for the spell. "Let's go!"

He began a full sprint across the remaining half of the room, making for the door, sword leading in case he had to use it in his flight. If Arlocke gave him a bit of webbing, they would be gone in twenty seconds.

Serphia was like a ghost in the smoke, Arloke a silken turret of webs from his hiding place on top of the rafters. Keeping her body low and her swipes even lower, she went for ankles, Achilles tendons, and the back of the knees. Some of the men's thick hide boots protected the ankles and calves from attacks but even the plate armor did nothing for the back of the knees. Her dagger found one as the guard attempted to strike at where Arloke was previously. He cried out as he twisted, that leg no longer willing to work for him and extended out to his side as his hand dropped to the now deep gash in the back of his leg. The assassin didn't wait as she drove the dagger into the side of his neck, violently ripping it forward and out. The knight gurgled as he fell to his knees then to the ground. One down.

Three more to go. Or rather two more. She watched for a moment as the mage tackled the man closest to the fireplace, slamming the man's head onto the stone floor three times over before equipping himself with the man's discarded sword. She allowed her eyebrow to rise at the sight before a small smile crossed her lips. Perhaps he would be more useful than she had originally intended. It would seem he would be learning her name after all. Assuming they could get out of the smoke and get some fresh air again before they suffocated.

Sephria tried to cover her mouth with her hand, taking a moment to catch her breath but coughing lightly as her breathing came in quick and harsh. This smoke was truly becoming a problem for her as she dove under the table to avoid a strike from the last guards. Adrenaline had her heart racing like a drum and she had to cover her mouth with the bottom of her tunic so she could get even a meager breath without inhaling smoke. She blinked fiercely, trying to force the water from her eyes. She rubbed at her eyes and cheeks, smearing soot into her face.

The last two guards lunged towards Serphia under the table. One plunged his sword in quickly. She twisted away, the sharp edge of the blade cutting into her side, slashing her tunic and her skin underneath. She hissed out but ignored the strike as she slid out from under the wooden trap. She danced between the two men, bounding from one foot to the other.

As Malcador struck at the other guard, she dodged a stab towards her from the last one. She ducked under the thrust, grabbing a hold of the man’s wrist as she did so. She twisted her body into the man. She pulled his arm over her shoulder and with a grunt of effort, flung him over her shoulder and slammed him, back first, into the table. His breath left him with an audible “oomf” and she dropped down, pulling on the man's arm with all her weight and the momentum. A sickening crack sounded as his elbow bent the wrong way over the edge of the table and he cried out with what little breath he had left as his sword clattered to the ground. She picked up the blade in her free hand and used it to stab into the man's gut, pinning him to the table.

At Malcador’s call for them to retreat, she sprang on top of the table, blade whirling around ready for another attack. When none came, she took a moment to close her eyes and listen. The only sounds she could hear were Malcador’s footfalls, Arloke’s scuttering and the pained groans of the man pinned to the table next to her. When the wizard called again for their escape, she dropped off the table and followed his lead. As they drew closer to the door, Serphia ducked under the man’s arms, pushing his blade up before dropping her shoulder. She slammed into the doorway, the momentum flinging it open as they barreled through. She gasped loudly as they were finally exposed to fresh air. Taking large gulps of air and bracing herself on her knees, she bent at the waist as she tried to catch her breath. She remained like that for only a moment before straightening, feeling the familiar crawling sensation as Arloke crawled onto her back and settled himself there once more. Before they could waste any more time, she sheathed her dagger and reached into her pocket to withdraw the large ball of spider silk she had stored there previously. She grabbed the sword away from Malcador before she replaced it with the silken ball. That being done, she peered around at their surroundings.

They were in a small courtyard, low walls encasing the grassy hillock. To their right sat a path that led off to somewhere else, Serphia assuming it was the town below. The night sky was clear and she could smell the sea on the breeze that caused the flags along the walls to flap enthusiastically. Off in the distance she could see the movement of guards on patrol. She frowned, as she took the sword she had taken from the wizard and pulled it up in a guard defense. They didn’t seem to have noticed the two yet but it wouldn’t be long until they did.

“Time to go, Malcador.” She said quietly, flicking her purple eyes to the wizard.

Malcador had seen the weaving of magic too fast for the eye to follow. Movements so quick, flows so minute in design, they could barely be said to have occurred at all. Yet the assassin moved like a dream. Serpents could not claim something so sinuous, and yet it was beautiful. He had been attracted before, but the fluidity of her motion was mesmerizing, and the smoke only added to the mystique. However, Arloke's alien form broke the spell, and he realized for a single breath he had been staring before he tumbled out of the doorway, and his mind caught up with him. He coughed, but kept himself upright as the drow caught her breath. Suddenly, he realized he felt the weave again. It was as if Mystra had awoken and touched his brow.

The drow also made a fine point, it was time to go.

As if on cue, Arloke spat out a small glob of silk into Malcador's open palm. "Eugh..." he complained, but it was needed. Quickly, he placed the bottle of alcohol on the ground and he withdrew the thread from his pocket, holding it taut with a flourish, keeping it vertical to the ground so the silk would slid into it. He began to chant the opening to the incantation, needing to begin softly to catch the winds of magic before he could truly call upon the powers. Like one could feel the water they had just drunk sliding down their throat, he finally felt the weave come around into the center of his sensations, and then he began to speak louder. He could only see his hands before him. He did not hear the shouts of curiosity from his left, at least not at first. When he did, it was distant, out of focus. He could barely hear the metallic sound of swords leaving their sheathes, and men crying out for them to halt their activity. He could make out the tensing of his companion, but his spell reached a crescendo, and suddenly the silk, as well as the thread, were consumed by purplish flames that erupted from the bottle.

Immediately Malcador grabbed the assassin's wrist as smoke whirred to envelop him, and he pulled her close in a sudden embrace to make sure he did not leave her behind. "Don't stab me!" He said hastily, and he felt Arloke clinging to his leg as the mystical smoke ensconced them. The guards leaped into the smoke, but their swords cleaved through nothing, and their hands grabbed only one another.

For a single instant, there was a feeling of utter weightlessness as their bodies were flung through an unknown dimension. However, just as soon as the weightlessness had appeared, gravity came crashing back, and both the mage and drow hit the dirt as if they were lovers that had been shoved off a table. Malcador felt her knee go into his stomach, and his dark blue eyes widened as the breath was driven out of his lungs. However, the sky above, though the same sky, was now marred by the leaves of trees on the right. Idly he realized the wall of Thentia loomed over them...

The outer wall.

They had made it outside! No wonder it was so bloody cold. For a brief moment, he appreciated the drow's warmth, but he knew every second added to the possibility of being stabbed, or perhaps she would bite his jugular and drink his blood? He was still unsure of what drow females did to people that were no longer useful. It was an intrusive thought, he doubted she would do that at this point. But now was also the moment of clarity. Now they technically did not need each other, at least not immediately.

Malcador would push her off of him, but he also knew putting his hands on her wasn't smart, so he simply let her go. Arloke shimmied off his leg, helpfully.

"We did it." he croaked with little enthusiasm.

Serphia readied herself, unsheathing the dagger in one hand and guard’s sword in the other. The guards had caught sight of them and were demanding for them to halt their activity. The drow whirled around, a snarl leaving her throat. Six, eight, no ten men. Her heart fluttered for a moment. They were dead. After all the hard work to get out of the damn prison in the first place, they were going to meet their end right there in that grassy knoll. She couldn’t fight off ten men while trying to keep the mage alive.

She slowly lowered Arloke to the ground from her back, her purple eyes flashing in the dim light of the moon as she prepared herself for her final battle. She would go down swinging. None would say she died a coward.

However, before she could barrel forward and meet the offense with her own, she felt a swelling of magic just behind her. Suddenly, her wrist was snatched and she found herself spinning into the chest of the mage as he wrapped his arms around her quickly. She let out a hastened whistle, Arloke grabbing a hold of the mage’s leg as the smoke enveloped them. The guards crashed through the smoke of the spell, finding the area empty and their prisoner’s gone.

Serphia learned that night that she was not built for teleportation magic. As they were thrust through another dimension, their bodies feeling as if they didn’t weigh anything, Serphia felt her stomach rise up in her chest and when their weight was returned, she felt that same stomach come crashing down. Nausea overtook her and she snapped her eyes closed, trying to settle her distraught stomach.

As they came crashing down into reality again, Serphia let out a groan as her body slammed into the mage, Arloke falling into the grass just next to Malcador. She lingered there on top of the mage for a moment, her eyes still closed tight as she tried to overcome the nausea. Her mouth began to water and her eyes snapped open. She covered her mouth and frantically scrambled off the man. She managed a few feet before retching and spewing into the grass just under one of the nearby trees. She braced herself against the trunk, resting her sweaty forehead against the back of her hand before she felt another bout of nausea and lost the will to live with another violent spew of her stomach.

As the mage gave a weak cheer, Serphia held her hand up in a half-hearted victory gesture. “Cheers and celebration,” she murmured quietly. She spat into the grass before she rolled along the tree, coming to settle on the other side of her mess, her back braced against its trunk and head leaning back.

Slowly, the adrenaline from the battle faded and left Serphia shaking and aching in a few new places. Her stomach was empty and her blood sugar was quite low. She could feel it as trembles travelled through her.

As sensations returned to her, most specifically pain, she hissed lightly as her side finally demanded the attention it needed. That guard had cut her when he stabbed under the table and now it burned like fire.

Slowly she reached out and gently groped along the gash, her fingers sliding through the slice in her tunic and feeling the blood that had soaked through her clothes and dried along her skin. She groaned lightly, unwilling to move just yet else she would have to deal with another bout of nausea.

This was her only article of clothing and now it was ruined. Those bastards took everything from her. Her weapons and armor were still somewhere within those prison walls, most likely already stolen by some guard. It’s going to cost her an arm and a leg to get armor even remotely as nice as the set she had. Not to mention her swords were adamantine. If she found even one person wearing her weapons or armor, she was going to slay them and take it back. Wait. Her eyes snapped open. Was that why they had stripped her? They wanted her items?

“Phraktos tlu xsa'us,” she cursed through clenched teeth as she drove her fist into the ground. “Those fuckers stripped me to steal my items. I should have murdered every last one of them.” The sudden movement sent a sharp pain through her side and she ground her teeth as her hand shot to the gash. She gave a low whistle and Arloke scurried from the mage to her side, her pack bouncing lightly along his abdomen.

She pulled the pack off him before giving Arloke a gentle stroke to his back. “Thank you, ussta abbil,” she muttered quietly to the arachnid before she began to dig through her bag one handed, her other hand still pressed firmly against the gash on her side. They were lucky that the cut was the only thing she had acquired during that brawl. It could have been far worse. A meager wound on the side that had pretty much already stopped bleeding and wasn’t deep enough to be deadly was nothing compared to losing their lives. She may need some stitches to close it up properly but they were alive.

As the drow vomited what little food she had been given from her time in jail, Malcador looked up at the sky and deduced they had landed on the eastern side of the city. He recognized the minarets, and not for the first time did he feel the irony of being locked up in a city known for its independent values and it's freedom of trade and philosophy. He guessed there was a reason the biggest cities were full of rogues and pirates. He supposed he was one, now, in a certain way of thinking.

Malcador was tired, hungry, swathed in rags and undeniably irritable. However, he did have to move or be locked up again. He was used to teleportation, at least enough not to vomit. However, it was still never easy, and his stomach still smarted from the knee to it. Not to mention the smoke and cuts from the whole ordeal. It was just the beginning, however, and he rallied himself, pulling himself up to his feet and running his hands through his dark brown hair. He loosed his hair out of the small loop behind his head, letting his mane fall freely as he approached Serphia.

"Let me see that," He said more gently, getting down on one knee tentatively. He was still wary around her, but he was starting to believe she wasn't playing a game with him. She had the perfect chance to kill him right when they landed, even nauseated. "Remove your hand, I'll cauterize it. It'll have to do until we can get a real bandage on that."

To his surprise, she reluctantly allowed him to aid her. When her slim hand moved, he summoned the weave again. It was fortunate he had recently perfected a few flame spells, however he needed to be careful. The smallest flame would do, and he did not wish to hurt her, surprisingly. He liked to think it was because of his sense of loyalty to a partner, and it partially was that, but it was also because seeing her in the light, he was even more attracted than he thought he might be. Shut up, you idiot. Don't even think it, he scolded himself. He banished the thoughts away as he began to incant the spell, and within moments his hands were as hot as cinders. They emanated a soft glow, simultaneously darkening like coals.

Gingery he pressing his hand against her wound, and the blood turned to steam as he pressed into her skin for two heartbeats, before pulling his hand away as swiftly as he could. "Sorry," he remarked. He gave her a few seconds to recover, and glanced at Arloke before taking a deep breathe. They needed to move. "The bastards don't know what side of the city we left, or even if we're out of the city, so we have a head start. We need to go. If we hurry, we can make it to the next village in the middle of the night, find a barn and maybe some new clothes."

Malcador was surprised at how correct he was.

They moved through the brush, keeping away from the road as much as they could, even when out of sight of Thentia. As the minutes turned to hours, the wizard imagined once or twice he could hear pursuit. The neighing of horses and the words of men carried on the wind, but he never saw anyone. If the assassin heard, she gave no sign. Before Malcador knew it, night had fallen, and only as the moon rose and the sun dipped past the sea did they finally see lights in the distance. A village!

They both knelt behind the brush at the edge of the treeline, watching the quaint little town he believed was called Thenton. There was a single watchtower, but from their position it looked unmanned. The village lacked walls, being so close to Thentia to get regular patrols and commerce. Even if they had money, they couldn't stay at an inn. It had to be at a farmhouse, and with the drow's keen vision, they spotted a suitable location. The two circled around town to a farm on the northern edge of the Thenton, slipping past the lights inside the occupied farmhouse. Malcador nearly tripped into a wire, but ducked and realized it was laundry. He and the drow nabbed a few items of clothing, and then trekked to the barn near the outskirts, past grazing cattle. With an effort, he opened the vast front door open and let his companion slip in with her spider, before he shut it.

With a word of power, he summoned a wan light source to float into the center of the two story barn. Bales of hay and collections of tools were splayed out, and more of the same were likely up the ladder.

"Well, it's not exactly Castle Never, but we'll have to get used to that for a bit." He said with barely contained frustration. He was tired and hungry, and the last water he had was when he had dunked his head in a small stream a few miles out of town.

"I'll need a spellbook and some food, or I might as well be cursed with anti-magic like in the jail. I believe my light spell is the final in my repertoire until those needs are met. How are you? Holding up well?"

Serphia watched the man approach her, instructing her to let him see her wound. Everything she ever knew and learned told him not to let him see her side. He could poison her, injure her more severely, kill her in her moment of weakness but her logical mind watched the way he spoke, how he held himself, and how gently he was addressing her. She bit the inside of her cheek but reluctantly moved her hand out of the way for him. As he summoned the magic to warm his hand, she snapped her eyes closed and stilled. When his hand pressed into her side, the only sign of pain she exhibited was the tightening of her eyes and her fingers lightly digging into the dirt and grass. She remained completely still otherwise and as he moved his hand away, she let her body relax lightly.

She gave a meager nod of acknowledgement towards his apology, unsure if she could speak just yet again, her throat tight as the pain slowly simmered. She sat against the trunk with her eyes closed, listening as the wizard explained that they needed to get going. Arloke gave her some encouraging chirps and she finally opened her eyes to gaze down at her little fuzzy friend. She grunted as she finally rose, her face twisting into discomfort at the pull of the burned flesh. At least she wasn't bleeding anymore. One step in the right direction, she supposed. What she wouldn't give to have her armor back, however, or any other weapons besides her basic dagger and the guard's sword. She didn't even have a sheath for the sword so she was forced to carry it around in the open as they went.

Her senses were on high alert as they progressed. Every little twig snap, rustling of leaves, or quiver of a bush had her head on a swivel. As night finally caught up with them, her darkvision allowed her to peer out into the wood and see what it was that was around them. Mostly it was just the basic wildlife but from time to time, she would pause for a moment and listen to human voices as they passed by them on the road. None of them seemed dangerous to their current situation, mostly just lovers looking for a place away from town and quiet where they wouldn't be disturbed. When the lights of the village flickered off in the distance like a burning torch, she paused. She was thankfully for the mage at that moment because the drow was well and truly lost. She did not know the names of the villages nor if they would be safe for them to sneak into and settle for the night. As far as she was aware, this was just a nameless settlement where humans gathered.

As they peered through the bushes, the drow scanned the surrounding areas. It seemed to be a rather peaceful place without walls or any true defense. She searched through looking for a suitable place for them to bunker down and spotted a farmhouse off into the distance. She gave Malcador a gentle nudge before she pointed to where she saw the farmhouse off in the distance. They began their trek, slipping in and out of shadows of the treeline as they went, sure not to be spotted by anyone.

When the mage nearly tripped on the clothesline, she had to bite her bottom lip not to sputter out a laugh. It was a sudden stress relief that came from nowhere and broke her stern mask for only a moment. Her stern mask once more in place, she picked a tunic and pants off the line and draped it over her shoulder. She followed the wizard as he opened up the barn and she silently slipped in before he closed the door behind them. She stood, crouched at the entrance as her eyes scanned the area. There didn’t seem to be any living things out in the barn, so after a moment of checking that the coast was clear, she finally straightened and gave a whistle to Arloke. He scurried along her shoulder and she raised her hand up so he could jump from her arm to the second story with ease. She listened as he explained that the barn surely wasn’t Castle Never and her eyebrow quirked up a bit. She did not know of that place. She didn’t know of any real places on the surface.

She understood his frustration. She needed armor and true weapons, or at least a sheath so she wouldn’t have to open carry the sword around with her at all times. She was also very hungry as well. What little food she had, she threw up into the grass just outside the Thentia outer wall. She peered up at Arloke weaving himself a small nest on the second floor and pondered if her little friend could go and find them some food. Perhaps he could hunt for them and bring back anything he may find.

When he asked how she was holding up, she moved her gaze from Arloke to the mage. She scanned him over, remaining quiet for a moment before she turned her eyes back to her spider settling into his web bed. “Serphia.” She said before she faced the mage completely, crossing her arms in front of her chest with a low sigh. She rested her upper back against one of the support beams before continuing, “You may call me Serphia and I’m quite fine.” In reality, her side throbbed painfully and her body was exhausted but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t deal with. She was trained to endure worse.

“As for food,” she gave a low whistle followed by a few clicks and Arloke peeked out from his little cubby hole. He looked down at her, his fangs twitching lightly as they caught each other’s gazes. She tilted her head to the side, curious, before the little spider chittered and began to crawl down from his nest. He didn’t seem to be too happy about the task she sent him to do but he followed her command, nonetheless. He hurried along the ground before climbing the wall and slipping out of the window above.

“He will hunt for us. Though, what he will bring back will not be very large.” The spider would still need to be able to bring the prey back to them and Serphia hoped that he wasn’t so upset that he would inject his venom into the prey just to get back at her. He had done that a time or two whenever she spent too much time out of the home and left him behind. He could be rather vindictive like that. She imagined he wouldn’t, however. Arloke was a very intelligent little pet and he understood, at least to a degree, that his task was important. \

The previous night had been an experience. Malcador had to endure eating only slightly cooked squirrel, while Serphia and he spoke about their plans for the next day and supped what little water they had gathered from the last river they had happened upon. They had no money, no prospects, and it was only a matter of time before the riders of Thentia showed up in Thenton to question the townsfolk about two escapees. A dark elf, who was easy to spot, and an incredibly handsome magician, who might also not be extremely forgettable. Not to mention the bulbous giant spider trailing them.

They needed to keep heading east, potentially to Hulburg. Malcador had never been there, but it was close enough to reach on foot and far away enough to be out of Thentia's sphere of influence. He doubted Serphia had been there, either. Truth be told, wherever they went, she would bring trouble by nothing else but her heritage, and if people found out she was an assassin, it would certainly not help an already delicate matter. However, Malcador was stupidly going to stick with her for awhile.

The outfit he now wore was a simple one. Baggy, worksman's trousers and a white linen shirt, tied snug at his waist with a sash belt. Sephia had received similar garb, albeit not exactly the same. Malcador had fixed his hair best he could, but he was still fairly unkempt. At least they had slept well, considering it was on hay. Malcador had been so tired he had slept until an hour after sunrise, and his body still ached. He was not built for running all day, and while it replenished a small bit of his magical strength back, he still required a spellbook to do anything complicated. He wasn't a sorcerer that could just will his way into power, he was a wizard. It required study and preparation, and he was without much of either, and no real collection of spell components.

He drew a course map of the northern coast of the moonsea in the dirt with his finger. "We could travel on the east road, but someone might spot us, and you would need to keep your face swathed in some form of cloth. We could head north for a brief spell, and travel in the back country. It might be safer, even considering how close Thar is." He shook his head. There were multiple options, but none of them great. "I'm not sure how adverse you are to stealing, but we might need to continue that until we can procure some more coins and find a reasonable mode of employ. I would suggest we hire ourselves as guards on a caravan, but considering our lack of armor or weapons or credentials, I doubt anyone would accept us. They'd sooner send us straight back into Thentia Prison."

It looked somewhat bleak, to him, but chances were Seprhia was far older than he, and was likely used to traveling places without being seen. With Arloke scouting, they might have to endure the woods for another few days longer.

"What do you think, Serphia?"

A squirrel wasn’t exactly a succulent meal. Arloke could carry larger prey but she wondered if he either couldn’t find it or went with the easier prey so he could return home to his newly constructed nest. While he was out and hunting, Serphia took it upon herself to build a tiny fire. They were in a barn full of hay and dried grass. If she made a fire too large, it would consume the barn and thus them. So she cleared a large area of any hay or flammable items before making a small flame they could use to at least cook whatever the spider brought back for them. Upon Alroke’s return, Serphia quickly got to work on butchering the squirrel and setting it on the fire to cook. She only changed after butchering the animal, dressing in the only clothes provided for her. Unfortunately, Drow do not exactly have large frames and the tunic and pants she snatched off the clothes line were far too big for her. The tunic hung off her shoulders and gathered above her hands. The pants hung off her hips and she was forced to ask Arloke for some silk so she could tie it to her waist. She looked more suited in a crew of pirates than wandering the wilderness with a wizard but it was all they had at the moment, so she made do.

After they ate, she got to work on shredding her old tunic and pants. Any pieces that were relatively clean, she tucked into her pack, the rest was thrown into the fire. It was best not to leave such things available for others to find. The things magic wielders could do with blood or bodily fluids wasn’t anything anyone wanted to mess with and growing up in a land where people were known for taking whatever they could get, she was sure to get rid of the bloody clothes pretty quickly.

She spent that night outside the barn, keeping her eyes and ears out for anything that might be trouble for them. Sometime in the middle of the night, Arloke came to join her, finding the Drow with her back against the barn wall, one leg stretched out and the other bent. Serphia dropped her bent knee and Arloke settled into her lap for loving scratches and snuggle time with the one who raised him. They stayed like that until just before sunrise. She went back inside the barn and settled to sleep for a few hours before they hit the road. By the time Malcador awoke, Serphia had been asleep for only about three hours. However, as he began to stir and move about, she woke up quickly.

As he drew along the ground and contemplated their next move, Serphia got to work on packing any usable items she found in the barn in her pack. She found a few useful yards of rope, some rusted tools that she didn’t find useful, and a crap ton of hay. “I have no problem with stealing,” she said as strolled over to peer down at the map he had drawn in the dirt, stuffing the rope into her bag as she did so. “Though, I am not sure my form of employment would be considered reasonable in this human world.” She was sure she could find feasible employment as an assassin, but Malcador might not like her working that part of the employment field. Also, she mostly left the Underdark because of her profession and family ties. She wasn’t sure she wanted to stay awake every night because she was fearful someone else would attack them. It wasn’t the best way to live. Though, they already had the guards out looking for them, so they had that going for them in a way.

When he addressed her as Serphia, she had a pause. It was odd to listen to a human speak her name so casually. The slaves were not permitted to speak to any Drow in such a casual manner. It was like a wakeup to her system. It took her a moment to get over it.

“Well,” she said with a light throat clearing cough, “If you are asking my opinion, I believe our best option would be to stick to the shadows. At least, until I can get some proper garb that will keep my appearance hidden from sight. I am not too accustomed to the world above the surface but I’m sure we could find some easy targets to rob along the way. Perhaps even find a bandit or two. I’m sure the city would not mind if we rid them of that scourge.” She slung her pack over her shoulder before giving a low whistle to Arloke. The spider came down from his little nest. She picked him up and rested him on her shoulders where he snuggled in close.

“If we find a wagon along the way, perhaps we could deceive them and take their items.” She gave a light shrug. No matter what path they decided to take, Serphia seemed content to take it with the wizard. He seemed loyal enough, even if he was only human. It was nice to have some company as she got a better feel for the land under the sun.

“Either way, we should consider making our way out of this barn. I am surprised the family has not come in already to begin their morning chores.” As she was speaking, she began to open the barn door to lead the way out but froze when she heard speaking just on the other side. She pulled the door closed before turning to Malcador with a raised finger.

“Question. How likely are the guards of Thentia to relate the death of a farmer and his family back to us?”

Mal had no problem stealing either, other than the incarceration that could follow. He was glad she at least knew an assassin was not typically smiled on by normal folk, though there was no shortage of men in need of a good blade for hire.

The handsome wizard pursed his lips and shrugged. He supposed she was right, they could go after a few bandits. But they would be difficult to find and likely difficult to kill, especially if he doesn't have a spellbook. Then again, they might have a bandit wizard with one he could requisition for himself...but that also complicated things. Malcador would rather not be turned to stone or hit with a fireball. But, he supposed if they ran into them, it couldn't be helped. Admittedly he would kill for a proper bed and some food. Bandits might have those too, even if they were in a cave.

He stroked his fine chin, contemplating her suggestions, before she turned back around and mentioned murdering the family, and he looked at her for a long moment.

"...Let's not do that." He told her, as if he had been on the fence about it.

Before Serphia had a chance to debate the topic, the most unlikely thing on Toril happened. The two of them heard a distant noise, a deeper reverberating noise that shook the very ground. It was followed by a myriad of screeches and wailing calls that sent a shiver up Malcador's spine. Arloke peeked out from Serphia's pack, his multitude of eyes as confused as Malcador felt. He was still not used to the drow and her pet, but they were at least familiar. Gods be good, what in the nine hells could those sounds that be now? He shared a look with Serphia, and the two of them kept from the door and went for the ladders leading up to the second story of the barn. They climbed up quickly, and knelt beside the openings all barns had to ventilate air.

"Mystra curse me," He muttered, as the two of them beheld utter pandemonium. Across the field, they saw men, women, and children running out of houses and sprinting for their lives as black armored figures and devils, (they had to be devils!) chased them with wings, claws, and whips of serrated steel. Malcador watched a man was pounced on and ripped apart by two spiked devils just as a family was rounded up and put to the sword by faceless men in black brigandines. A kilometer to the left, there was an explosion of coruscating colors, and Malcador could tell a spellcaster was defending himself. A handful of armored cavalrymen rode out of the tables, lances and swords at the ready. They were defenders of the town, peeling off to chase different monsters and groups of men, but they were far too few.

There had to be two hundred of the black armored men, and maybe a hundred devils. The townsfolk outnumbered them, but the sheer surprise and the lack of armaments with the average citizen likely spelled their doom. Even if Malcador had his spellbook and all fully prepared spells, he doubt he could turn the tide himself.

"We need to help them or..." He stopped, wondering what they could do. He shook his head, knowing Serphia was not likely going to risk her neck for the townsfolk. He was hesitant to as well, he had to be honest. "This is our chance, if we can kill a few of those attackers, we can loot them and take their equipment. I might can find a spellbook." He hoped his reasoning would be seen as sound to her. "Feel up for a quick fight?"

Without her, he'd be killed immediately without his magic.

Serphia allowed an eyebrow to quirk up when the man told her they should avoid killing the family. She personally found it to be a foolish move. They were mere moments from being discovered. She could hear a hand grabbing a hold of the barn door latch, a deep voice questioning why the door was unlocked. Her indigo eyes locked on the door as she unsheathed her dagger from her waist. This was going to turn into a fight whether Mal wanted it to or not. However, just as the door was almost opened, the ground vibrated under them. Her head whirled around as she tried to find the source of the movement. Indigo orbs met blue before the two turned in unison and ran for the ladder. She scaled the side of it, allowing him the main use of it as they moved. She was surprised by how quickly he was able to go. Perhaps he had some previous training or maybe even an actual criminal background. She would have to question him on it.

She pulled herself up on the ledge and scurried to the opening to peer out. Serphia took the sight in a quick sweep. She had no idea what those things were, though she may have an idea why they were attacking the village. It was most likely a slave raid. Anyone left alive after the initial attack would be taken as slaves and their homes plundered for resources and goods. She had thought she left that mess behind when she left the underdark but it seemed it would follow her, even here in this tiny town of farmers and peasants. Her lips were pulled in a thin line on her face as she watched. Her eyes scanned the attackers, seeing one far off behind the others, his armor far more intricate and he had a large gleaming sword at his waist. He shooted orders to a few of men before he grabbed a devil off a thrashing man and threw the creature at a different target.

She looked at the wizard and a look of displeasure creased her features when she saw that look on his face. “No,” she said at the same time as he said they needed to help. “No! I did not come to the surface just to die in battle for humans!” She crossed her arms, huffing as he continued. She peered out of the window as he spoke about possibly getting equipment and the chance he might find a spellbook. She groaned as she brought her hand to her nose, pinching the bridge. She had no armor, he had no spells. What was he going to do against devils and raiders? She feared that if she didn’t go with him, he was still going to try to at least get a spellbook somehow. She pondered just splitting from the man right then and there. He was a madman if he thought for even a moment that they stood a chance against a raiding party like that. Their only backup would be the people trying to catch them to put them back in jail. It was foolishness. It was stupidity. It was- something she would have been forbidden to do if she was back home.

She let out a loud groan as she dragged her hands along her face. “Alright, fine!” She steepled her hands in front of her mouth before addressing him. “But you listen to me right now. If you want to survive this, you do NOT leave my side for even a moment. Is that understood, wizard? If we get separated, I’m leaving you behind. I have no intentions of dying here in this tiny hole in the ground.” She spoke quickly as if she needed to get the words out before she changed her mind. She was a fool to be trying this. It was going to get them killed. It was going to be one hell of a fight.

She could already feel her heart thumping in her chest as she peered out the window again. She bounced on her hunches in anticipation. She was an assassin about to go face to face with raiders and marauders. She had truly lost her mind. Any exhaustion she felt from keeping watch the night before was swept away with the flow of adrenaline. "How good are you at climbing?” She reached back to pull Arloke forward, the spider rubbing its mandibles together in curiosity. She gave a long whistle then a few shorter ones just after, a complex command for him to follow well.

He lightly jumped from her shoulder and latched a thick line of silk to the wooden frame of the window. She gave it a mighty tug, planting her foot against the wall and putting all her weight into it as she pulled back. The silk held and the frame looked sturdy enough to make her happy. She gave the spider a gentle slap on the bottom and he jumped. She watched as the spider soared away until he landed in a tree about 32 meters from them, a long thick line of silk connected to him. She waited a moment for Arloke to connect the silk the tree. He circled a few times before he used one of his legs to strum the thread. She grabbed the silk and suddenly dropped her whole body weight onto it while picking her feet up. It held. She peered around on the loft, looking for anything they could use as handholds. She found a few pieces of rope that were just barely long enough to be useful after she tied knots at the bottom of them.

“Time to go, Malcador.” She slung one piece over the silk and grabbed his wrist before making him grab a hold just above the knot she had made. “Just keep sliding and when you hit the tree, brace yourself with your knees. Bend them so you don’t break something.” She checked to make sure he was secure before giving him a mighty push against his backside, moving to quickly to worry about where her hands came to settle. She had a plan and wanted to get it moving in the right direction.

It wasn’t long after that she followed.