The Chains That Bind Us

[Chandra Dawnspear]

This was not what Chandra Dawnspear had expected.

Death. Yes.

Public Humiliation. Yes.

Put into the slave pens. Perhaps on a graceful day.

Imprisonment…..

No. She had not expected to be imprisoned by her kingdom for the failures to bring victory to the dark Elves of Revan. High Advisor to the King Selhir, and sworn vassal, Chandra was expected to find a way to defeat the Emprean army in the War Games that took place at the Citadel of Radansath. When a lucky assassination attempt by their famed hero Brian McCorvan had seen the king temporarily killed in the War Games, Chandra was placed in full control.

She devised a plan that was fool proof, and would crush the last resistance that Emprea had to hold off the Elven army. Each of her generals rode forwards upon terrible winged mounts, the black dragons spewing hellfire and raking the castle walls lifting the siege in one fowl swoop. Her forces charged the ground, battering rams moving inwards to break the wall down in a glorious display of power. Hundreds would chant her name, and when the King would be resurrected and told of her brilliance she would be pardoned of the blunder that happened in the Black Archipeligo islands where she nearly had her entire fleet wiped out.

Then that she-devil and thrice cursed bitch Viola Conda led the counter-attack. Their head archer and Captain of the Ballista’s Rachel Leona shot their repeater bolt throwers into the grass, where overnight assassins had deployed oil to create an inferno on the land. Then, with care aiming like she was shooting a bow, she impaled the head sorceress with a single bolt through her mounts neck breaking the spell that controlled the beasts to the will of the riders.

Many of her generals were killed as the dragons began to attack everyone in sight, friend and foe, two even trading blows. Only lord Malus and Chandra had managed to control their mounts. Then the insanity of the berserker lord Paul Donovan led him and a group of soldiers to actually leap onto her mount and try to tear it down. Her soldiers on ground were thwarted by an implacable guard, David King of the Castle Guard ordering them into perfect positions. When the attack crashed off their shields the house knights got the last say as mounted cavalry rushed from the trees and saw her army ran into the ground.

When her mount had crashed she was flung into the castle walls, where that smug witch Viola casually walked over to her and took her life. Leaderless, the elves forces were broken and devastated. Emprea won the War Games, and King Malus was, to say the very least, not happy.

And that was how Chandra ended up in the prison cells in the township of Lord Malus, stuck inside one of his holding pens. It was as if she was placed there to rot for all eternity, but she knew that was not the case. She had to rationally think this out. Carefully and thoughtfully. Usually these things were explained by her personal retainer, Nagira, but the situation had forced them to part. Her last retainer, Yasmir the sorceress, was most likely bound and sealed, and then returned to the convent of the witches back in the Dark Citadel, Fortress home of King Selhir.

It had been four days since her imprisonment, and she narrowed her eyes in frustration. Why would she not be placed in the main forts? Why was she so far away from the Dark City? It all made little sense, and she was getting more and more annoyed that a clear and present answer was not readily available. Angrily, she turned to her chains and tugged on them hard. They still had slack, which was a nice feeling. In the Dark Elven prisons to prevent escape, there was a hole in the wall along the combining cells. Through this hole was a chain that was locked around the prisoners ankle. The other side of the chain was another ankle lock, latched to a prisoner \in the adjacent cell. Chandra had tested her bonds and found no resistance, but on this day she heard the door creak open as something shuffled forwards.

Figuring to kill her boredom she placed her face against the bars, her lithe frame leaning against the wall as she looked at her newcomer who most likely was about to take her freedom away.

[blackdog1]

In the great and sprawling forest of Concordia, Milo was able to live freely and move about how ever he chose. He did not leave the sanctuary of the forest very often, sometimes he stayed for years or decades at a time. If he lived to return there, he vowed to never leave its peaceful green expanses again. His current attempt at travel was a visit to hell.

Shanghaied while visiting the port town of Jeter on the East coast of Corone, Milo awoke to find himself seated with a hundred other souls, oarsman on a galley already out at sea. For weeks he rowed, as long as he did so he was treated relatively well. If being fed and watered without too much punishment was to be considered good treatment.

Their cargo and destination were both a mystery to him, as was to true identity and intent of his captors.

Not being well traveled or a man of the sea, the port in which they finally made land was foreign to him. The land,sea and sky all carried a dark and miserable gloom about them. Of all the places he dreamt of going, this was most likely the farthest from them all. He could not imagine who lived here or why they would.

His body and mind both dulled by monotony of his daily existence, Milo almost missed a golden opportunity to change his miserable and quickly shortening life. His bench mate had died some hours ago, a fact that he was numb to at this point in the journey, and his body was just now being removed. Milo, being unchained with the dead man, was given the chore of disposing of the body overboard.

The long sealed vault of Milo's mind cracked open as he dropped his old rowing partner over the side of the ship. Hope flooded in where there before it was only pain and despair. With most of the crew and guards busy with docking and the cargo no one was paying attention to Milo. Without a second thought, he dropped his own body into the dark, cold water of the bay.

The chilling cold of the water came as a shock that momentarily took his breath away and stalled his activity. Quickly recovering, he swam toward shore and promise of freedom in this new and strange land.

Milo crawled onto the rough and rocky shore, surprised by the strength and vigor he still possessed after his weeks of forced labor and also by the welcoming party that stood patiently before him, waiting for him to get fully out of the water.

A host of questions were answered for Milo in the span of a few moments. He quickly discovered that he was now in Revan, home of the Dark Elves. In the volley of blows he received in short order, he learned what the Drow really thought of a half-breed like himself. And lastly, he found that he was getting rather good at taking a beating.

Cold, wet, tired, and on the verge of blacking out, Milo was dragged like a corpse the short distance to a small holding cell. Fighting was out of the question and struggling was a waste of energy.

What little Milo noticed of the prison did nothing to raise his hopes as keys were turned and doors were opened only to be locked behind him. The building was solidly constructed, as cold and dark on the outside as it was inside. His cell contained nothing except a dirty bowl, a stinking piss pot and a single chain that disappeared into the back wall.

As his new keepers dragged the chain toward him to fasten it to his ankle, Milo could hear protests and curses coming through the small aperture the tether passed through. Torture through containment. This was a truly evil place he had found himself.

The pain and disappointment of the day quickly faded as Milo fell into a much deserved but fitful sleep, haunted by nightmares of death and confinement.

[Chandra Dawnspear]

Chandra watched as the creature that would soon share her chain was shoved forwards, his protests met with little care as she heard the distinct clasping sound of metal colliding with metal. She tested her bonds and felt heavy resistance and sighed deeply in irritation. Soon she would be restricted to how far she could move on her side of the world. Only enough slack would allow for one of them to rest peacefully on the cot, use their chamber pot, and anything else one could think of while chained to another soul. With an indignant huff she turned gracefully to spot the team that had dragged in her new friend.

“(You’re all corsairs,)” she said in her language, hissing her ‘S’ sounds and looking to them with suspicion. “(I had thought we arrived in Lord Malus’ province. Where exactly am I?)” The corsairs all looked to each other before one stepped forward, a female with a long scar that blinded one eye and managed to warp her flesh around her jaw so it was always taught in disgust. If not for such an obvious deformity Chandra would have slapped her. Though she could tell in the Druchi’s one good eye she still had a glimmer of disgust and disrespect.

“(We were paid to bring in the slave. Our captain owed Lord Malus a fee for being late on a payment. That good enough an answer for you?)” the woman flicked her blade to her hands deftly, using the jagged point to pick something out of her filed teeth. Each one looked like a dagger, a common form of expression for corsairs, and the filth that she managed to free from her gums was black and sickly.

“(If you knew who I was…)” Chandra muttered.

“(Chandra Dawnspear. And if you knew what Lord Malus has in mind for you…)” she teased back, lifting up a satchel and moving onwards to the entrance to this little cell work. All that was left behind was the one guard, who looked at Chandra with a blank expression. He seemed bored, leaning his head on his hand as he lazily let his eyes wander up and down Chandra’s body.

“(Pervert…what did she mean by that?)” the soldier looked to her, smacking his lips twice before rubbing the back of his head, yawning again. With a dry sigh he looked to Chandra again, before passing a leering grin.

“(You failed our lord King, and that’s not tolerated. However, the King cannot openly punish you, because that would mean he let weakness into his house. So instead, Lord Malus had thought of a plan that would give the King the most favor in eliminating you.)” he looked to his fingers suddenly, picking away at the dirt as he shook his head side to side. “(That Emprean whore Viola Conda really showed you up.)”

“(Did you fight in the War Games?)” Chandra shot back.

“(I admit I didn’t, but-)” the soldier was cut off as Chandra lifted a small bowl, one of her many empty ones from her dinners, and tossed it as his head. It landed on the side of his helmet, making a loud noise that would awaken a sleeping Lizard mount. With a clamor and shouts the Dark Elf rose, swearing as he drew his weapon, the cool shwing noise of metal scrapping against oiled leather. He pointed the blade to her as Chandra gave him a dark look.

“(Perhaps then you shouldn’t judge those who actually fought for the glory of Revan.)” Chandra turned her back to him and walked towards her bed. At long last she got an answer. It was rather obvious the more she put into her thinking as her mind began to coil like a spring in a bear trap. It all made perfect sense. She had failed the King, but the King was murdered in front of all his closest vassals. To punish Chandra, but none of the others, would be seen as weakness. Not to mention she was a personal servant to the King’s retinue, and so her failures became the King’s. This blunder, so impactful to the ever fickle Druchi nation, meant that the King would be seen as a weak fool.

Of course, that could never be. So to make it look like the King was not a total idiot he had to make Chandra seem as if she ran away on her cowardice. Then the blame would lessen, the mistake clearly not all the King’s, but the cowardly Chandra Dawnspear’s. Clever, she mused.

Her chain caught taught on her foot and she nearly tripped as she turned to the wall boring a hole into the stone. She tugged at her bindings twice as she sighed, looking towards her bed. She also looked back to the guard and thought about something.

“(Your age; how many winter moons has the dark mother watched over you?)” Chandra barked to the soldier. Whether by pure boredom or actual respect for the authority she spoke with, the man lifted his head to her and replied.

“(Twenty cycles,)” the man replied. Chandra’s eyes widened. “(I was enlisted early so my father could repay a debt to Lord Malus. Seems everybody owes him lately. Lord Malus liked my sword arm and put me in his army. I plan to hire an assassin to kill my dad when I earn enough coin…)” he started to grumble on and on about how he hated his father, but Chandra stopped listening to him. If he was only around twenty years old, then this little snot probably was not well traveled. And if he’s a slave to Lord Malus there was a very good chance the boy was never educated.

A small plan began to form in her mind as she walked to the hole in the wall, kicking her slack over to the other side.

“Hey, you on the other side, can you hear me? If so,” Chandra grunted lowering herself, speaking in perfect Common as she sat down and looked to the soldier. “Tell me an interesting story. I’m bored.”

[blackdog1]

The sounds of voices broke through the blackness that had overcome Milo and plunged him back into the real world. He was in a cell, held captive by the Drow, for no reason that he could discern other than that he existed.

"Tell me an interesting story, I'm bored", the woman's voice came through the same hole as the chain that bound them. The Common tongue that she spoke in was a welcome change from the harsh Drow speak of the guards that had dragged him here.

Milo needed a moment for himself before he could speak much less tell a tale. Grateful for the slack in the chain, he rose to take full account of his newest pains, and moved toward the jar of water near the cell door. After quenching his thirst he realized that the woman had not spoken sense her first acknowledgment of his presence. She was either very bored or a hallucination. In either case a response would not hurt.

Decades of solitary living had dampened Milo's social skills to the point that he felt incapable of weaving an interesting story for his unseen cell mate, so he just stuck with the facts as he knew them.

"My name is Milo and I'm from Corone," it was a boring start to a long tale and he knew it, but who was going to complain? He mostly told of how he had gotten here, and a little of his past life roaming and surviving in the forest of Concordia. He told of how he was drugged and stolen into service at sea, the callousness of his keepers and the misery of his shipmates. He continued with the events of his temporary escape, and subsequent recapture to end up here, in this cell.

All the time that Milo rambled about his recent misfortune, Chandra Dawnspear remained silent and let him speak. Yes, his plight was boring, but that was fine with her. A slight grin of satisfaction was the only indicator that she heard him at all. She was learning all that she needed to know about him, he was resourceful and resilient, and most of all a survivor in a harsh world. These were just the qualities she hoped for. If he were a weak pathetic fool she would be doomed.

As Milo talked to the walls, he did his best to get comfortable in his new cage. He noticed how used and worn this prison was, it had either been here for a very long time, had seen constant use, or both. This did nothing to lighten his mood at first, but soon he found positive side to the heavy usage. One link of chain was weak point in this whole building. His ankle shackle had been used by countless people, all pulling and twisting on it every time they, or their adjacent cellmates moved. The rusty, thin bit of chain was something to look forward to.

"Sorry, but that is just about all the energy I have for story telling today," Milo said in conclusion to his explanation. He did not expect a response from the other side of the wall, still not knowing if the voice was real or a dream.

"Welcome to Revan," Chandra said to her soon to be accomplice, all the while looking at the guard, pleased with his look of complete boredom, "do you plan on staying long?"

Milo could not suppress the smile that came to his face. She was real, and a woman who had not lost her spirit in a dismal place like this. Her comment drew his thoughts back to the weakened chain and his desire to be a free man again.

"No, in fact I was planning on leaving after a few good meals," Milo answered with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

"You can speak freely," Chandra stated bluntly, her eyes never leaving the blank faced guard, "the inbred guard does not speak Common."

"Well, in that case," Milo went on to explain, "I have a weak link in my chain. I may be able to pry it open if I had something to work with. There is nothing over here to work with short of smashing my cot to pieces."

Chandra's grin broke into a full smile. Things were working out quite well for her.

[Chandra Dawnspear]

Chandra had spent the next for days working in tandem with Milo, both secretly taking their meals and discussing the plan. The two worked made up a plan, complete with backup scenarios through the wall they shared, and both made it a point to seem like they bickered and fought for the scrap of chain they were bound too. As they pulled, they ground the weakened link against the stone wall, grinding it and pulling until eventually Milo had chuckled and let his side go slack, making a show of Chandra winning the tug of war contest all to amuse the idiot guard who knew no better.

The chain they shared had started yawning, and it was pulled nearly taut enough that separation had begun. With careful pains Chandra went over to her food bowl and grabbed at the knife, pulling the blunt instrument to her as she sat on her bed, as if to sleep. She pulled the chain to her, and worked all day at creating a bigger berth in the chain using the utensil for leverage. It broke half way through, but the results were there. Very slowly, very surely, the progress was starting. When she grew tired, she tugged her chain twice, and Milo tugged once back. With a final tug Milo yawned, stood, and made a show of ripping the chain, and consequently tossing Chandra off the bed much to the guard’s amusement. The slack went over to his side, where he went to his bed, and began to work on the chain while Cassandra rested against the wall and easily fell asleep.

When she awoke that night she prepared to grab the chain and begin her work again, but when she pulled the chain was oddly light. With a jiggle and a tug, she found no resistance. Her heart skipped a beat to feel the freedom. Phase one was done. Milo approached the wall and sat against it, leaning his head back against the cold surface as he spoke.

“It’s time, Chandra. I managed to break the chain enough that we could slip the link. Now we need to wait for him to come to us.” Chandra nodded, a fruitless gesture considering there was a barrier between her and the human, but habit controlled her whims. She yawned, and spoke lowly.

“He has the key with him now in his right pocket. I’ll throw the chain out and wrap it around his head and bring him to the bars. You’ll have to fondle his pocket for the keys though. And do not think of betraying, human,” her words lowered into a growl, but Milo said nothing for a moment.

“If anything, Chandra, I would suspect you of that courtesy, considering your history of why you are here.” To that, the Druchi let her lips part in a dark smile. He did have a point, after all. Chandra debated on what to do with him when this was over. Have him join her? Part ways? Slit his throat and make a break for it? She thought this over many times in her thoughts, each one stretching out to the conclusion of her goals. With a nod she agreed with herself and replied to Milo with genuine sincerity.

“You are correct on that account. Betrayal is as much in my blood as heritage of my people,” Chandra shrugged; again a fruitless endeavor as she lifted her limbs out to stretch, feeling her sore muscles ache. It would be good to get into some action, she mused. “Yet a Druchi never passes an opportunity for gain, nor do they squander the resources to achieve their goals. In this case, Milo, we are mutually in need of the other, and it will do us no good to stab the other in the back until we part ways at the coast line.”

“I am prepared to leave when you are, but I do have to ask, what is our plan after?” Milo’s question was a good one, and Chandra had no active answer she liked. There was only one person she felt she could trust, and the risk to reach her would be difficult. Still, it was the best plan she had going at the current moment.

“There is a woman I know,” Chandra said, thinking to her personal retainer with fondness. “She has proven a valuable asset to me and I believe I can trust her.”

“Do you think you can, or know you can?” Milo blurted, but not without good reason. Chandra chewed on her lip for a moment in thought. She wished she had an honest answer to that, but there was none. She was not positive she could trust her retainer anymore than Milo. But she had little option. In order to escape Revan, Nagaira Eldire was her only hope.

“I trust her as much as I trust you, now be ready,” Chandra answered standing up. She headed towards the cage, bringing her hands to both sides as she dragged the chain on her ankle forwards, slowly, letting it loop up. With a heavy sigh she whimpered, before looking at the guard with a pained expression.

“(Pervert,)” Chandra said lightly. The guard let out a yawn as he turned on an oil lamp, looking at the fallen general. Chandra looked to the cell next to her, before sighing lustfully again. “(Pervert, I need something…)”

The guard gave her a coy look, but a soft grin played his features. Standing tall, he adjusted himself and walked forwards, the distinct clinking sound of the keys bouncing off his hip rung in her ears. She saw the glint of silver in the setting sun, and with a satisfied smile, she let out another frustrated sigh. He stood in front of her, hands across his chest in contemplation. Chandra gauged his distance and frowned playfully. Still too far to grab.

“(What is it you want, Dawnspear?)” he asked lightly. Chandra gave him a lustful look, licking her lower lip. She let her hands run along her body, slowly, not too quickly, as she enticed him with her body. She could see the effect she was having on him clearly and with a grin she winked to him.

“(Pervert, it’s been days, and days, and days…I have needs, and I’m cracking. I don’t care how really at this point. I’ll even satisfy myself with a pig like you if I need too. But I am itching, and I need you to scratch me in all the right places…)” She purred as she rubbed her chest against the bars for him.

“(Yes, open the gate, let you jump me, and kill me. I will not fall for that, Dawnspear.)”

“(Ouu, such a smart thinker, aren’t you Pervert. I’m surprised you aren’t an advisor to the military council.)” Chandra sassed darkly, playing her part as she let the tension slip just enough. She pulled back from the bars, and stopped running her hands around her body, but she did leave them precariously placed. “(I really don’t care how at this point, but I’d like to take care of myself. You’re the only one who can do that at this point, so I’ll let you do it through the bars.)” Then, with a pop, Chandra’s belt opened and she moved down to her waistline and undid her tattered trousers. The garment dropped to the floor, all that was left was her womanhood.

Like any good growing boy, the guard stepped forwards in a trance, oogling her body. Chandra approached the bars again, turning and bending low to offer him a good view as she softly grabbed the chain in her hands. The guard’s gloved hands touched her and she shivered in disgust, but passed it off as pleasure. Though at this point, she probably could say she was going to murder him and he’d reply with a casual, glassy eyed 'yeah-yeah' response. She lifted the chain, tugged it once, and felt one tug, before the resistance was gone. Milo freed the chain, and with careful movements she lifted it up. She moaned as he touched her, his youthful inexperience causing him to flounder over her body as he groped her.

“Are you doing what I think you are doing?” Milo asked.

“Yup, so get ready when I snag him in,” She answered.

“I guess all things considered, it’s not necessarily a bad way to go,” Milo joked as he approached the wall. Chandra rolled so her body was at the bars next to wall. Her hand reached out and grabbed the guard, bringing him in for a kiss that he sloppily returned, his tongue darting out in all the wrong places. Chandra lifted the chain up in one hand, the other hand opening his belt loop. With skilled hands Milo yanked on the keys and tore them free with a clamor of noise. The guard pushed away in confusion before Chandra tossed the chain out and looped it around the boy’s neck, choking him against the bar as she rested her naked heel on his back after kicking his knees out from under him. She pulled taught until she heard him gurgle, and with a twist she snapped his neck.

By the time Milo had her cage opened she was already putting her pants back on. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Chandra shouted.

[blackdog1]

The days of cooperation with an unseen accomplice slowly helped Milo come to grips with his currently reality. He was a stranger in a strange land, though he was not used to it, he was forced to work with another stranger for both their benefit. She needed his help to get them both free from this prison, and he needed her as his guide through a foreign and fierce land inhabited by an equally foreign and fierce people.

Her plan was simple, effective and brutal. Milo was in no position to argue with any aspect of it, he had no better ideas and was not looking forward to spending any more time than necessary in a cramped, stinking cell. When Chandra said she was ready to go, Milo was already waiting.

Milo learned more about the Drow, their views on life and its value in the five minutes of their escape than he had in the rest of his time as their captive. They were a people who embraced life to the fullest, with little thought to the lives of others. Nothing could stand in the way of someone with the drive and ambition to move on and up in the world. As a group, they lived with out knowing empathy or sympathy. Milo tried hard to remember this, his life depended on it.

The tingles of anticipation flooded through Milo's body the moment he released the chain to his partner. He was impressed by the control that she infused into the dangerous and possibly chaotic situation, never once did things appear to slip out of her grasp. Milo had little to do but wait for his part in the activity while she worked the guard like a puppy begging for a treat.

Snatching the keys from the thrashing guard was a glorious feeling after all of the build up and calculation, Milo felt free before the first key was even in the lock. He fumbled on the second lock, but mostly because of the casual and unexpected nakedness of his accomplice.

Milo moved with fluid movements, trying to remain much more calm than he actually felt. The correct key released the shackle from his ankle and he casually passed the ring of keys to Chandra for her to do the same. Avoiding her cold, inpatient eyes, he moved across the guards space to retrieve his weapons and whatever else could aid in their escape.

Chandra caught the sheathed sword that Milo had tossed to her more on reflex than thought. Checking the blade out of habit before strapping it around her waist, she made ready for a hasty departure. Milo quickly donned a dingy cloak to mask his appearance and tucked twin daggers into his belt.

"Now we can get the hell out of here," Milo said as he once again scooped up the keys and followed Chandra to the main door to make their final exit.

The failing light of dusk and a light drizzle of rain greeted them as they took their first breathes of fresh air. Conditions were as good as they could get for two people to go unnoticed as they moved away from the prison.

Milo paused for a moment. Choosing a small second story window, he cocked his arm back and launched the ring of keys toward it. His skill, as usual, was better than his luck and the keys clearly sailed into the window. Hopefully they would fall into the right hands and create a wave of chaos to help cover their escape.

As the pair began to walk away - acting as normal as two escaping murders could- Milo asked the most important question that was on his mind, " Which way is it to the water front?"

"We are not going there," Chandra snapped, without even raising her voice or turning her head, " first we must find my retainer."

Milo knew she was right, he was rushing things that could not be rushed. As much as he wanted to, he could not just jump on a boat and sail away. This was her homeland, a place where the rules were not what he was used to. Ironically, his safety depended on her savagery.

Before Milo could utter another word, the drizzle transformed into a downpour. Normal speech would have been drowned by the pounding rain. Their pace unchanged, the two run aways faded into the growing gloom of the night.

[Chandra Dawnspear]

The rain fell at a steady downpour cascading at an angle as the free birds flew through the darkened night. With this much rain Chandra figured the guards would be much lighter, and she would take advantage of this boon while she could. Milo kept quiet, following her as they moved and splashed through puddles, slid in mud, and drenched themselves from head to toe. A few times they avoided the light of a lantern, pressing their wet bodies against the cold ground, willing themselves out of sight as they passed through. At one point they were stuck jumping in a ditch that collected water like a sink hole, and Chandra was submerged in the frigid liquids.

Yet she kept a hold of her hate to warm her bones and press her onwards. Despite her chattering teeth she kept her mind sharp as ever. She observed the roadways with keen eyes until at last they found themselves the opportunity to regroup themselves underneath the Lin’Quell bridge. Milo’s face looked rigid from the cold, and Chandra let out an exasperated sigh as she caught her breath from the fast pace she kept the two moving with. The river the bridge covered was roaring with the torrential rain and Chandra found herself walking along the dry bank and thinking to herself. They were making good distance she surmised quickly, but the distance they gained could easily be covered by horseback. The rain would do a well enough job of masking their trail. She thought of her position and concluded on their next plan of action. Turning to her human compatriot led to another soaking as Milo shook his head free of the excess water similar in manner to a dog. She cursed him, stepping back looking out to the road ahead of them, her ankles getting cold as she stepped into the river until her knees were drenched. Besides the feeling of running water, she noticed nothing different than standing on dry land.

“We have one last final push to make. Then we will be in the lands of my household,” the dark elf explained with a twinge of venom. “No doubt Lord Malus has set himself up in my lands, killing my personal servants and taking possession of my property.”

“What will land do us good?” Milo asked, stepping behind her as he looked to the hills and tall grass they would be moving through. Chandra gave him an angry stare, but remembered being an outsider of her home left him ignorant of certain terms she took for granted in the common tongue. She turned to him, dragging her boot through the rising current and splashing around as she marched back to the bank and looked for signs of a patrol.

“Property is not limited to inanimate trinkets and land. In these lands you very well could have been sold as property to a pleasure house, or perhaps a slave to a warrior household. I do hear the newest fashion is drugging up humans into a frenzy and letting them fight in the slave pits. Retainer’s such as Nagira is also property, though she has more freedom than a slave.”

“Then what good is going to your house?” the human asked in deep thought, though his tone was not condescending. “Wouldn’t the enemy just be lurking there?” He posed the question as an afterthought, waiting for the dark elf to explain.

“Indeed they would, Milo,” Chandra mused. “And logically the place that I would go when they discovered I have flown the cage. The difference however is currently they think I am in that cage…” Milo nodded in understanding.

“…and not heading to your estate. The vast majority of the guard there would be lax, not expecting any surprise attacks.” Milo thought the plan over before he stepped forwards ready to leave. “This plan then is based all upon how we make the best of our time.”

“Correct.” Chandra stepped next to him and looked out and pointed over the hills. “We must run at this point. It’s five miles from here. If we do not stop, do not rest, we can make it before day break. I know my estate has a few trapdoors that I had implemented outside the blueprints. I had those slaves killed after the construction was complete, so I am confidant nobody knows of it. It’s located in my war pen. Shredder, my loving mount, is the guard. Nobody would dare pry around the war beast’s resting nest.” She curled her lips into a smile of triumph. Milo already began to jog ahead of her. She joined him, catching his speed easily as they ran back into the night.

"The harbor," Milo asked in the heavy sleet. Chandra lifted her arm up and pointed to the river that led to the harbor. Milo looked to her, nodding before they passed a fallen tree branch. When she made to meet with him again she heard a splash and turned to see Milo bolting right for the harbor. Anger flooded her limbs as she turned to chase the human down when she lost her footing, slipping in the mud and corkscrewing so she lost her balance. Her body crashed on the ground with a wet thud, mud caking her face and torso. She glided it seemed on the wet surface down a hill, half rolling, half sliding. Her hands reached out to brace herself but her hip bumped into a protruding rock and she barreled over it, cursing in Druchi as she popped into the air and hit the bottom of the grassy, muddy knoll with a wet 'splortch' noise. She coughed and wiped her eyes and nose clean of mud as best she could, the rain feeling like tiny fingers pushing against her face. She leaned on her side, her hair whipping the sides of her face as she crawled on all fours, angrily seething as she felt hot shooting pains in her hip on her left side. Her body was chilled to the bone as she shook, and her face turned haphazardly towards Milo's last position.

The human was already cresting another hill, sliding down it with the speed of a freeman. She wanted to hate him more, but honestly Milo had the best opportunity at the moment. The guards of the province would be far more concerned finding Chandra than he, and losing one insignificant slave compared to the King's royal Vassal was a no brainer. Still, despite living off of one betrayal after another, the sting left her sore in her stomach and weak in her heart as she growled.

This wouldn't do. Her injuries, while minor, were enough to keep her out of the running. At best she would make the small township near her estate before dawn. By the time she would reach her estate it would be mid morning. Things turned complicated as she chewed her bottom lip, rubbing her sore hip as she gritted her teeth, trying to stand. It hurt like hell, but the pain was inviting in a manner as she used it to focus her thoughts. Bitterly she spat in Milo's direction and walked up the hill she fell, avoiding the particularly tricky quagmires of mud.

Get to the town, go to the Kraken's Call Inn. Her thoughts pierced the gloom of night as she tested her leg out, feeling the strain on her muscles as she moved upwards, collapsing on one knee, but still moving for she had no more time to waste. Get showered, get a new outfit, hire a sell sword. I doubt I should have trouble finding one. I can say my pay is in my estate, and they can take whatever they want. That's enough to trick someone into going with me, perhaps a gullible human will do. Yes...it would be nice to stab him in the back and think of Milo...

The Dark Elf moved onwards in the heavy rain, her eyes cast with fierce determination as she carried on in her thoughts. Then to my estate to find Nagira, and to escape these blasted lands. Then… Chandra grinned despite the rain hiding her face, her matted hair covering her features in a haunting manner as she clawed up the hill. Then I plan my revenge…

[Neceran]

There was truly no reason for Neceran Zeiler to slip among the shadows or attempt to mask her form. In fact, every fiber of her being rebelled against such an act, so when she stepped into the tavern, ducking to avoid the top frame of the door, the entire room gave pause as it regarded the winged, crimson-scaled Draconian.

Such attention was common for the drakeling. Even among her own kind, most of whom possessed far more impure blood than she, Neceran was treated as royalty. It was the birthright her large, scale and leather wings brought her as a member of the Wing Caste of her people, one of the two ruling classes. While she retained some flesh of her lesser ancestors, her face exotic and striking for the mix, her neck and shoulders, abdomen, lower arms and shins bore the tough scales of her dragon heritage. The crowning glory of two sets of oily black horns spiked through her pitch dark, coarse hair.

Neceran saw hands creeping to shiny weapons, the patrons tense and wondering if the dragon had come to plunder. She raised a wickedly clawed hand to the assembly, gesturing openly.

“Carry on,” she said simply and haughtily, a controlled, closed-lip smile spreading across her face. The curved, dagger-like claws of her toes and heels scarred the wooden floor as she sauntered to the bar and took an empty stool rather than a low chair at a table. The wood groaned beneath her weight but held, albeit dubiously. Her long, lithe tail, easily the length of her body, lay coiled on the floor behind her, the tip of it twitching from the center as a snake ready to strike.

As a whole, Neceran had not disliked Alerar; the dark elves were more forward thinking than many races she had encountered as she lived the transient life of a mercenary. They were, while wily and advantageous, more apt to leave her in peace, unlike the ‘knights in shining armor’ who seemed absolutely bent on slaying the drakeling, as if it had been inbred in them over the centuries to kill anything with scales and wings.

Especially humans. She despised them, and yet Neceran had found herself protecting their caravans from dark elf marauders as of late. Unfortunately for her, a mercenary could not be picky when he or she had yet to make a reputation. Go where the gold is. That simple phrase ruled Neceran’s life, and for protecting the humans in a land where they were increasingly taken into slavery, the gold was good.

Her latest venture had seen her trek through lands plagued by a dark elf lord who sought control over its imprisoned ruler. Neceran did not bother herself with the details, though the state of anarchy she welcomed. Her prowess was tested, her bloodlust sated, and she had more sparkling treasure for her Dragon's Prestige. She thought fondly of adding to it; in her aerie, the glittering mound lay under careful guard, not that it was entirely needed. For a Draconian to steal from another's Prestige carried the swift penalty of death and shame upon the lineage for generations to come. Few dared, fewer succeeded, and many innocents had been slain on suspicion alone.

The barkeep ambled along the line between the bar and the bottle and barrel-laden shelves to the drakeling. He looked at her expectantly.

“Your house specialty,” Neceran said. “But don’t bother with the pathetic little shot glass you call a pint. Bring me a pitcher.” The olive-skinned barkeep smirked and nodded, and in a few moments provided a frosty pitcher filled with chilled amber brew.

She had to admit, the dark elves’ technology was one of a kind, with regard given even to the coldness of their beverages. Neceran’s claws wrapped around the pitcher, and indeed, it looked like a mere glass in her hands. The dark elf took a few steps back as the Draconian smiled fully at him, her lips thinning to nothing as the corners of them retracted to where her cheeks ought to have been. Rows of shiny, pointed teeth and a formidable set of fangs flashed, and the drakeling poured the ice cold beer down her gullet.

[Chandra Dawnspear]

Chandra had only managed an hour’s worth of sleep before she forced the alarm clock next to the inn door to silence itself. Her sore muscles felt no better, but instead far worse as she groggily turned the sheets off her as she looked to the rising sunlight. Morning. It was a gambit to even rest when she did. The shower had washed her clean of all the mud and caked fluids, and she had to trade one of her rings for the room that she didn’t even really stay in.

Yet that was all irrelevant now. She had a mission she had to keep focusing herself to. Now she had to find someone she could use in the interim since her erstwhile human companion had trotted off testing his luck against the Dark Elves in the wild and Chandra’s wrath later. Should I even live that long, she mused angrily. She had to breathe a deep breath just to get her boots on, her clothing still muddy and ruined. She managed to find at least a new set of brown trousers and leather keiten cloak and half shirt to wear as part of the trade for her ring. It was a gift from her adopted father, a symbol of her power on the seas. In truth, it was now worth far less to her that the king saw to her death by the hands of Lord Malus.

She managed to get moving, tying her hair into a tight high ponytail, eyes wearily blinking wider to awake herself as she fought a yawn behind her clenched fist resting her hand lazily on the pommel of the stolen sword she aquired. Her stomach growled and the need to eat became prevalent enough to make her consider the action of grabbing a quick bite. However she knew she had no money, and the deal with the ring was already settled. Despite the rough end of the deal she got, she had to just make it to her home without food.

The morning crew all looked like they had seen a dragon as Chandra entered the main dining hall. She looked at each prospect, lifting her hand up to catch everyone’s attention. There was really no reason not to speed the process up as she shrugged her shoulders and looked to the group of worthless people before. “Oi, your attention cretins! I need one person to join me to my estate to oust a few thieves. I’d do it myself but the numbers have gotten a bit too big for me to handle on my own. However I’m not going to lead an army on my estate, so I’ll need one person capable of handling many people on their own.”

There was merely silence as they looked to her, and she felt a shadow being cast over the sun glaring in the window. That was a pleasant feeling as she sighed tapping her foot. “Of course, I will pay you for your efforts. I have many treasures in my home, and I’ll offer you a spoil of war in exchange for service. Now who can I count on?” There was a stifling shuffle, a few nervous coughs as people began to look back and forth to one another. Chandra narrowed her eyes. “You all can’t be cowards,” she hissed. “Is not one of you capable of what I ask?”

“I can do that,” a voice said behind her. Chandra jolted into action, shock filling her response to the disturbance as she tilted and threw a fist out, hitting something in the chest that made her bend her wrist awkwardly and smash her knuckles. She let out a yelp of pain, nursing her wound as he skipped backwards to look at who it was that looked back.

There was, it appeared, to be a dragon in the room.

A dragonling, to be more precise, but that was a matter Chandra didn’t want to get into. She looked into the creatures eyes, seeing the lurking intelligence behind the beast, and Chandra instantly felt a smile creep onto her face. It was all a matter of finding the right words to say to make this beast her accomplice. Yet before she could open her mouth she noticed a few shadows moving on the floor behind the wings of the creature before her. With a quick look behind her she saw the Corsair’s who deposited Milo off in the prison looking to Chandra with greedy eyes.

“(It seems Dawnspear found a way out of the prison cell,)” one hissed with delight. The woman with the scars on her face that made her permenately scowl looked to the dark elf with admiration as she stood aloft from the beast. “(I wonder what kind of reward Lord Malus will pay to bring him just your head?”

“(Can we bring this creature too? I’m sure his zoo pens could use a new hunting target for him! He’ll pay handsome for such a thing, I’d think,” another said darkly lifting out a wicked curved blade. Chandra looked to them and with a smirk she looked back to the beast.

“If your Dark Elven is a bit rusty, they just talked about selling you. How about I see what you can do and maybe we’ll be able to discuss an employment option?” Chandra leered as she stepped back, drew her blade and looked to the Corsair leader.

“(Capture them!)” she screeched, and as one they all charged forwards.

[Neceran]

Neceran spread her mighty wings and coiled her legs in a crouch. With a forceful buffet, she flapped downward as she leaped back, landing squarely behind the seven Corsairs. She rose from her kneel, her lips peeled back from a mouth filled with wicked teeth. A roar ripped itself from her throat and the drakeling spewed a stream of liquid at the reeling group, corrosive and viscous. The fluid immediately began to sear where it landed on flesh, and the leather armor smoked and whithered.

Neceran dipped her left shoulder in a charge at the rightmost Corsair, angling her wing to catch the others in the midsection, and she thrust it outward, knocking the them to the ground. The man she shoulder checked flew several feet back, and the drakeling mercenary leaped again, crushing the man's ribcage as she landed on him. With a sickly crunch, she ended him as the talons on her feet closed like a vice. She spun quickly to face the others who advanced on her, her tail catching the the first and knocking her toward the dark elf who, at the time, was enjoying the show.

The proud Draconian noble slashed with her claws at the remaining Corsairs and they kept their distance, doing their best to encircle Neceran and catch her flank unguarded. None of the attackers wanted to advance, and the drakeling hissed, preparing to release another stream of her spitfire when blunt, metal bolt flew through the air, catching her in the midsection. The sneering leader laughed victoriously as Neceran doubled over, her wings instinctively closing around her body as a shield while she regained her breath. The corsair loaded another bolt into her crossbow, and it ripped through the leather of Neceran's wings, ricocheting off the Draconian's scaled shoulder and knocking her to her back.

The four Corsairs lunged at her, swords poised to hack the drakeling to pieces. Neceran drew her legs to her chest quickly, rocking the weight and momentum to her shoulders, then pistoned them outward into the air. At the same time, she lifted herself with her wings, pressing them against the ground and rocketing her up from her prone position. As she became upright mid jump, Neceran dipped her right shoulder, presenting the clawed bend of her wing as both a shield and a weapon. Her talon-tipped wing dug deeply into the upturned face of one unlucky man, and he fell to the ground without even a whimper.

The mercenary took advantage of her forward momentum, landing in a kneeling position that she quickly converted into a crouch. She ducked her head and wings, rolling into the the three Corsairs. As she completed her roll, one of the men lay beneath her, and Neceran did not hesitate to open her mouth widely and rip out his throat. Another bolt pinged against her heavily scaled forearm, and she screamed with rage at the Corsair leader.

<”Your head on a spike, your body on a spit!”> she roared in her native tongue as she charged the crossbow wielder. The sneering leader managed a look of terror before nimbly leaping over the rubble left in the Kraken’s entry way. Neceran swiped at her as she ducked past, grabbing nothing but air as the Corsair fled through the front doors.

Chandra seemed to be holding her own, so Neceran spun to left, bringing her right fist in a hip to shoulder uppercut that sent another of the assailants flying, bursting a table to shards as he landed. She spat a stream of liquid at the other, expertly aimed at her eyes, and the Corsair fell to the ground, screaming and writhing. Neceran grinned widely, the flammable liquid dripping in lumps from her bottom jaw. The wood itself groaned as she approached the blinded woman with doom-filled footfalls. The drakeling used her as a footstool and crossed her arms, sizing up this bold dark elf.

“You fight like a human,” Neceran called, taunting Chandra. The elf seemed to be uncomfortable with her weapon, though her natural quickness and obvious training made up for it. The drakeling shifted her weight, putting more pressure on the squirming woman and pinning her with dagger sharp talons.

The Draconian looked down at her midsection and noticed she was bleeding. The bolt shot by the leader’s crossbow had embedded itself in her skin. With brute precision, Neceran pincered the metal, digging it out and removing it, and cast it to the ground with a loud curse.

[Chandra Dawnspear]

After the last of the Corsairs had been dispatched the inn had grown silent. Chandra turned to see her dragonling accomplice, noticing the one wound that didn’t seem to give her any trouble. Looking at her face she let off a small, sinister grin of one who knew something the other didn’t. The dragon spoke in a bark more than speech, the emphasis on her patience explained clearly.

“What amuses you, tiny elf?” Chandra merely gestured to the destruction around her.

“You killed Corsairs in thrall with Lord Malus, the high King’s personal servant and master of the Army. Needless to say, creature, that your fate is just as precarious as mine is now. However, there is a way out of this mess, if you would but follow me.” Chandra made to move when she felt the claws of the beast grab her shoulder and squeeze, nearly crushing her arm as Chandra turned back to her, a grimace on her face.

“I turn you in, and I think I’ll have a better chance of survival,” she leered. Chandra shrugged, despite the pain, and spoke plainly.

“Lord Malus hunts dragons, and has access to weapons that would make a mockery of your hide. He would thank you for returning me, and then hunt you simply because you exist. My way gets you out of this situation and still a bit of plunder in the process. Whatever, oh powerful one, helps you the most out.” The creature looked to Chandra, as if reading her intent before shoving her forwards and following after her as they walked towards the nearest exit.

“What is your name, tiny elf?”

“Chandra Dawnspear,” she replied casually. “And you, Dragonling?”

“Neceran,” was her gruff rebuttal. Chandra nodded as they began their trek to her home estate. It was only about a thirty minute walk now, and she looked to her sword with a dark eye. True, she was trained in its use, but she far preferred the smile of an axe to the blade of a sword. The weight was more final in its killing screams, and made it easier to know when a foe was dead. But to discard it would leave her weaponless now. Without any other choice she would need to still use it until she could reach her personal armory.

“Well, Neceran,” Chandra smiled as she spoke, a fake one filled with teeth and a bit of humor. “Welcome to my current affairs: I am being chased by Lord Malus for some slight against him and the King feels fit to let this power struggle play its course with a blind eye. I am now a fugitive in my own nation, and it won’t be long before the search parties are sent. This means time is of the essence, more than ever before.”

“What do you propose, Dawnspear?” Neceran asked coldly.

“Not much, honestly. I believe in simple plans, and it can’t be any simpler than this; we reach my estates, head into the beast pens, where my loving loyal mount Shredder is hiding a secret entrance to my chambers. From there we rescue my retainer, Nagira, for she will be instrumental in getting us passage off these blasted plains. After that we think of our next plan.”

“And for anyone in our way?”

“That’s why I have you. I have no loyalties to anybody but Shredder and Nagira, everyone else is just in my way. In return for you services, I’ll get you out of here, and paid if need be.” The dragonling didn’t seem to pay any mind as she saw the estate looming over the edge of the hill they walked. Chandra watched her, unsure what to do with her, or how far she could trust her, but for the moment, she was a powerful asset and useful. With her villa so close by, the Elf decided to focus on her plan and deal with the situation when it came to it.

“Come, my pen is on the other side…”

[Neceran]

The estate sprawled like a slumbering dragon as they circled it, and though the lord of the house was away, the windows were vigilant eyes, burning in the darkness. Neceran plodded forth, shrouded by night and glad for it. The bolt shot from the crossbow had gone much deeper than she originally thought, cracking some of her scales, and it pained her to move. The drakeling gritted her teeth through the discomfort, her face a mask of confidence defying it.

The two crept forward, Neceran surprisingly quiet in spite of her size. The two moved side by side, always keeping the other in sight, and neither willing to move ahead.

“There,” Chandra whispered, pointing to a fenced area and a well-kept shelter. The drakeling peered into the shadows and caught a glint of light and movement.

“This mount of yours, the beast Shredder, what is it?” Neceran asked, her whisper more like a rattling hiss escaping through her teeth.

“Oh,” Chandra laughed, “you’ll see soon enough.”

“You think there will be no one guarding the pens?”

“There wouldn’t be a need for it, and I doubt anyone has enough balls to even come close,” Chandra quipped.

“I find it odd, elf, that you are so concerned with your mount. What’s to keep you from grabbing your things and your Nagira-woman and riding away, leaving me to deal with the mess?”

“What, you can’t fly and keep up?” Chandra asked, a smirk on her face. Neceran bent down, eye-level with her and hissed as her wings bristled, the claws on the bend of each trained on the elf.

“I’ll have your eyes, Dawnspear,” the drakeling growled.

“Calm down, dragon,” the elf said warily. “Don’t need to take it so personally. I was asking because I didn’t know, but I have my answer now, thank you very much.”

“What guarantee can you give me that you aren’t using me as a shield you’ll cast aside at the first opportunity? I’ve known enough of your kind to know what a dark elf’s word is worth, much less a fugitive dark elf vying to keep her skin.”