Jackal Moves

[Dragna]

25th Brightening of Kalendryas
Lost in unconsciousness…


“Hush, my little One-eye. It can’t hurt you anymore,” a sobbing mother whispered to her bloody babe. The infant could no longer cry or muster sound beyond a drowning gurgle.

She rocked her son while fixating venomously on the jackal sprawled before her. Its throat glistened in the hearth light, as did her lips. She could still feel small chunks of flesh between her teeth, still taste the blood. “I will make it better.”

Like something feral, she raced to the tribe’s shaman, praying it wasn’t too late for her only child.


The scars. They burned! Dragna jumped out of unconsciousness, reaching out for his mother like a newborn. The last dreamy remnants of her face faded to black and he dropped his arms heavily. Straining his eye open as wide as it’d go, he could see nothing but black. The giant fought his growing terror. The sky was starless and not one single tree stirred. Was he now fully blind? And deaf? Or dead? Oh no, he remembered and cupped his face into his massive hands. The hunter, the chase, the fall and the fall further still…

Dragna shakily rose, keeping one hand on a smooth rock wall and feeling it shape into a smooth rock ceiling then ahead into a smooth rock passage. He was lost and, groping for the atlatl and discovering only more smooth rock, defenseless. He felt suspended in a void, punished or even exiled. The darkness robbed all sense of space and direction. Time moved strangely, or perhaps not at all, robbed as he was of dawn and dusk. Matter itself, anything tangible, seemed a distant memory.

He felt a long while until he found the snow pile that’d followed him down. He reached up, could feel the opening to the passage he’d slid down. Anxious for day or wind or the smell of pine, he scrambled up, but the smooth rock was slippery and so sharply inclined he quickly fell back down. For two candlemarks he tried every way he could think of to get back to the surface, back to the Dolwood. Failures all.

Eye trembling, he sometimes walked, sometimes crawled, deeper into the earth. There had to be another way out. Had to be. Had to be…

[Dragna]

Dragna wondered where the moon was in the sky far above, or was it day once more? He thought of his old tribe and the arid plains, his journey to the Dolwood, his mother, his lost atlatl, and anything else to keep his mind off the steadily shrinking tunnel.

It'd started with the walls narrowing. He'd begun his lightless trek being able to spread both arms wide enough to just barely touch either side. Now he was having trouble squeezing his broad shoulders by. And worse for the giant, the smooth ceiling had been steadily lowering. He was forced further and further down until he crawled like a worm, and even then still bumping his head.

It was a harrowing chore to inch his way along and before he knew it he was panting. When he stopped to catch his breath, he found it incredibly hard, in fact impossible. The walls, though he couldn't see them, felt like they were closing in. The ceiling, pushing against the top of his head, threatened to crush him at any moment. He began to shake, sweat slipping down his face in streams, dampening his beard. Even the hair on his face stifled him and, in that dark moment, he'd have shaven every bit of it off if he could.

Instinctively he reached for his preserved eye, Sutshe's gift to her parting son as a symbol of strength and endurance, but he couldn't reach it. He'd taken his pack off a ways back, tied it to his waist and dragged it behind him. That way if the path became too tight ahead he wouldn't plug what might be his only escape from the underworld. Then again, if the passage became so tight as to be plugged by his pack, there was precious little further he could go without getting stuck himself. The leather pack scraped with each move Dragna made, sounds suddenly deafening in the otherwise silent vein. Would he die down here? Had the dwarven hunter really succeeded in his mission by condemning him to a slow, black death?

NO. It was more his mother's voice in his head than his own. It's what she would have answered, had she been there now. The darkness left a black canvas before Dragna, in which all manner of images shifted, bloomed, and disintegrated. He'd seen the hunter dwarf's stern face many times, the grandfather howler gaping his maw, branch-breakers and the bullies of his old tribe, but he'd also seen the faces of the elders who'd saved him once, the empowering forms of summer howlers he'd encountered an era ago, totem visions of swoopers, spooks, and bolters, and now he saw the passing face of his mother. She looked warmly on him, but at the same time scolding, then motioned forward and disappeared.

The tunnel was so damned tight Dragna's arms were pressed against his chest and neck. To move he had to drag himself by his fingers and toes, all the while "walking" with his shoulders and knees when he could move them. The pack made it all the more difficult, often sticking and anchoring him. Dragna had to position himself in just a way that he could kick the bag till its contents shifted into a shape able to move forward again. It was grueling, worse than winter, worse than summer fever, maybe the hardest thing he ever had to do. If it weren't for his mother's voice cooing no in his mind's ear, the unknowable amount longer he had to suffer would have consumed him.

He was a survivor. He'd escaped the dwarf who thought to kill him, slew twelve of his brethren before that, slain the wicked grandfather howler, hunted untold number of bolter, started fire, built shelter, traveled once before into the unknown when leaving his tribe, and perhaps most miraculous of all, he'd survived the jackal!

Even as he thought this the shape of the jackal formed before him in the dark, and the giant cringed despite his inner strength. The scrape of his pack sounded so much like a jackal's low growl. Sweat was mixed with tears, the tunnel entombing him, but he ground his teeth and used the pain and ache to keep his wits. The jackal padded forward, but the giant denied it! Dragna inched forward. The jackal took another step, baring its teeth. By the ancestors, he could see the pearl of its one fang glimmering in the void. Dragna dared not allow himself a moment to ponder retreat, of giving up and making the laborious inching backward. To go back was impossible, leaving him the one option of again attempting to climb up the way he came. To go back was to go die.

NO. The jackal lowered, preparing to charge. The fang grew longer. NO! The jackal ran at him and Dragna clawed to meet it. He lost a fingernail and riddled himself in scrapes and cuts, but in doing so moved with surprising speed in the oppressive tunnel. NO! The fang was almost on him. Then let this be the end of it, fighting till the last. Dragna defiant.

The fang enveloped him and he fell. So this was dying-- Dragna jerked to a halt, the rope around his waist tightening as his pack became stuck. The giant released a maddened hiss, the only noise he could create in the spirit of a yell. He was out of the tunnel and flailed joyously. And there was light! Lichen on the ceiling of this new cave gave a pale blue glow like intensified moonlight. He was free. He was out. Thank every ancestor in his line back to the First Mother.

Then he looked down and gasped, finding himself dangling along the side of a fissure that dropped at least a hundred feet before the darkness consumed its further descent. The jackal growled, the pack scraped, and Dragna couldn't think of a single thing to do before the pack unstuck. It flew out the hole and Dragna with it, down, down, into the deeper dark.

[Dragna]

The sensation of prolonged falling was new and terrifying to the giant, and he grabbed at the empty air in frenzied attempts to stop his descent. An uncontrollable thrill raced from his loins to his spine as he spun and flipped in the open air. His beard blew over his face, as did many of his bolter hides, whipping his body and obscuring his vision. He felt like a tiny pebble kicked off a cliff, sensing the fissure to be colossal in scope and in depth.

After the first hundred feet down, darkness overwhelmed him and the glowing lichen became just a mute, blue-white spot like the moon in a night fog. Not being able to see only increased his feelings of smallness against the breadth of the black hole. He might have been able to navigate the cracks of the earth, but there was no hope of surviving from a drop like this. When he hit bottom, probably riddled with sharp debris and bony stalagmites, it would end in the span of a blink. So as he continued to plummet, he tried his best to prepare himself for the end. He begged the ancestors give him a momentary voice, so that he might call out his mother's name for the first and last time.

He thought he felt something odd brush his shoulder, of a cottony texture. More of the fluff brushed his legs and hands. Dragna was all at once enveloped by a soft-spun material. It grew thicker the further he went and, by a mother's blessing, began to slow his drop. He wished he could see this miraculous spun air as grabbed at it by the arms full. He hugged it out of corybantic joy as his fall gradually slowed. He stopped completely in a nexus of tangible cloud.

For the second time this night, or day, ancestors only knew what, Dragna released his mad hiss of joy. He rolled over in the softness, feeling for his pack, and began to find his saving bed a little sticky. With every move he made, a soft tinkling resounded up and down the hole, very faint but audible. Dragna paid it little heed, finding his pack and holding it dear. What he and his gear had been through thus far was nothing short of maddness.

As he fished through his gear, looking for something that might aid in his appraisal of the situation and subsequent escape, perhaps the pick or the firebow, he noticed another faint light materialize above him independent of the lichen moon. This light was red and, after about a minute's worth of staring, proved to be eight orbs, two large ones and six smaller rung around them. Dragna began to feel the cotton stuff beneath him shift, as if... as if something else entered it.

The giant gasped and tore through his pack for the hand axe and the pick. He was in a web. Ancestors help him he was in a web!

[Dragna]

Dragna barely got the pick and hand axe in a defensive X before the spider was on him. Ancestors, it was heavy, and bigger than a howler. It's head spanned wider than both of Dragna's hands had he spread them side by side. Eight eyes glowed menacingly, bathing the immediate area red light. Its fangs wriggled independent of its clapping jaws, trying to reach between the axe head and the pick head to sting his face. Saliva streamed over the giant's hands and chest, pressed on his back as he was, and it reaked of something awful. Nearly as bad was the high shrill it made each time it lunged.

The giant fought with all the corded muscle in his body, pushing with every ounce of strength earned in his seasons in the wild. He had grown powerful since entering the Dolwood, wrestling materials to survive, hunting, running, building, climbing. He'd felt his strength in every atlatl throw he made and he felt it now as he kept the eight-legged demon at bay. With a shove that drew from the pit of his stomach, through his torso and out his arms, he flung the spider off.

It was back up in a second, scurrying for a second attack on clawed tip-toes, but Dragna was up onto his knees, weapons in hand, ready. These were hardly his prefered weapons, but desperate times called for any measures. He had little experience with the pick, besides the knowledge it could pierce stone, so why not flesh? The axe he felt slightly more comfortable with, squeezing the wooden grip as he did so many times before chopping firewood. He kept the pick in his forehand to absorb the brunt of the spider's attack, and held the axe in the other poised like a scorpion tail.

The monster crashed into his pick and sent Dragna again on his back. He was unable to keep any sure stance while on the shifty web. Even if it had haulted his fatal fall, Dragna was beginning to resent the spun silk. He balanced the heavy monster on the flat of the pick head, a feat that required all his brawn, but for the little left in his off hand. With the power of a cornered animal, Dragna swung the axe down, and chopped a leg of the spider clean off. Irridescent red blood, similar to the bright of its many eyes, splashed across Dragna's face. It was disgustingly cold.

He worked his foot between the screeching monster and himself and kicked, sending it writhing off him. It rose more slowly this time, affording Dragna precious moments to find a surer stance. He kneeled with his left leg braced on what he thought a sound silken cord, his right bent and ready to lift his frame for an axe-charged uppercut. The spider wobbled, leaking blood on its web. Thin trickles slidi along the many whisps and strands and down into the descent. As it lowered its hairy body to pounce, a caucophony of new screeches resounded in the dark.

The spider frantically glanced about, each of its eyes shooting in a different direction. It saw its charging brother at the last moment, and met it head on, fat heads butting and fangs clashing. The wounded managed to push its attacker aside, only to be jumped by three more. The foursome tussled around the web, rolling and piercing, but soon the seven-legged spider was overwhelmed. Two, five, seven more identical spiders scurried up or quickly dropped to partake in the feast.

Cannibals. Dragna shuddered, not tarrying long to watch the feast. He quickly snagged his pack, stuffed his weapons inside, and took the spider's severed leg. It was half-drenched in glowing blood and proved a hellish torch. Dragna crawled away quickly, hoping all the vibrations from the fight for scraps would mask his tiny thrums. Holding the leg before him, he pressed on to where the web clung to the fissure wall. Daring anything to escape the same fate as that spider, he decided to try and climb down.

The rock face wasn't nearly as smooth as the water-worn passages above. In fact, it was quite pock-marked and ravaged. He stuck the spider leg into his pack, slung it over his shoulders, and used the backlight to find sturdy handholds. Navigating by bloodglow, he slowly and carefully moved further down. He was at it at least a candlemark before he began to tire. His hands ached, as did his calves, and his fingers were stiff and sore. There were no other alternatives and he kept moving down, following a simple pattern. Hand under hand, foot under foot, check twice, move slow. He repeated variations of his simple mantra over and over, keeping a steady pace until one foot slipped. He followed after like a sack of rocks, plummeting again through the open air.

He only felt the horrible tingling for a few long seconds before striking water in a painful belly flop. Then he began to sink, thrashing wildly as the weight of his gear pulled him under. It didn't help there was a swift current, or the fact he couldn't swim.

[Dragna]

The icy water yanked and spun Dragna like a finless trout. He could barely keep himself above the surface as he tumbled along the fissure's black bottom. The spider leg still stuck amongst his gear, it washed the intimate area around him in red light. It was a fitting aura considering the smothering terror that gripped the giant.

His pack weighed him down, but he refused to abandon it, and kicked all the more furiously. Despite his efforts, he continued bobbing in the river, sometimes taking mouthfuls of metallic water before surfacing back up again. When the river relented and he could fight to the top, he gasped as much air as would fit in his lungs. It was a give and take struggle between he and the element, one that stretched on until his pack caught a snag. Suddenly he jerked to a halt, the river breaking against him in furious white foam.

Grimacing, he turned his body and found himself hooked on a stalagmite tall enough to reach out of the water. In the bloodglow, he could faintly see another and another still. The giant thanked his luck as he pulled himself up further out of the water and onto the conical rock. The current might have sent him head-first into one of the rocks, breaking his neck and sending him to a deep, dark watery grave. The pack had, for all its trouble, saved him. And Dragna had a feeling its contents would again before he was out of the underworld... if he ever got out.

First thing was first, escaping the river and finding a dry cave or tunnel. Already he had a slight shiver and dared not press his luck becoming hypothermic or sick. He knew the danger of both in the Dolwood and suspected it would be even worse in this strange enviornment. Finding enough leverage on the rough stalagmite, the giant pushed off with all his strength in the direction of the next stalagmite. While in the air he turned his body and opened his arms wide, landing hard against the next stalagmite and hugging it fiercely. He slid a bit but managed to hold on, then, inching around and using the spider leg, located yet another. Hoping this game of hop would have a quick end, Dragna jumped once more, scraping his forearms. He leapt seven more times, by the last his hamstrings, shoulders and back burning from the strain, before diving into another cave.

He dropped to the ground and considered laying there for a spell, but the more he did the denser grew his mind fog. He suddenly realized with a thrill much worse than falling that he was slipping into the first stage of hypothermia. His digits were numb and his body wracked in goosebumps. He quickly ravaged his pack, but found everything that could start a fire wet beyond use. The giant groaned and began walking in long, determined strides across the cave, though he stumbled from the numbness of his feet. He fought the urge to shed his heavy, wet hides. Without dry ones waiting, it would only increase the rate of heat loss. Shivering, he held the spider torch before him as he looked for a decent cranny or, if the ancestors were particularly merciful, a hot spring or warm-air pocket.

After half a mark of searching, taking many small, winding tunnels, he discovered no miraculous sources of heat. He did, however find many small nooks along the caveway. Picking one suitable for his broadness, he nestled in, knees positioned against his chest. He hugged them tightly, focusing on his breathing. He'd found in the cold winter months that this position was perhaps the best way to conserve heat. After awhile he could feel some of his fingers and toes again. Perhaps it hadn't been hypothermia, but he sat in the heat-preserving posture none the less until he returned to relative normal.

He winced as his feeling returned, coming with stings and aches. Flexing his digits until the pain faded, he rose and pressed ahead by the light of the blood. He entered a cavern that filled him with awe. It was the largest contained space he'd ever seen (though the fissure in which he dropped could have been larger, for he hadn't seen it). Its dome roof was like some mighty citadel, or what he imagined the interior of Prime's buildings to be spacially. The walls and ceiling were alien and beautiful, riddled with strange calcified formations and mineral deposits, irridescent lichen and shimmering ore veins. The air was stale,but alive with the flashes of bats and insects.

Noticing potential food, Dragna stomach reflexively growled. With no way of fire, he didn't trust the bats uncooked, and no other animal had made itself obvious. Reaching under the biggest rocks he could lift with a familiar queasiness, he found a collection of varied insects. Desperate times, any measures, Dragna plucked the ones he recognized... discarding spiders or anything a little too alien to be safe, and stuffed the remaining slimy mass into his mouth. He swallowed quickly as possible, but was unable to avoid the squish and runny innards. These bugs tasted saltier than the Dolwood's.

Hardly satisfied but content he wouldn't starve, Dragna moved into the next cave and heard the last thing he would have expected. Voices. Voices in the dark.

[Dragna]

Dragna abandoned his spider leg for the shadow's cover and stalked slowly down the tunnel ahead. Voices were a blessing and a danger all at once. On one hand, voices proved there was another entrance and exit from the underworld, which was enough to warrant investigation. On the other hand, these people could be dangerous. It seemed since entering Alleria that any contact he had with others always ended with him fighting for his life. Best to remain alert and cautious.

Feeling his way on all fours, he managed to avoid most the rubble or noisy tells, though he scraped here and there. Still, it wasn't enough to divert the attention of the speakers, who, as Dragna approached, began raising their voices to the point of shouting. The language was lost to the giant, full words, an indulgent range of sound, but sharp and biting at the same time. Curiosity quickly getting the better of him, Dragna padded to the edge of a tunnel curve, got low, almost to the ground, and had a peek.

His heart sank. Even in his tribe, so far removed from the empire, there was legend of the vysstichi, and none of it good. A large dark elf with a shaved head and a muscular frame shook a smaller vysst male by the collar. Her warhammer was poised for a killing stroke, but for the smaller woman who pulled desperately on her arm. All three were yelling, the man loudest of all, though his tone inflected he was begging. Dragna froze, fearing any move might draw their eyes.

Four others materialized around the trio, hidden under gray cloaks and cowls. Then two more followed, a fat vysst male hand-in-hand with a skeletal woman. Dragna frowned, observing all were well armed. The majority wore studded leather and carried blades, but for the hammer-holder who wore blackened chain.

"You're telling me we're LOST!?!" The chain-clad maiden snarled in tongue Dragna recognized. "Vysstichi are lost underground? What the hell kind of ranger are you?"

The smaller woman fought to restrain the larger, grunting, "Mysteria, please! We'll never find our way without him."

"We can't seem to find it WITH him," Mysteria roared.

The fat vysst chuckled at the comment, stroking his white, oiled beard. "Perhaps we should punish him for his wrong turns? Nothing motivates like a well-placed cut... or two, or…"

As the fat one reached for his knife belt, the threatened male struggled in Mysteria’s grip. "Patience, my lady! This is a largely unexplored series of caverns. There’s barely any maps or records on this stretch in all Herozzal. I know. I scoured the libraries myself! We’re pioneers, some of the first to attempt a completely underground route to Primus Gaudeo.”

Mysteria’s eyes narrowed and she pulled the ranger inches from her grimacing countenance. “And what good is a guide that knows nothing of the region?”

The skeletal woman coughed and spoke up, “Well, Preyth did approach Matron Miglonia and convince her to finance this expedition. He alone knows all the important details and secrets regarding—“

“Socrate’s Portal? Regarding the entrance to Mercuria, a gem-starred cavern of untold wealth? Hah!” Mysteria tossed Preyth to the ground. “I hardly believed my ears when Matron ordered ME to lead this wild quest. I’d sooner return home now and report the whole thing a farce.”

The smaller woman helped Preyth to his feet. “We both know Matron could read through any deception… and would punish us all accordingly. Now I might not believe Mercuria's real, either, but on the orders of the matron we are bound to this quest. And bound to each other if we expect to survive it.”

The group remained silent a tense minute, until Mysteria slung her hammer over her shoulder and began moving toward the next tunnel. “Meephos’ beard, Charis! When has loyalty ever helped a dark elf survive?”

The fat vysst chuckled again and shadowed the chain-maiden out, the rest slowly following after. Charis lingered last, turning back toward Dragna frowning. The giant held his breath, feeling she was staring right into his eye, but a moment later she turned and shuffled on.

The giant waited in lay, trying to absorb everything that he'd just heard. He had no idea where Primus Gaudeo was, who Socrates was, or anything about Mercuria, but it stood to reason they had a better chance of finding their way then he did alone. And if there were any more spiders lurking in the darkness, they would face the brunt. As dangerous as Dragna's intentions were, he followed the group into the unknown, exhibiting every bit of stealth he ever learned in the Dolwood.

[Dragna]

They moved through the underworld with mercurial ease. Dark elves seemed unhindered by the blackness, Dragna rued as he ponderously groped and followed. He hardly ever maintained a visual, but perhaps that was for the best, and instead relied on sound and unmasked tracks to keep with his quarry. They weren’t hiding their passing, yet their footfalls were so light and quick his skill barely rose to the challenge. He mostly thanked the ancestors for Mysteria, whose rustling chain mail was the only consistent tell. Rests were scarce, but when they made camp it was never more than a few candlemarks, not long enough for Dragna to sleep soundly. It seemed that whenever he began recharging his strength, he was forced to leave, and each time his reserves grew smaller and smaller. He supposed there was some ease afforded in the discarded scraps left after each camp, and Dragna ravenously ate of black-crusted bread, unfinished meat off lizard bones, and whatever else he foraged. Still, with the aches and tiredness, perhaps he’d be going it alone again soon…

After three days, as near as the giant could calculate, the vysstichi stopped. The giant assumed it a routine camp and ventured a nap. However, and he wasn’t quite sure how he knew, the first thought that sprung into his head upon awaking was the unshakable fact he’d overslept. The human stamina could only take so much before, even with great will, the body ensured what it needed. His heart thrilled and his stomach lurched. They might have moved beyond his ability to trace, or worse, they might have been seconds from backtracking and discovering him. Either scenario could spell death, though only the later was guaranteed.

He leapt up, forcing his eye wide and scanning the dark. It was a knee-jerk reaction and he quickly gathered his things, knowing full well he couldn’t spot a stealthing vysst in the shadows. To his mild reassurance, if they’d discovered him, he’d already be in chains, or, more likely, dead. On jackal feet, he slipped ahead, and would have cried out had he a voice when he turned a corner and almost walked into the fat vysst male.

The dark elf’s back was turned, looking past his camped companions and toward a wide fissure. Half a ruined bridge, so narrow it would barely accommodate Dragna’s width, hung in the open air, nearly a hundred feet from where they stood.

The fat elf shook his head, fondling a knife at his side. “Another dead end. Damn the luck, eh Preyth?”

The vysst ranger shot a mirthless grin. “No one’s holding me back this time, Barabas. Come and see how good your butter knives fair against bagh nakh.” Even in the dim light of green wall lichen, the razor claws fitted over Preyth’s knuckles gleamed.

The grossly thin dark elf stepped between the two, lifting her wiry arms and glowing with a faint violet aura. “Now Barabas, as much as I’d love to see you mince this peon, we might still need him.”

Mysteria stood on the edge of the fissure, fixated on the half-bridge, but turned at the sound of a challenge. “Let them fight, Viskigal. It’s been dreadfully boring down here and,” She examined a few red stains on her leather breeches, “I do miss blood…”

Viskigal slowly lowered her arms, a look of indecisiveness on her face, but a forceful cough from Mysteria prodded the skeletal elf to back away. Barabas sighed blissfully and unsheathed two serrated knives. Apparently the sheaths were filled with some sort of liquid, as the blades dripped with black ichors. Poison, Dragna assumed.

Preyth stood calmly, stomped his back foot and entered a fighting stance. He kept one claw behind him, arched up like a scorpion tail, and the other completely still in front. Dragna thought it reminiscent of his pick-axe stance he’d used against the spider, though the giant could tell from Preyth’s exuding confidence that he knew quite a bit more about two-weapon fighting. Despite everything that was going on, Dragna found himself sharing a little of Mysteria’s bloodlust, at least enough to see who was truly the better. For reasons he couldn’t quite place, he was routing for Preyth.

With an agility that belied his bulk, Barabas launched, proving faster than Preyth’s block. As the fat vysst’s knife shot within an inch of Preyth’s chest, two grey-cloaked dark elves pulled him back. Barabas quickly escaped their holds and swung to bleed one for his insolence, only to be met with Charis’s intercepting bagh nakh claw. “Enough.”

Barabas hissed as all four grey-cloaks surrounded him. The fat vysst stood down, sheathing his daggers. “But Mysteria said—”

“I sometimes wonder if Mysteria was the right choice for this mission,” over spoke Charis.

Mysteria grimaced, but remained calm when asking, “You’re questioning my leadership?”

Charis walked up to the larger woman, the four grey-cloaks following. “I haven’t seen much leadership since we left Herozzal. Now prove me wrong! Stop inciting in-fighting and try and figure a way over.”

Mysteria looked about ready to smash Charis’s face in as she clenched her fists, but after a tense minute of neither women backing down, Viskigal placed a hand on either’s shoulder. Dragna thought he saw the violet glow again. “Ladies, please. Let us not resort to fighting like the men. We are of House Miglonia, above this petty squabbling.”

Mysteria shrugged the hand off. “Can you use your magic to take us over, Viskigal?”

The thin woman sighed, “I’m afraid my mysticism will be of no use.”

The chained-maiden huffed. “Yet another useless party member. Why Matron Miglonia chose this lot,” She glared at Charis, “ESPECIALLY you, I’ll never know.”

Charis frowned but let the comment slide, looking to Preyth. “Is there any other path we might take?”

“The maps I’ve studied and the caves I’ve read have led us to this one tunnel. I’m afraid there is no other way.” He looked disappointed.

“You did bring rope and carabiners, didn’t you Preyth?” Barabas held a condescending tone, walking over to the ledge and looking down.

Preyth burned red in the face, but curtly answered, “Yes.”

“Then we climb down,” Viskigal said decidedly. Mysteria and Charis raised no objections, but silently Dragna groaned.

[Dragna]

He watched most of the vysticchi as they peered over the dark fissure, secured their holds, double checked the knots around their waists and took daring rappels beyond Dragna's view. He huddled behind a large rock, racking his brain for a way to keep up with the party. He didn't have rope or skill enough to climb down, that much he knew, and trying to piggy back on their rope would undoubtedly lead to capture. It seemed he was stuck where he crouched, after three days travel stuck...

Backtracking to where he first found the dark elves would take longer than he cared, force him to forage for his own food and defend himself against whatever might have also been following the scraps. Dragna was surprised their ranger didn't think of that himself. After all, it had attracted the human. Where was the one called Preyth, anyway?

Before the giant could even faintly imagine the extent of the dark elves' cunning, something struck him in the back of the head. Everything went a deeper shade of black...

* * * *

Dragna slowly stirred.

"Human, I think. Though look at the size of him!"

A familiar voice. Sounded like... pain and recognition assailed him at once, and he shot open his eyes to see the vysticchi party examining him. It was Preyth who had spoke, kneeling beside him, and poking his chest lightly with a sheathed blade. Dragna violently jerked to scramble away, but found his wrists and ankles bound tightly.

Preyth tossed the sword aside and flashed his bangh nakh inches from Dragna's throat. "Easy, friend. You're big, but your neck cuts just like everyone else's." He brushed aside the giant's beard and looked at his neck scar. "But I have a feeling you knew that already."

Mysteria walked to the forefront and kicked Dragna hard in the stomach, stealing his breath. "So this is what's been tracking us? A freak?"

Charis stepped beside her. "Far better this than a rival force from Herozzal."

Barabas chuckled, juggling a knife in his hand. "Well, now that we've found its just a giant, I say we cut him." The fat vysst leaned in, severing the leather cord of Dragna's eyepatch and examining the long scar and gaping socket. "Even out the other side of his face. Let him stumble blindly over the cliff."

Viskigal rested her long, delicate fingers on the assassin's shoulders, pressing her face against the top of his head. "He may know a way through these caverns, my sweet. We weren't lying when we said we were lost."

Mysteria pressed a foot onto Dragna's chest, the human still trying to catch his breath, and stated in a cool, low voice. "You are going to cooperate."

Dragna nodded vigorously.

"Who are you? Where are you from?" She asked, almost kindly, but for the sheen in her viper eyes.

The giant was at a loss. He coughed and tried pointing his hands toward his mouth.

"I said," Mysteria began before stomping on Dragna's face and breaking his nose, "Who are you and from whence do you hail?"

Dragna shook his head violently, fighting the pain, feeling warm blood run down into the corners of his lips. He tried pointing to his throat again.

"I would answer if I were you," Preyth advised.

"He can't!" Charis spoke up, recognizing his motions and leaning down to feel the scars on his throat. No one but he and his mother had ever touched them and her fingers sent a frightened chill through his body. His privacy had been invaded and that one, delicate touch seemed to strip him bare of all defenses. "I think he's a mute."

Mysteria sighed and looked to Viskigal. "Can you read his mind?"

The emmaciated dark elf woman nodded, sitting crosslegged and resting Dragna's head in her lap. The giant fought at first, but as soon as her skeletal fingers touched his temples he immediately relaxed. He couldn't focus, couldn't even stay awake. The world around him lost definition, grew hazy and liquified. It was more disorienting than shrooms. Viskigal's face blanked, her body still. Her eyes flushed white and a violet glow encompassed both her and the giant.

"His name is Dragna from," She took a deep, indulgent breath, "far outside the empire. Plains... and forests... both."

Mysteria's face contorted. "How can he be from both pl--"

Charis shushed her.

"He has fought the elements, slain the grandfather wolf," She smiled a bit, "Killed over a dozen dwarven farmers..."

"Not a complete wastrel," Barabas muttered.

"And escaped a great dwarven hunter. He fell through earth and web and water... and now he lays before us. There is great fear in him."

Mysteria rolled her eyes, Charis having to step in front of her for fear she'd kick Viskigal for such insight.

"And great spirit. Even now the Manitou fight to claim his soul, totems of the wolf, the bear, the owl and," Viskigal's head whipped back, eyes returning to normal.

Barabas was there in an instant to catch her. He helped her up slowly.

"And the jackal."

"So he doesn't know the way to go?" Mysteria asked, already removing her hammer from its holster.

Viskigal shook her head. "No. He is a tracker, much like Preyth, but has never been to these caverns before."

Mysteria hefted her hammer over her head even as Dragna began returning again to consciousness. "Too bad for him."

This time it was Barabas that interrupted, a rare occurence that actually paused Mysteria's bloodlust. "If I may, my lady. If this giant is a tracker, why not use his talents to our benefit?"

Preyth looked quite aggravated by the suggestion, which was Barabas's true intention all along. His smile widened. "Two trackers are better than one. Or should I say, any tracker is better than Preyth."

Claws flashed and Barabas caught Preyth's attack with his serrated knives. "I'll bleed you."

Mysteria swung her hammer and broke the blade lock. "Enough. Barabas offers an interesting proposal. One that will no doubt please my overly compassionate sister." She turned to Charis.

The small elf frowned and folded her arms. While it wasn't clear whether she was serious or not by her tone alone, Charis responded, "Pleased? Why, I'm gods damned ecstatic my overly murderous sister is listening to other's opinions for a change."

Mysteria put her weapon away and patted Charis's head like a small child. "Dear, you can never be overly murderous."

Charis fumed.

Viskigal clapped lightly. "Very well. From what I've read in him, he will cooperate. It serves him well to travel with us, the whole reason he's been skulking behind. And when this whole ordeal is over, he'll fetch a handsome price back home."

Preyth spat. "You all can't be serious." He punched the rock wall. "I don't need help! I am the better ranger. For Haya's sake, I am the one who counter tracked him! What makes you think he can read what I can't?"

Barabas groaned, motioning around them. "Do we even have to dignify that with a response?"

Preyth moved to charge his nemisis again, but Charis caught him by the shoulder. "A second pair of eyes couldn't hurt. Well, one eye... you know what I mean."

The four greycloaks cut Dragna's ankle bonds, lifted him to his feet and pulled him by his rope leash to the front of the group. Preyth followed after, cursing heavily.

They made for the bridge. However, to Dragna's supreme shock, Viskigal spoke a single word and the missing half phased back into view. She turned and gave the giant a devious wink. Tricked and tricked again...

[Dragna]

A greycloak prodded Dragna forward with shoves and the occasional kick. Another held tight reign of his braided leash, but always kept the giant a few feet in front of him. Preyth lingered at Dragna's flank, sometimes slipping behind him, other times motioning a halt and stalking up ahead. He wished he could see through the black to discover just why. Could it be more of those spiders? Or worse?

Dragna stumbled through the shadows, often provoking snickers at the small debris and obstacles the dark elves could plainly see. Barabas's laughs were loudest of all, though he wasn't sure if they were aimed at him or Preyth. However, despite all the put downs, Dragna got some satisfaction in the lichen-lit tunnels, which the vysstichi squinted and shied from.

For the most part, Dragna was kept at the head of the column. He rued the reverse of his intentions, once thinking the vysticchi would face the unknown for him, now he being braced as a human shield. He'd been a fool to think he could out stealth the masters of the art, but his desperation led him to try anything to escape the underworld. Now he was their prisoner, worse their slave. Mysteria commanded he act as a secondary guide, with pain and death as incentives. Unfortunately for him, thus far he'd proven a poor one. The pace they traveled was hardly condusive to Dragna's ability to read the terrain, and even their ranger Preyth seemed rushed. Yet the more candlemarks he worked, the easier it became. He attributed his adaptation to cave tracking from his knowledge of survival in conjunction with wilderness hunting to compensate.

Through lit and unlit tunnels they trekked, though the most were pitch. Of what Dragna could appreciate, he noticed no cave system was quite like the other, a variation that might have escaped a person not accostomed to unbridled nature. He'd initially thought the Dolwood uniform, every tree and grove copies of the rest, but after an era living within the woods, he'd discovered the intricate beauty of details. He was constantly awed by the complexity, the vastness, the brilliance of Aelyria's many worlds, whether over or under. The vysstichi seemed less impressed.

After Mysteria called for camp, she walked over to Preyth. Dragna, tethered close by, overheard, "Report."

"I think I've managed to get us back on track, according to the maps." Preyth pointed to unfolded parchment.

"Think or know?" She asked tersely.

Preyth coughed and continued. "Know. See, the cavern that originally threw me off turned out to have collapsed, but we've taken the only successful detour."

Mysteria nodded. "Music to my ears. So, where does that leave us?"

Preyth shrugged. "In terms of Primus? Weeks. But we ARE on the right track. We'll be hitting the last of the mapped landmarks within the next day or two. An old trade outpost from the days before Natura."

Mysteria nodded and turned to join the others around the building fire, but Preyth absent-mindedly tapped her on the shoulder. "If I may?"

The chained maiden's eyes widened and she instinctively backhanded the guide. "Nobody touches me!"

"My," Preyth gasped, "apologies... I only... wished to ask... we... dump the human. He will only slow us down."

Mysteria humphed. "I don't think so. Whether by this human's aid or blind chance, we are now back on track. And weren't you complaining we should slow down a bit for you to scout not three days ago?" She sneered. "Besides, I enjoy his dumb stumbling. And moreso your humiliation."

Preyth swallowed his rage and stalked to the outskirts of camp to keep his own council, shouldering Dragna as he passed.

[Dragna]

Dragna's first day as a slave wore hard on him. He'd been humiliated, prodded, poked, harassed and spoken too like an animal. He hadn't been fed or given more than a gulp of water in twelve candlemarks. Constant fear of what lurked in the shadows ahead, against which he was being used as a meat shield, chipped away at his stamina and resolve like his pick. The pick, hand axe and rest of his gear had been divvyed amongst dark group members. That which they found useless was discarded. He could suffer the loss of the dwarven outfits and his firestarting bow, but when they discovered his preserved eye, the eye his mother gave him, the eye the jackal robbed him, the eye that stood for perserverance and strength, it was more than he could stand.

"What in the world... an eye? An old leathery eye?" Barabas said absently, holding it up and examining it.

Dragna immediately tried to bull rush him, but Barabas was just out of reach of Dragna's tether and the cord yanked him back.

Barabas smirked. "Must mean something special to you, eh?"

The fat vysst stepped within Dragna's reach and held out his hand. Dragna took the bait and made a grab for his keepsake, what he might have described as his family heirloom. Barabas let it drop to the floor and, in his desperate clumsiness, the giant stepped on it. The dark elf laughed.

Dragna fell to the ground and swung his foot around. Trembling, he tried to peel the eye off his sole, but it was squashed and utterly ruined. What had he done? How could he be so gullible? He should have known the vysst, especially THAT one, would never show an ounce of pity or kindness. The giant punched the ground and when Barabas came close to try and humiliate him further with a pat on the head, he kicked angrily. For being so corpulent, the vysstichi was incredibly nimble, and danced from the blow. He still managed to ruffle Dragna's mane.

"Relax. Was a filthy thing, anyway... Wait." He sneered, tapping just under his left eye. "IOf course. It was YOURS! Ha!"

Barabas stalked around him. "Oh that's rich. Missing an eye, so you carry it with you. Humans make so little sense. So very little." He tapped Dragna on the head with the flat of his dagger, making a game of it. Dragna swatted at him, but always too late. The elf was so agile, supernaturally so.

"But you're so big! Big, big, big. What did momma bear feed you as a boy?" He smacked Dragna in the face and dodged before the giant could squeeze the mirth from his rolls.

The dark elf continued frolicking, but grew complacent and developed a pattern to his prance. On the fifth ring around, Dragna jutted his long leg in just the right place and Barabas tripped. He hit the ground with a tremendous jiggle.

Dragna grinned, but not two seconds after the fat elf was lunging, his blade flying for the giant's throat. Ching! Charis's intercepted with her claw. "Now, now, Barabas. You said yourself how much we NEED this second scout."

The fat vysst sprang back and moved to draw another dagger, but the four greycloaks materialized behind Charis. Dragna flinched, having not even heard their approach. Truly they were the masters of stealth...

"That's the second time I had to block your angry blades, Barabas. A third time will warrant cutting you." Charis chided.

"You could try." Barabas hissed, throwing his daggers in the air and catching them fancifully before sheathing them again. They glistening mid-air with the poison from his scabbards. "You could try..."

Charis threateningly stepped forward, the greycloaks unsheathing hidden swords with the soft sound of sliding steel.

Bowing slightly, Barabas turned and stalked into the black.

The small woman produced some dried meat from her back pocket and tossed it before Dragna. Likewise a waterskin. "I suggest you try and get some sleep, as well. We won't be lingering more than another two candlemarks or so."

Dragna nodded and stuffed his face, though for some reason felt a little self concious about his savage habits. He tried to chew more slowly and avoid dirtying his beard, but when he sideglanced to see if Charis was watching, she was vanished, her bodyguards with her.

Just who was she to command four other elves? Sister to Commander Mysteria, but there had to be more to it... Pondering the strange and complex workings of dark elves, Dragna finished his meal. He passed out as soon as he found a comfortable position and closed his eyes, but it hardly seemed a few seconds before Mysteria kicked him awake.

"Wakey, wakey, curr. Lets see if you survive another day."

He was forced to his feet and prodded to the head of the column, where he groped weaponless in the dark, wondering if a lowering spider or sudden drop would be the end of this cruel scenario.