After a brief visual inspection of the living foe the cleric sighed and replied calmly, "I think I'm going to have to agree, with the luck we've been having I cannot in good faith waste a spell healing a foe that I may need to mend another broken bone or serious wound in one of us. Besides, are we even sure there is enough of him left in his battered head to formulate articulate speech even if I did manage to heal him enough to come around? In fact, I'm inclined to say we just leave him to bleed out, but that would make us no better than they are, so I say we do the right thing and end the poor fool's suffering swiftly."

While the rest of the party was busy looking to those they had defeated, the sharp-eyed Raslan had his senses turned outward.

This was too easy. There have got to be more out there.
"I suggest we slay the man, for they would have done the same or worse to us. Even if he could, he likely won't tell us anything anyway."

All of his senses were on high alert. There was something not quite right... something in the back ofhis mind told him to tace great care.

"Whatever we do, I suggest we do it quickly and quietly. The battle could be heard for at least a mile, and there will be more coming... soon."

He glances over the dead bodies and moves to where the trap door once was, peering cautiously into the darkness below.

Tirmut 6th, 1022
Scarwood Forest.
Northern Alcana.
Resolution came swiftly as Nick drew upon his divine gifts to mend the damage done to Tobias' ankle. That god-blessed warmth that he was now becoming accustomed to drove away his pains, and he could feel the bone knitting itself back together to become whole once more. With a helping hand from the priest, Tobias stood tall once more.

Plans and praise were exchanged as the warrior inspected the two downed bodies for anything of value. Aside from their weapons and more of the skull-faced bandanas, he found nothing of value on their persons, and began to comply with Nick's suggestion of heaping a body barricade. When he lifted the first corpse under the arms to drag it to the hole, however, a slight clinking told him that he'd missed something. Laying the form back out, he rifled through the pockets a second time, and discovered that, tucked into the belt of his breeches, a stack of three brass keys bound together by wire had become dislodged during the drag.

Snatching them up, he pocketed them just in time to see the priest drop the other body into the pit, and commenced with doing so himself, when it became clear to the pair that a survivor lay on the other side of the wall.

Together, they rose and moved around to see evidence of this in the form of a horribly bloodied man, slumped against the wall and breathing in shallow, ragged gasps. It was obvious what had happened when the trapdoor, now at Kresimir's feet, was adorned by a crimson residue and a number of teeth embedded into its solid surface. The big Gano looked worn out, a state none had yet seen him in, but even as such, he still struck the most intimidating figure present.

Even while Kresimir knelt before the broken body and mused the prospect of gleaning information, three votes went against such a course of action. The wisdom in preserving Nick's abilities was obvious, and Koriss, the most acutely sensitive of the pack, voiced the issue of their volume. If reinforcements were to come, it wouldn't take long to determine where the destination would be.

It was settled. One more to the slaughter, and it would be done cleanly. Flourishing a nimble hand, the halfling produced a knife and stepped in. A clean cut across the throat to silence the brigand forever, and the situation was done with. Part of it, in any case. The next was what to do with themselves.

As a group, they meandered over to the hole, looking down into the darkness below. Nick had already dropped a body down there, but had failed to listen in for a potential depth check. There was still the one that previous bore the keys, however, and Tobias made quick work of dumping the lifeless form into the basement as well. The resulting thud came almost immediately, which meant that the darkness was from poor lighting moreso than an overly long staircase.

Nick would see to that problem, and drew forth his holy icon, the silver wrought tome of St. Manquo. Pride rose in the priest as he rubbed the flat the polished surface of it, chanting forth a minor prayer to grant them guidance in the darkness. The moment his lips closed, the book began to cast off a gentle yellow light, almost as though the pages themselves shone.

Wrapping his fingers around the edges of the symbol, he extended his arm and directed the light into the cellar, illuminating the cracked and aged stone steps, and at the bottom, the pair of fallen corpses. The glow revealed that it was not so much an actual basement as it seemed to be a narrow corridor, leading away from the base of the stairs. From ground level, it was impossible to tell how far ahead it stretched, and thus, the descent was inevitable.

Maintaining their companionship, Tobias took the lead, his sword and shield at the ready to greet any who might impose upon their search. But the hallway appeared empty as far as he could see into the darkness, and thus beckoned the others follow. Nick, Koriss, and Kresimir stepped down, their footfalls resonating in the tight area.

With Nicholas shining his holy beacon over Tobias' shoulder, a heavy and ancient-looking wooden door sealed the end of the walk, perhaps twenty feet ahead. Closing the distance, the soldier reached forth and tried the cold iron handle, but found it held fast. He tried again, but couldn't even budge the heavy barrier. From the rearguard, Kresimir could be heard exhaling heavily, and the wonder if he could rip this one from its moorings crossed the minds of the group. The thought was wiped from consciousness, however, as Tobias fished into a pocket and retrieved the newly discovered set of keys. Selecting one of the three, he tried it on the lock and found it an improper fit. Not to be defeated, he chose a different one, and smiling slightly as this one dislodged the tumblers and clicked open.

His sword clumsily held in his shield hand, Tobias took hold of the handle and pulled. Despite the lock being disengaged, it was no easy task, and he grit his teeth under the effort. The moisture of the tunnel had caused the wood to swell, making it jam in place. But he would not concede, and maintained his effort to be rewarded by a dull scraping sound as the door dragged open. Curiously, the hinges did not screech, which suggested that this area was at least somewhat maintained.

Forcing open a large enough gap to pass through, he re-armed himself and took a step inside, listening as the echoes of his steps suggested a larger space. One by one, the group entered, and Nick brandished his symbol to light the way.

The ray of light swept throughout the room, showing it was indeed larger, and appeared to be some kind of storeroom. Crates and mouldering sacks sat against the walls, some of them covered in dust, while others were cut at the seams or absent of their lids. A curious sight came in the form of a heap of new-looking objects. New in the sense that they were haphazardly piled and lacking of dust. Bedrolls, knapsacks, shapeless bundles, a few wooden trunks. Clearly, these must have belonged to the refugee train that had been ambushed! But that said nothing of where the captives were.

Koriss was the one to spot another door on the far side of the room, thirty feet away from where they stood, and near to the recently heaped articles. But it was not the only exit to the room, for to the right, near an ancient-looking ashwood wardrobe, a second door rested in the stone walls. Including the one they entered from, that made a total of three.

From his place behind Tobias Nick trudged forward, his glowing silver medallion lighting the way for them all to see. As their steps echoed in the subterranean corridors the cleric could not help but think back on the time he had spent in the temple deep in the mountains back home. The stone floors there had echoed much like these did, and you could always tell when someone was coming or going in places like these, which worked against them at this particular moment. "We need to keep a sharp ear open for echoes coming toward us, from either direction, if our footsteps echo then so will anyone else's, that said we also won't have the element of surprise if we had it before, because any guards are likely to hear us coming."

When they came to a stop at the thick door Nick held his glowing symbol in such a manner as to allow his companions to get a good look at the door, whether it was to be the Gano ripping this one from its hinges as he had the trapdoor, or the rogue with his picks. Much to his surprise it was neither, instead Tobias produced a set of keys and was able to disengage the lock with much ease. The cleric took a step back as his companion pulled hard on the door, its weight apparently stuck in the frame and as difficult to open as it appeared to be. With the door finally open he followed Tobias into the room, his light guiding the others following behind them as well.

A quick scan of the room quickly revealed what it was, a storeroom, just like the ones they had back in the mountain temple. Crates, sacks, and barrels lined the walls, likely holding grains or clean water, though the contents were a mystery he wasn't too worried about at this point. Two things in this room caught his eye, the stack of what appeared to be personal property, likely belonging to the hostages they were seeking to rescue, and the old wardrobe against the wall to his right. His mind burned with curiosity, every ounce of his being wished to know what secrets the old wardrobe held, but he stopped himself from opening it, well aware that these mercenary types may well have it trapped as well. Turning toward his smaller companion he speaks, in a low voice just in case anyone is on the other side of either of the other doors in this room, "Koriss, my friend, do you think perhaps you could check this wardrobe for traps, something tells me there may be something of interest in here, but I don't want to take any reckless actions that will make matters more difficult for us."

Koriss looked over their fallen foes. He grabbed one of the skull bandanas as he passed, silently leading the group down into the shadows.

Now it seemed his particular talents were needed. With a nod the halfling approaches the wardrobe, still moving as soundlessly as possible. A brief inspection revealed nothing, but he would take no chances. He examined the wardrobe closer, looking to its lock, hinges, handle and everywhere else a trap trigger might be (or a trap itself for that matter).

(If he finds one he will warn the party and attempt to disarm it. If not, he will say it's all clear and open it himself, preparing to dodge away just in case.)

(edited for back post.)

Tirmut 6th, 1022
Scarwood Forest.
Northern Alcana.
Lighting the way with his glowing holy icon, Nick found that he simply could not resist knowing what was inside that old and battered wardrobe. Whether it was the scholar in him, hungering to fill his mental library with everything he encountered, or was the side of him that was getting a taste for adventure, it went beyond a want. He needed that cabinet opened up. But rationality took hold before he went for it, and the young cleric beckoned to Koriss, who was eager to ply his street-developed trades where he may.

Creeping across the gloomy chamber as silent as a mouse, the halfling approached the armoire, his eyes scanning every inch of its surface for something out of the ordinary. He started with the locking mechanism, peering into it as best as the lighting would allow him, but spotted nothing amiss. As far as he could tell, the striker wasn't even thrown. But that did not mean it was safe. Cautiously, the Raslan shifted about, looking over the gilded hinges, gingerly prodding the handle, and even dropping to his belly to check the underside of the ash doors for anything that might spring.

Satisfied, the halfling rose up to his feet, giving the all-clear to his companions, and took the handle in his grip. Time to see what was inside.

Counting to three in his head, he opened the door and stepped with it, moving himself out of the immediate path of what might lay inside. The hinges groaned as the insides were revealed, and the trio of humans tensed in anticipation of something emerging. But all was still and silent. Nick shone his light to view its contents, and was met with the sight of a thin cloud of dust drifting forth from within, unsettled from its dormancy. Beyond the shifting veil, it appeared that the wardrobe contained a number of elegant-looking shirts, although slightly mildewy. Koriss stepped in front again and opened the partner door to reveal a set of cubby shelves, each stuffed with folded articles.

The halfling's inquisitive nature drove him to dig through the shelves, pulling out the garments one by one. A half-dozen pairs of creased pantaloons, made of fine – albeit musty – silk, and a black woolen doublet with a white rose embroidered upon the breast.

Clothing was nice to find, and might fetch a value with the right buyer, but it wasn't of any immediate worth to him, and his careful fingers felt and prodded about, pulling the well-made shirts from their hooks in the left cabinet and draping them over a nearby crate. Fancy garments, perhaps belonging to some ancient nobility, in the colours of forest green and scarlet. He emptied out the contents beside him and studied the now-vacant interior.

For all intents and purposes, it looked like somebody of wealth had used this armoire to store their clothing in some odd years ago.

Then he spotted it. The kind of thing he had been looking for. The kind of thing that made individuals of his profession brim with eagerness. Nick's light had struck the emptied bottom of the wardrobe in such a way that it cast a peculiar looking shadow against the back panel of it. There was a trick bottom to this, and the glow had caught the edge of it to give it away.

The halfling waved Nick over to better employ the luminescent symbol, and the priest stepped forth to cast the light against the bottom of the wardrobe. If it hadn't been for Koriss having such a keen eye for such things, it would have been easy to miss its location, so well did it blend in with the rest of the base. But, the scoundrel set himself to work, and produced a dagger, whose point he managed to slip in between the hidden panel and its framework. With a twist and slight leverage, he pried it open to reveal its secret contents.

Folded neatly together, and untouched by the dust that had cloaked everything else in the storage unit, a pair of deep blue moleskin gloves rested on the bottom of the shallow compartment. Eagerly, Koriss withdrew them, inspecting the soft material and the smooth shape of them. He couldn't help but admire the quality of their crafting, and they seemed like a component one of the other outfits in the wardrobe. Yet...something about them was slightly different. He couldn't place his finger on it.

Nick indicated the bottom of the compartment, where a folded piece of parchment lay flat against the wood. He reached down past the halfling and retrieved it, opening it and scanning the surface. In an especially elegant script, a short note had been composed, and he read it aloud.

“For all those times you require a good impression. Civilities are an important element of the courtroom.
-Much love, Jursai”

The pair looked at the gloves. It was likely that they would fit either of them, but the larger hands of either of the warriors didn't seem like they would be capable of wearing the velvety moleskin. Not that it seemed entirely sensible for a soldier to wear such a well-made piece, for surely blood would mar their surface and detract from the charm of them. Which, from the deep hue of their dying to the flawless serging at the wrists, they seemed to possess no shortage of.

Kresimir followed the others down the corridor as it descended into darkness. Only Nick's divine light illuminate their way, casting off the enveloping shroud which seemed ready to swallow them up. As they cautiously entered what would be identified as a storeroom, people began looking through various things in search of supplies, or some clue as to where the refugees may be or who they were up against.

Koriss was playing in the closest, and the Gano's gypsy mind had a chuckle as the small fellow came back out from reaching into the wooden armoire, sporting a rather fashionable pair of gloves.

Turning his head he chuckled a bit and began checking a corner as of yet unrifled goods.

When a thorough search of the room was agreed as being complete by those present, he pointed to both of the still closed doors before him and shrugged at Tobias.

"Pick a key any key, and prithee this time key not be me"

Despite the obvious fact that they were in need of a severe washing Nick could not help but be in awe at the dusty old finery that hung in the wardrobe before him. Flitting through the various hanging articles of clothing the cleric found a pair of pants and fine shirt that seemed to be in acceptable condition and tucked these items into his pack, one never knew when fine clothes may come in handy. His bright blue eyes went even wider as they halfling pulled free the elegant, and much cleaner, gloves that had apparently been hidden away. Kneeling down to get a much closer look he admired the craftsmanship and the beautiful color, desiring to try them on, but opting to wait until such as time as he could wash his hands first. A thought crossed his mind, and suddenly he wished he had the knowledge to check this hypothesis, but settled for voicing it aloud to the rogue, "If these were hidden, then perhaps they may have some form of enchantment upon them, and if they do, then The Great Librarian could help me determine just what it was they were used for." (Identify is domain spell)

A gruff yell pulled him from his admiration of the gloves, as the other two party members spoke up on their need for him to shine his light elsewhere while they looked around the rest of the room.

Tobias nodded to the Gano, "Good point." Grabbing a couple of torches from the wall, searched for a way to light them while continuing to talk to his companions. "Kresimir, you mind keeping watch by the way we just came? Maybe grab a torch to keep you company."

"Korviss... Friar... let's see what's behind this door..." Tobias mooved towards the door nearest the wardrobe. Pressing his ear against the door, he listens for any sounds coming from the other side before trying to open it.

OOC: If Tobias hears sounds from the other side, he won't try to open the door, but will ask Korviss to listen as well. If there is no sounds, Tobias will attempt to open the door. If locked, he'll try the keys again.

Tirmut 6th, 1022
Scarwood Forest.
Northern Alcana.
Spiritually, Nick was beginning to grow fatigued. Many times that day, his divine powers had been drawn upon, each one putting him a little more off-base with his sense of self. But, his reserves were not depleted yet, and the Scholar of St. Manquo pulled forth another of his innate talents.

Gloves in hand, the priest looked about for a nearby surface to inspect them upon, and settled for a stack of crates, which he swept the dust from so as not to stain the silky moleskin. Shining the light from his holy symbol upon them, he folded the pair together and took his icon in both hands, closing his eyes, and beginning to chant a prayer of understanding to the Eternal Librarian. His request was met with silent affirmation, and this he relayed to his companions.

“These gloves are enchanted with minor magics, though I cannot determine how old they are. They seem tailored to affect a person's disposition for the better, although... Only when making contact. Furthermore, their powers seem limited in stock.” Looking to Koriss, he handed them over. “For now, these may serve a better purpose to you than to I.”

Scholar and scoundrel both were called to Tobias, who had collected a stack of torches and had managed to light one from his tinderbox. Their light sources effectively doubled, the ex-soldier handed one of the burning stumps to Kresimir, and made his way to the door near the armoire with his two companions in tow, requesting the seemingly designated rearguard job that the berserker was becoming familiar with. The hulking Gano responded with a chuckle and a rhyme regarding doors and keys, and set himself to work picking through some of the different storage vessels while keeping an eye on their own entry point, ready to block it off should they be joined.

Tobias approached the old wooden door, giving it a cursory inspection to see which way it opened. Spotting no hinges, he set himself carefully against it, taking care not to rest his weight against its surface lest it fall open and send him stumbling. Beckoning for silence, he listened carefully for any traces of a presence on the other side. Aside from the quiet breathing of his friends, he detected nothing, and gave the door a gentle push. He was met with the muted click of thrown bolt from deep within the door itself, and produced the set of keys, ready to try another one.

The first turned up no result, nor did the second one. Which meant one of two things; the captives were not being held this way, or that these were merely the inappropriate keys for it. He hoped for the prior, as having to batter down another door, especially in a cellar with enhanced acoustics, would defeat all attempts at a quiet exploration.

Meanwhile, Kresimir had cracked the lids from a number of barrels, and opened up a couple of the coarsely woven sacks. Most of his searching had revealed foodstuffs, much of it poorly preserved and already mouldering, although his rummaging did turn up a barrel of salted fish that still seemed quite edible. That must have been recent. The oats and potatoes that, on the other hand, were half-rotten and smelled of alcohol. The moisture of the cellar had done them no favours.

Closing up the worst of them, he heard a slight scraping from beneath one of the sacks, and pulled it away to expose a large rat, panicked by the presence of people, which took off across the open floor and dug its way into the recently heaped pile near the second door. Though he thought nothing of the rat, being in a cellar and all, strode across the chamber, his torchlight casting eerie shadows across the stacks of articles.

The brutish Gano gave a quick check through the confiscated items, turning up nothing of notable interest to him. They were the belongings of families, people on the run. Clothes. A few sealed letters. Some more ornate silverware. It was not his place to take from these people. It was his place to rescue them.

Thinking on that, he turned eyes upon the door in front of him. It was closed, but he had no way of knowing if it were locked. Giving it a careful push, the door creaked open, and he winced as the groan tore through the air. But peeking inside, he was met with the view of a short hallway, sealed off by another door at the far end. But this was different from the others. Raising his torch, the flickering light caught dull reflection from a few sets of metal bars set into the ancient brickwork like rows of grey teeth.

Stepping into the room, his footfalls resonated loudly, and he stopped himself fast when he realized that there was something else present. He heard a shifting sound, accompanied by staggered breathing. It was on the left. A few strides brought him to a cell door, where, on the other side of the bars, he caught sight of the source of the sound.

Laying near the corner of the tiny cell, facing the wall, was the delicate form of a woman. A dancer, based on her physique, but her hair was not that of a human. Long and silver. She appeared elven in her construction, but her smooth features wore a number of bruises, and her clothes were dirtied and slightly torn. As the shifting torchlight washed over her lithe figure, Kresimir watched her cringe up and heard her breathing grow frantic. This woman had been mistreated, terribly, and it was clear that she expected him to be one of her tormenters. There were no other captives in sight, so it was unlikely she was with the refugees. But then...who was she?

As Kresimir pushed open the door, it's moisture wracked hinges squeaked a shrill cry that the Gano swore would wake the dead. Cursing softly under his breath, and holding the torch aloft to repel the darkness within, he realized the corridor bore holding cells, and to his surprise one was not empty.

Inside one of the cells was a lithe woman who despite the cruelty of the marks and bruises etched into once fair skin, held some beauty about her.

Seeing the large, and unfortunately often mistakenly brutish figure in the doorway, the captive's reaction was less than optimistic.

Trying to calm her, spoke as softly as his typically boisterous voice would allow. He approached the cell, but was more than his arms reach away from it to seem less threatening.

"Calm now scared one. I'm not to be hurtin' you, nor will anyone else now. My companions and I be crackin a few skulls to get in here, and we'll be crackin a few more before we leave there be no doubt, but for now you're safe. Can you stand lass? What's your name?"

(While information is important, it's not a priority for the Gano despite their predicament. He's focused on trying to ensure the woman he's not a threat to her, appeal to her hopeful aspirations of rescue and survival etc)

The halfling marvelled over his new gloves for a moment before he heard the behemoth of a man mumble something elsewhere int he room.

Is he trying to comfort someone? Great. That's just what we need, a giant of a man trying to comfort a refugee...
The halfling made his way around the crates and barrels to see what was going on... and then he saw her.

"Hey! Back away you big brute. You're scaring her!"

He hadn't meant to be that loud, but the words came out in a tone closer to a scolding shout than his normally passive demeanor.

He too approached the woman, trying his best not to make any threatening moves.

"It's alright my Lady. We have not come to harm you." He looks back at the others, ensuring they stay a short distance away from the woman as she cowers in the shadows.

"Can you stand?"

(OOC: He will attempt to guide her out of the cage and get her bits of food from whatever stocks are eatible. He also wants to know who she is, where she comes from and any other information he can gently get out of her.)

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

A moldy smell lingered in the air. Like most dungeons, this one had the stereotypical leaky water. She kept her face to the wall. Sometimes that helped her forget that she was in a tiny cell. Sometimes she could forget the suffocating feeling. Sometimes.

How long have I been here? When will they come again?
Her composure was ebbing away with each passing night. She couldn’t properly enter her meditation without seeing the stars, she wondered if she would actually slip into a human like sleep if she ever got out of this. The Mith’ganni had been visited several times by her captors, and none of the experiences had been pleasant. Bruises showed purple and green in sharp contrast to her pale skin. She had fought back every time despite the insistence that it would be better if she didn’t. The number of times she had been knocked out was lost to her memory.

Sometimes it happened when her meal was brought. They had taken to waiting outside her cell until her hunger broke her and she reached for the food. This didn’t happen often; she could smell their stink lingering outside the bars, and refused to touch her meal. Most often they would come down erratically, in twos or threes and take what was never theirs. They tormented her like this for an hour or so almost every day. Is it every day? It’s so hard to know.
Desperation streaked through her as she sat listening to the dripping water. The elf reached out towards the Ether once again, but found nothing. She had remembered Leanna once telling her that there were dead zones on this planet where one could be cut off from the Ether. Was this one of those places?

Volla, 1015
Tonight we had again discussed the perils of using the Ether. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Leanna was trying to dissuade me from casting. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been faced with that. At least the discussion was something other than burning out. She informed me that I needed to have at least rudimentary training in combat. Upon asking her why this was necessary, she began telling me of all of the times that I wouldn’t be able to use the Ether. Aside from the typical “You’ve used it too much today”, she told me of the Dead Zones. Places where nothing could be cast.

These places occur naturally, but once in a great while a mage can create them permanently. These are mostly found in places where great wars occurred in an attempt to stop enemy wizards from using the Ether against them. Perilous things sometimes roam in these areas, and nothing can be done to stop them magically. I must remember to ask her more, there seemed to be a particular story behind her words...
From The Memoirs of Kaimelle Tir’Anoron Part I

A loud groan from the prison door ripped through the air. She gave an involuntary wince at the thought of the captors coming to visit her cell. Footfalls echoed down the corridor, and unbidden to the Mith’ganni, her breath began to quicken with anxiety and her yellow eyes began to brim with tears.

It’s finally happening. I have lost control.
The steps stopped in front of her cell, but she refused to look around. Light illuminated the tiny chamber. Her body scrunched closer to the wall as she pulled her legs up around her middle. The elf hugged them tightly as if to protect the soft portions of her body.

A booming voice filled the cell, "Calm now scared one. I'm not to be hurtin' you, nor will anyone else now. My companions and I be crackin a few skulls to get in here, and we'll be crackin a few more before we leave there be no doubt, but for now you're safe. Can you stand lass? What's your name?"

The Mith’ganni slowly turned her head away from the wall and looked over her shoulder to the door. Her eyes shone faintly yellow in the torchlight, and it was easy to see the blood shot veins etched into them. A large purple bruise encircled her left eye. The light made it hard to see who was speaking, but she could tell it was a man by the voice and he looked to be another captor. His large form with the outline of weapons suggested as much.

This is a ploy. I will not let them get my hopes up. She continued to watch the cell door, but made no move to stand.

More footsteps hurriedly approached the first human. I knew it. More for the fun. She had just decided to turn away again when another voice spoke harsh against the silence.

"Hey! Back away you big brute. You're scaring her!" A form half the size or less then the first bobbed into view and spoke up towards the big man. Her eyes began accommodating for the light. The large man had red hair that almost appeared to be on fire in the torchlight. The smaller one looked almost childlike, but his demeanor suggested otherwise. She guessed that he was a Halfling, something that was not found in this dungeon walking around on its own.

They both looked concerned; the Halfling continued to approach the door and spoke softly to her, "It's alright my Lady. We have not come to harm you." He looked around behind him, which suggested that there were more of them.

"Can you stand?"

This time she complied. Slowly getting to her feet, she turned to face the bars. Her once sturdy homemade shirt and pants were heavily torn and dirty. The world spun for a moment and she could feel the small walls closing in on her.

Her eyes turned slightly wild for a moment before whispering, “Please...get...me...out.”

Tirmut 6th, 1022
Scarwood Forest.
Northern Alcana.
“Please...get...me...out.”

The haunted look in the eyes of the battered Mith'ganni shoved ice into the souls of Gano and Raslan alike, and each found it hard to fight back a growing anger. What kind of heartless bastard could treat a woman like this? Depriving her of any and all comfort. Abusing her, on who knew how many levels. In her moment of wildness, she shared traits of a panicked deer, or perhaps a dog that had been beaten senseless by its master.

Deprivation of the star filled night sky had torn a gaping rift in Kaimelle's grip on her emotions. Physical and mental abuse was bad enough, but this... This was the worse form of torment one could inflict on an elf of the Twilight. Gazing at the constellations each night was as much a part of life as eating or drinking. Trapped within the cramped confines of her cage, the nerve-wracked woman had been spiritually starved.

It was too much. Everything about this was wrong, screamed injustice. Kresimir could hardly contain himself as his huge hands locked around the metal bars, his muscles bunching in his arms and back as he began to pull. But Koriss disarmed him with a quick step towards the iron door, waving the barbaric tribesman from it with both hands. Supple fingers dove into a pocket, and he produced a small oilcloth bundle. His housebreaker's kit.

Producing a pick and spoon set, the halfling threw a quick glance at Tobias, who was guarding their entryway with Nick. Frustrated, Kresimir wrung his hands together and took a spot watching the door at the end of the cell block. With both sides guarded, he was clear to work.

Though he kept his attention on the mechanisms hidden within the rust-speckled gate, Koriss couldn't shake the feeling of the strange elf's tortured yellow eyes upon him, silently pleading his success. This drove the little man harder, and through arduously practiced motions, literally felt through his picks and fingertips to explore the inner workings of the lock.

Locating the tumblers, he smiled inwardly and focused on trying to release the striker. A loud clunk turned Kresimir's gaze to him, but he shrugged it off. The creamy yellow stare, the colour of freshly churned butter. She was beautiful in a truly exotic way. Redoubling his efforts, it took almost nothing from the little man to hit his mark, and in one fluid pull, disengaged the lock. Without even returning his tools to their proper spot on his person, Koriss grabbed hold of one of the cold iron bars and pulled, opening the door with a shrill moan brought about by damp conditions and unoiled ironwork.

While the cry of the cell door rang in everybody's skulls, amplified in the narrow corridor, it was dismissed easily enough. A triumph had been achieved, and the captive woman, this beautiful, tortured Mith'ganni, was allowed her freedom, something she had not tasted in who knew how long.

It was not the open night sky. She didn't even know how far underground she was, or how long she'd truly been held captive for. Absence of her celestial view had dealt hammer blows to her mind and soul. But this was a step in the right direction. Soon, Kaimelle would be breathe the open air again, would walk in the grass and smell the fresh aromatics of the wild. If only she could get out of this damnable pit she had been cast into.

(OOC: Two attempts got the door open. No disturbances from any of the sentries. Kaimelle is free, but still standing within the cell. Time to decide what's next. This is a good chance for some Rping between you all, but make sure to decide what it is you want to do next )

Gently, the halfling reaches in to take her hand and lead her out of the cage in which she was so cruely imprisoned, and past the red-haired behemoth.

After a moment he turns to her, speaking softly, almost regretfully.

"I'm sorry my Lady. We cannot guide you to the surface yet. We believe there are others down here help captive in situations not unlike your own. As such, as much as I would like to bring you to safety, we cannot. Our job is not yet done here." He pauses for a moment. "That being said, you are, of course, free to leave on your own." He points tot he way they came in. "That is the way out. I would warn you though that we fought some rather nasty fellows on our way here, and I am honestly uncertain if there are more out there. You are also free to accompany us if that is your wish. I, at least, will do my best to keep you safe pretty one."

He hold her gaze for a moment more before slipping his hand free and sliding silently over to the locked door near the wardrobe.

He begins examining it intently, his attention now wholely focused on the door before him.

(I am searching for traps. If I find none I will try my hand at the lock.)