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Faedryl Melad
Drow Hexblade/Evoker
AC: 12 HP: 22/22
PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11
Conditions: Exhaustion (1)
Concentrating: --
Sixth Day, Cell (After Workshift)
At least they'd be fed properly tomorrow, there was that at least. She's shoved into the cell roughly and finally spots the newcomers of the day - the fish, a myconid, and...a drow. Another like her, perhaps? One who saw the follies of drow society and received punishment for it? He wasn't one she knew, that much was clear. Faedryl approaches him, sat on the floor in a corner to himself, and sits in front of him crosslegged, her red eyes meeting his. Older than she was, she determined. Military trained from the scars and callouses on his hands. No spark in his eyes though. If he was an idealist, something had made him lose it. She speaks first, a whisper not for fear of being overheard - the cell wasn't large enough for that to ever be a real concern they could address with the number of people here - but rather to signify it wasn't a conversation intended for everyone. They speak in Elvish, their drow dialect clearly coming through.
Spoiler: Faedryl and Sarith Conversation
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"Name?" His eyes gaze into hers, and it takes a few moments of parted lips for him to respond.
"Sarith Kzerkarit. You are Faedryl Melad." He knew who she was then. Meaning either the guards had told him or...
"You were stationed here?" Not a definitive assertion, just an educated guess. She hadn't been privy to the events of the 'negotiation' while in a coma, after all.
"Yes. And now I am a prisoner, bound for the pits just as you." He sighs, his voice bereft of hope or energy. He was already less than what she'd hoped for. There was no fire in his belly, no desire, he'd given up. She frowns, and he continues to speak. "You plan to die in an ill-fated escape attempt." The others had been talking without her, it seems. She shouldn't be too surprised, if they'd 'trusted' her enough to let her in on any escape plans, then 'trusting' Sarith wasn't a great stretch.
"I don't plan to die at all," she retorts swiftly, cutting off any further negative words before he can speak them. "Our escape will be successful, and I will continue to live." Sarith lets out a mirthless laugh.
"You really believe that? You have nothing Faedryl," he stresses only using her first name, the implication clear to them both. "What could you possibly expect to accomplish even if you overpower the outpost? Even if you somehow aren't killed in the attempt? You'll be hunted down ruthlessly. You have no family. You have no support. You're all alone. And you will die alone. As we all will." He was right, in a way. She had lost everything and had ended up with nothing, not even her trusted spellbook. She sniffs in defiance. He wasn't right about everything.
"I have my life, Sarith. It's still mine, as are my skill and spells. I am still Drow, not some mewling gnome crying because he can no longer suckle at the teat." Her tone was harsh, derogatory, and clearly intended to belittle. She'd seen drow prisoners before, those who - like her - had fallen foul of the Matrons or committed a crime, but none ever so pathetic as Sarith was being. It was as if any pride or drive had left him. He was her opposite, completely and totally. "Family or not, imprisoned or not, I will find the path towards my goal and I will follow it. I will make the path if I have to."
"And what goal is that?" Faedryl bites down on her lower lip, hesitation bubbling for just a moment, but she wasn't deterred. She takes a deep breath, speaking her next words with full conviction. Shame of the subject wouldn't inspire anyone.
"The reformation of the drow. I've seen things you wouldn't believe, worlds and peoples beyond count, and when I touched that I saw the truth of the drow - that we will never succeed as we are. We're destined to fail, unless we change." He laughs again, louder, a bit more amused this time, and any hope that he might see she was right drains away from Faedryl. Even having ended up here, he still clung to the current system. He still believed that it was 'right' even when he was on the verge of it executing him. She doesn't laugh back, it's not funny to her. All she feels at him in that moment is pity.
"And you're going to do that from inside this cell? Change society one prisoner at a time?" His tone is as mocking as monotony can get. She stands, bringing an end to their discussion.
"I didn't expect words to work so easily, not on one as lot as you, but if you follow me, you'll see my truth soon enough." She shuffles away to a separate edge of the cell, leaving Sarith to himself. She was mad. Mad as any of them. But...but he didn't have anything else. No one else. He shuts his eyes from the world, from everything. Let her try then. He'd watch, and when her she claims her last breath he'd get the final word. He would be able to tell her she failed, and that it was all for nothing. Everything would always be for nothing.
Seventh Day, Cell
"We do it tomorrow." Faedryl whispers back to Duskryn hurriedly. "After the workshift." No further words need to be exchanged between them, so Faedryl turns away, spotting the orc scarfing down all their food. She was still hungry, hadn't eaten yesterday, and the anticipation of getting free was mounting in her. Black inky liquid spreads into the sclera of her eyes as her mind lashes out, trying to shove the orc back into the wall. Even if it doesn't work, the effort should get his attention. "That food's for us all utschut," she slips into deep speech without even noticing. She takes the opportunity to scoop up a single bread roll for herself. Long past due. "If you want to live past tomorrow you'll work with us."
Spoiler: OOC
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Faedryl really is going to shove here using her telekinesis - orcyboy needs to succeed on a DC14 strength save or be pushed 'back' 5 feet.
Also utschut means 'scum'. She's not really herself right now you know.
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Re: Out of the Abyss IC
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