Interlude
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The Captives
Andrew Marion
“I have what I’m just going to assume is a spreading knife of some kind and what must surely be a leather working kit. Who’s next?” asked Chen Mingxuan.
“A couple of knives strapped to my thighs and a few plates on my back,” Billy grunted. “Someone, help me untie these things. They chafe like mad.”
“Plates? What could we possibly need plates for?” asked Kit, his face incredulous.
“Well… I don’t know. I figured we could break them up or something. Make spears. Use them as the pointy end, you know.”
“But then where would we find the wood, genius?”
“You’ve seen those bucktoothed bastards twirling those massive things around. We use bone, just like them.”
“Yeah, but then where would we find the bone? Or do you know something the rest of us don’t? And, anyway, what about the string? You need string to make a spear last time I checked.”
“Actually, I think twine would be more appropriate, given the context,” Simon added meekly.
“What?” several in the group asked in unison.
“T-twine. It’s supposed to be stronger. You use it to secure the head to the shaft. Bind it, wet it, and then let it dry. It should shrink in the process and become, well, you know… sturdier or… A-at least that’s what my uncles would probably say.”
“Well, twine or string, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” pronounced Mingxuan in that matter-of-fact way she had. “Clearly there is no way this plan of yours would ever actually work. And besides, do you honestly believe that if you managed to shatter them here, using your bare hands, without any of them noticing, it would hold up whatsoever on the end of a spear? It’ll either be too brittle to be of use, or too strong to break in the first place. End of discussion.”
“Okay, so, I’m hearing a lot of criticism and not a lot of solutions. Miss dinner knife and leather working kit. And you’re calling my finds useless. What are you going to do, butter them to death after you fashion them uh… an… uh, a satchel?”
At this, Kit practically howled with laughter. To which Billy beamed his usual dopey eyed, always slightly befuddled looking grin. Mingxuan only glared.
“First,” Mingxuan reached behind her and retrieved the four-foot-long serrated implement. “You know as well as I do that place was built for giants. Their children’s cutlery may as well be swords to us. Second, the leather tool kit is for the grips of all of our weapons. I figured that if I could somehow find a way to rewrap the handles it would help our chances immensely. There’s really no point having all of these weapons if they slip out of your hands on the very first swing.”
“Oh…” Billy’s smile faltered. “Well, I… suppose that makes a bit more sense. But! I still think we should give my plate idea a try. I really think it has potential, you guys! Think about it! I mean there are bound to be roadblocks with any crazy genius plan, right? That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t-!”
“I keep telling you there’s no need for all this,” Caitlyn yawned. “All of our worries will be seen to in due time.”
“What?” Mingxuan scoffed. “Are you still going on about your imaginary prince?”
“He’s real, number one, and of course I am~! He came to me in a dream. And when I told Viviana about him she practically believed me, so there~!”
“You mean she didn’t outright call you a liar? Well, I don’t know about you all but that’s certainly all the proof I need,” Mingxuan rolled her eyes.
“As it should be. And you’d do well to freshen up a bit before he arrives. It would be a tragedy if he fought through all the nine hells and back to rescue me, only for your stench to immediately knock him out cold.”
“You’re. Insufferable,” Mingxuan snarled.
“And you’re a hag,” Caitlyn sniffed.
“Ladies. Ladies. Come now! There’s no need to get so worked up! Especially when your dashing prince in shining armor is sitting right here!”
Kit struck a pose, flexing the nonexistent muscles on his beanpole of a frame. The two girls made a face, meanwhile all four of the little ones broke into helpless fits of laughter. The two girls’ expressions instantly softened. As did Andrew’s, watching the small children roll around on the floor—practically delirious as Kit shamelessly assumed one nonsensical pose after the other.
Adrian, Kaelin, Jiali and Jieyu. The eldest of them only around six years old, they were the least tainted by their time here, and every day their innocence remained intact was a blessing. Far too soon though, thoughts of their situation reemerged in Andrew’s mind.
For the last couple weeks now, he’d refrained from participating in the daily ritual the rest had devised. Not necessarily because stealing from the abandoned city under the noses of their captors was a daunting proposition for him.
Like the others, he’d eagerly participated in the very beginning—smuggling out useful items and odd trinkets from the ruins to be used in their eventual escape.
It was just that, as far as he could tell, he was the only one Viviana had confided in. The only one she’d told of what they really faced down here.
To be fuel for the advancement of some irregular cultivator.
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It was hard to be optimistic when you were aware of something like that. And honestly, the only reason he hadn’t given up completely was that, despite everything she’d told him, she, at least, wasn’t all that concerned. And really, that had to mean something didn’t it?
From a darkened corner of the room, one of Viviana’s band of mercenaries straightened. The movement not at all disrupting the peaceful slumber of the mysterious straw haired girl resting in her lap.
Instantly, every eye in the room latched onto her. After all, when even one of their experienced seniors spoke up, they all knew well to listen.
“I sense killing intent,” this came, not from the lazy woman, but from the quiet, often nervous looking man. “Far more than a simple shift in guard detail should warrant. Raina?”
“I don’t know. It might just be that he has a particularly frisky bee in his bonnet. Stubbed his toe on the way over here maybe. Could have nothing to do with us.”
“And how much, exactly, do you want to bet on such a, quite frankly, limp supposition?”
“Hmm. Well, you’ve got a point there. Viviana?”
“Children, conceal your weapons. They’re close now. We cannot be seen to be a threat until the timing and terrain is to our greatest advantage.”
The group of captives, for their part, literally leapt to carry out her instructions. Loose stones were pried free from the floor and walls—revealing deep recesses, cubby holes in the rock where they’d taken to storing the larger pieces of weapon and armor.
What few rotten sleep coverings they’d been allowed in this damp place were swiftly heaped atop the compiled mound. Glittering with every jewel encrusted dagger, blunt workman’s tool, and miscellaneous trinket they’d seen fit to smuggle over the last few months.
Within seconds their small cell, once glittering in the light of their system screens like a warlord's treasure trove, resembled nothing more than the unremarkable cave it’d started out as.
Moments later, from beyond the rusty bars of their communal cell, came the faint jingling of keys and the pad of several claw toed feet.
Everyone assumed slumped over positions, with expressions that spoke of pained exhaustion. A pretense that was actually not that far from the truth. Then, moments before the scrape of claws had fully reached them, a voice emerged from the darkness.
“I do believe this is it folks. One way or another, it’s unlikely we’ll be returning to our cozy abode, our little home away from home. I can only hope you made the best of the time you were given. Because after this, it’ll be nothing but the main event—the grand stage. Exciting right? Do me a favor though? Try not to break a leg. I’m afraid I can’t promise, on top of everything else, we’ll be able to carry you if you fall.”
And with that foreboding proclamation, before any of them could do or say something in response, the steady approach of footsteps came to a halt. And then, the sounds of key fitting into lock silenced all else.
image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]
Interlude
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A Slight Miscalculation
Swift Tail Bright-Burner
Swift Tail Bright-Burner was rather sure of himself.
And why shouldn’t he be? He’d always known himself, and by proxy the Swift Tail clan, to be superior in all things. That every other clan’s attempts to slay the slave had as yet proven woefully inadequate, only served to further give credence to his clan's preeminence.
The slave was apparently quite weak, on the tail end of a recent engagement. In all honesty, Bright-Burner actually felt somewhat peeved at this. After all, it’d be infuriating should his valiant conquest somehow be mistakenly attributed to dumb luck.
That said, a kill was still a kill, and even if only a fraction of the rumors surrounding the slave were true, it should prove to be an enjoyable hunt all the same. It had better be, he decided, since he would’ve hated to have come so far into tainted lands for nothing.
Silent as a creeping shadow, Bright-Burner led his sworn forward until the slave was well within their sights.
The first thing he noted upon taking a good long look at their prey was its horrific appearance. It was even more monstrous than accounts had indicated. It resembled a newborn pink in many ways—a soft and nearly hairless thing—only far lankier in size, with fur sprouting in coils from nonsensical areas. It’s body clad in crude coverings intended to shield its modesty.
That, at least, was nothing Bright-Burner hadn’t already seen before. His clan, like many of the greater clans, utilized surface realm slaves for many a task deemed too menial for even the lowliest of subsidiary-clan bondservant. Given Bright-Burners expansive wealth of experience in this area, its unsightly appearance didn’t disturb him overly much.
What did, however, manage to partially unsettle him was the harsh aura of simple brutality that the slave seemed to exude, even whilst merely standing still. It was absolutely coated in the evidence of combat.
Pools of blood coagulated at its feet, tufts of fur clung to its skin where blood spatters had left their sticky residue—bits of gore clinging to its body all over. So much so that it was impossible to make out what of the blood was the slaves, and what wasn’t.
Very briefly, what he must’ve mistaken for the flicker of movement drew his attention back up to the slave’s head. When, upon closer inspection, he found nothing amiss however, he put the apparent hallucination from his mind.
It was a feral beast, and no mistake.
Again, just as the rumors had claimed. One could tell at a glance that it was not something to be taken lightly. Although it still did not seem to warrant the unbridled terror, he’d seen in the eyes of those few warrior caste who’d run away from the hunt in shame.
It was too small, for one thing, and so didn’t appear to be overly strong. If it weren’t for the many bodies piled at its feet, Bright-Burner might’ve even surmised they’d stumbled upon the wrong beast entirely.
As it was though…?
As they watched, yet another of the ridiculous rumors he’d initially passed off as mere hearsay was proven correct. He could’ve sworn that reports of missing heads were yet another deft misdirection concocted by the shamanic council.
He couldn’t be sure, but based on what few offhanded comments he’d overheard from his sire, he had reason to believe those scheming hoods personally benefited from the corpses of the fallen, warrior caste especially. What other use could such defilement possibly serve, except as some wicked step in one of the council’s fell rituals?
And yet here the slave was, feeding into that rumor. An unforgivable offense. If not to him personally, then most certainly to his sworn.
And, although his sworn were not crèche, he had known some of them for so long that the difference was practically negligible. And while he maintained the title of strongest, each and every one of them were warriors of great renown in their own right.
There was Swift Tail Silver-Mane with his enormous hammer.
The very same hammer wielded by his great great sire during the infamous and bloody clan wars. With that hammer and his breaking force combined he could collapse an entire cavern system with a single mighty swing. Bright-Burner had seen it happen more than once and had no doubts as to the clan-born’s lethality.
Swift Tail Peak-Stone, a true demoness with the blade.
With her quick cuts and sharp force there was very little in this world he believed she couldn’t sheer through. He’d once seen her part a clan-less bleeder from shoulder to groin with little more than a gentle flick of those knives.
And then there was Swift Tail Mud-Berry, or as they like to call him, the wall.
Never had he seen a creature, clan-born or otherwise, take a hit from that massive slab of stone he carried and have the poor sense to get back up again after. He was also called the wall for a reason. Seeing as, if you placed him in a tunnel before a hoard of enemies, they weren’t likely to get through so long as Mud-Berry still held the line.
Sensing their growing agitation, Bright-Burner quickly ordered the attack before hot tempers could impede their better judgement. And then, as his sworn made to surround the target for a coordinated assault, he began to suffuse the tip of his spear with his spearing force—charging up his greatest technique whilst praying to the master there’d be cause for him to use it.
Caught between giving the hunt his all—not wanting to take any chances with the slave—and his innate trust in his sworn’s abilities he prepared for the worst and hoped for the best.
As his people fell into position, and still the slave had yet to react, however, Bright-Burners doubts as to the veracity of previous claims only grew.
And so, it was just as he was beginning to suspect, rather forlornly, that he might not be needed at all, that things began to go terribly terribly wrong.