With a subtle knock on the door, the carrier announced his presence to those within. The large round stone door swung open under its own power. The courier did not waste a moment and begun pulling the cage into the room. A soft glow from within revealed the room and its occupant -- a Zecarin elf. Darker cousins to the faerie folk, they lived in the dark places of the world, preferably around volcanoes.
A lady of lavish tastes sat observing an odd scaly creature inside a glass terrarium. She watched it feed off a bit of rubbish and made notes in a journal ever so often. She wore white silk sheer enough to nothing to the imagination in dim light. But when she leaned closer to the terrarium, and closer to the light source next to it, the fabric changed a dark opaque grey and blended with her skin. Her red hair was artfully woven into a complex array of braids that arched and crossed one another, with the tail ends dangling around the whole making the back of her head resemble a flower bloom. She didn't seem to notice the servant as he worked.
The courier, a mangy looking bugbear with brutish arms clad in a only a loin cloth positioned the cage next to one that was built into solid rock of the back wall. The metal bars locked together, and with the flip of a lever, the door unlatched and opened into the other cage. The prisoner inside took his cue and walked to his new quarters.
A human male was rare this deep in the city. Under elf had no taste for them. Their strength could not compare to bugbears or trolls, and they lacked even the coordination of lesser under elves. Humans also could not survive underground without light as madness soon took them without it. The other races were adapt to the darkness with heat sensing vision that humans lacked. They were also more susceptible to the coldness of deep ground. Luckily for this one he got caught.
He hadn't been a captive long as his face was still free of fur. Yet he did sport a few bruises, especially a dark one around the left eye. What remained of his original clothing was still clinging to his body. Now torn and darkened with spots of blood. He took it all in stride and sat patiently on the floor of the cage as his jailor finished securing him. The bugbear knew his job well, and was soon hauling the rolling cage back out the round door. Once through the door shut behind him without a sound.
Silence was his jailor now. He watched the woman across the room study the creature. Those were the only two recognizable things in the room to him. He couldn't tell what was art, to what had a purpose as the line between the two would blur item to item. He recognized the glint of metal of tools that looked too vicious to be anything but torture devices as the laid arrayed on a table. Hopefully he never got to see that side of the room more closely.
"I speak little human." Said the woman. Her voice was melodious and soft but marked with a heavy accent. Like the scales of a snake - smooth as silk yet rough at the same time. "You is not afraid?" she turned in her chair and crossed her legs casually to regard her new specimen. Her face was stoic, as she rested her elbow on the table and leaned her head against her hand. She regarded him with curiosity.
"A little." He said as he crawled to the edge of his cage and gripped the bars to look around. His injuries seemed minor, but left their mark on his posture.
"Why is you here?" She started slowly. The language was noticeably difficult for her. She glanced sidelong at her other subject as it finished eating. "You come alone?" He didn't look her in the eyes but kept his rotating around the room as took in his surroundings.
"You notice many, before you notice few." He said slowly, lowering his grammar to a simplistic level to ease the translation. In his last phrase he even copied her intonations, mimicking her accent. It did not go unnoticed.
"You..." she paused searching for the words. "...came in not seen. How?" He paused to regard the floor for a moment thinking.
"I have tools. They took them."
"Tools? That can lie to magic?"
"Tools. That can hide from magic." He corrected carefully. Blind defiance would only get him killed. And they both knew this. His only chance to survive was to work with the under elf and somehow stay alive long enough for an opportune moment.
"You show this?" her interest was piqued. He was being interrogated on how he infiltrated their domain. How he slipped past their security spells, wards, and guards. He got all the way in to their dungeons and freed a prisoner. By the time the Zecarin realized something was amiss. The prisoner was gone, and he was in her place.
"Tools, left with her." He said. "so she could return to surface."
"Why?" she asked. Her attention went to her journal as she flipped to a new page and began taking notes.
"Paid to." He answered as he rubbed a growing bruise his left forearm. She paused in her note taking and chuckled lightly and ironically to herself as she looked at him.
"Too bad for you?" she smiled darkly. He shrugged, and a silence grew as she looked off in thought for a moment. The lady stood and opened the terrarium. She gently removed the reptilian creature and carried it in her arms as she walked toward his cage. Her face showed the lines of age, she was mature for an elf and not afraid to show it. Her gait and demeanor however hinted at a youthful spirit. But there was no mistaking the thin chain wrapped around her waist with razor tips embedded along its length. Disguised as jewelry to accent the braided purple rope belt, it lent a deadly touch to her lavish attire. He knew better that to think it decoration.
Her hand gently stroked the head of the lizard-like creature as she looked him over. He stood slowly and presented himself respectfully. His eyes angled down to her bare feet, but through the top of his field of view he could see her well. He stood a good foot taller than her. She was tall for an elf, and he was tall for a human. She was gaunt, almost skinny accept for an ample bosom, and motherly hips. Age had drawn the skin taught on her cheeks. The sheer of her gown shifted to translucent. Her appeal was undeniable, and she knew how to use it.
"You speak elf?" she asked casually as she regarded his injuries. "So hurt. Yet not dead." Her words almost sounded like a compliment.
"No." he replied. Lifting his head up but kept his gaze focused past her.
"Look at me." Her words were a command. His gaze shifted down quickly to her without movement. She looked up at him from under her brow. Like an animal regards something larger than it right before it takes it down -- sizing it up for the strike. Her hand slid down her torso to her hips suggestively. Her lips parted for a moment right before she bit her bottom lip out of habit. Her fingers touched the chained razors around her waist and caressed them. "Look..." she breathed huskily. His eyes locked onto hers and never left them. Slowly he noticed the intensity of those red irises rise - a sign of excitement.
Suddenly with a yank of her wrist the chain flew free. A deft flick from her wrist and the end wrapped around the neck of the creature in her hands. It had barely a moment to squeal before she yanked on the chain and the tipped razors tore through flesh and bone severing the creatures head in an instant. Blood spurted towards him, splattering down his stomach and legs. The head thumped to the floor with a wet plop. None of the gore landed on her.
"Never look again." She said in a growl as she walked back to her table. She placed the carcass on the table. From her hair she pulled free a slender sliver of metal. With it she severed meat from the carcass and skewered a piece.
"Eat." She said over her back without looking at him. She nibbled the piece of flesh daintily. Her fingers worked skillfully as she filleted the kill with little trouble. Without further regard the lady resumed her note taking in her journal.
The man stepped backwards until his back was against the wall. He made no effort to clean the gore off of him or remove the head as it laid between the bars. Slowly he slid down the wall to the floor. His arms wrapped around his knees and he rested his head on his arms as the silence grew between them. The shock of the display slowly settled in and passed.
"Where from?" she asked at length. With one hand she flipped pages in her book, and with the other she skewered bits of carved meat with her stiletto and ate them.
"The surface." He said. His tone reverted to a more natural accent, forgoing the attempt to sound like a Zecarin.
"Where?" she repeated.
"My home is not near a city. It has no name." he said at length. She muttered something in her language that he did not understand. She stabbed another piece in frustration and devoured it ravenously.
"alone?" she asked as the meaning to what he said came to her.
