:: Chapter 2 ::

Survival

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Pain . . . that's all he could comprehend. There was nothing but fiery agony in Falin's world now, an agony that lit up his whole left side in what seemed to be never-ending torture. Because of this, it was quite difficult for him to get a handle on much of anything else. He had the faint impression of movement, though he himself wasn't moving. And darkness as well . . . wherever he was now it was very dark . . . hell perhaps?

He wasn't far from the truth . . . .

Falin tried to move or speak or do something but it was like he was frozen, unable to do anything but exist in this surreal half-being. He heard scraping noises . . . echoes . . . and smelled the dankness of stale air and earth. And then he heard voices . . . whispers . . . but he couldn't quite understand them . . . only catching bits and pieces . . . .

"Five of us killed . . . ."

"How much . . . . "

"Badly injured . . . no good to me dead . . . ."

" . . . fighter . . . pits . . . ."

"Sold . . . ."

Falin used up every ounce of strength he yet possessed trying to fathom and piece together the words, to try and make his foggy mind comprehend and understand them. So much so that he was suddenly unable to keep himself from suddenly blacking out once more into the land of blissful night.

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The next time he awoke it was much different. Falin came to full, complete awareness with a sharp jolt, crying out slightly and wrenching himself back in self defense, as of yet having no earthly clue as to what had happened or what was going on. Blinking rapidly he tried to force his eyes to peer through the heavy darkness that enveloped him now. His elven vision quickly compensated, though still it was a trial to make things out clearly.

Apparently he was in some sort of room, plain with stone walls, floors and ceiling and only one doorway out, which was currently shut and bolted with heavy locks. He was alone, it seemed . . . and chained to the wall he was sitting propped against. His armor was gone, as were all his possessions. His neck, ankles and both wrists now sported heavy iron collars attached to fat chains that fed through a network of rings molded into the very stone itself and he could feel the cold iron press against his shirtless body.

That realization made Falin wrench again with surprise and a touch of fear, and this time his rash movements were quickly followed by his hiss of abject pain. His left side still pained him greatly. Damned Drow . . .

The Drow! Tertiam! All at once everything came back to him.

Falin M'or quickly straightened up and threw his gaze back and forth around the room once more, but not a trace of his elven friend greeted his frantic search. Confusion and worry creased his brow then. What had happened to him? Why wasn't he dead? Where was Tertiam?

"What e'er yer lookin fer, lad, you'll not find it here. That I can guarantee ye."
Falin jerked to his left, to where a pile of old and dirty rags lay bunched onto the floor. As he watched they stirred, and then straightened with a loud rustle and the faint clanking of more chains.

The elf lord soon found himself staring into the cold black eyes of what appeared to be a dwarf, though this one was unlike any he'd ever seen. A beard, a dwarf's pride and joy, was suspiciously absent from this one's face. The squared features were worn . . . haggard. Though from more than pain or distress, his piercing black eyes also flashed with abject hatred, so much so that Falin was briefly taken aback and unable to respond.

The dwarf continued cryptically with, "There is naught to be had here in the Pits but death, pain and despair."

"Where am I?" His own voice sounded foreign to Falin's ears, hoarse and weak. The dwarf snorted without much humor, face growing even colder if such was possible.

"Where else would a spider take it's fallen prey, but to the belly of it's nest?" he quipped, then sneered. "Ye've fallen into the deepest pits of hell lad; the Underdark."

"NO!"

Falin's cry was more of disbelief than it was actual fear. He had heard about the Underdark. Hell, any adventurer worth his salt had heard of the place . . . The Underdark, from the stories he had heard, was reputed to be a harsh and unforgiving realm where only two powers ruled: survival and the destruction of your enemies. Perpetually dark in most regions, the Underdark was filled with ghastly creatures, the stuff of children's nightmares that had long ago developed darkvision or enhanced senses to compensate for the inky blackness that was their home. They often became intolerant of true light as a result of the adaptations. That fact struck Falin as odd, because HE could see. He couldn't see very WELL, even with his keen elven eyes, but he could see none the less.

Falin tried to stand up. Immeasurable pain washed over his body then, as he felt the agony of several broken ribs pierce into his innards. The elf quickly felt himself out of breath. His head swam with a white light and he could do nothing but collapse back onto the floor and then lay as still as possible and pray that the fiery pain would leave him soon. When the buzzing in his ears finally subsided, he was greeted with the sound of deep, raucous laughter.

"HAH!" his companion barked again then wheezed, "Oh, I haven't laughed like that in years!"

The beardless dwarf continued his fit of laughter for a good while longer, much to the dismay of the proud elven lord. Falin forced himself back into a sitting position against the wall and then glared off into another corner, ignoring his still cackling cellmate as he tried to collect his thoughts.

Ok, how did I get from Cloakwood to the Underdark? Falin pondered to himself. There HAS to be a logical explanation . . . I didn't just magically appear here for no damned good reason.

The dwarf's laughter eventually subsided, and when it did he looked over at the now brooding Falin. As if the creature had heard Falin's unspoken question, he answered with, "Ye were taken' prisoner on a Drow raid, lad. Master Ilmiryn bought you shortly after. Ye know, I overheard a couple of the guards talkin'. Seems ye killed five of 'em on your own. That's no small feat. That's probably why master Ilmiryn bought ye."

"Bought?" That word echoed inside Falin's head like a loud clarion. "I am a slave, then?" Falin asked in a low, almost miserable tone after a few moments of strained silence.

Once again, the dwarf's laughter filled the small room. It took a while for him to stop again, but when he did he answered, "SLAVE? Ye seriously think they would waste such raw fightin' talent with a SLAVE'S duties? Naw, naw. Me boy, you should be right proud of what ye've become."

"And that is..." Falin added, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

"Why, ye've become a gladiator o' coarse!"