:: Chapter 3 ::

Learning the Trade

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"Gladiator?"

Before Falin could get his explanation, the two were interrupted by the heavy door suddenly being unlatched from the other side and then swinging wide with a loud and hissing groan.

Falin tensed as a figure paused just outside of the doorway for a moment, completely concealed in the inky blackness beyond. And then slowly prowled its way inside the tiny chamber. For a moment Falin was unable to discern anything at all, the figure seemingly swallowed up by the darkness that permeated the air around them. But then suddenly the figure lifted one hand and murmured a word of magic, and then there was a bright flash of light that nearly blinded the elf. Falin hissed slightly in pain and turned his head away, his eyes overly-sensitized to the dark and now unnecessarily pained by this unexpected action.

He had a feeling it'd been purely intentional, as well.

Once Falin could see again he turned his head back to their "guest," and realized that it was a Drow male who was now, at the moment, controlling a bit of bright blue faerie fire around his person. This revealed him to be a tad on the small and slender side, common for most elven kind. And yet he was also tempered with plenty of muscle too, enough to do more than a decent amount damage if the need arose for it.

The visible dark skin of his face, chest and arms were also a fine patch-work of white and pink old wounds, nearly faded scars, a testimonial to the type of life that he'd led in his younger years.

The Drow first fixed his crafty ice-colored eyes onto the dwarf, who returned the look with a blast of pure and unadulterated hatred. The chiseled ebony face then eased into a wide and sneering smile.

"I'm amazed there was actually a face under all of that horse hair, dwarf. The shave did wonders for your features, I think."

The only response the dwarf gave to that was a loud and entirely displeased growl that might have had words beneath it though Falin was too far away to discern them. The outburst caused the drow's smile to widen and he even chuckled a bit, a rather unpleasant occurrence . . . it seemed to have a completely opposite meaning than humor . . . .

The Drow suddenly turned his narrowed eyes onto Falin, then. The surface elf tensed slightly, then scowled and drew himself up as much as his injury and fatigue would allow, expression settling into a deep-set look of stubborn pride and stark determination. This seemed to "amuse" the drow even more, causing him to release that almost raspy chuckle again.

"I've heard some interesting rumors about you, elf," he announced. "A raiding party was taking care of some annoying surface scum and then they were suddenly set upon by a couple of elves."

The drow folded his arms behind his back and began pacing back and forth, not looking directly at Falin yet he still had the uncomfortable sensation of being utterly and completely scrutinized from every angle imaginable, as if he were being picked apart and sized up in a single motion.

"Apparently one of the elves weilded a six foot greatsword as if it were a mere feather and managed to, practically single-handed, fell half of the party before they were able to disable him." Falin smirked.

"It's a damn shame I couldn't get more of you cave-dwelling bastards."

From across the room there was a distinct snort of surpressed and faintly stunned laughter. The convulsing dwarf was ignored however, the drow pinning Falin to the wall with an entirely calculating look. "So it's true then, elf?"

"Pretty much, yah." A fine white brow twitched and Falin scowled. "My friend, he killed at least two of them. Which brings me to something else, where is he?"

The drow hesitated a while, merely staring down at Falin with that closed but crafty gleam in his icy eyes. Then he gave his humorless smirk once more.

"I bought you off of the raiding party when they returned, there were no others. His dead flesh is no doubt rotting in the heat of your accursed sun as we speak." He chuckled at Falin's sudden pallor. "Which brings me to something else," the drow parroted with a hardening expression. "I am Ilmiryn. You are now my property, surface elf, to do with as I please. And if you wish to live long, slave, you'll do what I say when I say it."

"And if I don't?" Falin shot back stubbornly. "You'll kill me? It's not as if death is all that much worse than this."

The drow glared, then approached. Before Falin's exhausted body could react, the obviously former fighter reached up with one foot as swift as lightening and then slammed the heel of his boot deep into Falin's wounded shoulder.

Falin released a startled scream of agony as he was suddenly being pinned up against the wall, which only raised in pitch and volume when the drow mercilessly twisted and dug his boot heel first to one side, and then the other. The gash was completely torn open again and a fresh wave of warm, sticky blood oozed from it and flooded down his arm and chest. Falin could scarcely breathe the pain was so intense. It completely blocked out the sting of when he reached out and snatched a fist full of Falin's blonde hair soon after, jerking his head back and forcing him to look the Drow in the eye.

"Trust me, surface elf . . . there are far worse things than death! And I swear to Lloth that everyone of them will be visited upon you without mercy do you defy me again!"

Falin tried to resist the insurmountable pain that had washed over him. It was a lost cause, however, as he finally gave into the blackness.

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A sharp sting of pain in his ribs snapped the young elf from out of his slumber. He had been "training" for three weeks. Or had it been four? It was hard telling any passage of time in this place, and none of the drow would have told him if he asked, so he didn't bother. "I said, WAKE UP, SLAVE!!!" shouted an all too familiar voice which was followed by another shot to his ribs. Falin couldn't remember how many times he had done this routine: wake up, eat a pitiful meal, train in the pits, eat another pitiful meal, go to sleep. Falin rose up, expecting another day of "training." Ilmiryn seemed to hear Falin's silent complaint. "Not today, surface-elf. Today, we put all that training to the test."

Falin eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Your first match is scheduled for today, and I expect you to win. If you disappoint me, I expect you to die."

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