The plan is set. Astarion goes out for his last rotation digging clay, allowing him a chance to speak with the elf who gave him the makeup kit. Once he can ensure that she won't backstab them later on down the road, then Astarion will apply the makeup anywhere he must and they run for it. A rather simple plan, all things considered, but it isn't foolproof. A lot will ride on luck, but Astarion has always been good at improvising.

He just has to hope Gale can do the same.

Filing into his place, Astarion works just as hard as he always has, more an attempt to keep up appearances than anything else. The elf beside him does the same, her eyes glazed over and unfocused as she pulls up handful and handful of clay. For hours, he does nothing but work. His mind slips into autopilot on several occasions, but Astarion snaps himself back before he can lose too much time.

Once the supervisor has passed them by, Astarion turns to the other elf and speaks in as loud a whisper as he dares. "Why did you help me?" He asks, his eyes constantly searching for any scrying eyes or drow who may listen in.

She doesn't respond.

"Are you listening?" Astarion is about to ask again when her eyes flick to him. It's so quick, anyone else might've missed it. But not Astarion. "So you can hear, yes? Then tell me-"

He stops as the supervisor comes back. Once she's gone, he continues. "Tell me why you gave it to me."

The elf looks at him from the corner of her eye. They jump to the supervisor, then back to him. She opens her mouth for him to see inside. Astarion grimaces at the rot starting to cover her teeth, but what's more surprising is the lack of a proper tongue. All that sits there is a stump of a muscle that twitches and moves.

They cut her tongue out. She can't speak.

"I see..." Astarion looks away, his stomach turning. It's not the first time he's seen that, nor is it unexpected. But the idea of that happening to him? Of some drow cutting out the only thing he has left?

He can't wait to leave this place.

"Am I right to assume you've given up, then?"

It takes several minutes for her to respond. With one, muddy finger, the elf writes 'second shift' into the dirt. Once Astarion has acknowledged that he's read it, she swipes it away with a wave of her hand.

"Secon-"

"Sh!"

Astarion shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth. Alright, then it's something important. He'll hold onto it, but it may mean nothing in terms of his escape. In fact, he may not even see whatever-

Wait. Second shift. That's a time stamp; or as good of one as they can get without a sun that sets and rises. Second shift means something is planned to happen and if Astarion is correct, then he won't have much time to make his own escape before the entire building falls into chaos.

He'll need to inform Gale, then they have to run. They've only accounted for their own way out, not the rest of this facility. If she's really a part of a mass breakout, that could be worse than tightened security. It'll make all routine stop and drow will be crawling all over the building, as well as outside of it. Anywhere they try to run to may be expecting new arrivals to be slaves.

This isn't good, but there's not enough time for Astarion to stop them. He doubts he could even postpone it. Everything is still too new to him, too unfamiliar. If this were Cazador's palace, he could easily take advantage of such a situation. He knows how his master would respond and how to play off of that. Here? Astarion hasn't the slightest clue.

He works the rest of the day in silence, formulating as quick of a route as he can with what little of the building he's seen. There's a control room near the digging site. Perhaps he could get a map from there and find wherever they keep the prisoner's belongings.

If they keep them. Astarion may be out several lockpicks and his entire bag of gold. The daggers will be missed, but not irreplaceable.

He did want that armor, however.

Eventually, the time comes for Astarion to return to his cell. He goes willingly, like the good servant he is. The guards are no less rough, but at least he has the option to walk for himself instead of being dragged about with that Hold Person spell. It saves him the smallest sliver of dignity that he can afford.

Only after the thick, metal door slams shut does Astarion realize Gale is nowhere to be found. He waits, hoping it may be an invisibility spell or something similar, but after a minute or two, no voice comes to greet him.

"Gale?" Astarion calls. He sees nothing in the shadows of a play of the light. Astarion searches and as evidence or the human continues to evade him, his hunt becomes desperate. Straw flies across the small room as he looks for any sign of the man. There's nowhere to hide, and even if there was, Astarion would've found it by now.

He's gone.

"Damn you, Wizard!" Astarion shouts. His own voice echoes back. "A truce, he said! Yes, yes a truce, just for him to run off with my freedom! I swear, once I find him-"

There, buried within the pile of straw, is the makeup kit. Gale must've...hid it there. For Astarion.

Grabbing it off the floor, the vampire sits in the only ray of light given to him, and he starts applying the darkest color of grey. He does his face first, then his hands. Anything after that may be covered up in a uniform or costume. He applies more and more of it over his face until there's nothing left to use. Without a way to see himself, Astarion hopes dearly that it looks convincing. If this doesn't work, if he's wasted this last chance due to his poor artistic skills, then...well, he'll just have to fight his way out. It'll be bloody and he may not succeed, but Astarion has faced worse odds before.

A lie he will continue to believe.

The stage is set. Astarion hunches down in his corner, ears poised for any sounds outside the door. With Gale gone, he can no longer use his wonderful Knock spell to simply unlock the door. So, he wastes more time and waits for his second shift. If he leaves everything behind, gold and weapons alike, then Astarion should be able to escape before everything takes a turn.

He waits. Footsteps move past, prisoners and slaves alike are escorted by, but no one stops at his door. Astarion's legs ache from the strain he puts on them, crouched low as he is, but he can't relax. Not when someone could burst in. He needs to be ready. Worse strain has been put on him from Cazador's hands. He will survive some muscle fatigue for this.

There, Astarion hears it. There's something about the way each step echoes, how the keys jingle just so, that tells Astarion it's time. He braces for it, his hands wrapped around his only weapon- the bucket.

After the twist of a lock and the scrape of rusted hinges, Astarion throws the bucket at the first figure that steps in and it shatters into splinters. They imbed themselves into the drow's skin, large pieces sticking out from all angles. Astarion pounces on the second, his hands quick to squeeze the life from a gasping drow. She tries to call for help, but he's quick to sink his fingers into her flesh, blood pooling around them.

It's too much. All at once, Astarion's hunger overpowers him and he sinks down to drink. The blood is rich and delicious as he sucks it down his throat, each pass over his tongue like the greatest climax he's ever had. Astarion moans as he drinks the woman dry, every last drop going directly into his stopped veins. It drips down his chin and stains his white shirt, but a clever tongue is quick to lap even that up as well.

Astarion is full and stronger than he's been in a long, long while.

Like the rush after a good whiskey, Astarion feels pinpricks all along his skin. His hair stands on end and his limbs move before he tells them to, a testament to how far he went without a full drink. He rounds on the second drow, his bloodied hands now reaching out for a second kill. But they're already dead, their body unmoving from the very first blow. It must be the shard lodged into their skull.

Now, with two dead guards, Astarion has been given the gift of an open cell and a uniform to steal. He takes the second drow's, the fit of it being slightly slimmer and most likely to match his body. Astarion takes great care in remembering how each armor piece is supposed to be oriented and where each clasp connects to. If he wants to fit in, he'll have to look the same as everyone else.

Then, once both bodies are shoved into the dark, Astarion snatches the keys -as well as the sickle beside it- and locks the door behind him. He starts down the hall, adrenaline still coursing through him as he listens to every sound that comes his way.

He jumps at the drip of blood from his chin. Right. His face is entirely covered in the sweet liquid. If he wipes it off, it could remove his makeup as well, but he can't just leave it there. Can he?

Looking down at the stains that extend to his uniform, an idea forms. Astarion reaches up with one hand and smears the crimson liquid across his mouth and up toward his nose. There, now it should appear as if he's been in a scuffle of some kind. And if he hunches just so...

Astarion makes the perfect image of an injured guard. With his act in place, he stumbles down the hall with groans and gasps.

It doesn't take long for another guard to see him. And once he does, Astarion is quick to speak first, his best accent rolling off of his tongue. "They have a dagger! Cell 419! Hurry!"

"A dagger?! How in Lolth's name did they get a dagger?!"

"We don't have time, Calolil!" The second drow nods to Astarion, her face severe. "You, report in to the warden!" With that, the pair turn to leave. Astarion follows them a step, then he slits both throats with nothing more than a twist of his wrist. They choke as they fall, blood spurting from the wounds much faster than should be possible. He almost wants to bottle up each drop of it, but it would waste much-needed time.

Astarion unlocks the nearest cell, then he gathers the limp bodies into his arms and throws them inside. The prisoner, a thin duergar, cries out in surprise. They lock eyes and the fear is simply delightful. He contemplates locking the door away, just to avoid any unnecessary chaos, but something pulls at him to let it be. This revolt will be starting soon and one extra duergar won't change anything in the long run.

He continues down the path. No other drow cross him as he enters the main level, where every facility is accessible. They would bring him to the right, into the clay sections, but before him are far more than just those sites. Mining and shewing and rope twisting. So many crafts, all filled to the brim with slaves. This city must thrive off of it. Days of free labor from bodies who can be so easily replaced with more. There's a reason few like the drow who wind up on the surface, no matter their true intentions.

There, above the catwalks, is a room where the guards gather. Entering would be dangerous, but it's Astarion's best hope for escape. The drow are smarter than to set any exit in view of the slaves. They would hide it, possibly even make only one that passes through their main base of operations. The lights are brighter up there, but Astarion currently looks like he's been gutted. Hopefully, the infirmary is close by and he can make an excuse to get past.

If not, then he'll find another way.

So, Astarion starts up the stairs. As soon as he's seen by the drow guards, they blink in surprise at his appearance and rush to his side. Astarion tries to keep them from touching him. "I'm fine! Lolth damned duergar got a good lick in, though." He sniffs his nose with a wince, making a show of his pain.

"Hells, that's more than a good lick!" They don't seem overly concerned, thankfully. More shocked than anything. Good. "Well, get with Ulviry to look at you. You may be out a working nose for the next two weeks."

"Gods, I hope not." Astarion shoves past them and into the checkpoint tower. These drow have similar reactions, but they too are easily dissuaded from further investigation. He passes them by quickly his eyes set on the catwalk in front of him. He can see the office from here, as well as the passage that leads into the next area. Just as he suspected, it's tucked away from all of the facilities. No slaves can get in, not without passing along here first.

He's close. He's very close.

Astarion makes it to the door itself, his hand gripping the handles, when it happens. It starts as the whirring of a strained engine. Then, a burst of flames shakes the entire building. Astarion is knocked off his feet as heat radiates from the mining site. Smoke quickly billows from the doors and after that come the duergar.

It doesn't take long for chaos to break loose. First, the duergar meet each drow guard head-on, their pickaxes and drills working as excellent weapons against their oppressors. Then, the other sites follow. Hundreds of slaves flood into the main floor, all of them shouting and screaming as they take out whatever drow are nearby.

Astarion has run out of time. Sirens blare as he climbs to his feet and runs for the office. The drow inside are rushing to their windows, their weapons already drawn. He slips by without notice as he pushes into the next hall, where the infirmary and weapons closet lie. He goes to the former first, his eyes set on any healing potions or ales that could keep him going. A vile of blood, perhaps, if he's lucky.

"What's going on?!" The nurses rush for him. There are no patients at the moment, which gives Astarion a perfect opportunity to end both with a stab in the chest. They fall with a gasp and Astarion steps over them to the shelves of supplies. Painkillers would be helpful. A few bandages, just in case, and a sedation syringe. There is no blood that Astarion can see, but he also doesn't have much time to look. Not when a second explosion rocks the very floor he stands on.

Next is the weapons closet. Several drow spill from the room, all armed with various weapons that could take down a good number of those slaves, but they pay Astarion no mind. He easily files in behind them, stepping into the now empty room. Few weapons remain, but Astarion doesn't need the greatest they have to offer. Two easily hidden daggers and a crossbow will do him fine. With a quiver full of arrows, Astarion fleets for the exit.

The halls wind and twist. Identical rooms line either side of each wall, but none have any significance to him. He tries to open a few, only to find nothing but bunks within. This must be the barracks, then? Not the place he wants to be, that's for certain.

Another corner and a long hallway later, Astarion finds himself in front of a large pair of doors. They're heavily reinforced, that much he can see. A large wheel sits at the front of each door, showing that there must be some kind of heavy seal to them. But whether it's there to keep something in or others out, Astarion doesn't know. He looks around it, trying for some kind of panel or switch. He doubts he's strong enough to simply open them on his own, not with a wheel that large.

A third explosion makes Astarion stumble. It feels closer, somehow. Astarion steps toward the doors, his hand reaching up to give a try at the wheel when a drow exits the room directly to his right. He tenses, eyes immediately glued to the backs in his hand, as well as the shortsword at his hip. He stops upon seeing Astarion, his gaze different from the rest of the drow. This one doesn't see him as their own.

Well, he supposes someone had to catch on eventually. Astarion plants himself as he pulls the crossbow from off his shoulders, his hands already set to aim directly between red eyes.

"Wait, wait! It's me!"

Astarion's arms lower. "Gale?! Where the bloody hells have you been?!" The disguise is good, Astarion will give him that. The wizard's once square face is now slim and set into a naturally peeved expression. His hair flows long over his shoulders, a portion of it covers the right half of his face as well. His ears point out as Astarion's do, so unlike the blunt edges of a human's ears.

But the voice is the same. It's eerie to hear, coming from another person.

"Nevermind me, why are you covered in-" Gale stops, his eyes narrowing as he takes in all of Astarion. "You drank from someone, didn't you. At a time like this, when our every action could tip the balance of freedom and further incarceration?"

"I needed energy!" Astarion says, exasperated. Then, he forces the defensive rebukes down. For now. "We don't have time for this! A revolt has started and if we don't get out of this damned place soon, we'll be caught up in it all!"

"A revolt?! Is that what those tremors were?"

"Yes! And I would've told you all about it had you stayed in your cell like we planned!" Astarion snaps. He likely looks a mess, covered in makeup, blood, and sweat. But it doesn't matter. Not this close to victory. "Now, will you help me open these doors or do I have to leave you here?"

Gale gives him a look, but it disappears as he too assesses the door. "It looks to be a simple wheel lock. I saw it before and expected any way to open it automatically would lie behind that door." He gestures to the room he just stepped out of. "No such luck, I'm afraid. However, I did find these," Gale hands over one of the packs and Astarion is surprised to find some of his tools and clothes inside. It's not everything he had, but a fair enough amount for him to be satisfied.

However, lockpicking tools won't work here.

"Can't you just open it with your spell?" Astarion asks. That was the plan before, to open their cell using Knock.

"I can't guarantee the other side isn't crawling with drow." Gale frowns. "It could give us away immediately. And should they also have well-learned mages-"

Another explosion. This time, just beyond the metal barrier before them. Chaos spills into the room, the sound of shouting and weapons clashing filling through even the heavy seals of the doors. It seems their questions have already been answered.

"Mystra's eyelids, can nothing go according to plan?!" Gale throws his pack over his shoulder, then he extends his hands out to cast his spell. Once the incantation has left his lips, the door lights up with a glow of magic, then it unlocks itself. Once the doors swing open, the sound rises tenfold. Astarion's sensitive ears ring from the sheer volume, but he presses on. Elves, bugbear, and duergar clash against the few drow left unawares. They move like a single unit of bloodlust, the thunder of their voices carrying them through the room. Astarion is quickly swept away with them, but a hand holds fast onto him. It's Gale's, he knows, and the instinct to shove it aside in disgust is certainly present, but he ignores it for now.

Astarion dodges slashing blows and thrown bottles from the mob of angry slaves. To them, he is another drow to be killed, and never before has Astarion been so overwhelmed. He races ahead of the mob, his legs taking him just a few steps ahead. Gale is at his side, panting and huffing as they sprint for their very lives. The people who once posed nothing but a passive threat are now their next aggressors. Hands reach out for them, the intent to tear him limb from limb very present in their burning eyes.

The exit is just ahead. Astarion can see where this facility ends and the drow city begins. The gate is wide open, welcoming them to their freedom. Astarion powers ahead, his limbs pumping harder and harder. He's so close. Just a few steps-

Something takes ahold of Astarion's leg and drags him back. He stumbles but stays on his feet. Turning, Astarion meets the eyes of the duergar he saw before when he stashed the drow bodies away. Understanding meets the duergar's face and in an instant, Astarion is released. "You..." Their voice is washed out by the raging of footsteps surrounding them, but Astarion can read the words on their lips well enough. There is a thankfulness he doesn't deserve, a relief no one should have in him.

"They're with us!" The duergar shouts to those close enough to hear. Hands withdraw and instead of running at Astarion, the crowd runs with him. He is one of them now.

He isn't, not really, but they don't need to know that. They'll never learn the truth about him or what he is. He will live on as nothing but a memory.

"Astarion!" Gale shouts and he turns back just as the gates start to shut. They're far still, far enough that Astarion worries he may not make it. He tries to push himself to go faster, but he's already at his limit. Any further and he'd risk tripping over himself.

A new chorus of voices join from behind and Astarion knows they must be what's left of the drow guards. Bursts of fire and lightning erupt from points within the mob, bodies flying across the massive room like debris. The mages have arrived.

The gates lower quickly. Astarion reaches out with one hand as if it will stop them in their tracks. He has to make it. It doesn't matter what happens, just let him get out. He can't come this far to victory only to lose everything.

War cries echo across the room. Screams of the duergar language or elvish words of hope mix together into nonsensical courage.

But it does little as the gate lowers, nearly touching ground. Astarion is close enough that, should he miss his opportunity to slip underneath, he would have to slow down. But he can't. That single drop of hope carries him faster, even as his legs begin to weaken.

A spell falls from Gale's lips and in an instant, Astarion is lifted from his place ahead of the mob. He blinks and the gate is gone. The facility walls have disappeared, falling a few steps behind him as he continues to run. Turning, Astarion watches as the gate locks shut just in front of the mob. They stop at the bars, their cries turning into that of mourning rather than hope. They have lost, but Astarion did not. He made it, thanks to Gale's spell.

They will be the only ones to survive this.

Among them, Astarion sees the tongueless elf. Tears roll down her face as the rest of the slaves are picked off by the mage's spells. So much work, just to be stopped at the very end. Possibly months of planning and secrets, gone.

And yet, Astarion has survived thanks to her sacrifice; that single makeup kit being the very thing that granted him this victory.

A gift he cannot repay. But one he can remember.

Now, onto part three in the next chapter! I cannot explain how excited I am for that part!