Interlude (Carric's perspective)

Torsday 29th Mey - Lordday 8th Yuny, Year XYZ
As you awaken, still sore from where the rapier had slammed into your head, you try to orientate yourself in the near pitch darkness. Near you, you can hear the regular breathing of two of your companions.

"Ah, the elf is awake" The drow speaks with an odd elvish accent, unlike any you have ever heard before. Then again, you have never spoken with a drow before, so maybe this is just how they speak elvish.

Zarush! A magic word, and a glowing ball of light appears out of nowhere, resting a few inches above the hand of one of the drow warriors. He and the other drows are resting comfortably against a cavern wall. A few feet away from you, your companions Truxas and Tagron lie. Both are wearing manacles behind their back, just as you are. All three of you have been stripped of any significant item, leaving you all to wear little both your common clothes. Truxas is looking positively horrified, as if he had seen a ghost. You look around for Valmer, your fellow Kord-believer, but can't see him anywhere. As he is reading your mind, Tagron whispers, with a hint of desperation to his voice. "They ate him. The fucking bastards ate him!". A thousand thoughts fly to your head. Eat? Cannibals? Drow? None of this makes any sense. The drow, while inherently evil, would never, as far as you know, eat another living being, dead or not. Some things are definitely different in this new world.

Your musings are quickly interrupted. One of the drows jumps to his feet and approaches you and your friends quickly. He kneels down next to you and bends over, whispering in your ear: "My name is Dra'kal, and I do not like your kind". As he rises up and seems to walk away, he swirls around, planting his boot in your ribs. The pain jolts through your body, and you can hear ribs crack. "The elf is mine" he says, looking at the other two warriors; "anyone touches him, and he will have to deal with me".

The rest of the night passes without further incidents.

The next day, the three of you are dragged towards your destination, which seems to be a place called the Seven-Pillared Hall, if what the drows say is true. At some point, the drows made halt, and one of them headed alone towards what you can only assume to be the Seven-Pillared Hall. A few hours later, he returned, and it became apparent that they were planning on selling you and your friends to someone called Krakor. Unfortunately, he was off doing business with some duegar, and wouldn't be back for 4 or 5 days.

The female (called Mistress Melina) soon pulled out all your magic items, along with those of your friends, and began to disenchant them all, ending up with a nice pile of residuum. "You won't need these ever again". "In the arena, such things are not allowed". "Maybe we can hurry back and watch you three battle and die."Then again, maybe you will prove too weak, and die in the preliminary battles". Odd comments, which left you and your friends cold and chilly. When asked what she meant, all Truxas got a was boot to his head.

During all of the day, Dra'kal just sat there, watching you like a hawk.

At night, the nightmare started. Just as you were finally falling asleep on the rocks, trying to think of the beautiful woods, Dra'kal leapt forward, yanking back your head, with a firm grip on your hair. "It seems it will be a while until our roads part ways. While I am not allowed to kill you, why not have some fun. He pulled out a 5-headed whip with sharp metal bits attached and proceeded to whip you till you passed out from the pain. A wineskin of cold water awoke you after a bit of rest, but you couldn't tell how long it had been. It didn't really matter, because Dra'kal just kept pounding away on your back, your chest, even at your face, until you passed out. For 3 days and 3 nights the merciless beatings went on. "Beg for mercy elf, beg like the groweling creature that you are.." At the end, you could no longer scream, you could no longer talk. Everything was swollen and you could barely see anything. The wounds made it impossible to sleep most of the time, and when you finally gave in and drifted away, you were awoken by more beatings. But you never begged for mercy. At the end, the only thing keeping you alive was the mental picture of your god, Kord. He was saying "Be Strong my child", over and over again. Maybe it was only a delusion brought on by the pain, but none the less, it kept you from giving up and letting go.

Then, on the fourth morning, Dra'kal was told to stop, so that it wouldn't ruin the deal. After that, you were left alone for a couple of days, most of which time you spent sleeping. Then, on the 7th day, as the drows were getting ready to head into the Seven-Pillared Hall, Dra'kal came up behind you, and you heard the sound of his dagger being drawn. "In a few, you will be out of my reach elfling… While you will probably not have long to live, I do not want you to forget me". You felt he grabbed your hand, and then the pain flooded through you, like a river released from a dam. "I will keep this, to remind of how much fun we have had, elf. You should have begged for mercy", Dra'kal said, holding up your left hand little-finger.

You and your friends were hooded, and then pushed along. A few hours later, the hoods are removed, and you realize that you are standing on an auction-block. Next to you are several other humanoids of various races, all chained just like you have been. The room is rather large, with several other auction-blocks. A plethora of buyers walk back and forth out of on the main floor, talking, haggling and observing the slaves.

A hobgoblin is approaching the drows, pouch of gold in hand.