ellinor
Explorer
Part the 7x01
In which we finally meet Spyscribe's character
Crack. With every crack of the whip, Nyoko’s home felt farther and farther away. This time, the whip fell on one of the dwarves she was chained to. Next time it could be her. She was not sure she had ever been so dirty or so tired in her life. She ached to her bones.
She picked up a bucket of rocks. Crack. “Ow!” Noyko was positive that she hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no particular art to picking rocks and carrying buckets of scree from one pile to another. But then again, there was no rhyme or reason to the derro that had kidnapped her. Weeks ago, when they ambushed her on the road to Cauldron, she had assumed that they would ransom her back to the Adepts, but it quickly became apparent that they had no intention of doing so; they had not even asked where she was from. And now, after days of trudging through tunnels at the end of a whip, they had her breaking rocks. There were so many other things she was better at, if they had bothered to ask. So many things she could do for them—play the flute; perform acrobatic dance; sing the honored histories…if she only had a bow and some arrows, she thought, then they’d find out what she was really good at.
Nyoko closed her eyes for a moment and imagined. She imagined herself picking off these creatures two at a time with her bow. She imagined herself emerging into the daylight. She imagined returning to the compound of the Adepts back in Cauldron, being greeted by Lord Miyosho. She knew it was a dream, but it was such a good dream…
No, Nyoko thought, eyes open. An Adept must see everything, remember everything, and be prepared to testify. And even if I am stuck in this hellhole for the rest of my ever-shortening life, I am still an Adept. She opened her eyes and surveyed the scene as she carried the bucket over to the large pile of scree. Several derro, surrounded by broken furniture. Foremen at the center, ordering their underlings around. Underlings scurrying about. The room was larger than any she had seen in this derro warren, and seemed to be carved from a natural cave, with a wide entryway—
There. There was a woman peering in at the corner of the entryway. A heathen, clearly: red hair strayed from under her hood, making it obvious that she was not from the Sovereignty—and she looked as dusty and tired as Nyoko felt. But there was a fire in her eyes that Nyoko had not seen in anyone for days. She was free, Nyoko knew. That meant Nyoko had help. The woman signaled, a finger to her lips. Nyoko palmed a few rocks from the bucket and hid them in the folds of her tunic. Then the woman disappeared. Another head appeared at the entryway, briefly—a man’s head, also heathen. There was a sword at his side—a good sign, Nyoko thought. Then he disappeared.
Then nothing. Nyoko carried more rocks. Time passed. Five minutes. Five more minutes. Five more minutes. As her hope had risen, it fell. They were not coming back. Were they helping these derro?
###
Kormick stalked on past the doorway. There was not much back here. On the left, an empty room, with some sort of discoloration on the floor. On the right, a closed door—it seemed like the trickling sound was coming from behind it—and ahead, more hallway, heading into the darkness. There were drag marks on the floor, but no derro, and no sounds of prisoners. He returned to the entryway and reported.
“Alright, then,” said Tavi, “time to go in.” Corani and the other dwarves readied themselves for battle, and once again, Tavi instructed them to stay back by the doorway with Rose, out of immediate danger. “We’ll let you know if we need you,” he added. For once, Corani seemed almost mollified.
Tavi nodded to Arden. Her jaw was set, her eyes slit. She slid the door open, soundlessly.
###
It all happened at once: Two men barreled into the room, charging the derro foremen. One struck with a sword, the other with warhammers. The hooded woman Nyoko had seen before rushed in, slicing another derro with her shortsword. A warrior woman whirled past, her sword flashing and her armor actually shrieking in anger. A genteel-looking girl chanted, creating a blinding shaft of light. A bespectacled young woman shot energy from her hands. They were all heathens, but they were strong, and they had caught Nyoko’s captors by surprise. Derro were bleeding, stumbling.
But it didn’t last. The derro drew their weapons and surrounded the heathens. Four derro, then eight, then more, charging, screaming. It was chaos.
Then a roar came from the tunnel behind her, guttural, loud.
Nyoko knew that sound. It was Lurx. He was the head foreman, technically, but much more than that. He was large for a derro—almost the height of a human—and brutal. In her days in the tunnels, she had seen him order a slave killed for nothing more than tripping over her own shackles, and he had crushed one of his own men with his bare hands. Kettenek help these heathens, Nyoko thought, they don’t know what they’ve gotten themselves into.
Nyoko felt the dust move and smelled Lurx’s odor as he pounded past her and ran into the room. In battle, he seemed even more imposing than he had at the head of the chain gang. He was a good deal bigger than Nyoko, and his chest was bare, revealing a torso and arms built as if from bricks. When he reached the side of the room, he gave a great roar.
All the other derro froze.
Then they began to chant, beating their chests. Lurx! Lurx! Lurx! Lurx! Lurx!
He strode among them to the center of the room, glaring imperiously. Then he beat his fists against his chest and pointed at the heathens. The warrior woman’s armor let out a bloodcurdling yell.
The chanting continued. Lurx! Lurx! Lurx!
It was clear that the derro were demanding some sort of single combat, and the heathens, after some discussion among themselves about dwarven traditions, seemed to understand and—more surprisingly—to accept. The newcomers gathered around each other. The two men made hand signals at each other—the one with a sword held out his fist, and the one with the warhammers held his hand flat like a blade, parallel with the floor.
Warhammers said, “Paper covers rock. I’ll mop up.”
Sword said, “Oh. That’s how I’d want it, anyway.”
The heathens formed a circle around Sword. The girl prayed—how odd for battle that she prayed to the godling Alirria! Glasses chanted a spell of defense. Armor talked quite forcefully about the young man’s extensive training. Prompted by Armor, Hood gave some advice on dodging attacks. Then Warhammers clapped him on the back.
Sword stepped forward into what had become a large empty space in the center of the room, ringed by derro. His friends spread out around the room among the derro, uncertain looks on their faces, hands on their weapons.
The crowd backed away from the two fighters and, for a moment, all was quiet as the two began to circle each other. Lurx growled softly. Sword shifted his weight from foot to foot, his weapon at the ready.
Warhammers said, “I’m gonna miss that guy.”
In which we finally meet Spyscribe's character
Crack. With every crack of the whip, Nyoko’s home felt farther and farther away. This time, the whip fell on one of the dwarves she was chained to. Next time it could be her. She was not sure she had ever been so dirty or so tired in her life. She ached to her bones.
She picked up a bucket of rocks. Crack. “Ow!” Noyko was positive that she hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no particular art to picking rocks and carrying buckets of scree from one pile to another. But then again, there was no rhyme or reason to the derro that had kidnapped her. Weeks ago, when they ambushed her on the road to Cauldron, she had assumed that they would ransom her back to the Adepts, but it quickly became apparent that they had no intention of doing so; they had not even asked where she was from. And now, after days of trudging through tunnels at the end of a whip, they had her breaking rocks. There were so many other things she was better at, if they had bothered to ask. So many things she could do for them—play the flute; perform acrobatic dance; sing the honored histories…if she only had a bow and some arrows, she thought, then they’d find out what she was really good at.
Nyoko closed her eyes for a moment and imagined. She imagined herself picking off these creatures two at a time with her bow. She imagined herself emerging into the daylight. She imagined returning to the compound of the Adepts back in Cauldron, being greeted by Lord Miyosho. She knew it was a dream, but it was such a good dream…
No, Nyoko thought, eyes open. An Adept must see everything, remember everything, and be prepared to testify. And even if I am stuck in this hellhole for the rest of my ever-shortening life, I am still an Adept. She opened her eyes and surveyed the scene as she carried the bucket over to the large pile of scree. Several derro, surrounded by broken furniture. Foremen at the center, ordering their underlings around. Underlings scurrying about. The room was larger than any she had seen in this derro warren, and seemed to be carved from a natural cave, with a wide entryway—
There. There was a woman peering in at the corner of the entryway. A heathen, clearly: red hair strayed from under her hood, making it obvious that she was not from the Sovereignty—and she looked as dusty and tired as Nyoko felt. But there was a fire in her eyes that Nyoko had not seen in anyone for days. She was free, Nyoko knew. That meant Nyoko had help. The woman signaled, a finger to her lips. Nyoko palmed a few rocks from the bucket and hid them in the folds of her tunic. Then the woman disappeared. Another head appeared at the entryway, briefly—a man’s head, also heathen. There was a sword at his side—a good sign, Nyoko thought. Then he disappeared.
Then nothing. Nyoko carried more rocks. Time passed. Five minutes. Five more minutes. Five more minutes. As her hope had risen, it fell. They were not coming back. Were they helping these derro?
###
Kormick stalked on past the doorway. There was not much back here. On the left, an empty room, with some sort of discoloration on the floor. On the right, a closed door—it seemed like the trickling sound was coming from behind it—and ahead, more hallway, heading into the darkness. There were drag marks on the floor, but no derro, and no sounds of prisoners. He returned to the entryway and reported.
“Alright, then,” said Tavi, “time to go in.” Corani and the other dwarves readied themselves for battle, and once again, Tavi instructed them to stay back by the doorway with Rose, out of immediate danger. “We’ll let you know if we need you,” he added. For once, Corani seemed almost mollified.
Tavi nodded to Arden. Her jaw was set, her eyes slit. She slid the door open, soundlessly.
###
It all happened at once: Two men barreled into the room, charging the derro foremen. One struck with a sword, the other with warhammers. The hooded woman Nyoko had seen before rushed in, slicing another derro with her shortsword. A warrior woman whirled past, her sword flashing and her armor actually shrieking in anger. A genteel-looking girl chanted, creating a blinding shaft of light. A bespectacled young woman shot energy from her hands. They were all heathens, but they were strong, and they had caught Nyoko’s captors by surprise. Derro were bleeding, stumbling.
But it didn’t last. The derro drew their weapons and surrounded the heathens. Four derro, then eight, then more, charging, screaming. It was chaos.
Then a roar came from the tunnel behind her, guttural, loud.
Nyoko knew that sound. It was Lurx. He was the head foreman, technically, but much more than that. He was large for a derro—almost the height of a human—and brutal. In her days in the tunnels, she had seen him order a slave killed for nothing more than tripping over her own shackles, and he had crushed one of his own men with his bare hands. Kettenek help these heathens, Nyoko thought, they don’t know what they’ve gotten themselves into.
Nyoko felt the dust move and smelled Lurx’s odor as he pounded past her and ran into the room. In battle, he seemed even more imposing than he had at the head of the chain gang. He was a good deal bigger than Nyoko, and his chest was bare, revealing a torso and arms built as if from bricks. When he reached the side of the room, he gave a great roar.
All the other derro froze.
Then they began to chant, beating their chests. Lurx! Lurx! Lurx! Lurx! Lurx!
He strode among them to the center of the room, glaring imperiously. Then he beat his fists against his chest and pointed at the heathens. The warrior woman’s armor let out a bloodcurdling yell.
The chanting continued. Lurx! Lurx! Lurx!
It was clear that the derro were demanding some sort of single combat, and the heathens, after some discussion among themselves about dwarven traditions, seemed to understand and—more surprisingly—to accept. The newcomers gathered around each other. The two men made hand signals at each other—the one with a sword held out his fist, and the one with the warhammers held his hand flat like a blade, parallel with the floor.
Warhammers said, “Paper covers rock. I’ll mop up.”
Sword said, “Oh. That’s how I’d want it, anyway.”
The heathens formed a circle around Sword. The girl prayed—how odd for battle that she prayed to the godling Alirria! Glasses chanted a spell of defense. Armor talked quite forcefully about the young man’s extensive training. Prompted by Armor, Hood gave some advice on dodging attacks. Then Warhammers clapped him on the back.
Sword stepped forward into what had become a large empty space in the center of the room, ringed by derro. His friends spread out around the room among the derro, uncertain looks on their faces, hands on their weapons.
The crowd backed away from the two fighters and, for a moment, all was quiet as the two began to circle each other. Lurx growled softly. Sword shifted his weight from foot to foot, his weapon at the ready.
Warhammers said, “I’m gonna miss that guy.”
