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Through Blood and Flames

Here's a "quick" something about how Maelon and Etnar met! I'll probably post some more scenes here and there at times. I have so much fun writing about them 💜

Warnings: contains blood, extreme violence, whipping

The ice cold splash of water to his face and the thunder of laughters invading his ears were the first two things greeting Maelon back to conciousness.

With a loud gasp, the Half-Drow's body jolted, finding himself laying on dirtied ground. Instinctively he recoiled until hitting a wall, curled up and afraid. His blurred vision finally came to its senses and that's when he realized that he was held up in a cell.

"What in the nine hells?!" he blurted out, his throat feeling hoarse.

"No more sleep for you, shithead," started a Dwarf man on the other side of the bars. "Onyx will soon want to look you over and see your worth."

Maelon's attention snapped, trying to better understand his situation. He could spot other cells and prisoners around, yet he could not see any insigna on the guards that woke him up.

"Am I in prison?" he dared ask.

The Dwarf and two others - a Tiefling and a Human - laughed once more. The Half-Drow spotted some prisoners in the shadows looking at him with this sense of pity... Still getting no answers, his gaze quickly scanned around, trying to get a sense of his surroundings, until it landed to the cell to his left. A set of bars were seperating him from another space, that one holding a presence that instantly froze him. In there, sitting on his knees, was a green Dragonborn; a mountain of scales and muscles. Where there was a lack of horns was easily compensated by piercing blue eyes, firmly planted on Maelon's form. The Half-Drow pushed past his initial fear, rapidly approching the bars seperating him from that behemoth.

"You! Where am I? Give me answers since those assholes won't give me one!"

"Don't even bother," added the Tiefling woman guard with amusement. "That dog speaks to no one and he'll probably be your butcher sooner than later."

Maelon's hold on the bars was quickly released, stepping back into the middle of his cell. His terror soon led to frustration, his temper getting the best of him.

"What's going on?! Where am I?" he bellowed, frowning at his holders.

In his rage, crackles and sparks of flames were starting to sprout from his hands. The guards were suddenly ready for action, the Tiefling woman with a spell ready in her hands.

"You shoot that flame and you're gonna get it right back at your face," she said. "My counterspells are pretty solid, so don't test me."

"You've been snatched by Onyx, a slave trader," added the Dwarf. "I've heard some of his men caught you out of a tavern in the Lower Baldur's Gate, drunk as shit. Guess you were at the wrong place at the wrong time, you stupid bastard."

He recalled last night. Maelon had just learned of his father's death and he had no other way to get past this sorrow than to drown himself in alcohol... He could barely remember walking out of the Blushing Mermaid, yet he had a vague memory of figures following him and then he got hit across the head.

Slave trader... That title sent a shiver along the dark elf's spine.

"Now be a good boy and stop makin' a scene," continued the short man. "We'll be right back once Onyx has some time for your pretty face."

"And don't think about trying to escape," added the Tiefling with a smirk. "We've got men all around the place. Be smart and stay in your cell."

What a fucking nightmare. Watching the guards walk away, Maelon's sight moved to the left and it unfortunately landed back on the Dragonborn held next to him. His icy stare was still harsh and impassible, a cold-blooded warrior unphased by the freightened look of a fresh capture. The Half-Drow knew this ... creature was to be his only source of knowledge around here, seeing that the other prisoners were too far to speak to them in a tone that wouldn't attract attention. He approached the bars once more, tempting his fate.

"Please, you've got to let me know what they're going to do to me," he pleaded to the green one. "I didn't meant to be captured, I- I was just too drunk to realize. I need to get out of here. I-"

Maelon instantly stopped as the other stepped up, revealing his full height. Unbothered and impassible, the Dragonborn simply muttered:

"Stop."

Then he turned away, heading for a poor excuse of a bed and preferring to lay down on it, his frowning gaze now stuck to the ceiling.

The Half-Elf frowned, truly getting impatient.

''That's it?'' he said with venom in his voice, his tone still low. ''You're just going to say 'stop' and walk away as if this is all normal? Do you realize what's our predicament? I need to know what the fuck is going on.''

A single glare from the Dragonborn was enough to shut Maelon up, a strong shiver passing through his spine. He then proceed to look at his surroundings once more, getting to the door of his cell and testing the lock. The underground place they were in was dimmly lit by some wall torches, offering nothing more than a gloomy scenery wherever Maelon would look. There had to be a way for him to escape. He could probably find something to lockpick himself out of here, and at least his dark vision would offer him some more clearance into the semi-darkness.

He ears slightly perked as he heard footsteps coming his way, the Tiefling woman back at the Half-Drow's cell once more. Unlocking the gate, she sternly ordered him to move, holding Maelon's hands behind his back and directing him through the corridor.

This time, Maelon got a chance to rightfully see the place, emerging from the cells at a lower level and arriving at a grand cave hideout that had some natural light coming in from an opening at the ceiling. Various wooden constructs and benches were encircling a circular arena, many blood-stains – new and old – blotchered on the sand like some eccentric painting. The duo made its way up a slope that led to a makeshift room. Inside was seated a rather intimidating Wood Elf behind a desk, filling out letters and papers alike. As his cold grey eyes landed on Maelon, he stood up with a smirk, approaching and appraising his newest capture.

''Here's the latest addition to our prestigious family,'' he started. Standing taller than the Half-Drow, the slaver took out a dagger, lifting the other's face by flatting the blade under his chin. He took a moment to observe Maelon's features.

''… A weak frame, yet a little scar to his right cheekbone; not too heavy so it must be incident-related. Most probably raised poor in the Lower city, yet the presence of magic in him would indicate a fortunate education – which would also explain his lack of muscles as this goody two-shoes studied soooooooo hard.''

He looked at his present guards, gesturing toward the door with a movement of his head.

''Leave us be. I have some matters to discuss with him.''

''Are you sure, Onyx?'' asked the Dwarf.

''Obey. He's just a slave anyway.''

That single stern command had been enough to get the others on the move, the door soon closed and leaving the two Elves alone. Onyx smiled again, moving his dagger away – Maelon rubbing his throat instinctively.

''Your name's Maelon, isn't it boy?''

The Half-Drow was already suspicious.

''… What do you want? How do you know my name?''

The slaver leaned back against his desk, half-sitting on it, his smirk ever present.

''One thing about my line of work; I have to know everything and everyone around the city. Who to hit, who to leave alone, how many special cases there are floating around the streets.'' He pointed to Maelon. ''And you, boy, are among the few Half-Drows that walk among Baldur's Gate lower streets. I know all the rare birds, and my sources told me you're the son of a Del'Armgo.''

''And of what interest is that for you? Who's your source?''

''That's none of your concerns. … Half-Drows of a Lolth's lineage are godsdamn rare. If the word got out that the child of a powerful Drow house was held prisoner, I'd imagine that I could get quite the sum of gold for your liberation, if I play my cards right.''

A faint chuckle started from Maelon, confusing Onyx for a moment. As the laughter grew, the slaver grew impatient:

''What the fuck are you laughing at?''

''Good luck with that!'' started the Half-Drow as he tried to calm himself. ''My mother doesn't give a shit about me; she really won't be searching for me in this hellhole.'' He settled himself, hands on his hips as he continued explaining with a cheeky expression: ''I don't know if you're aware of Drow politics and its society, but a male such as myself has absolutely no value in any house. You're fucked out of luck.''

The Wood Elf's expression was sour, Maelon somehow considering it as a victory.

''What? Was my capture only with the intent of selling me back to my dear mother?'' he teased next.

''Just a happy coincidence,'' started Onyx. ''I ask of my men to catch any imbeciles on the streets, and you surely filled the criteria. For you to be an interesting asset, that was only a little surprise.''

He approached the Half-Drow once more, his gaze translating an air of dominance and malice.

''I will still tempt my fate and let my connections in Menzoberranzan know of your capture. In the meantime, you will be nothing more than an asset for me.''

Maelon hardened his stance and expression, wanting to show no fear: ''I will burn your flesh and make your corpse dance if you dare touch me.''

''Now, now, boy, no need to get hasty. Let me show you around the place first. After all, this is now your new home.''

Seeing that his new capture wanted none of it and was ready to blast a spell, Onyx was quick to draw his dagger once more, pulling Maelon's hair as to bend his head backward and threaten his neck.

''Do not try me. I could kill you right now and there, you pathetic worm.''

The Half-Drow resigned himself, a certain fear in his red eyes. Thrown out of the room, he was then handed back to the guards and brought to a side enclosure near the central ring. Handled in a rough manner, Maelon soon felt the cold snap of metal around his neck, a thick collar now wrapping him and suddenly sucking out most of the magic in him. Like a freightened prey, he tried to free himself from any hold, shouting an ''Ignis'' in hopes that it would clear him a path in flames – but he soon realized that his power had been reduced to mere embers and that any spells would absolutely not deliver. Air left his lungs when he felt a kick to his back, forcing him to land on his knees. Onyx's voice rose from above the ring, the slaver looking down on the scene with a twisted satisfaction.

''Give him a warm welcome worth of Loviatar's love. A slave deserves to know its place.''

Maelon was unable to speak, wishing this was all a bad joke – a bad dream. He didn't even realize that one of the guards grabbed a whip, next slashing at his back in a deafening crack. At first the dark elf was trying to contain his screams, but as the weapon tore through his shirt and finally licked his flesh, his voice was no longer under his control. He tried to look behind and see who was delivering the blows, but the whip got to his left cheek as he did so, adding a long bloodied gash to his face.

The moment seemed to last forever, soon Maelon's voice too hoarse to even come out in a single cry. The tears that left him were mixed to blood, tainting the air with salt, rust, and an uncomfortable moisture. Brought back to his feet, the remnants of his shirt were rightfully tore apart, leaving the Drow bare chested. Mind-absentendly, he followed orders and let his feet move by themselves, escorted back to the underground cells. He had enough energy left only to reach his cage, a guard shoving him inside and letting his corpse ungracefully flop to the ground.

He waited. Maelon waited until the gloomy ambiance of the prison was the only sound heard so he could whimper and cry some more, still laying on the floor. He did not realize his position close to the bars seperating him from the Dragonborn's cell, his entrance certainly grabbing the green one's attention. The sound of footsteps approaching alerted Maelon, jumping slightly as his gaze turned to the other. The Dragonborn was now kneeling next to the bars, solemnly looking at the Half-Drow. In a patient gesture he extended his hand through the bars, muttering a single ''come''.

Was it foolishness or desperation? The grey one obeyed, dragging his broken soul closer to the emerald mountain. He was slightly surprised when he next felt a scaled hand to his left cheek, cupping the fresh wound. An unsuspecting warmth came from that touch, Maelon allowing himself to close his eyes and bask in this simple gesture. He faintly heard the Dragonborn whisper a healing spell – or was he imagining it? - but Maelon did feel the familiar tingle of such magic caressing his skin.

The Drow leaned slightly to the touch, holding onto that comfort for the brief moment it lasted. As the Dragonborn's hand finally moved away, their gazes crossed. From the brute's initial severe look was now showing a silent understanding – he too knew that pain so well...

Moving away from the Half-Elf, the green one returned to his dilapidated bed, not even according another glance as he layed down and offered his back. In a pitiful cadence, Maelon did the same, prefering to lay on his chest as to avoid any pressure to his back and the many new slashes.

He cried once more, silently, mourning his freedom. Mourning his father. Mourning himself.

***

His next waking was as ungraceful as his previous; startled by the rattling sound of dishes and bowls being thrown into cells.

''Eat up!'' started a human man from the other side with a stern voice. ''We require all hands on deck for the repairs today. You'll need all of your energy.''

Maelon groaned slightly as he got out of his poor excuse of a bed. His back was still sore from yesterday, any movements threatening to break any fresh scabs and provoke renewed bleeding. He brought a hand to his left cheek, now graced with the presence of a long downward scar that was at least properly healed. Grabbing the bowl that had been tossed his way, he found his meal to be nothing more than a questionning consistency of gruel. Looking to his left, the Half-Elf saw the green Dragonborn silently eating the same meal – no question asked, no complaints. Forcing himself to do the same, Maelon knew this was a reality he wouldn't want to live in for long...

Soon he was herded alongside the other slaves back to the improvised ring, various tools awaiting the group. Given an old shirt to cover his wounds from view and next a hammer, the Half-Drow was then tasked to nail new planks around the delimitations, helped by a Rock Gnome woman and a High Half-Elf man. Due to his predicament, Maelon was graced with the duty of hammering the nails in, the other man bringing the planks and the woman holding them steady or giving nails when necessary. With all the commotions going around, the two others helping the Drow allowed themselves to speak in hushed tones.

''Be careful with the butcher,'' started the Gnome.

Maelon raised a brow, confused for a moment.

''… Who?'' he added.

''Etnar, the Dragonborn,'' added the other Half-Elf, nodding towards the aforementionned entity. ''He's the worst there is around here.''

The grey one looked over this Etnar, judging his character for a bit. He was currently occupied at axing large pieces of wood, his strength enough to wreck any big pieces in a single swing. Maelon returned his attention to the two others, shrugging slightly.

''I don't know, seems like the usual no brain all brawn kind of guy.''

''And that's why he's dangerous,'' continued the woman. ''He's been held since he's a kid and has been following Onyx's orders blindly. Heck, Onyx will even threaten all of us when he feels like it to be slaughtered by that murderer. You do not want to be around Etnar too much.''

''Hard to do when my cell is right next to his,'' said the Half-Drow with a frown.

''We saw you last night,'' added the other Elf. ''When you came back from meeting Onyx, you crashed near Etnar's cell and he came to you. … Be careful, he's trying to lower your defenses so that you become easy prey.''

… Nonsense. Maelon, still with a frown, returned his sight on the green Dragonborn once more. Sure, he seemed stern and of the silent type. That icy stare of his was one of a killer no doubt, but now knowing that he had been held captive for years – was it really his fault for turning that way? The Half-Drow got up from his post, handing his hammer to the Gnome.

''I'm not scared of him,'' he simply said, then making his way towards Etnar.

The others wanted to stop him, but feared attracting too much attention on them. Maelon gave no thought as he continued his path, reaching the green one's station and grabbing a log – with a small pained grimace – so he could hand it when the other was done axing. Etnar's movements stopped, his brow ridges furrowing slightly at this new sight. The Half-Drow was offering a soft smile, bringing the log closer.

''Come on, take it,'' he said. ''… I want to help and say thanks for last night.''

The Dragonborn was still frowning.

''No.'' he simply answered, firm.

He then took another log by himself and continued his work, trying to disregard Maelon. The Drow was having none of it.

''Look, I've been told to fear you, but I don't give a shit. You helped me last night, and that wasn't nothing-''

He was cut short in his sentence as Etnar dropped his axe, next grabbing the other by the front of his shirt, easily lifting the Elf a few inches off the ground. There was this ferocity in his eyes, but also a silent plea to stop.

''Go,'' muttered the Dragonborn, not wanting to attract any more attention as it currently was.

Maelon's first instinct was to be afraid, but something deep within was telling him that there was some untold words – something Etnar didn't want to be known. Released in a sharp move, the Half-Drow barely nodded once, signaling his understanding. Under Etnar's cold stare, Maelon proceeded back to his initial task, dryly taking back the hammer and getting back to work.

''Told you he's a brute!'' commented the Gnome.

The Half-Drow kept silent. That's what he wants you to believe. He's hiding something....

***

The next few days he simply observed. Either from his cell or from afar when completing tasks, Maelon would keep a watchful eye upon his neighbor, wanting to seize his character and potential true intentions. Etnar appeared to be a man of very few words, most of the time answering in grunts, head movements or simple one-worded sentences. Perhaps his time as a slave dampened his education? Or perhaps he had a throat problem? Maelon couldn't quite place the cause yet, but he knew the lizard was more than he would let it be seen...

One night, footsteps were approaching and a familiar, yet unloved voice was echoing as it made its way towards the cells; Onyx, and he was not alone. Like a trained dog, Etnar was already on his feet, awaiting his master with an impassive stare. Accompanied by an Half-Orc, Onyx was already presenting the green Dragonborn akin to a trophy. A prized possession and the jewel of his flock.

''Observe his frame, his muscles!'' boasted the Wood Elf. ''Years of training transformed this obedient puppet into a fine warrior. He'll be of great entertainment, I can assure you.''

The Orc exhaled sharply from his nose, trifling a chuck.

''Has he ever faced anything else than puny Elves, Humans, or small creatures alike?'' he asked.

Onyx smiled: ''Any challenge you can throw at him, the better! It's not often I cross paths with a slaver of a more … exotic taste.''

''The demand remains then. Whoever wins tomorrow may gain some more heads to their name.''

''Deal accepted,'' added the Elf, extending his hand into a closing handshake.

As he invited the Half-Orc to proceed out before him, Onyx remained behind and stood before Etnar's cell once more – stern this time.

''Rest and preserve your energy. Tomorrow you may face Hobgoblins or Bugbears. They're vicious sons of bitches with no brain, so they might strike hard but their aim could be shit. … You know the drill; win this, don't die.''

He sensed another pair of eyes on him, Onyx's gaze turning slightly and noticing Maelon looking his way as well. The Wood Elf showed a grin, approaching the Half-Drow's cell.

''Settling in well I hope, boy?''

Maelon was not amused: ''Couldn't be any cozier...,'' he said bitterly.

''Glad you're enjoying your stay then. … I've sent some courriers in the Underdark, to Menzoberranzan. I received no word back yet, but I hope to hear something from the Del'Armgo house soon enough.''

''You're wasting your time, I told you my mother and no one back there gives a damn about me!''

''Always worth a try,'' added Onyx. ''And besides, if they really don't want to lift a finger for you, that'll just make one more pet to my menagerie!'' His smile faded quickly enough, his look darkening: ''But should you try to cross me, you'll soon discover why Etnar here gets the lovely nickname of butcher among his peers.''

To sense Maelon's uneasiness was enough to bring back a small smile on the Elf's lips.

''And better yet! I think I'll bring you to the ring to watch tomorrow's combat. That way you'll get an idea of your neighbor's true power. That'll ought to kill any remnants of hope and will to escape in you.''

That left a sour taste to Half-Drow's mouth, side-eyeing the Dragonborn – yet Etnar still appeared impassible. As Onyx departed, the green scaled one only released the tension in his posture as the footsteps died away. His icy blue stare, beacons in the dark, transposed a solemn expression, finally closing down as he kneeled to the floor and bowed his head meditatevely. Maelon observed with slight curiosity, approaching the bars and examining his neighbor with sharp attention.

… From the heavy ambience of the prison, he deciphered words. Hushed, patient, akin to a prayer. The Dragonborn was indeed praying.

''I knew you could talk,'' noted Maelon.

Etnar's gaze snapped open, calmly looking towards the Half-Drow next.

''Who are you praying to? Are you a Paladin, a Cleric, or even a Warlock? Dare I say a Druid?''

As he kept questionning, the reptilian one stood back up again, approaching the bars with a stern look, making Maelon trail on his words with slight uncertainty. Standing close, only seperated by the bars, the dark elf did not give up.

''You're hiding something. I can understand since you've been held up down here for many years, but if you're up to some plan, I want to be a part of it. Whatever it is. … I want out, I'm sure everyone in this godsdamned place want out. Together I'm sure we can overthrow this stupid prison.''

Etnar sighed briefly, still frowning.

''… There is nothing for us outside,'' he finally said.

Maelon felt that sentence like a whiplash. That damn Dragonborn said more than one word!

''What do you mean there's nothing?'' bantered back the Drow. ''Outside there's freedom, there's places to be! How long have you been here?''

A flicker passed through Etnar's eyes, the flash of a thought destablizing him ever so slightly. A snarl chased that feeling away, features harsh as he focused on the Elf before him.

''Enough chatter. I must sleep.''

As he walked away, Maelon continued his spiel:

''I will find out. You will tell me everything and we will get out. I'm sure of it.''

Etnar simply swatted that remark with a vague gesture in the air as he was laying in bed. His back facing the other, his eyes were rightfully hidden from showing the million thoughts wandering in his head....

***

The hideout was certainly livelier the next day, the main area welcoming crooked factions of all sorts: from slavers to criminals, everyone was ready for the show! Etnar had been brought out of his cell much early in the morning, Maelon only fetched as the event was about to start.

He was reluctantly brought close to Onyx, the Half-Drow's ankle chained to a part of the wooden structure he was sitting on – all while the master was comfortably seated alongside the Half-Orc from yesterday.

''Consider yourself lucky, boy,'' started the Wood Elf. ''I don't often bring my pets out to enjoy the show.''

''How grateful am I...,'' commented Maelon with annoyance.

In a swift movement, Onyx yanked at the other's metal collar, bringing him closer.

''I know you've been trying to talk to him, I've seen you when repairing the ring's fences days ago. I won't tolerate that any longer. … Last poor soul that tried to befriend him got slain by Etnar's very own hands. Do not forget that as you watch him fight today.''

And as he released him, exclamations started to rise amongst the crowd. From one entrance of the ring, the green Dragonborn made his entrance, dressed in decorative long loincloths and pants for battle, bare chested and wearing a necklace adorned with bear claws. Equipped with a large Greataxe, he was primed for battle, welcoming the cheering as he stood in the middle of the battleground, grinning as people chanted his name. He was putting on a show, just like he'd been taught to do....

''Can't wait to see how this bastard will fare,'' commented the Half-Orc. Next he shouted: ''Bring the warriors out!''

Some of his lackeys yanked on some chains, then bringing a Bugbear and a Hobgoblin into view. As both humanoids got a look at Etnar, smirk were exchanged – as if they knew that it'd be an easy win.

It didn't take long for the two creatures to rush in, weapons in hands. Etnar seemed unphased as they rushed towards him, until he prepared a large swing at the Bugbear and sliced its head off in one clean cut. Silence fell for a moment, Maelon glued to his seat in pure shock. Cheers roared once again from the crowd, demanding for more action.

The Hobgoblin went past his inital astonishment, brandishing his dual weapons with a renewed fury. As metal clanked and physical blows were shot, Etnar seemed to have found an equal in terms of strength – at least that was what the Half-Drow thought as the battle unfolded. The Dragonborn could easily push his opponent back, threatening with great swings of his axe in expert moves. Metal clashing, teeth bared, both were fighting for their lives; Etnar with a smile, the Hobgoblin with concern. Maelon could feel the thirst for blood, this easiness on the battleground that had been gained over the years. … The green one was a prodigy in the art of combat.

With a yell, Etnar gave an ultimate push, bringing his greataxe in a powerful upswing, slicing his enemy from navel to neck. The Hobgoblin fell harshly to the ground in a pool of his own blood, bringing the crowd next into a cheerful roar.

''I hope you're ready to pay up, Garog,'' said Onyx, amusedly.

''Not yet, I've got one more trick up my sleeve.''

The Half-Orc whistled, signaling his men to bring forth another tribute to the ring. As the ground trembled in timely shakes, an Ogre came into view, bringing its immense self into the clear view of the battle pit. Etnar, still panting from his previous battle, simply frowned as he took a renewed combat stance, locking eyes with the gargatuan monster before him.

''Let's see how he fares against my secret weapon,'' added Garog.

''He survives that, you give me double.''

The Ogre bellowed, charging straight for the Dragonborn. Meanwhile Etnar deepened his stance, squaring up as he took a good breathe in. He didn't wait long for the creature to reach a certain limit, then throwing a breath of poison upon his new enemy. As the other was blinded and coughing, the green one tapped his chest as he let out a terrifying roar – a glorious rage glow envelopping his being.

Maelon's eyes were stuck on the scene, his thoughts running a million paces. A barbarian, it all made sense! At least … for the vast majority of it. There was still the mystery of his healing magic and silent prayers. But with this found strength, the Half-Drow knew the other could help him get out of here – by mere brute force if it ever came to that. Now it was all a matter of the Dragonborn surviving this encounter...

As the crowd cheered, the Ogre rushed once more as it got past the cloud of poison. No time was wasted as the creature swung its club toward the green one, Etnar masterfully dodging the blow and jumping on the Ogre's weapon and limb. In a quick succession of steps, the barbarian reached the top, sunking one clawed hand into his opponent's flesh, firmly grasping his greataxe in the other and soon starting to chop by the Ogre's shoulder and base of its neck. The monster bellowed, reaching for the Dragonborn and swinging him far away in a rapid throw. Etnar was nothing more than an animal at this point; teeth barren, panting loudly and growling from deep within his chest. He didn't need to pause as he got back on his feet, running toward his prey and already preparing a swing of his weapon. Like a dance, he swung at multiple intervals, dodging any club attacks. Etnar's greataxe's blade left deep gashes upon the Ogre's skin, soon slicing in sensitive areas like the tendons right above the heels.

That instantly brought the creature to its knees, roaring in hurt. Not wasting another second, the green one mustered all of his strength to aim for the Ogre's right hand – the one wielding the club – and sliced right at the wrist, successfully removing the appendage. The monster groveled in pain, its screams echoing throughout the cave. Etnar next returned to where he had started to slice near the shoulder and neck, letting out a war cry as he hacked again, again, and again on the beast's flesh. ...Until the head was pathetically hanging by some mere threads of tendons and flesh, rendering the Ogre dead.

The spectators' acclamations rose in a thunderous cacophony, celebrating the Dragonborn's display of brutality. Covered in blood, Etnar yelled in victory, still panting hard and his body keeping a menacing stance afterward.

Maelon was still glued to his seat, unsure if he had blinked at any moment during this whole sequence. He felt nauseous, the Half-Drow's heart racing at such foul display of power and savagery. He was quickly thrown out of his throughts as guards unshackled his ankle and forced him out of his seat, then escorted away from the benches. Maelon did catch a glimpse towards Onyx, the Wood Elf smirking – proud to have shown his most prized possession's potential.

A true monster...

Thrown back into his cell, it didn't take long for Maelon to spot the Dragonborn being escorted back to his – the guards keeping some distances from the still heavy-breathing mountain. Thankfully the barbarian had been washed from blood and filth, most assuredly by being thrown buckets of water on him from a distance. Locked in his cage, Etnar paced around, trying to shake any remnants of his rage. Throwing any objects within reach against walls and bars, that was enough to get the guards moving out of sight.

Maelon took this as a chance to try to grab his attention, approaching the bars seperating their cells. Even though he was scared shitless, he knew he had to appease the animal.

''Hey,'' he called out.

The Dragonborn's attention snapped to him, lunging in an instant and grabbing the Half-Drow by the throat. The Elf was shocked at first, then also grateful for the metal collar surrounding his neck – preventing him from completely suffocating.

''Look at me,'' he continued. ''Calm down. It's over!''

Etnar's blue gaze paused on the other, his breathing starting to ease as he realized the current situation. He slowly loosened his grip, both men's stares never leaving eachother. Maelon's hand gently held the other's wrist, expressing compassion.

''That's it... breathe.'' He could feel Etnar's shakiness.... ''… I'm sorry you had to go through all of this. It must've been going on for so long.''

The green one seemed to wake up, removing his hand from Maelon's grip and backing away. His snarl did not impress the Half-Drow.

''Don't take pity on me,'' started Etnar. ''The last one who did so fell by my hand.''

''So told me Onyx. ...Spare me the menaces, I'll make sure no such end happens to me,'' replied Maelon, frowning. ''… You're tired of this place, I can see it - sense it. All this silent façade; this act you're putting up, I'm sure you're nothing but a wolf in sheep's clothing, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike and get out of here. I can help you! Together we can join forces and run far from this place.''

''You don't know me. You don't know what you're getting yourself into.''

''I prefer risking it all by trying, rather than to rot in this miserable place!'' Maelon briefly sighed, regaining his composure. ''… Help me understand you. Let me be that boost to your strength. If we can find a way to remove this godsdamned collar from me, you'll see what I'm capable of.''

''You can rot, for all I care!'' blurted out the Dragonborn. ''Stop talking to me! We're never gonna get out of here.''

''Then you're a fucking coward!'' retorted Maelon, frowning once more. ''You put on that brutish show, but deep down you're just afraid and a loser.''

The green one was suddenly appearing taller, his mountainous stature a menace over the Half-Drow's frame.

''Come closer to the bars and say that again,'' he threatened.

''What, you'll punch me? Strangle me? Put some more scars on my skin just like Onyx and his men did?

''Come and you'll find out.''

There was this deranged smile on Etnar's lips, still under the rush of his battles. Maelon did not give in, preferring to step away and get into his cot, still scowling at the other.

''Who's the coward, now?'' laughed Etnar. ''You're all talk, but no bite. … Let's see how you fare tomorrow when we're out and about to do repairs. I'll break you like a twig.''

The Half-Drow did not want to show it, but deep down he felt nothing but fear... However, he did not want to lose hope.

***

At the usual hour the next morning, Maelon was first greeted by that disgusting bowl of gruel, lazily taking bites. He felt a cold and bright stare on his form to his left, then noticing Etnar looking at him as he was also taking patient spoonfuls of his meal. The Half-Drow sighed, slightly shaking his head.

''Will you stop that?''

''Dunno what you're talking about,'' muttered Etnar, still eating, lightly smiling.

Maelon did not dare argue, knowing he'd have a rough day out there today... He still had time before being taken out, standing up as he finished his bowl and starting to stretch his body and limbs. Etnar kept watching, his head cocking to one side.

''… What are you doing?'' asked the Dragonborn.

The Half-Elf was now stretching his arms and shoulders, impassible as he simply answered: ''Just warming up for later. I'll need all the advantages I can get.''

The green one chuckled.

''You think you can win over me? I don't think you'll be able to defend yourself, nor succeed any attacks on me.''

Maelon smiled in turn, feeling cocky.

''Don't worry, I won't do any of that.''

That made Etnar frown, puzzled.

The slaves were soon taken out of their cells, brought above to the battleground as there were many planks and decorations to repair from yesterday's battles. Most of the captives were giving anxious glances to Etnar and Maelon, having over-heard their dispute last night. They knew what was to come, and frankly they want to steer far from the upcoming bloodshed... Maelon was on edge, side-eyeing the Dragonborn as he got a hold of his usual hammer. Rapidly surveying the landscape, he noticed piled crates, some ropes suspended here and there, alongside various obstacles. And as he suspected, as soon as everyone was handed their tasks and that guards scattered around, Etnar sprung into action, sprinting towards the Half-Drow menacingly. Sensing the incoming danger, Maelon was swift to duck as he felt the swing of a woodcutting axe aiming for his head. Some gasps and shouts were heard from the other slaves, all eyes on the duo as the duel unfolded. No words were needed from them, only some grunts and pants escaping as Etnar continued his strikes, Maelon nimbly avoiding them – buried deep into a focus that he would only have reserved for when out at sea or into his studies. The elf's agility brought him up to run over obstacles laid on the ground, swiftly pushing them to try to block the green one's path. Seeing that it didn't do much, Etnar slashing through those without issue, Maelon shifted to the crates as he easily jumped and climbed those. Shouts were starting to rise from the guards, some moving around and getting a hold of crossbows. The Half-Drow's thoughts were racing, trying to scout his next moves from high above. He saw Etnar below, panting and snarling as he started to climb the crates in turn. Wasn't there any exits out of this hellhole?! Noticing that the Dragonborn was getting too comfortably close, Maelon acted fast as he jumped, getting hold on a suspended rope only to swing in a graceful arc out of the brute's reach. But as he did so, a bolt was fired and a sharp arrow planted itself firmly into the Drow's left shoulder. With a yelp, Maelon lost his grip and fell flat to the ground. Guards were instantly rushing out to him, some fast ones shouting and kicking his sides as punishment.

''What's with all the ruckus?!'' shouted Onyx, finally out of his office.

He noticed Maelon laying down, guards on him. As the slaver was about to shout once more, he saw Etnar making his way to the scene, teeth bared in agression.

''Leave him to me!'' he bellowed.

He easily pushed some guards away, crouching over the Half-Drow and grasping the back of his head, lifting just enough to expose his throat and slip the axe's blade dangerously close to the skin, avoiding the metal collar. Maelon's eyes were wide.

''Enough!'' ordered Onyx sternly.

Obedient, Etnar paused his action, his frame frozen as his eyes lift up instantly.

''I still haven't got news from Menzoberranzan. You can't kill him, yet.'' The Wood Elf gestured towards the belly of the cells with a nod of his head, hinting for his guards to take action. ''… Take those two off of their duties. I don't want more blood to be spilled and cleaned today; it's hard to get that off of dirt and sand. Bring them back to their cells so they can cool down.''

The Dragonborn roughly released his catch, standing back up. The next thing Maelon felt was the sharp pull of the arrow in his shoulder, yanked away by a guard - another yelp escaping the Drow. Back on his feet and shoved, he was ultimately thrown back into his cell, same as Etnar who still had this impassible posture to him. Maelon felt like fainting. He could sense the blood pouring out, his vision blurring with each minutes. As the guards' steps faded away, he heard the now quiet tone of Etnar, asking him to come close to the bars.

''What,'' slurred the elf. ''You'll finish the job? You'll break my neck or something?''

''Just come here...,'' calmly pleaded the Dragonborn.

If this was to be his death, the Half-Drow didn't care anymore. He fumbled to the bars seperating their cells, leaning on them with a wince. He expected the worst as he sensed the other come closer, but from where he expected a blow … he felt a gentle hand against his wounded shoulder instead. A soft ''te curo'' was heard, the familiar tingle of healing magic felt once more against Maelon's skin. The Half-Drow finally opened his red eyes, looking up the other in slight disbelief.

''… Why are you helping me?''

This time Etnar's tone was hushed and somewhat hurried.

''Now listen to me,'' he started. ''We need to keep this made-up rivalry up. I need you to keep seeing me as an enemy. We cannot be friends, or else Onyx will have you killed sooner than later. And do not, I repeat, do NOT mention my healing spells to anyone, or else I'm going to end up with a collar like yours.''

''You're a cleric...''

''Not fully. I only got some basic training from an old slave. Now, did you understand what I just told you?''

''But why...?''

Etnar was a bit harsher this time: ''Did you understand?''

Maelon silently nodded, still processing what was happening. The Dragonborn briefly sighed in relief, gently patting the Drow's shoulder. His smile was softer this time, easily contrasting with his blood-thirsty grin from before.

''You're agile,'' he commented. ''I don't often face speedy ones like you, that was a nice challenge.''

''… I don't get it, are you- … Are you actually being kind to me right now?''

''I'm giving you a break,'' answered Etnar. ''Like I said, we need to play pretend in front of everyone, especially the guards and Onyx. … I can't let people see that I don't want to cause harm. I can't let them know that I'm observing. Learning. Memorizing.''

The Half-Elf felt that light rush in his heart.

''So you do want to escape!''

The green one hushed him, quickly glancing around to make sure that no one was truly there and listening.

''My plan is to do it alone,'' Etnar explained. ''I can't just risk bringing any other soul with me; they'd die trying or worse yet, they'd rat me out. … I've made a promise to someone, and I intend to keep it.''

''I told you I want in, whatever it is,'' pressed Maelon. ''Find a way to break this damned collar and you'll see that I'm worth my salt.''

The Dragonborn huffed, slightly shaking his head.

''Go have some rest. Your body needs all the energy it can get to properly heal.''

''No,'' scolded the Drow. ''You won't shut me down like this, not when I'm finally getting some answers. We're alone; talk to me.''

Etnar's stature puffed up once more, his stern look making the other jump lightly.

''You already know too much,'' he simply said. ''I don't know you, I can't risk it further more for now. … I can heal you, but that'll be the extent of it.''

''You make no sense, you know that? Why even bother telling me anything at this point?''

The green one didn't answer, his icy stare the only needed answer to show that he never really thought of the logic of it all. Why was he helping? For the sole sake of helping another soul? … He needed to meditate.

''My name's Maelon, by the way,'' added the Half-Drow, sourly. ''At least now you'll know me a little.''

The elf finally walked away, getting to his cot and laying down, his back facing the other.

Etnar took this moment as an opportunity to retreat in his cell, kneeling down and bowing his head as he closed his eyes.

There is always another dawn.

…

He remembered those words spoken many times from his old mentor, Dawnbringer Caleb. That from the human cleric's death, a new beginning would unfold. Was Maelon that new beginning? Was he this hope Etnar long thought lost? There seemed to be a bright fire raging inside the Half-Drow – a longing to return to the surface and under the sun once more. Unlike the other slaves, that dark elf still had the will to live and appeared ready to do anything to access that freedom again...

Etnar sighed softly, frowning. Maybe there was hope.

***

Maelon's sleep was filled with nightmares that night. He still replayed that fateful evening in his head; the crackling of that brutal thunderstorm, the clash of waves against the docks and shores of the Lower city. He had stayed up all night, pacing around in circles and fearing the worst. Praying to the Bitch Queen, throwing gold pieces into the sea from his room's window, wishing for the storm to spare any and all boats on their voyage...

It was only the next morning at the main docks that he got news from priestesses of Umberlee that his father, alongside other sailors, had died at sea. It didn't take long for Maelon to curse the women, shouting at them and threatening to burn down their temple. How dare the Wavemother not hear his prayers nor accepted his peace offerings? Why didn't she spare his father – he was a good man and always respected the sea!

''It is an honor to die in Umberlee's domain. The most venerable death is to fill your lungs in her waters.''

That answer had made the Half-Drow snap, about to lunge at one of the priestesses with a shout.

That reaction translated into his present predicament, his body jolting into a sitting position in his bed, a strangled shout leaving his throat. His eyes snapped open, instantly panting after such a reaction. His skin was moist with sweat, feeling hot all of a sudden. Removing his shirt to cool himself, he then passed a hand over his face, trying to ease his thoughts. Scanning his surroundings, he found most of the cells around filled with their usual inhabitants – all sleeping at this hour. Looking to his left, he noticed a pair of bright blue eyes piercing the semi-darkness, studying his every moves.

''… Sorry if I woke you up,'' softly said Maelon.

''I wasn't sleeping,'' simply answered the other in the same level of voice. ''… Nightmare?''

''A most vicious one...''

Etnar got up from his cot, grabbing a small wooden bowl and plunging it into a bucket near the door of his cell. He approached the bars seperating him from the Half-Drow, offering the dish.

''Come, have some water. … Onyx usually asks of his men to leave me plenty so I can keep my strength. I don't mind sharing.''

Maelon didn't need to be told twice, reaching the bars and thankfully holding the bowl. He sat down, back against the cool metal of his prison, patiently drinking only to savor the freshness of the liquid. The Dragonborn sat on his knees, silently observing his neighbor and most specifically the scars at his back.

''… I'm sorry I didn't heal those properly in time,'' started the green one. ''It's easier for me to cure fresh wounds. Those at your back are already healing. At least there doesn't seem to be any infection.''

The Half-Drow sighed, putting the bowl down.

''And to be honest, I don't think I would've wanted you to heal them,'' he answered next. ''… Let this be a reminder to my shame, my mistakes. I shouldn't have gotten drunk on that night. I should've stayed home and mourn in peace.''

''Mourn what?''

Maelon vaguely waved the question away, prefering not to answer.

''No matter,'' continued the elf. ''Let's not dwell on the past for now.''

''There is always another dawn, indeed,'' solemnly said Etnar.

That brought Maelon to raise a brow, slightly turning to glance at the other. Silently, the Dragonborn brought a hand through the bars, his claw starting to trace a symbol in the dirt and sand on the floor. Before the Half-Drow's red eyes the shape of a circle took form, a simple horizontal line crossing it, half another circle being drawn inside and adorned with simple lines resembling rays. He recognized the symbol to be one associated with Lathander.

''… Wait, is Lathander your god?'' asked Maelon, lightly incredulous.

''Years ago, an old Human cleric resided in your cell,'' started Etnar, calmly finishing his pattern. ''He was part of an exchange and was appointed to be my personal healer. … Dawnbringer Caleb was everything to me. He was patient, kind, never faulting me for my sins. He taught me his ways in secret to the best of his abilities. That doesn't make me a perfect follower of the Morninglord, but I respect his ideals.''

For the first time since he was held up, Maelon saw a feeling of hurt in Etnar's gaze.

''In the end, Caleb's kindness caught up to Onyx and he was displeased. … He doesn't want me to think or even have empathy, gods forbid. Onyx wants me to kill and kill some more. To win and bathe in my victim's blood.'' In a single swipe, he erased the symbol he drew. ''I was ordered to kill the cleric in a one on one combat – that was to be my lesson as to not make friends anymore. … Caleb never expressed fear nor anger by that resolve. He was glad to die by my hand.''

The Half-Drow was speechless at first, somehow feeling both repulsion and anger at such a cruel fate. He finally found the will to speak, searching for and holding Etnar's gaze as to put emphasis to his words.

''I'm sorry you had to go through this,'' he started. ''I can't even imagine how it must've felt to execute such a vile command.''

''I've done worse things,'' added the Dragonborn. ''… I've killed women and children – all in cold blood. I've followed orders simply because I wanted to live.''

Maelon considered his next words: ''All while it may have been done out of selfishness, can you really blame yourself? … All are destined to die, but you may yet be able to absolve your acts by escaping this place and spreading good in return.''

Etnar's gaze grew lightly, sustaining the other's stare.

''… You sound just like him,'' he finally replied, a light chuck escaping. ''Caleb also thought I could do good in this world. I don't know how he could see that, but I wanted to believe him… At part of me, at least.''

''That’s already a step in the right direction.''

He felt a genuine feeling from the Half-Drow, somehow in disbelief that he'd show kindness after the hell he's put him through out in the ring. Wanting to shake the feeling, at least for tonight, Etnar lightly patted the other's shoulder, about to move away.

''Try to get some more rest,'' he advised. ''There’s no telling what the next few days might bring. I'll try to go easy on you, for now.''

Maelon stopped him quickly, keeping a hold on the Dragonborn's hand.

''... Thank you for telling me.'' He held the other's gaze. ''I don't know what I did to deserve such revelation, but I'll have you know that your trust is well-founded.''

''Try not to get your hopes too high,'' replied Etnar. ''Things move fast in this world and you could very well be dead tomorrow. … My plan still stand to be accomplished alone, but if you're still alive by that point, then you may follow me.''

And that was good enough for the Half-Drow, at least for now. He nodded, accepting this fate and semblance of a deal. The gears of his mind were already turning, knowing moving forward he could start concocting an escape plan.

***

The days turned to weeks and soon to months.

By the end of the third, Maelon had grown accustomed – and annoyed – of his daily routine. Sleep. Eat. Get out of his cell and do repairs or cleaning tasks around the lair. Get washed, if lucky. Eat. Sleep. But in that time he had been watching his surroundings like a hawk. Noticing every nooks and crannies, memorizing the guards' patrol patterns and their flaws. Etnar had also shared his findings when they were alone or very late at night, consolidating any and all outcomes they could ever face if they ever tried to escape. The big question was when and still somehow how.

In those plotting hours, both males had started to develop a chemistry – a camaraderie born out of gossips and skills sharing. Also, surprisingly, Etnar had a good sense of humor that parallelled perfectly with Maelon's! Both held to eachother's presence like a lifeline: the promise of better days to come once they'd get out of this cursed place...

Once more an usual day came, slaves at work in the ring only to repair the last damages from previous combats. Hammering at his usual post, Maelon would sometime glance around, an habit at this point. His eyes did fall back on Etnar, the Dragonborn on wood-chopping duties. This time he had been handed scraps of wood, most of them still featuring metal rings around the logs. The Half-Drow watched attentively as the other effortlessly swinged his axe, slicing through the wood – and through its metal! Maelon brought a hand towards his neck instinctively, as if testing his collar to see if it was still there... … There was hope. Maybe Etnar's power would be enough to break that damned thing, afterall.

Lost in thoughts, he did not notice a presence approaching his side, many dispersing around to give space. Receiving a punch to the face, Maelon was thrown off by such force and fell to the ground, shocked. He looked towards his aggressor, instantly seeing Onyx who was displaying anger on his features.

''You PATHETIC worm!'' he shouted. ''You're nothing but trouble!''

He kicked the Half-Drow twice; first to his side, then aiming straight for his head again. Maelon could barely breathe, too winded from those blows. Onyx merely nodded to some close guards, ordering for them to lift the dark elf up. Barely able to stand upright, Maelon was now facing the Wood Elf, confused and panting – yet expecting more blows to come.

''Because of you I'm now a target to the Drows! The Barrison Del'Armgo house is menacing to send assassins so they can drown traces of your existence.''

The slave half-smiled, still panting slightly.

''… I told you my mother wants nothing from me. All she ever wanted was to rise in her ranks, and I am nothing more than her personal shame.'' He spat out some blood before adding: ''You just outed her biggest secret, now she'll want to kill you only to prove that she still holds power.''

He received another punch, this time to his stomach. The blow was enough for the guards' hold to slip, the Half-Drow then falling to his knees. Onyx grabbed a strong handful of hair at the top of Maelon's head, forcing the dark one's red eyes to look up.

''What a fucking shame, I wanted to keep you around, but now I'll have to kill you so I can get your stupid bitch of a mother off my back.''

''Then stop whining and get on with it,'' groaned Maelon through gritted teeth, trying to surpass his feeling of hurt.

This was it. The end. The Half-Drow knew there was nothing he could do to escape his faith as he saw Onyx grab a nine-stranded whip strapped to his waist, its endings adorned with little barbs and blades, ready to slice. The slaver motionned to his guards once more.

''Remove his shirt. Let's first add some more love marks on that back of his.'' He straightened the tails in an echoing clack. ''If I'm to take a life today, I want to have fun with it.''

As Maelon was forced out of his shirt, his gaze landed on Etnar for a brief moment, seeing the Dragonborn frozen and alert; his posture screaming danger. On his knees still, the dark elf's back was now facing his tormentor, displaying his previous scars. It didn't take long for Onyx to brandish the first strike, the first slap resonating along Maelon's scream, long gashes of blood already painting his ash-colored skin. He just wanted to die already. Why would he need to go through all that suffering? One strike after another, Maelon's shouts were more out of anger than pain at this point, cursing the man who was toying with the very thread of his existence.

He lost count of the strikes, only to realize at some point that the pain had stopped. Shaking, Maelon observed the people around, eyes wide as they were looking toward Onyx's position. He turned around with a wince, then seeing Etnar standing close with an arm raised to get the whip's tails wrapped around his forearm and stop the blows.

The green Dragonborn was frowning, looking down his master with a rage he solely reserved to people he battled against in the ring. Onyx was confused at first, trying to get his weapon back, but struggling as Etnar pulled on the straps easily, the blades sinking into his scales as his stare hardened even more.

''You stupid dog, you dare stand up for this FILTH?''

''No more,'' growled the Dragonborn.

He released the whip from his hold, still standing between Maelon and Onyx. The Wood Elf straightened his posture, a crooked smile on his lips as he folded his weapon.

''I see.... You're right, I shouldn't touch that disgusting creature anymore.'' He holsted the whip back to his hip. ''In fact, you'll spare me the hard work by doing it yourself.''

Etnar's expression faltered for a moment, knowing very well where this was heading. A dark chuck left Onyx.

''Oh yes, you know very well I don't approve your desobediance. I'm not gonna let another Caleb kind of situation slip once more.''

''Stop trying to break his will, you vile man,'' let out Maelon.

''Shut up, you piece of shit!'' barked the slaver. ''He's my champion, my property! I did not raise him to pity on garbage like you.''

He shook his sudden rage off, catching some guards' attention to grab Maelon once more.

''Bring them back to their cells. I don't want to see their faces for the rest of the day.'' He looked at Etnar next, adding emphasis to his words with an accusating finger. ''And you, rest up. I don't suspect you'll have much energy to spend in order to slice this pathetic Drow, but I want you to be quick enough to end his life as fast as possible.''

Etnar didn't answer in words, but rather with a sharp exhale through his nostrils and a grunt.

Both slaves were escorted back to their cages, the Dragonborn allowed to walk in while Maelon was thrown carelessly. Both waited for the guards to walk away, the Half-Drow finally allowing himself to wince in pain from all the new gashes he now had on his back. Etnar was walking in circles, visibly concerned about how things were unfolding.

''I knew it was bound to happen again,'' he muttered. ''I shouldn't have stepped in. I should've just waited and watch and-''

''Hey,'' called out Maelon.

The green one stopped, his gaze planted on the elf. He couldn't stop himself from approaching the bars seperating their cells, anger coloring his traits.

''Don't you understand!?'' barked out Etnar. ''He's asking me to do the same fucking thing I did to Dawnbringer Caleb!'' For a moment his emotion flickered, expressing desperation. ''… I doomed you. This fucking cell is cursed! Whoever steps in it is bound to die by my hand and I just FUCKING can't anymore!''

Maelon approached in turn, visibly frustrated.

''Listen to me,'' he started. ''You saved me back there, don't you realize it? If you hadn't intervened, Onyx would've killed me after toying like the twisted man he is!''

''But-''

''You gave us a chance. Tomorrow, we're escaping.''

Etnar's gaze grew, surprised.

''… How?''

Maelon took a deep breath in, trying to ease his pain so he could think clearly.

''… Back at the pit, I saw you chop logs that had metal rings around them. I realize now that your strength could break my collar.''

The Dragonborn considered the metal piece around the Half-Drow's neck, grabbing it and lightly pulling as if to test its general resistance.

''Not with my bare hands, that's for sure.''

''Then with an axe, yes.''

''Are you crazy? I might chop your head off!'' snarled the lizard.

Maelon was still serious: ''If we time our movements correctly, that won't be the case. I've seen you chop enough stuff for the last few months that now I have a good idea of your velocity. I'll know when to step back.''

''And if we miss? What if I get you and you die?''

The Drow sighed, knowing this was still a huge risk.

''Then you rage and you fight your way out of this stupid place. … You deserve to be free, Etnar! Like you said; no more.''

For the first time since his capture, Maelon saw tears swell up in the brute's eyes.

''… I believe in you,'' continued the elf, calm. ''As much as it is okay to think about any bad outcomes, I have faith it will not come to that. … We will get out of this place together, trust me.''

He felt Etnar's hands against his shoulders, the Dragonborn then bowing his head as he moved the Elf closer, resting his scaly forehead against the other's through the bars as best they could, solemnly. Both eyes were closed, taking in this moment of grace as a chance to ground themselves back to a calm state.

''… I was ready to die back there,'' added Maelon, both still in their position. ''Gods, I'm so fed up with life. You're the only one keeping me safe and alive right now.''

''And you're giving me hope,'' replied Etnar. ''… I never thought I could feel that again.''

Moving back and looking at eachother once more, the Half-Drow raised a hand, waiting for a strong handshake with a decided smile.

''Then let's make this shit happen. Time to plan.''

Etnar's hand didn't wait to join his across the bars, smiling in turn.

***

Etnar had been praying for most of the night. He wanted Lathander to grant him the strength to not hit and kill Maelon. He wanted the sun lord to guide him, to show him the path to freedom – a renewal. In visions he saw flames, lots of them, engulfing the slaver’s lair and destroying this hellish ring. In an echo he heard Onyx scream, guards perish, slaves running free. At once, Etnar knew this was an omen for things to come.

When the next day came, both men remained impassible as they were dragged out of their cages, the other slaves rallied up and chained in the stands only to watch the undeniable outcome of trying to befriend the butcher. Maelon didn’t need to be prepared, only left to stand in the middle of the arena with only his bare hands as a protection. Etnar, on the other hand, had been given the usual treatment as before any combat; proper attire and weapon. This was nothing else but entertainment to Onyx’s eyes, and he wanted his dear pet dog to understand that all prey were equal; that all were to be butchered the same.

Walking inside the ring, Etnar made some steps towards the Half-Drow, then stopped by the slaver’s voice raising for all to hear:

“It’s not often I bring all of our head counts to watch a show, yet today is a rather exceptional day!” He gestured towards Maelon with a sly smile. “For before us stands a son of a Lolthsworn house, a Barrison Del’Armgo no less! Let’s give him an applause, come on. We rarely get some blue blood in here, even though this one’s dirty.”

The guards were laughing and clapping, while the slaves were shyly executing the order. What a farce, thought Maelon.

“If you fancy yourself a chance against my champion,” continued Onyx, “I will offer you a chance to grab a weapon of your choice on that rack over there,” he vaguely motionned towards said stand with a couple of blades and maces stashed onto it. “I don’t think you’d last long, but hey – maybe you’ll color me surprised, who knows.” He accorded an attention to Etnar: “You know what to do,” he simply said.

The Half-Drow and Dragonborn took a moment to look at eachother, Maelon mouthing a “let’s play along for a while” as he then calmly made his way towards the weapon rack. Etnar knew he’d have to control himself, knowing too well that the rush of combat usually took the best of him. He watched as Maelon chose a scimitar, studying the blade for a moment and giving it a couple of swings to understand its weight. The Dragonborn’s visions came back in his mind, remembering the flames, the screams, the fleeing. At once he steeled himself, knowing he could do this.

“Bring it on,” only said Maelon, looking at Etnar with a smirk, ready to dance.

The green one rushed with a roar, readying his axe. Maelon, on the other hand, seemed quite at ease with his weapon of choice, his stance learned and ready to face his rushing opponent. The elf first parried the axe’s swing with a resonating clash, dodging the attack in a graceful swing and swirling out of reach, blade at the ready. He was fast.

“Heh, not bad,” commented Etnar with slight amusement, stabilizing himself from that counter.

“I’ve got more tricks to show.”

In the instances that they clashed weapons, that gave Maelon enough insight to confirm his theories about the barbarian’s strength and velocity – to which he felt comfortable with. It was however a real endurance challenge to keep up with the brute, having spent many months without handling a scimitar now.

As the show kept ongoing, Onyx was starting to lose patience, while low-key impressed that a whelp would last this long against his champion.

“Enough fooling around!” blastered the slaver to Etnar. “Finish him!”

That was the signal for both of them. Maelon crossed the other’s gaze, quickly nodding that it was now time. Raising his axe high, Etnar silently hoped for the best, lowering his weapon with a roar towards Maelon’s offered neck. The Half-Elf’s expression was one of a calculated mind; as if seeing everything in slow motion. As he felt the blade starting to crack the metal, he followed the motion around and gracefully rolled out of the pressure only to leave Etnar planting his blade in the patted sand below.

Silence fell on the scene, all actors immobile for a moment and panting. Maelon dared bring his hands to the metal collar, finally feeling it coming loose after all those months wearing it. Standing proud, he yanked it off his neck, throwing it away with force. He saw Onyx glued to his seat, eyes wide.

“… Now the real fun begins,” commented the Half-Drow.

He could feel his magic coming back to him, this powerful surge of energy. He only needed to muttered an ignis for flames to grace his palms – the familiar warmth bringing a smile to the wizard’s lips. He crossed Etnar’s gaze, both males all smiles at the prospect of their plan coming to fruition. Standing side by side now, Maelon was the first to strike towards the surrounding stadiums with a powerful “Arde!”, flames propulsed from his hands to light the wooden structure into a burning mess.

“STOP HIM!” shouted Onyx.

But his command fell into thin air as people were already screaming and scrambling around to avoid the mess. Etnar took this rampage opportunity to rush towards the other slaves still chained to the stands, breaking the locks with his axe and urging them to run towards the exit as the wizard was still burning things around. One elf slave did shout for Etnar to look out as one guard was rushing to stop him, but this time the Dragonborn did not hesitate to expose all of his assets, exclaming with a swift movement of his hand “Incende”, bringing forth a sacred flame upon the rushing soldier.

“Now we’re talkin’!” commented Maelon with a shout, happy to see Etnar finally embrace his cleric side.

The place was gradully becoming hell, flames now rightfully eating the ring they were standing right in the middle of. Rejoining the Half-Drow, greataxe in hands, both males took a moment to observe the chaos, slightly unable to believe the situation they were now in. They only got out of this reverie as they heard an angered cry rushing their way.

“You son of a bitch!” yelled Onyx.”I have to do everything myself!”

He was already brandishing his whip, ready to strike, but Maelon did not spare a second to bring forth a greenish hue to his hands, shouting a “Time,” to his attacker. Onyx faltered to the necrotic touch, falling to his knees. He didn’t have time to assess his situation that he felt a strong grip to his hair, tilting his head backward and now looking at a rather angered Etnar. A stiffled and weak laugh left the Wood Elf;

“Well, boy, how does it feel to hold me that way?” he asked.

“Like I could snap you easily like a twig,” menaced the Dragonborn.

“Careful, son, now that I see you’re also a cleric, it’s be very against your nature to do so.”

“Can’t help doing what I was raised to do.”

“Etnar, we need to move,” urged Maelon.

Looking around, the fire had now propagated to other parts of the lair, threatening other structures. The heat and smoke was getting thicker by the moment.

“Yes, run, boy,” cackled Onyx. “But I will find you again, or maybe you’ll follow my scent and come back like the obedient dog you are.”

The Dragonbon exhaled sharply through his nostrils, pushing the Elf down in a harsh manner against the sand.

“Pathetic reptile!” spat out Onyx.

Maelon had enough of his bullshit: “You speak too much,” he simply said in annoyance.

As the Wood Elf looked up to him, the wizard took this opportunity to get a small revenge by whipping a flame to the slaver’s face, winning a yelp from him and now granting him with a burn scar on the left side of his face.

Both slaves were now running, weapons and magic in hands. Every guards they encountered who dared stand in their way were met with the unfortunate fate of being sliced and burned. They’ve never felt more alive than now, braving any obstacles together in this synergy they didn’t know they possessed. Maelon followed Etnar, the barbarian more knowledgeable about the final stretches of this place. They accompanied running slaves towards the exit, the Dragonborn slicing through the hardened wooden doors in order to get them opened. After making sure everyone got out, Maelon spotted large rocks near the cave’s entrance ceiling, pointing them with a “Tormentum”, flashes of red escaping his hands and provoking a rockslide to block the exit for any slavers remaining inside.

“May they rot and burn,” commented Maelon, satisfied with his work. He then quickly patted Etnar’s shoulder, urging him to get on the move. “Come on, we need to run far, now!”

The Dragonborn finally detached his eyes from the cave, only to be instantly blinded by the brilliant sun in the sky. He froze for a second, suddenly realizing where he was. A small fear took hold of him at the single thought that he was out. Finally out! Urged again, Etnar finally got on the move with a renewed energy, taking a good breathe in and reveling in the sun’s warmth against his scales.

Praised be Lathander!

***

They found refuge behind a waterfall, nestled inside an opening in the rocks. Grabbing some spare wood closeby, Maelon assembled a small firepit, lighting it up with his magic. The night fell rapidly, dropping the temperature alongside it. As the Half-Drow was sitting close to the flames, his gaze did wander to the opening of the cave, noticing Etnar standing still as he observed the dark sky through an opening beside the waterfall. Call it childlike wonder – Maelon knew this feeling must have felt novel after so many years spent in the dark of an underground cell...

The half-elf mustered some resolve as he finally walked away from the fire and wandred into the crisp air, joining the other. The sky was beautiful tonight... Littered with stars, their brillance was akin to a celebration for their successful escape. The duo was silent, slowly taking in this fresh breeze and all this weight and stress off their shoulders...

''… Sometimes I recall memories of my childhood village,'' started Etnar, calmly. ''The large fields, its people joyously laboring their crops, the apple tree in our backyard... And the stars. Gods, I remember. My parents would bring me out of bed sometimes, late at night, and tell me stories about them.''

Maelon smiled softly, looking toward the Dragonborn.

''What were your parents like?''

The other sighed, lightly saddened to bring them back into his mind, yet knowing he needed their spirits right about now.

''My father was a circle of stars druid who had travelled across many parts of Faerûn until he settled to our village. My mother had long retired from her soldiering days due to an injury and had planted her roots there as well – before my father. They met and supported one another as there weren't many Dragonborns around, then things led to one another and thus I arrived, I suppose.'' he lightly chuckled, then returning to a pensive expression. ''They were good people, always ready to help others. … They did everything in their power to protect me when Onyx and his men came; I'll never forget their sacrifice.''

''I'm sure they'd be proud to see you standing here tonight – free, at last.''

That brought a wave of relief over Etnar, finally looking over to the Half-Drow. He brought a hand to Maelon's shoulder, patting it in gratitude.

''I could've never done it without you,'' he said. ''I was wrong to think otherwise when we first met.''

''What are you going to do now that we're out?'' carefully asked Maelon

Seeing the incertitude cross Etnar's eyes, the wizard gently grabbed his wrist, catching his attention once more.

''… Come with me to Baldur's Gate,'' said the grey one. ''I can help you settle and show you around a bit. I-...'' He stumbled a bit on his next words. ''… I just can't see myself without you right now. I don't know how to explain it.''

After all they've been through, parting ways simply felt strange. Maelon felt deep in his core an attachment he had rarely felt towards anyone that wasn't in his immediate family. He knew, somehow, that his fate was enterwined with the Dragonborn's. Etnar must've felt the same, nodding once.

''I'll go wherever you go.''

The Half-Drow hesitated once more, only finding courage as he stared right into the lizard's icy blue eyes.

''I want this to mean something,'' he started. ''I want us to seal this night with a bond that can never be broken.''

Intrigued, Etnar followed the other as they moved back to the fire. Maelon knelt down, looking for rocks scattered around. He finally got a hold of one, hitting it against a surface as to break some of its edges and render it sharp. In a precise move, the Drow sliced the inside of his right palm, leaving a long bloodied opening. The Dragonborn was slightly taken aback first, then guessing the other's intentions as he was handed that same rock.

''… We found eachother in a time where we were most needed for one another. Let us be brothers in spirit and blood, for that is how I feel towards you tonight,'' declared Maelon.

Moved by his words, Etnar took the sharp stone in turn, slicing his right palm as well. Blood spilling, they both didn't wait any longer to join their hand, keeping near – eyes closed. Feeling a bit of warmth over his scales, the Dragonborn eyed for a moment only to realize that the wizard was muttering some fire spell to seal their hand union. Inspired, Etnar joined with a sacred flame in prayer, twisting radiance and flames together.

In an instant, the light was gone, yet both remained in place simply to take in this event that had occurred. Finally daring to look at eachother once more, Maelon's smile was soft as he simply whispered a 'thank you'. Etnar on the other hand did not hesitate to grin and bring the other closer into a tight embrace, savoring this newfound alliance.

From this night, both now shared a common scar; this one induced from pure love, blood and fire. Blessed by the light of stars and the oncoming dawn, a new chapter was being written for those two once broken souls.

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