"Saya, Saya, Saya." Liira stretched out the syllables further each time in that lilting voice of hers. She slung an arm around her waist, feeling the cool black metal under her hand. Sayalaran looked down at her with a disapproving look, but didn't speak. "I know you think this is dangerous, but no rewards come without risk. I know and appreciate you aren't exactly ambitious, but I'm certainly not content to remain a minor noble forever. Besides, I want darling Myrae to chase her own aspirations without having to kill all our older sisters in the process. For that, I need to be the obvious choice for heiress, and that takes gold. Gold you will get your fair share of." She poked Sayalaran's cheek, grinning.
Sayalaran gently pushed her off, and moved ahead of her. "I'm well aware of that, mistress Liira. I would accompany you even without such a reward. It is my duty to protect you as well as mistress Myrae. In this moment, protection is urging caution. And while I can't insist you follow that advice, I can insist you stay behind me. This close to the surface the passageways are not all safe." Liira stuck out her tongue at that, and Sayalaran rolled her eyes before turning to face forwards. She started walking again and the others followed.
Liira moved slowly, letting herself drift back to her sister's side. Myrae looked at her for a moment, and then set her eyes back on the tunnel in front of them. "Saya's right, you know. We need to stay together and pay attention. There could be more monsters, or surface folk. All the gold we can carry would still be worthless to us if we're dead." Liira rolled her eyes, and then Myrae looked at her with a stern expression. "I mean it. Don't get yourself killed." Liira looked taken aback for a second, and then Myrae laughed. "After all, you're the only tolerable sister I have. Don't force me to back Vranna instead." They both started giggling.
"I would never, favorite sister of mine. But you really don't need to worry. You know Sayalaran is unassailable! Maybe not as well as I do, since you've never had to spar her. And we have the blessings of the Dark Mother on our venture." She glanced back at the priestess they had hired to accompany them. She didn't look like she was paying their conversation much attention. "This should be ample protection, especially against some pathetic surface-dwellers. The gold is as good as ours, and with luck we may even bring back some slaves. Wouldn't that be fun? Something a little more exotic than the ones back home?" Myrae shrugged. Liira bumped her shoulder, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Or maybe something more feminine? I can let Saya know to try and catch a pretty one for you..." Myrae looked away, and didn't muster a response to that. That made Liira snicker to herself, and pat her little sister's shoulder a few times before falling back.
The priestess, Faera, looked at her quizzically. "Are you always like this, or are your nerves getting to you? Nevermind. I only wish to clarify something. You mentioned taking slaves. How high of a priority is that, and how will that factor into payment? I'm not particularly interested in slaves." She had one eyebrow raised. Liira nodded, thinking for a moment before replying. "A priority, but the lowest. Our safety is first, then gold and material goods, and then slaves. Cute ones for Myrae and I to keep, rather than strong ones or whatever it is that fetches the highest prices at the market. As for payment, we will divide the coins evenly. Other loot, we can divide amongst ourselves by mutual agreement. If anything is contentious or not especially appealing, we sell it and split that payment. Does that sound agreeable?" Faera responded with a curt nod, which was good enough for Liira. She was glad that was a workable arrangement. The last thing she wanted to do was come up with an exact scheme for how to divide the take before they even knew what it would be.
She settled back into her proper position in the line, ahead of Myrae and behind Saya. Sayalaran was easily the tallest of them, standing at 5'4". She had a muscular figure, in a lithe and athletic way. She was surprisingly agile even when in a full suit of plate armor. A long braided ponytail hung out of the back of her helmet. Liira was about average height for a drow at an even 5 feet, and possessed a slender build. She was wearing quilted armor, dyed in dark colors and thick enough to catch an arrow. Her hair was chopped short in a messy way, fluffy bangs not quite long enough to get in her eyes. Myrae clearly resembled her sister, although she was exceptionally short at 4'6". She was in a set of lavender robes that didn't much muffle the faint jingle of chain mail as she walked. Her hair was longer and drawn back in two large pigtails, with the same fluffy texture. Faera stood at 4'10", although she wore shoes with raised soles that brought her eye-to-eye with Liira. Her hair was straight and sleek, long white tresses that hung down to her waist. She was wearing some sort of corset, black with silver filigree in a web pattern. And that was all she was wearing, aside from some jewelry, leaving her arms and legs bare. Liira thought it was preposterous, although she wouldn't dare say as much. Sayalaran wondered how it was proper wear for combat, but it wasn't her place to question it. Myrae was just doing her best not to turn her head and stare.
The next couple hours wore on with little incident as they made their way further towards the surface. Liira continued to flit around between the others, never content to stay in one place. Sayalaran wouldn't let her take point, and the changing scenery of the tunnels only provided so much excitement. It was growing less and less familiar the further towards the surface they traveled, but that was only an idle curiosity. The stone tunnel they had been following eventually opened into a large rocky chamber, with dozens of other tunnels branching off from it. Some were carved by tools, but most looked like they had been formed by the whims of nature. One tunnel in particular caught Liira's eye, although it was barely a tunnel at all.
A ring of rough rock opened up to air and an alien landscape. The ground was dirt, but hardly visible for all the grasses and weeds that rooted in it. Trees, massive unruly ones, sprouted forth in the distance. Fungi could be seen on the side of the closest one, but it was pallid and shed no light. Instead, the light shone down from above, tiny pinpricks among a vaulted ceiling of some exquisitely marbled black stone. Liira, Myrae, and Sayalaran stepped forward cautiously. They barely kept to their marching order, each trying to get a better view of the wondrous sights before them. It didn't only look bizarre and awe-inspiring, but the air held a bevy of strange scents and carried an exceptional chill, while distant noises of unfamiliar creatures reached their long, delicate ears. It was beautiful, but plainly wrong, and held the trio nearly spellbound.
Faera stepped past them, fixing the trio with a condescending glance. "Don't tell me this is your first sojourn to the surface? Oh, of course it is. Well, come along. There is only so much time before the night ends and this place makes its accursed nature more obvious. The road should not be far from here. We should find a caravan camped along it easily enough."
Liira nodded, and took another glance up at the ceiling. Her eyes lingered on the largest, brightest point of light in it. Could something so gorgeous really enflame into a cursed, painful sight? Probably. "Right, and the surfacers should be sleeping. So any of their things—" she glanced at Myrae with a grin, "—and any of them we find appealing are as good as ours."
It did not take that long to find the road, many stones fit together in an ongoing path, carrying on in a straight line. It took even less time of travel along the road to notice the light of a burning flame some distance ahead. They stepped off of the road, slowly approaching while quietly forming a strategy. They found a secluded space near enough to spy on the flame, sheltered by a treeline. The camp itself was in a site a little ways off the road to one side. Multiple wagons and carriages were arranged around the fire, along with horses to pull them, and the figure of one surface-dweller tending the fire. They would wait a little longer to see if the one on watch would retire themselves, and if not then they would just have to kill them quietly. From there it would be simple to slit the rest's throats, or gag and tress up any worth keeping, then commandeer a wagon full of the best goods. Taking more than one was possible, but would likely pose more trouble in leading back down than was worthwhile. It wasn't a complicated plan, and that was a good thing. It likely would have worked, if an arrow hadn't pierced Myrae in her back from behind.
She cried out in pain, and doubled over forwards. Sayalaran leapt to get between her and the unseen archer, while Liira scrambled to draw her bow, nock an arrow, and scan the area for the archer. She wanted to tend to her little sister first, but couldn't afford to. Myrae was loosing a string of curses, so she was at least alive. Faera looked over toward the camp, and the watchman getting up. She glanced at Myrae, swore, and bolted. Liira groaned. Over Myrae's cursing (she had nothing but sympathy but could her sister please in the name of the Weaver do something) and Sayalaran asking for orders she heard a shout of something she didn't quite understand from the woods. A reply came back from the camp, then Faera fell to the ground. She probably shouldn't have felt a pang of satisfaction at that, but she did. More importantly, she had a better idea of the archer's position, and fired a shot toward them. An arrow came back, this time burying itself in the dirt a bit short. The archer had hidden behind a tree, and Liira had her bow trained on it.
"Sister! Behind us!" Myrae hissed that out, followed by something well and truly unintelligible. Liira glanced behind herself and saw a number of armed surfacers moving toward them, because of course there were. Sayalaran spun to face them with a sword, while Myrae tried to shakily rise to her feet. Liira started to panic, and then forced herself to take a deep breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest, as she tried to think of a way out. She opened her mouth, and then shouted out a word in that mongrel surface tongue. «Surrender!» The surfacers didn't seem to react, and she hurriedly called out again, louder. «We surrender! Mercy! Parley!» She took a few deep breaths, and then hissed out to her comrades in her native tongue. "We're surrendering. Stay defensive just in case, but don't attack." Myrae and Sayalaran looked at her with surprise, but the utter shame of her decision could wait. She could feel pathetic later, when she was still alive.
The surfacers had paused for a second, but then continued to approach with weapons drawn. It was slower, though, and no outright attack came. Slowly and carefully, Liira tried to ease the tension out of her bow. One of the surfacers, a human, spoke up in a language Liira wished she had studied better. «Why accept surrender from evil marauding bandits? I reckon we ought to kill you and do the world a favor.»
Myrae was about to reply, and she did speak the language better, but Liira put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. «Not bandits. You attack us. Archer.» Her heart was still pounding, but she was practiced at lying under stress. And that was barely a lie. Some nerves had crept into her voice, but that would only help her seem honest, and was probably dwarfed by her atrocious accent anyways.
The human—the humans, really, looking at them—seemed taken aback by that. One of them, not the one who had been speaking, called a name into the woods. The other continued. «And those weapons you have?»
«Defense. Only shot back once.» She let the arrow fall from her hand to emphasize that. Then she took her newly free hand and pointed to Myrae, who was making a spirited effort not to loose more curses. «You kill one us. You hurt her. Help?» That was met with a long silence.
That was finally broken by another surfacer coming out of the woods, muttering. It was quiet and intermittent, and a warped and broken dialect, but still recognizable in snippets as her native tongue. An elf, disgustingly pale and holding a full longbow. No wonder it split the rings, but what was a caravan's lookout doing with that? The surface elf raised her voice, as she passed. "Filthy lying vermin. Should have shot them all." Liira set her teeth, and listened to the elf and the human debate in whispers. They weren't as quiet as they thought they were, but it was still difficult to entirely understand the foreign tongue. Not that she really needed to. The human was questioning why the elf shot, and the elf insisted on finishing what she had started. Liira glanced over to scan the rest of their surroundings, and saw movement in the distance. Discreetly, she focused her gaze on what looked suspiciously like a silhouette of Faera running away. Worthless. Had she even actually been shot?
Eventually, the human raised his voice. He cut off the elf when she was about to speak, and Liira gladly took that small satisfaction. «I don't trust you aren't bandits. You are still drow. But we won't kill you. If you surrender your weapons, we'll treat the girl.»
Liira swallowed. She didn't entirely trust that was honest. But what could they do? Fight, and all die anyways? Sayalaran would certainly take many of the surface bastards with her, but vengeance held little value when you were too dead to savor it. She took a deep breath, and nodded her head. «We surrender.» She glanced at Myrae, who nodded her head, still hissing in pain. Then she looked at Sayalaran, who didn't know the surface language at all. "They've accepted the surrender. But we need to abandon our weapons. Probably your armor. I'm sorry, but—"
"Alright." Sayalaran cut her off, and lowered her sword and shield to the ground. Obedient to a fault. Liira set her bow down, and in good faith set down the daggers she had at her waist. Reluctantly, Myrae fished out a stiletto from wherever she was hiding it and dropped it as well. Sayalaran pulled off her helmet, and stuck close by Liira as the surfacers surrounded them.
A couple dropped down to attend to Myrae, if in minimal fashion. Someone had brought out a small candle light for their pathetic eyes to see by as they pulled the arrow out. Myrae decidedly did not voice sounds of relief, but that wasn't surprising. The candle was blown out, and then the three were led toward the fire. Liira felt humiliated for her defeat at the hands of a gaggle of human merchants, but with a little edge of pride at having talked a way out of it. That began to wilt when the lengths of rope were brought out.
It was uncomfortable. It wasn't fantastic rope work, but it managed to dig in and keep her attention in a way a more secure set of restraints might not have managed. Myrae was managing to sleep regardless; maybe her binds weren't as bad, but Liira suspected the discomfort was entirely intentional. That mongrel elf had done the knots, after all. But she would gladly suffer it, because she could get out of it. She simply had to wait for the right moment. She smiled at Sayalaran, who was sitting next to her in the cramped wagon. Her intricately patterned armor had been stolen, and it was strange to see her in only the padding. Saya looked understandably perturbed by their predicament, but nodded at Liira's smile. They both glanced at Myrae nestled between them, softly snoring. Liira spared a sidelong glance at the wagon's other occupant, a human who didn't look much happier to be stuck in it than they did. Liira smiled at him, with an expression of faux-nervousness.
Time wore on uneventfully for a little while longer. Then a faint light started to filter into the wagon. It wasn't so bad at first. It was even strangely wondrous to see that vast ceiling overhead magically shift its hue. As it grew lighter, the marbling and brilliant specks were washed out, but the color itself was more vivid. Too vivid. It shifted to a light and brilliant blue that stung to look at. Worse yet, there was some hole that had been punched into it that let out an even more intense, harsh light. Liira screwed her eyes shut and turned her head away. Occassionally she cracked one open, but no matter how long she waited it hadn't relented. In her squinting checks, it seemed Sayalaran had a similar idea, though she just hung her head down. Myrae, meanwhile, had turned on her side and nestled her face into Sayalaran. The human, meanwhile, seemed the same as he had before. Maybe a little less disgruntled, somehow.
The surface also grew too hot. Liira almost wished she had been stripped of her gambeson the way Saya's plate or Myrae's chain mail had been taken, so she could at least be cooler. But oddly, the skin on her face and hands, where her clothing didn't cover, felt even warmer. It wasn't that the air was hot, not entirely, it was like the light was. Almost as though she was sat near a fire. But unlike a fire, she couldn't just move back when it grew too much. Between it and the way the ropes were still digging in, Liira was starting to feel miserable. She was going to make the caravanners regret what they did. Especially the elf.
She heard a soft voice grumbling, and stole a glance to see Myrae stirring. Her heart went out to her poor sister, easily in the worst straits, but she couldn't move to offer any comfort or consolation. She could warn her, at least. "Myrae, don't open your eyes. Or if you must look around, open one only a little. The light here really does sting and burn. And there isn't much to see." Perhaps the scenery their wagon was trundling past would have been as wondrous and enchanting as their first glimpse of the surface, but even that wouldn't be worth the strain of looking towards it. Her eye was watering already, just from ensuring her sister had followed the advice, and she finally closed it.
A stream of little curses flitted past Myrae's lips for a while, joined by an occassional hiss of pain, as she tried to reposition herself, apparently without success. Finally, she gave up, still almost nestled against Sayalaran. "This is unacceptable, Liira. But I know death wouldn't have been better. What do we do?"
For a moment, only a moment, Liira had worried Myrae would have started protesting that they should have killed the caravanners. But she was smarter than that. Liira thought for a second before replying. "I know. But you saw what happened to Faera. Running wasn't an option. We just need to hope they'll see sense and let us go when they reach their destination, rather than execute us."
Myrae was clever. Liira had always admired her younger sister's ability to think of inventive solutions, and puzzle out clumsily concealed knowledge. So she had complete faith that she would understand why she hadn't mentioned escape or violence. There had been that elf before, but it was a human watching them. They were thoroughly bound, but not gagged. The caravanners suspected their intentinos, but stayed their hands out of doubt. They were either fools, or that man spoke the elvish tongue and they hoped to catch them plotting their revenge.
"Yes... It was truly foolish of us to expect the surface would be any better than what we fled." Myrae's voice quavered near the end, and Liira couldn't even tell if she had faked it.
That, in turn, had been enough to clue Sayalaran in. After so long not speaking, she sighed at length. "This place really is cursed. If they let us go I want nothing more than to flee home and never see this miserable place again."
Liira almost wanted to grin. Thankfully, the continuing discomfort more than stifled that tell. "Stay strong, sisters. They'll see reason eventually and set us free. We need to live for Faera." She opened her eyes wide, and immediately wished she hadn't. She glanced into that strange blue ceiling and let it sting her eyes until they welled up with tears. She blinked them out and let them trail down her face. She affected a sob to go along with it, not too loud, but enough to notice over the noise of the wheels. "Oh, Faera..."
She only wished she could take a glance at that man who was watching them, but that would be too obvious. It seemed time to curtail the theatrics, and the others seemed to agree. They kept their heads down, eyes shut, and tried to weather the worst of things as their wagon trundled along at the back of the caravan.