forum Beneath the Heavens Lies Cruelty and Hardship… But Here I Almost Feel Safe. (Closed 1/1) Stalkers welcome

Started August 08, 2023 by @Morals-are-for-mortals language

tune

The Manta palace was essentially a maze to any who were unfamiliar with it. A hulking display of power and wealth in the middle of the Snowy Mountains, hundreds of people were inside at all times.

And one of these people today was Qeen Fischer. She had explored the palace for a bit too long, entering a place that looked distinctly different from the rest. A dimly lit hallway with barred cells holding various different people. Some of them barely looked alive, not even bothering to look up at her. The whole place gave the feeling that no outsiders should be there. Or anyone at all.

But that wasn’t what had caught her attention—not completely. At the very end of the long hallway was a closed metal door with a key hook on the wall right next to it. It seemed almost convenient.

Qeen had sharp eyes. She was a curious person, deeply inquisitive, always poking her nose where it didn't belong. So it wasn't a surprise to find herself where she shouldn't be, the tall woman walks slowly, letting her cloak just scrape the floor as she walks. Her eyes flicker from the people in the holding cells, never lingering on one for more than a few seconds, avoiding making eye contact with the sorry folks that had the energy to raise their heads at her passing.

What did surprise her, was the ease of which secrets were being made available to her. It almost felt like cheating. A locked metal door, with keys conveniently provided right next to her? The bird woman makes a humming noise of curiosity, her face impassive, but her eyes narrowing in curiosity. This was too tantalizing to ignore. Like a tasty morsel left abandoned on a table.

Qeen raises her arm, the first time her cloak rippled enough to show even a hint of the body underneath. She gently touches the key ring, snatching them a second later. She pauses, head tilted and listening intently for anything.

The metal was cold in her palm and she shook the key ring slightly, listening to the pleasant sound of the keys hitting keys. Time to get in trouble.

Qeen inserts the key into the door, tugging hard to open the heavy metal door and poking her head inside.

The door opens with a dull creak.

What was inside may be more interesting than what Qeen could have imagined. A man—a Dark Dragon, without wings—sitting on the floor, which was stained with blood. Presumably, his.

He looked up at Qeen through the strands of hair covering his face. His eyes widened and he backed up against the wall to the best of his ability, a blackened hand placed in the small pool of blood and leaving a red handprint on the floor when he lowers it again. He appeared terrified, and yet didn’t make a single sound as he watched her.

Qeen's eyes widened significantly from their narrowed state. She's almost tempted to just close the door and walk away again and pretend she saw nothing. This was… Not at all what she was expecting. But absolutely fascinating.

With a slow deliberation, Qeen opens the door enough for her to slip into the room, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the metallic tang of blood, the smell was strong in the room. The cloaked woman observed the terrified man in silence for a long heartbeat, simply watching him.

Qeen walks, unfortunately, like a predator. She paces, inspecting from different angles, her yellow eyes bright with curiosity, though she doesn't emote much with her face. She watches him watch her, and finally after a few seconds, she speaks, her voice low and soft, but weighted in steel.

"Hello. I can honestly say, you were not what I was expecting when I opened this door." Qeen speaks politely, to the man, her head tilting to the side as she does so. She couldn't place his age immediately, though that might be because of the blood.

The man doesn’t move at all, analyzing her with his red eyes as she stalked around the room. If this was her idea of friendly, then it was a bad one. To him, at least. He just wanted to be left alone. Let him die in this damned room.

His head lowers ever so slightly at her words. That wasn’t what he was expecting, good or bad. But if she wasn’t here to continue the work of that Manta, then maybe..? No, don’t be hopeful. He shifted his position slightly to face her more, a barely audible wince as the movement brought ripples of pain throughout his body from his injuries.

He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it and stays silent. He moved the hair that was partly obscuring his face and looked up at her again. It was difficult to tell apart her features when he was stuck in this state of sight.

Qeen clicks her tongue in thought as she doesn't get a reply to her statement. Not particularly odd considering the circumstances, but she did feel like it was slightly rude. She was trying to be polite. Isn't that what you do when you meet a new person, strange or otherwise? Right, of course, introductions!

She moves closer to the man, not quite in range where they could touch, but definitely so she could see him better, but still have a reasonable chance at escape if it turned out the man sitting in a pool of his own blood was unhinged or violent. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea?

Qeen unveils one of her arms out of her cloak again, raising it to her chin, her expression thoughtful. A peculiar habit of hers was that Qeen often forgot to blink,she had to tap her leg in a rhythm to remind herself of when to do so. As a result, she stared a lot, and often, her yellow eyes wide to take in more details. She squashes the little intrusive thought that squirms up that she wanted to move all of his hair from his face, she really did want to take in more than just the profile. Qeen blinks once, slowly and deliberately, memorizing his features just in case.

Her thoughts had gotten entirely sidetracked and she realized she had just approached, gotten closer, and then continued to say nothing. Woops.

"Hello," Qeen repeated, "my name is Qeen Fischer. Lovely place you have here." A ghost of a smile crosses her normally neutral face. Perhaps a bit of humor would defuse the situation. It wouldn't. That didn't stop her.

The man almost backed up again, but he was already against the wall. He blinked once at her comment, not very amused by it as Qeen had thought.

She introduced herself also. Qeen Fischer. He needed to say something. But he shouldn’t. But what’s the harm if he were going to die soon anyway? For once in a very long time, he ignored the instincts he’d built up to keep himself alive for the past months. He takes a breath, and speaks.

“My name.. is Tseth.” His voice was was broken and raspy, as if it had been over-exerted. It had a thick accent as well, reminiscent of his species’ native tongue. And his name would be familiar to most—if he were telling the truth, of course. But it seemed that Tseth had nothing worth lying for.

Qeen didn't seem too bothered by the clear discomfort on the man's face as he backed up. She was in too much expectation of the words that would, hopefully, inevitably come out of his mouth, if the indrawn breath would be any indication that is. Her humor was appreciated by no one but herself and the stone walls.

Then he speaks.

And Qeen recoils immediately.

She reacts like one might when they're startled suddenly by a snake crossing their path, a step backwards, an intake of breath, almost a hissing sound coming from her lips. Her expression barely changes, but her eyes widen quickly and double in intensity. They go from mildly curious, to full of intent. She withdraws her hand back into her cloak, head tipping to the side again. How to play this situation? It was already precarious, and she had none of the context surrounding this situation.

The woman's brows twitch downwards in the start of a frown, her lips drawing into a concentrated line. She seems to be mulling something over in her head, thoughts going a mile a minute, so even she could barely understand them. Then she gives a sharp nod, seemingly coming to a decision, her yellow eyes scanning over him, noting the wounds and haggard appearance.

"I see. Do you need assistance?" Her voice is more polite now, her words slightly clipped in her peculiar way of speaking. The offer seems genuine, if hesitant.

Tseth’s brows furrowed ever so slightly at Qeens reaction. He guessed that wasn’t what she was expecting.

He glanced to the open door, mentally calculating how far he could run before he collapsed. Probably not very far, and the chances he got caught before he even could were high. His gaze returned to her when she spoke, and his eyes widened slightly at her offer.

He considered replying with some sarcasm as a response to her own humor from a moment ago. An ”Oh, no, not at all,” but he also thought that might be a bad idea. He gives a small nod instead.

“I would like some.”

(Totally fine! Hope you have a great trip!)

Qeen nods sharply, just once, and it seems to finalize her decision in what she was doing. She would offer help. She wasn't doing anything else today anyways. She only hoped he didn't bite. She hated biters.

The woman withdrew something from her pale cloak, crouching down to balance on the balls of her feet so that she could be at his eye level. She found it made people more comfortable if you could look someone in the eye without straining.

Qeen tosses him the thing she withdrew. It was a small roll of bread, practically just a travel ration. She was going to have it as a snack later. But judging by the emaciated state of her new friend, he needed it more than she did. She started looking for any sort of restraints or chains keeping him in place that might pose a problem briefly. Food was the first step, but Qeen was still going to be careful as she progressed. Any sign of sudden hostility, and she would be gone.

Qeen glances at him inquisitively, practically feeling all the questions she'd like to ask bubbling in her throat, fighting for which one would get asked first. The more urgent one won out. There had been many eyes that saw her walk down this hallway, and they would likely see her walk out as well.

"How much trouble am I going to be in if I take you out of here?" Qeen asks almost conversationally, her tone light. But her eyes are dead serious, running through all the ways this situation could go.

This could be horribly bad for her. But it could also lead to new advantages. And beyond all the calculations, she couldn't just stand here and leave someone to rot in a place like this. Even the sorry wretches in the hallway had looked better cared for. It was basic rights.

Tseth shifted to sit up a little straighter. When Qeen tossed the roll of bread, he caught it with the non-bloodied hand, but he mostly just stared at it instead of eating it. He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head, and then he handed it back to her.

There were several different reasons why he gave it back, none of which he’d tell this new woman. All that mattered was that he wasn’t going to take it.

A prick of anxiety creeped into his chest when she asked her next question. Well, let’s run through this whole scenario. She doesn’t belong here. She went into Tseth’s holding room. She offered to help him. Tseth, who was being held as a prisoner of war by the Mantas, of which this was their palace.

“A lot.”

That was the simplest answer. He could have said more, but really, she didn’t ask for anything more.

But then again, it might be a good idea to give her a little more information. “Helping me makes you,” he gestured to her, “an enemy of the Mantas.” And are you willing to do that?

Qeen took the bread roll with a surprised expression on her face. She glances from it, back to him, while turning it over in her hands, frowning slightly. Interesting. She tucks it back into her cloak for now, maybe she'd toss it to one of the other prisoners as they left. And they would leave.

She listened to his answer with an impassive expression, reacting with only silence for a heartbeat.

Then she shifted, her silver cloak rippling in the dim light as she cocks her head to the side, an eager gleam entering her yellow eyes.

"I can live with that." Qeen's lips tug up into a real smile this time. The upward movement of her lips mirrored by the light pink scar across the bridge of her nose. Two upward grins. She had her own reasons for this. Ones she wasn't going to share now.

Now it was time for business. Her smile evaporates, returning her face to neutral, like a snowy plain after a storm.

"Can you walk?"

Tseth almost smiled at Qeens answer. Almost. There was a little feeling of… hope? That maybe he'd be able to leave this place. He didn't know Qeens motivations for getting him out of here, but he was grateful that she was helping him.

He tilts his head as he considers the next question. "Only one way to find out." He wasn't confident about that. But there was only one way to find out.

He slowly, carefully got up off of his feet. He was using the wall for support to stay standing. But he suddenly got a severe dizziness when he was pretty much up. "Shit-" He leaned against the wall and lowered his head, eyes tightly closed.

Now, Qeen could see the back of his shirt. The bloodstains were a stark contrast from the white of the shirt. One could only presume that was where his injuries were. Luckily, they didn't seem to be bleeding out at the moment. Would they stay that way? That was debatable, if his movements opened the wounds again.

Qeen watched Tseth stand slowly. She was optimistic for the first half actually, he moved slowly but with care and seemed to be alright. Until he wasn't. She surged forwards, her hands appearing from her cloak and hovering anxiously nearby in case he needed support.

She was about to actually move to touch him, to support him in his valiant effort of standing, when she hesitated, noting the shirt. The white shirt was absolutely filthy with blood, the crimson color was easy to see and the stains were large. It made her own skin ache in sympathy for a second. She hovered close nearby, her brows drawn into a frown.

"Well this isn't encouraging." Qeen chirps with an overly positive tone. Her eyes raked over him again, biting the inside of her cheek in worry. This really was a problem. She touches a pouch hidden inside her cloak, sighing softly.

"I don't think I can carry you." She observes unhelpfully, he may be half starved, but… Now that Tseth was standing, Qeen was startled by the height difference. She was tall. He was taller. Significantly. She also got a better look at his face, and she had no qualms about studying him while he had his eyes shut with… Pain? Dizziness? Nausea? It was hard to identify at a glance, and it was probably all three. Long, messy hair, starved features, she'd note the eye color later.

She takes out the pouch, which contains a few spare light crystals she kept on hand for her spear. She frowns deeper.

"I don't suppose you know how to heal yourself, do you?"

Tseth glanced at Qeen, confusion adding to the range of emotions he had right now. He didn’t quite see how the situation called for an optimistic tone of voice, but he wouldn’t say anything about it.

And, well, it wasn’t his intention to be carried, even if he couldn’t stand he wouldn’t let that happen. “Just help me walk.” He said bluntly. Tseth might not be able to stand with any degree of excellency, but he was pretty sure if he had some support he could walk.

He glanced at the pouch. He presumed that it was carrying light crystals. He shook his head. He had only seen it be done, and he never learned how anyone did it. A friend of his was learning… not the time for that, Tseth.

Queen's lips drew into a fine line again as she nodded, hiding the pouch once again into the void of her clothes. That was one less option. Not the end of the world, but frustrating. She makes a mental note to herself to find a teacher or at least to practice more with the crystals the second she's out of this situation. Not knowing things was not her comfort zone.

The silver haired woman moved closer to offer her support. Hooking her arm around his back, trying to avoid the areas that looked more wounded based on the bloodstains on the shirt. Tseth was lighter than she was expecting, but not easy to support by any stretch of the imagination. Besides, Qeen only came up to his shoulder, so she was basically making her body into a crutch.

Qeen wrinkles her nose slightly, still slightly confused on how to act in this situation. What did one say or do? There wasn't a manual for accidental prisoner freeing. When in doubt, she teased.

"You know, normally in the storybooks the princess is carried valiantly away by their white knight. It's nothing to be ashamed about."

(Fun fact: I call Tseth a doorframe sometimes because he's about as tall as a normal one)

Tseth hooked his own arm around Qeen, hand on her shoulder. He made it a point for his clawed hands not to accidentally harm her or her clothing. That wouldn't be very nice.

He took note of her cloak, which had reminded him of something. He would need to get his own wings back if he never wanted to come back to this place at a later time. It's a good thing he knew where those were. In fact, it wasn't that far.

He nearly rolled his eyes at Qeens comment. He didn't doubt that she would be able to pick him up, but he only had a shred of self-worth left and he'd like to keep it. But, he might as well throw something back. "Normally the knight knows the princess is in danger in the first place." Alright, not the best response, but he hasn't had a non-life-threatening conversation for a while. At least he didn't immediately apologize.

"Let's get out of here."

(omg, that- puts a lot of things in perspective lol. He must hit hit head a lot.)

Qeen smiled slightly at the attempt at banter. Even wounded and starved, it said a lot about a person if they were willing to play along, even with a small joke. But priorities were priorities and the one at the top of the list was indeed leaving.

She nods, offering as much support as she can, moving slowly so as not to risk reopening his wounds so soon.

Qeen starts to move back to the hallway, hesitating at the metal door again. The prisoners in the cells would be witnesses to their exit, would that pose a problem? If she ever wanted to return to this place, without burning all of her potential bridges, perhaps it would be better to remain unseen. But that was starting to seem more and more like an impossibility.

"You could have picked a better castle to get stuck in, princess." Qeen mutters under her breath, not really speaking to him, but to herself.

She raises her voice, clearly speaking to Tseth this time. "Are we making a run for it now, or is there business you need finished here?"

It was strange how fast Qeen already was mentally saying we in this situation. She'd thrown herself headlong into this mess, and she felt a responsibility to see it untangled. It was a challenge, a task. She completed tasks.

(Exactly why I did it.)

Tseth looked out the door at all the other prisoners. He felt a pang of sympathy for them. But he knew that they couldn’t be helped.

He glanced at Qeen. It wasn’t really like he had a choice as to where he ended up. Besides, usually in the stories the princess ended up captured by his species, which didn’t really make sense. They didn’t have castles. Tseth and his family lived in a house like normal people. But no one really knew anything about Krill, so he couldn’t blame them much.

He nodded once. “My wings. I know where they are.” It’s a bit difficult to forget when they’re kept in the same place where they were forcibly ripped off of his back. Which was, actually, in the same hallway of the palace that the entrance to the cell blocks were. Everything regarding the prisoners was.

Tseth avoided looking at the other prisoners as they passed by. He wasn’t really sure why, but it felt wrong to look at them. Was it guilt?

(woops, sorry for the delay, I got tied up with work.)

Qeen nodded, that certainly made things easier. She let Tseth lead their staggering gait, supporting him as best as she could. Her eyes keep flicking to the prisoners, some watching them, others letting their heads hang down, the smell of suffering thick in the air. She clicks her tongue in disapproval. Making a split second decision, Qeen gently nudges Tseth to go right, leaving him to lean up against the wall by himself for a second.

She approaches one of the cells holding a prisoner that at least looked at her. The ragged man had a full beard, and his eyes were dark, but still had a hint of a spark in them, not fully hopeless.

Qeen lowers her voice to a whisper, pulling out the same ration from before, passing it through the cell to give to him.

"Anyone comes down this hall, please make a noise. Scream, yell, just a loud word would do." She requested, rounding her eyes to look sincere in her request. She didn't get a response, but the man shuffled over to grab the bread, eating it quickly and without a word. Like a caged animal.

Qeen didn't know if he would. She wasn't counting on it. But it was something to at least attempt to cover some bases, which made her feel slightly better about this mess of a situation.

She returned to Tseth, silently helping him up again, letting him lead with a sobered expression.

(No worries!)

Tseth rested against he wall and watched Qeen, quickly catching on to what she was doing. But… he didn't exactly agree with it. She might be unaware of the fact right now, but she was sentencing that man to death. Anything that caused a minor annoyance–let alone a ruckus–was severely punished. That is why all these prisoners were in such terrible shape.

Once they reached the wooden door to exit the holding cells, Tseth reached for the door handle. He silently cursed himself while doing so. Did every small task have to be accompanied by some sort of pain? He could only imagine how much there would be if he tried to fly. He narrowed his eyes as his train of thought continued.

And then he realized that he probably shouldn't be glaring at the closed door and actually open it. He turned he handle and pushed the door open a crack. Just enough to see if anyone was out there. There wasn't.

Qeen lets out a relieved breath as they get into the hallway unchallenged. The hallway is familiar as she was just out here a few moments ago, poking her nose where it didn't belong. She was only here visiting anyways. Qeen had wanted to see if she could get some information from the Manta Palace about a personal hobby. A book, a teacher, anything really. One thing had led to another, and now she was smuggling out what looked like a dangerous political prisoner. Huh. Life really was pandemonium.

Qeen picks up their pace slightly as they get into the dimly lit hallway, she still lets him lead, but she nudges him to move just a bit faster.

The silence was thick and each noise made Qeen's yellow eyes fly to the source, her expression jumpy even if she didn't physically react. Despite the need for secrecy, the damned questions began to claw at the base of her brain again. The cloaked woman keeps her voice low, but she clears her throat, clearly intending to speak.

"So…" Qeen trails off, the cousin of a shit-eating grin on her face. "You get out often?"

She chuckles softly to herself, doing things in halves was boring. Maybe teasing the wounded man was punching down. But at this point, she was 85% sure she was doing him a favor. If he needed a crutch, he could deal with Qeen being a pest.

Tseth was equally as jumpy as Qeen, maybe even more so. His red eyes scanned the halls for any movement, any reds or oranges that would indicate the presence of someone else in the hall with them. He was reliant on his heat-seeking abilities at the moment.

He glanced down at Qeen, his expression making it possible to practically read his thoughts. But he didn't say any of them.

Tseth did, however, quite suddenly stop at a door on the right side of the hall. It was a bit different from the last two, with carvings etched into it. It looked like there were some moving parts to the carvings, likely a sort of puzzle. It just depends on what kind. Doors like these were only used to keep things secret. Or if you just wanted to show off your wealth, Tseth thought. He examined the door, brow furrowed in concentration as he recalled how it was opened the first time he saw it.

Qeen was startled by the sudden stopping, Tseth's weight making her stop as well with a soft grunt. She turned to follow his gaze, eyes landing on the ornate door. Her first, immediate, reaction was a thrill of excitement. A puzzle! Those were fun, a great time-consumer, and… ah. Time consuming. Crap.

Qeen sucks on her teeth in thought, inhaling air in a light hissing noise. Her free arm that isn't supporting the wounded man reaches out to try and touch the carvings, to get a feel of the details under her fingertips, to feel the grain of the wood.

But she holds back, hesitating briefly. Calm, careful, caution.

Qeen looks at Tseth, carefully arching one eyebrow in an expectant expression.

"This is your stop? I don't think we're invited."

This was where all the prisoners wings and capes were kept, safeguarded by the puzzle door. It wasn't a particularly difficult one, but it was a bit more than just solving the puzzle to open it.

Tseth glanced down at Qeen. "Easier than it looks…" Well, maybe not. He had seen it solved before, if just for a moment. But looking more, among the detailed carvings hid representations of each elder of the realms. So if Tseth remembered correctly…

He took another glance down the hallway before he reached to touch the first depiction. Daleth, elder of the Isles. When it was touched, the eyes of the depiction woke with a white glow. Tseth quickly retracted his hand, momentarily startled by it. It's just light magic. Nothing else. He hesitated for a moment before doing the rest, eyes darting across the carvings as they were touched. Ayin, Teth, Samekh, Tsadi, Lamed- A silent chant in he back of his mind as he solved it.

Once they were all activated, Tseth looked a little proud of himself. But he wasn't done yet. He said a small saying in a different language. It sounded like Manta. Surprisingly fluent as well, of which one wouldn't expect from a man who had presumably always been a Dark Dragon. It seems there was more to be uncovered about Tseth now than there was before.

All of the carvings in the door lit up with the same white glow, illuminating the intricate patterns. It was almost a bit over-the-top for what the door held behind it, but then again this was the palace of the Mantas. The Royal Family had always shown off their wealth and power, and the current Queen was no exception.

Qeen watched with wide, fascinated eyes. This kind of thing was right up her alley. It scratched a specific itch in her brain that she didn't even know she had. A puzzle, mixed with history, lights, much too much dramatics, and needing to speak another language to enter? What strange heaven was this?

Despite the nearly overwhelming desire to stop and study the door, Qeen contents herself with slowly and deliberately blinking, memorizing the pattern and at least the phonetics of the words in case she ever needed it later, safely tucking the information away into her brain. She longed to study the intricate carvings more, but a much more tantalizing subject for study was starting to open itself.

Tseth himself.

The woman hums once in admiration, head tilting in acknowledgement.

"Very impressive. Let's go collect your prize, shall we?"

The inside of the room held the prisoners cloaks and capes, each one presumably taken from its unwilling host. Qeen surveys them, trying to ignore the slight twist in her stomach at the thought. Now wasn't the time for empathy, or nausea. Particularly nausea. Qeen presses the pressure point on the webbing in between her thumb and pointer finger, feeling slightly less ill.

After taking a second to recollect herself, she nods at Tseth, spreading out her arms to motion at the whole room, her cloak rippling to show her formal clothes underneath, and the black tattoos down her arm.

"Your prize."

Tseth watched as the door opened and slid back to reveal the array of capes and wings decorating the walls. He didn’t take long to observe all of them. They needed to get out of here quickly.

He let go of Qeen to lean on the wall for support. He had gained a small amount of strength already, likely able to use the wall as a support while he walked now. He felt somewhat guilty for having to use Qeen as essentially a crutch. Especially since they just met not that long ago.

Tseth watched as she spread her arms, taking a moment to observe the various details of both her and her clothing. He was curious about the tattoos, but didn’t ask about them.

And then he returned his gaze to the mounted wings, searching for his own. He spotted the familiar black spines poking out near the end, and starting walking towards them. For some reason, though, Tseth made an effort to glance behind him every few seconds. But once he got near his wings, he quickly snatched them from the wall and connected them to himself.
His back-spikes flexed experimentally and his wings stretched out. Despite his current state, getting his wings had given him an air of intimidation. Perhaps it was just because he was a Dark Dragon.

Tseth turned back to Qeen. He already looked the slightest bit more comfortable with his wings back.

And now, they needed to escape the palace itself.

Qeen squares her shoulders unconsciously as Tseth reconnects with his wings. She's not even intimidated, she logically knows how wounded the man is, that he technically needed her help, but there was just something primal that made her want to take a step back. Qeen shakes off the prickling feeling and stands her ground. She smiles at him, hoping that to be the right response to this.

It was only a matter of time until it was discovered Tseth was missing. And even less time for someone to realize he wasn't alone. An injured person could only make it so far on their own.

Qeen's fingers twitched as she felt a pang of uncertainty. Was it her responsibility to get this man all the way out? She'd already helped him this far. He stood a much better chance with his wings now safely back in his possession. The risk vs. reward was murky at best.

She runs her fingers along the edge of one of the mounted wings, looking merely pondering. She had a calm, neutral expression, even as her eyes flashed with thought. The layout of the palace was foreign to her, Qeen hadn't had a chance to look for or study floor plans before she'd come. It had been a small visit, not a heist.

Qeen could remember her path up to the prisoners cells perfectly, all the way up to the way the air brushed past her and the swirl of the dust in the murky air. But that was a fraction of the actual palace, the opulence display was clear.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Qeen glances at the tall, dark figure.

"I'll go out on a limb and say you've been here longer than me. What's the plan, princess?"

Tseth thought for a second, evaluating their options. They could go back to Wasteland, but neither of them would survive when he’s like this… and she likely wouldn’t be fond of that idea. Too many risks, and no reward on her part. Tseth knew that most people would need more than just the feeling of doing the right thing.

There was also the option of hiding out somewhere in the Snowy Mountains. But where? He would have to figure that out later. He was thinking far ahead. Right now, they just needed to get out of the palace. Without being seen by any guards. Well, the best way is the quickest way, which is also the worst way. But he has done more dangerous things. This will just add to the list and reinforce the reputation of Krill for being outright crazy.

There was a little gleam in his eye when he looked up at Qeen again. “Break a window, jump out. We just need to get to one.” Straightforward, simple, and insane due to the fact that he likely couldn’t fly for very long with his injuries.

Tseth guessed she was hoping for some detailed escape plan. He wasn’t ever given a tour of the palace himself. When he wasn’t a prisoner here he rarely came for visits. In fact it was pretty illegal for a Krill to be in this realm unless invited by the ruling government. He only remembered what sections he was brought through, and through half of them he was clawing up the soldiers who were bringing him here.