Shadows of Faerun: Under the Spire
The last thing Arikor remembered was the stars above the border fort on the edge of the Cormanthor forest. He had arrived there on his way to Myth Drannor, alongside Imzel, Ruhk and a Paladin and thief that they'd met in Shadowdale.
They had found the camp abandoned, a pyre of corpses burning in the center of it. They had split up; Arikor and Imzel went to explore one of the two buildings. He glanced up at stars before he walked through the door... and that was all he remembered.
He woke to searing pain. Screaming into consciousness, thrashing against leather straps as it felt like the fires of Hell were burning into his arms. He caught a glimpse of a man in a hooded robe
The fiery pain proves too much, and Arikor fades back into darkness.
He comes back to the world around him some time later, finding himself face down on a rough straw mattress with the distinct smell of urine. His skull pounds with a severe headache and his forearms still feel sore.
Rolling onto his back, Arikor begins to take in his surroundings. The room is made of rough stone, the walls and floors are dank and wet. His mattress rests on a bunk carved from the wall just above the floor and a second bunk sticks out above the bunk Arikor currently rests on. A single tiny window with crisscrossed bars is set into the wall above Arikor's head through which he can see a crack of the night sky. A door of bars is welded and bolted into the wall at his feet.
The throbbing of his arms drawing his attention, Arikor glances down at his arms. Etched into the skin of each inner forearm is a glyph like tattoo.
"Oh.." a voice like gravel sounds out from the bunk above... "My new roomate decided to wake up?"
Peering over the edge of the bunk down at Arikor is a bulky Half orc, his long black hair pulling back in a widows peak.
It is with a groan that the elf awakes. He realizes he no longer has his belongings, though this was not new - after all, he had been caught by something, and no longer knew where he was.
Other than, you know, the smell of a cell.
On being greeted, he was still not oriented completely. He looks to his arms, and can't comprehend what the glyphs are. It confuses him, and then he decides it's time to make friends with his companion for the time being.
"Decided is a fancy way of putting it. All I know is I'm here with new art I didn't approve of. It looks horrible. Even you probably have better taste - no offense intended."
He sighs, and recollects himself, pushing his hair back and trying to smooth it - it's hard to do without the proper cleaning tools.
"That being said - who are you, and do you know where we are?"
The Half-orc swings his feet over the edge of the bunk and lets himself drop down to the floor, his eyes wandering over the glyphs on the Elfs arms. Glyphs that, Arikor notices, the Half-orc doesn't have.
All the mages and casters here have 'em. I wouldn't try any of your spells if I were you. I'm not really sure what happens but I know it doesn't look like they enjoy it when they try."
He offers his hand forward to Arikor, his meaty paw held open, offering to shake, "I am Rothgar, Son of Galowulf. I hail from the lands of Icewind Dale."
"As for where we are... An Island, a Prison. The inmates call it The Spire."
It is with a concerned sigh that Arikor lays back down in the bunk. He looks at the markings carefully, and shakes his head, wishing he could at least cast something to figure out what they were, exactly.
"Thank you, Rothgar, son of Galowulf. I am Arikor of House Ghymn'Ousseannia, and it is imperative I break free of this prison. I need to get back to my companions."
He shook the man's hand firmly, at least as firmly as an elf could give, and sat back up, moving to actually stand up in the small cell. He thought for a moment... The Spire. An island?
"Has anyone ever left this place alive?"
The Half Orc's eyes shift just a little, and though its hard to tell for sure in the darkness of the cell, he seems to look at Arikor with a new sense of sadness.
"No Lad, The dead ones run o tight ship here. No one's ever made it out o' this place alive." his words seem to frighten him, causing him to shudder involuntarily. "If you want to stay alive, you'll keep those thoughts quiet... Never know what they hear."
At that moment the sound of a crashing gong resonates throughout the walls, causing Rothgar to glance at the doorway. "Day's start then... come on Arikor, stay close and keep quiet... perhaps you won't get killed today." He offers back with a mirthless smile.
It is with a sigh of some hope leaving him that he keeps himself stood up, and manages to keep what hope he can within his heart and soul. He nods firmly to Rothgar, and adjusts himself accordingly.
"Then I will keep them quiet, but be ever-vigilant in my journey to discover. Also, did you notice a woman of the Rashemi, by any chance? She would have similar sigils..." he whispered as he moved to sit on his bunk as comfortably as he could. The sheets were as much a grace as they were humiliating.
"Either way, let us go - I think I won't be killed so easily today!"