Snippet #1384265

Sam frowned deeply as the dying men screamed. He grasped the metal of the bars firmly and began singing very quietly, it could barely be heard over the screaming. In barely a moment the druid's song had made the metal a brittle wood which he snapped with ease. He turned back to his unwitting companion. "Come, Itzhak, freedom is this way."

A pressure had built in the druid's mind at his magical exertion. It passed quickly but was a sober reminder to keep himself in check. Sam could not identify the spiders, he had never seen anything like them before, but they seemed to recognize him as a druid or were just ignoring him completely. Sam ignored the screams from inside the cell next to his, the spiders would not harm the girl... intentionally. Sam stepped lightly passed the spiders looking for a jail key.

They were on the table next to the greasy limp hand of one of the deceased guards being devoured by spiders. Not willing to get any closer he stood there awkwardly for a few moments as he picked up the keys with his staff and tossed them to Itzhak. He nodded quietly at his former cell mate then stepped over to the still heated metal bars where the spiders had come from.

Cautious, the druid strode into the cell. A look of shock crossed his face, "Fire-born..."

He couldn't believe it. One of the old races, THE old race. Fate may have placed Sam here. Only time would tell.

He quickly set his staff against the wall and helped the sorcerer to his feet. Letting the sorcerer lean on him, Sam grasped his own staff and handed it to him. Sam then started shaking the girl lightly, he turned to the sorcerer and said. "I am Sam Harlton, Fire-born. Do you need assistance?"