"Wha-- how'd you get in here?" asked a bewildered young elf from his cell, one that Ithilian thought he might have recognized from the Alienage. One of the ones that had supposedly gone to join the Qunari, if he remembered correctly. For the moment, it didn't matter. He wasn't here for all of the elves. Just one. He put a finger against his mask where his lips were.
"Be silent," he whispered harshly. "You'll bring the guards down on us. I need to use the bars of your cell." He gestured to the long coil of rope that he carried. "For our exit." The young elf nodded and acquiesced, quietly moving to sit against the rear wall of his cell, where he quite nearly disappeared entirely into inky blackness.
"Whatever you're here for, give 'em hell for us, yeah?"
Ithilian planned to, if it was at all necessary. He shrugged off the coil of rope, tying one end snugly around the sturdiest looking par keeping the elf imprisoned, before carrying the other back over to the open window, and casting it out into the storm. He peered down to see it quite nearly reach the bottom. It would have to do. He moved back to the cell door of the imprisoned elf, kneeling down. "Where's the warden, the man with the keys?"
"Not sure, but I'd try up a few levels, probably the mess hall, or the barracks if he's sleeping. I heard the guards talking about a card game or something. They might still be playing." Ithilian nodded. It was good information, more than enough to go on. "Are you looking for someone? This is the lowest level, so they'd have to be somewhere above here."
"Thank you," Ithilian said. "I'm not here for all of you, but you may have saved the life of an elven girl." He turned to Ashton. "Come on, let's go." Keeping low, he moved towards the stairwell, ignoring the gaping stares of the prisoners who were awake and watching the spectacle. It wasn't every day that two black-clad shadows passed through the halls of the Gallows, searching for a prisoner to steal away. Perhaps they looked more like death, come to give some weary imprisoned a sought after release.
As the elf suggested, they moved up, silent as ghosts, making sure to pause and take cover whenever voices were heard, though at this hour, half the castle was asleep, and the patrols were light and easy to avoid. The higher levels of the Gallows had winding passageways lined with damp dungeon cells, most crammed with one, or often two, snoring prisoners. Ithilian spotted blood spattering the floors of some of the cells and even the hallways, undoubtedly from the unruly, needing a lesson from overly eager tutors. Few noticed their passing, and none called out to them, likely convinced that they either weren't real, or that they were not a pair to be engaged lightly, either in battle or in conversation.
Three levels up the sounds of bawdy laughter came drifting to their ears, a clear sign that some number of the guard were still awake. To reach the mess hall, one only had to follow the smells, and soon Ithilian and Ashton found themselves crouched down at the hall's doorway. Peering inside, only one of the dozen or so tables was occupied, two benches opposite each other filled by three men each, several with their boots up on nearby chairs or tables, occasionally slapping down cards on the wood, or taking long drinks from mugs of ale. Ithilian peered carefully around the room, but could spot no one else. The man at the head of the card table, however, had a set of keys dangling from his belt. It was unfortunate that he was not alone, but it could be worked around with a little bloodshed.
"Six men, drunk and unprepared," he whispered to Ashton. "We kill them, quickly and quietly. Hide the bodies and take the keys. Agreed?" There would be no subduing six men nonlethally without raising the alarm in the process, but these men could be quickly taken out through a combination of Ashton's sharpshooting, and Ithilian's knifework.
Ashton's mask hid the snarl at his lips because of the proposed plan. A lonely moment passed between Ithilian's words and Ashton's own, leaving plenty of time for his stomach to sink deep into his belly. He wanted nothing more than to allow these men to live and avoid spilling any of their blood. He didn't want their blood on his hands. But it wasn't about what he wanted. He wasn't so selfish, not anymore. He'd not been so foolish as to blindly believe this would end with his hands clean, and had prepared himself for this outcome. His heart was hardened in case it became necessary.
"Quick and painless," Ashton added, meeting Ithilian's eye. "Avoid drawing too much blood," He reminded. It would be pointless to hide the bodies if all of their blood remained. Turning his head back into the hall Ashton nodded and mentally readied himself for what was to come. He then reached back and prepared two more arrows in his quiver before returning his hand to the bowstring that already held the third. "Pick a bench and I'll take the other. When you're ready, start. I'll follow."
Death was rarely painless, and Ithilian doubted the dead cared too much about how they were murdered. Avoiding blood, however, was something he could see the logic in. Their presence would not go unnoticed forever after this, but the longer it took before they were discovered, the better. None of the guards before him appeared ready for action, or even ready to rise from their chairs, but they would still need to act quickly to kill all six of them without one raising the alarm. The pretense of their card game might dissuade other guards from investigating a shout, but it would still be a risk. This night was full of risks.
Ithilian entered the room swift and low, moving silently behind other tables and keeping out of sight of the group as much as possible, heading towards the far side of the table so as to give Ashton a clear shot of the other three. He targeted the one with his feet on the table first, breaking into a sprint as soon as he entered their line of sight, and then taking to the air. His blades remained in their sheaths as he planted both feet on the man's chest, tipping his weight over backwards until he was flat on his back, Ithilian's weight pressing down hard on his chest, knocking all the wind from him. The second man attempted to rise, but Ithilian vaulted again, grabbing the wrist of his sword hand, his other hand finding a spot on the guard's chin. A quick and vicious twist was all it took to break his neck.
The third had risen by then, moving to strike Ithilian from behind, but he had predicted this, throwing an elbow back instinctively, shattering the older guard's nose. This was followed by a backhanded strike to twist him around, which led into another neck-snapping maneuver. The guard that Ithilian had first jumped upon was rising to his knees by this point, but he returned to the ground when Ithilian sent a brutal kick to his head, snapping it back violently and rendering him unconscious.
The moment Ithilian's feet connected with the chest of the first guard, Ashton began his own assault. There was little finesse or movement to be had in the simple act of drawing a bowstring, no jumping or vaulting or any such action. His feet never moved, much less left the ground, but Ashton was no less deadly than the elf. A single thwap and a guard's face smashed forward into the table, an arrow stuck into the back of his head. Confusion set in instantly, and the guard next to the dead one whipped his head around, attempting to get some sort of handle on the situation. With one shadow dispatching the men in front of him, and another unseen one taking out the man at his side, the only thing sensible thing he could do was to reach for the sword in his sheath.
His hands never made it to the hilt, as the first arrow's twin entered his skull, collapsing him and causing the corpse to slink into the lap of the last living guard. Shock hit hard and he sat frozen in his seat. The assault had been so quick and so ferocious that it left him dazed and frightened. Instead of reaching for his weapon like the second, this guard drew his arms in close around him and hid behind his hands hoping that it would be over soon. And it was, as the last of the arrows struck leaving him to slip off of the bench, the look of fear frozen on his face.
Ashton allowed a few moments to pass, another arrow at the ready and scanned for any more signs of movement other than Ithilian. Once sure that everything that needed to be was dealt with, he slipped from the shadows, the arrow on the bowstring drawn back in case something should happen. He entered the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner and his weight pivoting on his feet, scouring the room for any other hostiles. He stopped beside Ithilian and looked down at the bodies that surround them. A tiredness seeped into his brow as he spun, and lingered on his voice as he spoke.
"Find the keys," He said, allowing the taut string to slacken. "I'll start hiding the bodies."
Neither task took them long. There were several keys to choose from, but only one seemed grimy and overused enough to be the one that would unlock the cells. The bodies they dragged into the nearby pantry, which was almost large enough to fit them all on the floor beside each other. A bit of blood was left on the floor and the table from the arrow wounds, but it was barely noticeable even to one who was searching. The cards, however, needed to be disposed of, and those they tossed in the pantry as well.
A cracking boom of thunder roared overhead, the storm outside only growing more intense as the night went on. Just as the two of them were about to leave and search for Lia, the heavy footfalls of guardsman boots could be heard approaching the mess from outside. They quickly ducked down behind tables, making themselves as invisible as possible. He seemed surprised that the group playing cards was no longer present, but aside from a short huh, he made no effort to investigate, instead moving off upstairs, likely to search for them in their bunks at the barracks. Ithilian grimaced once he was gone.
"Won't be long now. Let's move."
Gripping the keys tightly so that they would not jingle against one another, Ithilian led the way back out and down a level, back to the twisting halls of cells they had passed through earlier. Squinting in the darkness, they peered through the bars of each cell in turn, Ithilian checking those on the left, Ashton those on the right, both keeping a lookout forward and back for any sign of guard patrols. Most of the prisoners were sleeping, though a few stared wide-eyed at the passing visitors, while other were curled up on the ground with the single threadbare blanket they'd been given, completely obscured from view. Ithilian worred that they might miss her, but none of the forms obscured under blankets had been in her size. Most were men fully grown, the elves typically somewhat smaller than the humans.
They found Lia near the end of a hall, an unfortunate dead end, her cell closer to one of the scattered torches than Ithilian would have preferred. Perhaps it was for the best, though, as he had only barely recognized the shade of her hair in the dim light, and might have passed over her if she had been entirely concealed by darkness. She slept in a fetal position on the floor, only the top of her head and her closed eyes appearing at the edge of her blanket. As quietly as he could, Ithilian unlocked and opened her cell door, though a small squeak was unavoidable. He moved inside while Ashton kept watch over the hall.
When Ithilian put his hand on her shoulder, she gave a small, frightened shout, moving immediately to strike him.
He caught her wrist with one hand, using his other to cover her mouth. She recognized him then, though he still lowered his mask. "I need you to speak softly. Are you hurt? Can you move?" He gently removed the blanket from her, inspecting her for any obvious wounds. He found none. Instead of answering his question, she threw her arms around him in a tight hug.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I had to kill them. You know that, right?"
Her words were almost enough to give Ithilian pause, but he chose to ignore them for the moment. It didn't matter what she did to get herself thrown in here. All that mattered was getting her out. A longer talk could come later, if it was necessary. "Get up. I need you to stay behind Ashton, stay low, and stay quiet. We're getting out of here." She looked incredulous at the very suggestion, considering how few ways there were in to the Gallows, but in the end simply followed his commands.
She had just entered the hall with Ithilian when a pair of guards patrolling together crossed the hall a fair distance away from them. It looked at first as though they were going to continue walking none the wiser, but one of them halted himself and grabbed the other's arm, staring directly at the intruders.
"Dammit," Ashton hissed, drawing on his bow string. The guard that had seen them began to raise a finger to point them out to his partner, but an arrow to the sternum ceased all motion save for one. Down. The guard dropped to the floor, his armor clattering on the stones below. A second arrow was nocked, but instinct proved faster than Ashton's reaction, and the guard bolted down the hall. Ashton followed to the intersection with his arrows moments from being fired, but it was too late. The guard had already taken another turn, and it'd be useless and suicidal to attempt to follow now.
He cursed under his breath and turned back to Ithilian and Lia, beckoning them to hurry. "Let's get out of here, now." He demanded, turning his bow toward the direction of their exit.
They were so close, but everything was about to go downhill fast. Ithilian had Lia go first, and from the way she awkwardly ran, or limped, it was apparent that one of her legs was injured somehow, not enough to prevent her from moving, but enough to slow her significantly. The guard had clearly escaped, and he could already hear the man shouting to his fellows, rousing the castle. It was only moments before a bell began to ring, loud and clear, cutting through even the thunderstorm. By then, the three escapees had already descended the stairs to the lowest level.
The prisoners were all awake now, staring at the three who made their way to the window. Above them, Ithilian could already hear the pounding of boots, dozens of them, the guards hurriedly descending to give chase. Their only way out was by way of the rope... but a rope was easily cut, and that would send all three of them to their deaths. Lia was in no shape to climb something so dangerous, and an extended climb on one of their backs was also too dangerous to risk. The choice seemed clear to Ithilian: one of them would have to stay behind, to hold off the guards while the other escaped with Lia. It was also clear to Ithilian who that needed to be.
"Take her and go," he ordered of Ashton, drawing his swords. "I'll hold them off, give you time to get clear." It was a narrow, dead end hallway. An archer wouldn't be able to hold off a mass of prepared guards equipped with shields, not long enough. Ithilian was the stronger close quarters fighter. He gave Lia the best shot at her escape. The elven girl didn't seem to care, though.
"What? No! We're not leaving you here!"
It wasn't enough to say that Ashton was merely conflicted. Two choices clashed viciously in his mind, fighting to get an edge of the other. On one hand, he could heed Ithilian and escape with Lia-- leaving the man behind to face his fate alone. Or he could ignore the request and stay by the man's side and fight with him, letting Lia find her own way down. There was no time to think about which choice he should take, the guardsmen boots growing ever louder. Every moment he wasted thinking was another the rope around their necks tightened.
So he chose. As fast as he could manage, Ashton ripped the quiver from his back and tossed his bow to the ground. He then grabbed Lia bodily and picked her up, ignoring her angry fists and demands to be put down. Before he took the plummet out the window, he looked back for an instant to speak to Ithilian one last time. "I'll keep her safe, I promise," he pledged before he slipped out the window with his charge on his back. Lia's fists quickly turned to an iron grip as the floor melted into a fatal drop below them.
Lia's grip tightened as they began to make their way down with all the haste that Ashton dared. Her hands slowly tightened around his throat as they began their descent, her anger melting into fear. It grew difficult to suck in enough air to keep his lungs pumping, but his hands were otherwise occupied to try and to loosen Lia's hold. With one hand holding on to the rope in front and the other behind. Soon, the sounds of a scuffle erupted above them, audible even over the din of rain and thunder. Soon another sound met these as Lia's sobs filled the air around Ashton's ear. "It'll be fine, he'll be okay," he lied.
Ithilian did not intend to die, and when faced with the imminent likelihood of it, he became quite acutely aware of how much he did not want to. The first of the guards entered his field of view, armed with a heavy shield and a mace, but Ithilian thought more of Amalia, of Nostariel, of Lia descending the rope with Ashton below. Those he had wanted to spend his life with in Ferelden had been torn away from him before he was ready, and now it appeared as though he was the one being torn away. There were sudden doubts and regrets, and Ithilian wondered if any of this would have happened if he had come with Amalia instead, as she had wanted, or if instead it would simply be the two of them making a stand here, dying together. The thought then occurred to him that he could not think of a better way to die than that.
He resolved to live. This would not be the end, could not be the end. There was more for him to do yet.
First, these men needed to die, or otherwise be defeated, so that Lia and Ashton could escape. He kicked the first one's shield before he came in range of the sword, knocking him back several paces. The guard seemed to be expecting a defensive approach against so many oncoming enemies, but Ithilian did anything but that. He launched himself forward and up, forcefully pushing the shield down before he plunged his other short sword directly into the eye socket, the vulnerable spot of the full faced helmet. The guard went down in a heap.
Ithilian withdrew his blade and rolled out of the attack, rising just in time to duck below the swing of the next guard. He slashed the back of his knee, only having time to kick him forward before he had to turn and deal with the next. The guard was in mid swing when Ithilian's blade found the soft spot under his chin, driving the steel up into his brain. The guards behind that one, though, had an offensive plan of their own, pushing their shields into one another's back, sending an unstoppable weight into Ithilian, the nearest shield knocking him back enough to trip over the fall guard he'd kicked over.
He smoothly rolled out of this as well sidestepping a sword thrust with a jump into the wall, where he then pushed off with his feet, sending a punch to that guard's helm hard enough to send a stab of pain through his knuckles. He ignored it, slitting the man's throat to finish him off. On to the next he moved, and then the next, and before long the narrow hallway had few places to stand that were not the lifeless bodies of slain humans, brought down by a once vengeful elf, who now only sought the freedom and safety of a precious few.
It was the captain, Aatrox, who turned the tide against him, using his own man's shield and body for cover, striking in the moment just before Ithilian made a kill. His blade was halfway through a guard's throat when the captain's heavy maul smashed into his side. Had he met him at the start of the fight, Ithilian might have had enough energy to see the blow coming, to somehow block or dodge it, but it was far too late now. He felt ribs on his left side crack, any air he had left fleeing with no hesitation at all. The brutish captain gave a satisfied holler when the elf joined the humans on the ground.
Ithilian had left one of his blades in that guard's throat when he fell, and the other he attempted to swing at the captain from the ground. This was swatted away with a metal-gauntleted arm, before a boot came up into his nose. Ithilian's face was a sheet of blood after that, and more kicks followed, the other guards surrounding him and launching attacks anywhere they could reach. One had the bright idea to grab him and throw him to some clearer ground, so they could more easily make their hits. He dropped his sword at this point, and though he no longer had the strength to swing it, he tried to crawl to it anyway.
He was in the act of reaching out for it when the maul came down on his elbow, instantly cracking several bones in his arm and setting the elf to howling, which only encouraged the band of guards. Their blood was up now, now that Ithilian had slain that many of their brethren. Aatrox seemed intent on beating him, and none of the others dared finish him, and deny the captain his pleasure. Ithilian was vaguely aware that some of the prisoners were shouting at the guards to stop, while other cowered in corners, hiding from the violence.
"Cut that bloody rope," Aatrox ordered, and one of his men slashed at the rope leading down to the water, letting it fall into the storm. At the sight of that, Ithilian reached for Parshaara, stabbing it down into the nearest guard's foot, setting his entire leg on fire. He howled in pain and took to rolling on the floor to put it out, while another mace blow came down on Ithilian's back, putting him resoundingly to the floor. The captain knelt, and wrenched the dagger from Ithilian's grip.
"Well isn't this a fancy weapon for a dirt crawling elf? What's this made of, anyway?" Ithilian could not so much as speak a reply even if he had wanted to. Aatrox proceeded to grab him by the upper arm and roll him onto his back. "I asked you a question, knife-ears." A punch was what followed, however, right across Ithilian's jaw. "Listen carefully now. I could end your life right now if I chose to, throw you out that window, or bash your head open and see just how few brians you've got, to be breaking into my Gallows. But there's no value in that for me. No, we're going to need an example, to prevent this sort of behavior in the future. I think tonight, you and I are going to spend some quality time together. And then tomorrow, I think I'll hang you, some place where the city can see you, and know what the fate of scum like you is."
He smiled at the knife, though, clearly impressed with the handiwork. "This blade, though? I think I'll be keeping this..."
The descent was taxing, and the rope bit through Ashton's leather gloves exposing the soft flesh to it's friction. The rope only grew slicker as his blood mixed with the water, and it forced him to grip it all that much tighter-- which proved to only worsen the problem. He began to grit his teeth and fight through the pain long before the rope slackened in his hands. Suddenly, they had found themselves in a freefall to the ground below. There'd been only enough time for Ashton to twist his body in the air to avoid landing on Lia, instead letting her land on him.
Fortunately, he'd descended enough so that the fall wouldn't prove fatal. Unfortunately, that did not also mean he would escape unscathed. He struck the ground chest first, and felt his ribs crack on contact, and the pain surged through his body. He wailed aloud in tune with the crash of thunder. He could feel something thicker than water dribble out of the corner of his lips, and it was a small relief when Lia climbed off the top of him.
The rope twisted and coiled around the ground as it fell, before the end of it finally splashed down into the water. Lia looked up for any sign of Ithilian, but there was none, and no sounds of battle could be heard over the storm any longer. She noticed the boat that waited for them. Tears were mixing with rainwater on her face at this point, but she had enough sense to understand that Ithilian wasn't coming, and that this was their only way out. Ashton had taken the brunt of the fall for her, and since she had nothing more than some serious bruising at this point, she would have to do whatever heavy lifting remained, the first of which was Ashton himself.
"Come on," she urged, grimacing as she pulled him up and pushed him over into the boat. "Sorry," she murmured, at not having the strength to set him down gently. There was little to do then but push the boat in the water, get in, and row home.
"Be silent," he whispered harshly. "You'll bring the guards down on us. I need to use the bars of your cell." He gestured to the long coil of rope that he carried. "For our exit." The young elf nodded and acquiesced, quietly moving to sit against the rear wall of his cell, where he quite nearly disappeared entirely into inky blackness.
"Whatever you're here for, give 'em hell for us, yeah?"
Ithilian planned to, if it was at all necessary. He shrugged off the coil of rope, tying one end snugly around the sturdiest looking par keeping the elf imprisoned, before carrying the other back over to the open window, and casting it out into the storm. He peered down to see it quite nearly reach the bottom. It would have to do. He moved back to the cell door of the imprisoned elf, kneeling down. "Where's the warden, the man with the keys?"
"Not sure, but I'd try up a few levels, probably the mess hall, or the barracks if he's sleeping. I heard the guards talking about a card game or something. They might still be playing." Ithilian nodded. It was good information, more than enough to go on. "Are you looking for someone? This is the lowest level, so they'd have to be somewhere above here."
"Thank you," Ithilian said. "I'm not here for all of you, but you may have saved the life of an elven girl." He turned to Ashton. "Come on, let's go." Keeping low, he moved towards the stairwell, ignoring the gaping stares of the prisoners who were awake and watching the spectacle. It wasn't every day that two black-clad shadows passed through the halls of the Gallows, searching for a prisoner to steal away. Perhaps they looked more like death, come to give some weary imprisoned a sought after release.
As the elf suggested, they moved up, silent as ghosts, making sure to pause and take cover whenever voices were heard, though at this hour, half the castle was asleep, and the patrols were light and easy to avoid. The higher levels of the Gallows had winding passageways lined with damp dungeon cells, most crammed with one, or often two, snoring prisoners. Ithilian spotted blood spattering the floors of some of the cells and even the hallways, undoubtedly from the unruly, needing a lesson from overly eager tutors. Few noticed their passing, and none called out to them, likely convinced that they either weren't real, or that they were not a pair to be engaged lightly, either in battle or in conversation.
Three levels up the sounds of bawdy laughter came drifting to their ears, a clear sign that some number of the guard were still awake. To reach the mess hall, one only had to follow the smells, and soon Ithilian and Ashton found themselves crouched down at the hall's doorway. Peering inside, only one of the dozen or so tables was occupied, two benches opposite each other filled by three men each, several with their boots up on nearby chairs or tables, occasionally slapping down cards on the wood, or taking long drinks from mugs of ale. Ithilian peered carefully around the room, but could spot no one else. The man at the head of the card table, however, had a set of keys dangling from his belt. It was unfortunate that he was not alone, but it could be worked around with a little bloodshed.
"Six men, drunk and unprepared," he whispered to Ashton. "We kill them, quickly and quietly. Hide the bodies and take the keys. Agreed?" There would be no subduing six men nonlethally without raising the alarm in the process, but these men could be quickly taken out through a combination of Ashton's sharpshooting, and Ithilian's knifework.
Ashton's mask hid the snarl at his lips because of the proposed plan. A lonely moment passed between Ithilian's words and Ashton's own, leaving plenty of time for his stomach to sink deep into his belly. He wanted nothing more than to allow these men to live and avoid spilling any of their blood. He didn't want their blood on his hands. But it wasn't about what he wanted. He wasn't so selfish, not anymore. He'd not been so foolish as to blindly believe this would end with his hands clean, and had prepared himself for this outcome. His heart was hardened in case it became necessary.
"Quick and painless," Ashton added, meeting Ithilian's eye. "Avoid drawing too much blood," He reminded. It would be pointless to hide the bodies if all of their blood remained. Turning his head back into the hall Ashton nodded and mentally readied himself for what was to come. He then reached back and prepared two more arrows in his quiver before returning his hand to the bowstring that already held the third. "Pick a bench and I'll take the other. When you're ready, start. I'll follow."
Death was rarely painless, and Ithilian doubted the dead cared too much about how they were murdered. Avoiding blood, however, was something he could see the logic in. Their presence would not go unnoticed forever after this, but the longer it took before they were discovered, the better. None of the guards before him appeared ready for action, or even ready to rise from their chairs, but they would still need to act quickly to kill all six of them without one raising the alarm. The pretense of their card game might dissuade other guards from investigating a shout, but it would still be a risk. This night was full of risks.
Ithilian entered the room swift and low, moving silently behind other tables and keeping out of sight of the group as much as possible, heading towards the far side of the table so as to give Ashton a clear shot of the other three. He targeted the one with his feet on the table first, breaking into a sprint as soon as he entered their line of sight, and then taking to the air. His blades remained in their sheaths as he planted both feet on the man's chest, tipping his weight over backwards until he was flat on his back, Ithilian's weight pressing down hard on his chest, knocking all the wind from him. The second man attempted to rise, but Ithilian vaulted again, grabbing the wrist of his sword hand, his other hand finding a spot on the guard's chin. A quick and vicious twist was all it took to break his neck.
The third had risen by then, moving to strike Ithilian from behind, but he had predicted this, throwing an elbow back instinctively, shattering the older guard's nose. This was followed by a backhanded strike to twist him around, which led into another neck-snapping maneuver. The guard that Ithilian had first jumped upon was rising to his knees by this point, but he returned to the ground when Ithilian sent a brutal kick to his head, snapping it back violently and rendering him unconscious.
The moment Ithilian's feet connected with the chest of the first guard, Ashton began his own assault. There was little finesse or movement to be had in the simple act of drawing a bowstring, no jumping or vaulting or any such action. His feet never moved, much less left the ground, but Ashton was no less deadly than the elf. A single thwap and a guard's face smashed forward into the table, an arrow stuck into the back of his head. Confusion set in instantly, and the guard next to the dead one whipped his head around, attempting to get some sort of handle on the situation. With one shadow dispatching the men in front of him, and another unseen one taking out the man at his side, the only thing sensible thing he could do was to reach for the sword in his sheath.
His hands never made it to the hilt, as the first arrow's twin entered his skull, collapsing him and causing the corpse to slink into the lap of the last living guard. Shock hit hard and he sat frozen in his seat. The assault had been so quick and so ferocious that it left him dazed and frightened. Instead of reaching for his weapon like the second, this guard drew his arms in close around him and hid behind his hands hoping that it would be over soon. And it was, as the last of the arrows struck leaving him to slip off of the bench, the look of fear frozen on his face.
Ashton allowed a few moments to pass, another arrow at the ready and scanned for any more signs of movement other than Ithilian. Once sure that everything that needed to be was dealt with, he slipped from the shadows, the arrow on the bowstring drawn back in case something should happen. He entered the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner and his weight pivoting on his feet, scouring the room for any other hostiles. He stopped beside Ithilian and looked down at the bodies that surround them. A tiredness seeped into his brow as he spun, and lingered on his voice as he spoke.
"Find the keys," He said, allowing the taut string to slacken. "I'll start hiding the bodies."
Neither task took them long. There were several keys to choose from, but only one seemed grimy and overused enough to be the one that would unlock the cells. The bodies they dragged into the nearby pantry, which was almost large enough to fit them all on the floor beside each other. A bit of blood was left on the floor and the table from the arrow wounds, but it was barely noticeable even to one who was searching. The cards, however, needed to be disposed of, and those they tossed in the pantry as well.
A cracking boom of thunder roared overhead, the storm outside only growing more intense as the night went on. Just as the two of them were about to leave and search for Lia, the heavy footfalls of guardsman boots could be heard approaching the mess from outside. They quickly ducked down behind tables, making themselves as invisible as possible. He seemed surprised that the group playing cards was no longer present, but aside from a short huh, he made no effort to investigate, instead moving off upstairs, likely to search for them in their bunks at the barracks. Ithilian grimaced once he was gone.
"Won't be long now. Let's move."
Gripping the keys tightly so that they would not jingle against one another, Ithilian led the way back out and down a level, back to the twisting halls of cells they had passed through earlier. Squinting in the darkness, they peered through the bars of each cell in turn, Ithilian checking those on the left, Ashton those on the right, both keeping a lookout forward and back for any sign of guard patrols. Most of the prisoners were sleeping, though a few stared wide-eyed at the passing visitors, while other were curled up on the ground with the single threadbare blanket they'd been given, completely obscured from view. Ithilian worred that they might miss her, but none of the forms obscured under blankets had been in her size. Most were men fully grown, the elves typically somewhat smaller than the humans.
They found Lia near the end of a hall, an unfortunate dead end, her cell closer to one of the scattered torches than Ithilian would have preferred. Perhaps it was for the best, though, as he had only barely recognized the shade of her hair in the dim light, and might have passed over her if she had been entirely concealed by darkness. She slept in a fetal position on the floor, only the top of her head and her closed eyes appearing at the edge of her blanket. As quietly as he could, Ithilian unlocked and opened her cell door, though a small squeak was unavoidable. He moved inside while Ashton kept watch over the hall.
When Ithilian put his hand on her shoulder, she gave a small, frightened shout, moving immediately to strike him.
He caught her wrist with one hand, using his other to cover her mouth. She recognized him then, though he still lowered his mask. "I need you to speak softly. Are you hurt? Can you move?" He gently removed the blanket from her, inspecting her for any obvious wounds. He found none. Instead of answering his question, she threw her arms around him in a tight hug.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I had to kill them. You know that, right?"
Her words were almost enough to give Ithilian pause, but he chose to ignore them for the moment. It didn't matter what she did to get herself thrown in here. All that mattered was getting her out. A longer talk could come later, if it was necessary. "Get up. I need you to stay behind Ashton, stay low, and stay quiet. We're getting out of here." She looked incredulous at the very suggestion, considering how few ways there were in to the Gallows, but in the end simply followed his commands.
She had just entered the hall with Ithilian when a pair of guards patrolling together crossed the hall a fair distance away from them. It looked at first as though they were going to continue walking none the wiser, but one of them halted himself and grabbed the other's arm, staring directly at the intruders.
"Dammit," Ashton hissed, drawing on his bow string. The guard that had seen them began to raise a finger to point them out to his partner, but an arrow to the sternum ceased all motion save for one. Down. The guard dropped to the floor, his armor clattering on the stones below. A second arrow was nocked, but instinct proved faster than Ashton's reaction, and the guard bolted down the hall. Ashton followed to the intersection with his arrows moments from being fired, but it was too late. The guard had already taken another turn, and it'd be useless and suicidal to attempt to follow now.
He cursed under his breath and turned back to Ithilian and Lia, beckoning them to hurry. "Let's get out of here, now." He demanded, turning his bow toward the direction of their exit.
They were so close, but everything was about to go downhill fast. Ithilian had Lia go first, and from the way she awkwardly ran, or limped, it was apparent that one of her legs was injured somehow, not enough to prevent her from moving, but enough to slow her significantly. The guard had clearly escaped, and he could already hear the man shouting to his fellows, rousing the castle. It was only moments before a bell began to ring, loud and clear, cutting through even the thunderstorm. By then, the three escapees had already descended the stairs to the lowest level.
The prisoners were all awake now, staring at the three who made their way to the window. Above them, Ithilian could already hear the pounding of boots, dozens of them, the guards hurriedly descending to give chase. Their only way out was by way of the rope... but a rope was easily cut, and that would send all three of them to their deaths. Lia was in no shape to climb something so dangerous, and an extended climb on one of their backs was also too dangerous to risk. The choice seemed clear to Ithilian: one of them would have to stay behind, to hold off the guards while the other escaped with Lia. It was also clear to Ithilian who that needed to be.
"Take her and go," he ordered of Ashton, drawing his swords. "I'll hold them off, give you time to get clear." It was a narrow, dead end hallway. An archer wouldn't be able to hold off a mass of prepared guards equipped with shields, not long enough. Ithilian was the stronger close quarters fighter. He gave Lia the best shot at her escape. The elven girl didn't seem to care, though.
"What? No! We're not leaving you here!"
It wasn't enough to say that Ashton was merely conflicted. Two choices clashed viciously in his mind, fighting to get an edge of the other. On one hand, he could heed Ithilian and escape with Lia-- leaving the man behind to face his fate alone. Or he could ignore the request and stay by the man's side and fight with him, letting Lia find her own way down. There was no time to think about which choice he should take, the guardsmen boots growing ever louder. Every moment he wasted thinking was another the rope around their necks tightened.
So he chose. As fast as he could manage, Ashton ripped the quiver from his back and tossed his bow to the ground. He then grabbed Lia bodily and picked her up, ignoring her angry fists and demands to be put down. Before he took the plummet out the window, he looked back for an instant to speak to Ithilian one last time. "I'll keep her safe, I promise," he pledged before he slipped out the window with his charge on his back. Lia's fists quickly turned to an iron grip as the floor melted into a fatal drop below them.
Lia's grip tightened as they began to make their way down with all the haste that Ashton dared. Her hands slowly tightened around his throat as they began their descent, her anger melting into fear. It grew difficult to suck in enough air to keep his lungs pumping, but his hands were otherwise occupied to try and to loosen Lia's hold. With one hand holding on to the rope in front and the other behind. Soon, the sounds of a scuffle erupted above them, audible even over the din of rain and thunder. Soon another sound met these as Lia's sobs filled the air around Ashton's ear. "It'll be fine, he'll be okay," he lied.
Ithilian did not intend to die, and when faced with the imminent likelihood of it, he became quite acutely aware of how much he did not want to. The first of the guards entered his field of view, armed with a heavy shield and a mace, but Ithilian thought more of Amalia, of Nostariel, of Lia descending the rope with Ashton below. Those he had wanted to spend his life with in Ferelden had been torn away from him before he was ready, and now it appeared as though he was the one being torn away. There were sudden doubts and regrets, and Ithilian wondered if any of this would have happened if he had come with Amalia instead, as she had wanted, or if instead it would simply be the two of them making a stand here, dying together. The thought then occurred to him that he could not think of a better way to die than that.
He resolved to live. This would not be the end, could not be the end. There was more for him to do yet.
First, these men needed to die, or otherwise be defeated, so that Lia and Ashton could escape. He kicked the first one's shield before he came in range of the sword, knocking him back several paces. The guard seemed to be expecting a defensive approach against so many oncoming enemies, but Ithilian did anything but that. He launched himself forward and up, forcefully pushing the shield down before he plunged his other short sword directly into the eye socket, the vulnerable spot of the full faced helmet. The guard went down in a heap.
Ithilian withdrew his blade and rolled out of the attack, rising just in time to duck below the swing of the next guard. He slashed the back of his knee, only having time to kick him forward before he had to turn and deal with the next. The guard was in mid swing when Ithilian's blade found the soft spot under his chin, driving the steel up into his brain. The guards behind that one, though, had an offensive plan of their own, pushing their shields into one another's back, sending an unstoppable weight into Ithilian, the nearest shield knocking him back enough to trip over the fall guard he'd kicked over.
He smoothly rolled out of this as well sidestepping a sword thrust with a jump into the wall, where he then pushed off with his feet, sending a punch to that guard's helm hard enough to send a stab of pain through his knuckles. He ignored it, slitting the man's throat to finish him off. On to the next he moved, and then the next, and before long the narrow hallway had few places to stand that were not the lifeless bodies of slain humans, brought down by a once vengeful elf, who now only sought the freedom and safety of a precious few.
It was the captain, Aatrox, who turned the tide against him, using his own man's shield and body for cover, striking in the moment just before Ithilian made a kill. His blade was halfway through a guard's throat when the captain's heavy maul smashed into his side. Had he met him at the start of the fight, Ithilian might have had enough energy to see the blow coming, to somehow block or dodge it, but it was far too late now. He felt ribs on his left side crack, any air he had left fleeing with no hesitation at all. The brutish captain gave a satisfied holler when the elf joined the humans on the ground.
Ithilian had left one of his blades in that guard's throat when he fell, and the other he attempted to swing at the captain from the ground. This was swatted away with a metal-gauntleted arm, before a boot came up into his nose. Ithilian's face was a sheet of blood after that, and more kicks followed, the other guards surrounding him and launching attacks anywhere they could reach. One had the bright idea to grab him and throw him to some clearer ground, so they could more easily make their hits. He dropped his sword at this point, and though he no longer had the strength to swing it, he tried to crawl to it anyway.
He was in the act of reaching out for it when the maul came down on his elbow, instantly cracking several bones in his arm and setting the elf to howling, which only encouraged the band of guards. Their blood was up now, now that Ithilian had slain that many of their brethren. Aatrox seemed intent on beating him, and none of the others dared finish him, and deny the captain his pleasure. Ithilian was vaguely aware that some of the prisoners were shouting at the guards to stop, while other cowered in corners, hiding from the violence.
"Cut that bloody rope," Aatrox ordered, and one of his men slashed at the rope leading down to the water, letting it fall into the storm. At the sight of that, Ithilian reached for Parshaara, stabbing it down into the nearest guard's foot, setting his entire leg on fire. He howled in pain and took to rolling on the floor to put it out, while another mace blow came down on Ithilian's back, putting him resoundingly to the floor. The captain knelt, and wrenched the dagger from Ithilian's grip.
"Well isn't this a fancy weapon for a dirt crawling elf? What's this made of, anyway?" Ithilian could not so much as speak a reply even if he had wanted to. Aatrox proceeded to grab him by the upper arm and roll him onto his back. "I asked you a question, knife-ears." A punch was what followed, however, right across Ithilian's jaw. "Listen carefully now. I could end your life right now if I chose to, throw you out that window, or bash your head open and see just how few brians you've got, to be breaking into my Gallows. But there's no value in that for me. No, we're going to need an example, to prevent this sort of behavior in the future. I think tonight, you and I are going to spend some quality time together. And then tomorrow, I think I'll hang you, some place where the city can see you, and know what the fate of scum like you is."
He smiled at the knife, though, clearly impressed with the handiwork. "This blade, though? I think I'll be keeping this..."
The descent was taxing, and the rope bit through Ashton's leather gloves exposing the soft flesh to it's friction. The rope only grew slicker as his blood mixed with the water, and it forced him to grip it all that much tighter-- which proved to only worsen the problem. He began to grit his teeth and fight through the pain long before the rope slackened in his hands. Suddenly, they had found themselves in a freefall to the ground below. There'd been only enough time for Ashton to twist his body in the air to avoid landing on Lia, instead letting her land on him.
Fortunately, he'd descended enough so that the fall wouldn't prove fatal. Unfortunately, that did not also mean he would escape unscathed. He struck the ground chest first, and felt his ribs crack on contact, and the pain surged through his body. He wailed aloud in tune with the crash of thunder. He could feel something thicker than water dribble out of the corner of his lips, and it was a small relief when Lia climbed off the top of him.
The rope twisted and coiled around the ground as it fell, before the end of it finally splashed down into the water. Lia looked up for any sign of Ithilian, but there was none, and no sounds of battle could be heard over the storm any longer. She noticed the boat that waited for them. Tears were mixing with rainwater on her face at this point, but she had enough sense to understand that Ithilian wasn't coming, and that this was their only way out. Ashton had taken the brunt of the fall for her, and since she had nothing more than some serious bruising at this point, she would have to do whatever heavy lifting remained, the first of which was Ashton himself.
"Come on," she urged, grimacing as she pulled him up and pushed him over into the boat. "Sorry," she murmured, at not having the strength to set him down gently. There was little to do then but push the boat in the water, get in, and row home.