Adventure Time [Cath]

[Ruin]

The only sound audible to his ears was a steady thump, thump, that he could swear was flowing through him like a river through stone. Even Miraguel's breathing had faded away, much like the light of the glows that had eventually gone out, in their dark cell leaving him shrouded in hopelessness. Go on an adventure, he had said, the he in question being his dark-haired accomplice. There will be treasure, he said. The treasure in question being prized artifacts of Crescent Hold. "Of course the only reason you mentioned treasure to begin with was so I would go off with you on yet another wherry-brained adventure" he scolded the darkness. The thumping stopped.

Moments later it resumed, and with it, the burning pain in his forehead began again, as if the two were related. Perhaps it was just his imagination. Men had been known to see things in the darkness. Almost as if they had not been born to live in stone, which was exactly the truth as he would tell it, but stone was a tolerable discomfort for him--as long as it meant wealth and power. Miraguel, well, his friend was probably floundering more in captivity than he was, though they hadn't spoken about their predicament in a few marks. Or maybe it had only been a handful of minutes. The last thing he remembered coming out of that troublesome mouth was assurances that he Tukkarlio the wise one, would surely deliver them from their shackles and out of this hot stewpot that Miraguel had placed them in. Because he always did.

The thumping had taken up a feverish beat in the dark, and somewhere he could hear scuffling, or maybe it was sniffling, either way he hoped it was Miraguel and not some tunnelsnake come to rip their eyes out through the sockets. It would be very hard to charm women out of their jewelry with one eye. In fact he'd probably have to become a pirate on the principle. Which he had heard could make a man quite wealthy, so maybe, in the end, this would all be okay. Maybe. His wrists were raw from the cold steel that bound them to the even colder stone, and his legs felt heavy from the hammered chains that held them down (there would be no running even if they could forsake the room, unless they could shake their binds), and even in this moment he found himself laughing into the chill air. "Do you suppose they'll use these to stake us out with? I can't imagine they have much metal to spare."

Not during Threadfall. Not when War had come. The thumping had paused, and his head was clearing from the haze of pain, but his fingers were still busy. Working away at the sliver of hard iron he had found jammed into the water-ruined wall. The moisture he felt could have been groundwater from above, or blood, but it didn't matter. There was a plan forming in his head, the parts of it he hadn't scrambled from the constant beating against the rough wall. All he needed was another quarter candlemark. Once the nail was free, he could release their chains, and then they could make their escape through force and cunning once the guards came to collect them. Time. That was all he needed, time for himself, and time for his brother in arms.

If they didn't have the time, well, they would do as they had always done before. They would make the time.

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