[Tancred]

It is dark. It's always dark, down here. Tancred looks to the sky - to the roof of the city cavern - but the light he yearns for is not there.
"YOU! Male! Get your filthy head down!"
There is a crack of a whip, somewhere. Another scar. The young squire barely feels it any more. Always the chains, the slave train. The stench of blood and sweat is all around him, and those who were once his companions and masters surround him.
He can barely remember naught else but the battle. The taste of the ash of the village is still in his throat. The screams are still in his ears. The guilt of faliure is wrapped around his throat.
The Drow were victorious. Were their raids merely bait, to attract slaves, soldiers? Seventeen Knights of the Order of the Fiery Heart and fifty-seven of their squires and men-at-arms went to protect Ashvale and Tancred did not know how many of those were here, chained and slaved.
THere was a sudden commotion up ahead. A drow slaver had been knocked to his feet, and a slave was battering him to the ground with his bare head. There was a terrible crunch, as the Drow's nose splintered and went into his brain; and then suddenly the slave was up.
Tancred recognised the man. Sir Edraic of Trademeet, it was. An old veteran, his face contorted not with fear but of anger. The others cheered as he began searching the body of the Drow for keys, but as he rose with unchained hands shrieking words could be heard. The slavemistress was casting a spell. Edraic ran at her, but he got merely a few steps before he was covered in strands of sticky web. He struggled, but he could not resist as other slavemasters carried his writhing body to the slavemistress.
The drow drew sword, and stood to bar passage to the slavemistress. others kept their whips handy. The slavemistress drew a thin, viciously serrated dagger, and grinned as the struggling knight was brought to a small outcrop of rock - a makeshift sacrificial slab. She stood behind him, toying with the dagger he held.
"You think of escape," said the mistress. "Witness the price of escape..."
The screams of Edraic seemed to echo to the roof of the cavern beyond, and went on, it seemed, forever...

***

"No... no... No! NO!"
Tancred sat up, horror written upon his features. He looked about him, into the darkness, thrashing about wildl - but then the feel of the boat, the rushing of the water... he remembered where he was, and breathed easily. The dream faded. Tancred desperately tried to remember it, but as always it slipped through his mind and away with the night.
There WAS a strange sound, though. A squelching, and a cry for help. The cavalier got to his feet, and groggily wandered over to the ship's side.
"Um... could you give me a hand?"
Tancred beheld Ash, a fellow paladin, trapped... trapped? Why should that seem so horrible? Stuck in mud. The cavalier found his way overboard, and began to try and get his compatriot out of the mud.
Pulling seemed to do no good; a rope seemed to work, attached to the boat. Ash pulls against the mud, and eventually he works himself free. He collects his greaves, bids Tancred tnaks, and scurries off lest Skye return in wrath.
Tancred sighs, wondering where on earth the party picked THOSE two up. He shakes his head, and chuckles to himself. Getting back on the boat, he finds his blanket and settles down to rest once more.
"Good night Karna - oh, no."
Tancred sorrowfully looks at his sword, and slowly drifts into sleep once more.

***

It is dark. It's always dark, down here. Tancred looks to the sky - to the roof of the city cavern - but the light he yearns for is not there.
"YOU! Male! Get your filthy head down!"
There is a crack of a whip, somewhere. Another scar. The young squire barely feels it any more...