It would have been a good way to die, bow in hand and fighting to the last against the Drow. Unfortunately of the predatory races of Faerun, the Drow were one of those who believed in more than mindless slaughter. Oh no, while his friends died and did not need to deal with such awful conditions, he was lucky enough to live from being doped up on poison.  He was certain there was enough of it in him to kill a horse, but somehow he lived. Possibly the Drow not using lethal toxins, just the kind that immobilized and weakened someone. Too weak to fight back and maybe even escape – plus knowing that even if he somehow did that he was no longer on the surface and in the bowels of the earth? He had nowhere to go. Mikhail wanted to spit in their eyes and plant an arrow in their throat, but the Drow had him by a proverbial leash and the only way to even think on getting out was to play along. Once some of the poison had left his system, he had the strength to work for the drow. Cleaning armor, which usually seemed clean enough – it was more than likely busy work to keep him from being idle of course. But, being a slave had some perks. They kept an eye on him, he knew this place had to be important for more than just the guards. Were they keeping stuff here? Maybe. Could be their gear, could be maps, could be gods know what. But a secret was a secret, and secrets were valuable when you had nothing else.<br/><br/>Back in the cell, he graciously took his soup, swishing it around and causing the brackish looking contents to swirl around idly. Maybe not the worst thing he’s ever eaten as it was filling, but it still tasted like wood and pulp. “Well. Here’s to another wretched meal.” Lifting the bowl to his lips and taking a long sip, he wanted to down the wretched stew as quick as possible, plus the days of being unable to eat anything from the poison still made him starved. Sighing in exasperation as he finished his first bout of it, he looked around, quite clearly unhappy but forcing a smile. His clothes were dirty, his brown hair a mess, bags under his eyes...<br/><br/>“Mikhail. Wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you all under current circumstance...” Most of them looked like familiar races – save the frog-like thing... But perhaps he spoke common too? “But let’s be honest. This is shit. And it’s not gonna get better.” He wanted to say ‘Unless we break out’ Yet did not,  because... Yeah, /how/? No goddamn way would the Drow be lax enough to let them get out.