<strong>Alisandra</strong>feels a sharp prod against the center of her back, one of the drow warriors jabbing at her with the intricately detailed pommel of his short sword, pushing her forward along the rickety rope bridge towards the barracks of the prison after pulling her away from her friend. The work detail for this shift seemed to being headed towards the narrow doorway carved into the stalactite, the half-elf woman almost tripping over her feet in uneven carved stone and zurkwood bridges between stalactites.<br/><br/>"Don't worry about your friend," the Paladin could hear the voice of one of the guards sneering from behind her, "Nothing goes to waste down here, not like topside. He'll be spider food before you finish sweeping up, wouldn't want you tripping over his body on the way back."<br/><br/>The group was led forward into the circular barracks room, a row of mops and buckets filled with water cleaner than that they were given to drink in the cell set out before them.<br/><br/>"Go on then," the guard gave her another prod against her shoulderblade, "The place isn't going to clean itself."<br/>_____________________________________________________<br/><br/><strong>Caityth</strong>can recognize one of the males leading her out of the group cell along the rest of the work detail. One of the elite warriors at the facility, likely the guard in charge of this particular outing, after a brief thought she recalls his name as Zot, remembering him as part of the raiding party that captured her and brought her to Velkenvelve in the first place. He waits back for a moment, looking to the other guard prodding the half-elf woman forward before waving to the shaggy Quaggoth behind them, the two of them making their way up to the Sorceress.<br/><br/>"These surface-walkers don't know how good they have it, do they?" he asks Caityth, the buckles on his armor clinking together as he walks up behind her, moving uncomfortably close to her.<br/><br/>"Better here with a meal to rely on and work to be done than out there in the black. Who knows what's lurking in the tunnels? Try explaining that to surfacers, though I suppose." She could feel his breath against the side of her throat as he leans in close to her, "At least you know you're better off where we can keep an eye on you than out there alone, don't you?"<br/>_____________________________________________________<br/><br/>At the sound of the hushed conversation going on between<strong>Nyci</strong>and<strong>Sophia</strong>, the red-haired dwarven woman approaches. There's more than a hint of fear in her eyes as she makes her way over to the gnome and the seated human, though the way she moves suggests an anxious eagerness to approach the two, "Work, more likely than not," she says, looking from one to the other, "Were sacrifice they'dve done away with us by now, no use feedin' us if we're not more'n spiderbait."<br/><br/>At that the fish-like humanoid sitting cross-legged on the other side of the cell opens one bulbous eye, blinking it slightly, the other remaining closed. He says something in a burbling dialect that neither the gnome or the human recognize, though his tone seems even, unhurried.<br/><br/>The dwarf woman standing near them sighs to herself. "Don't think I'll ever get used to how calm he is about this whole situation," she says, looking back to the fish creature.<br/><br/>"Are you two from the surface, then?" she asks, looking expectantly between them, "Not too many others from topside down here, aside from that horrible orc fella."<br/>_____________________________________________________<br/><br/><strong>Niva</strong>sits, nursing the sores left from her shackles, hearing the jangling of chains being drug across the uneven, carved stone floor as the diminutive form of the bald, dusk-skinned deep gnome approaches her. He sits heavily next to her, the sound of the metal shackles ringing throughout the cell as he places his back against the wall. Looking up to the ceiling for a moment, he turns to her before speaking.<br/><br/>"So," he begins, "What d'you think the over-under is on days 'fore they finally give up tryin' t'move us and just hack us up for Quaggoth meat," trying to keep his tone light. He nods his head over to the sullen drow sitting in the corner, his back and shoulder visible against the outline of the distant waterfall, "That 'un isn't very chatty but he said they usually move prisoners in groups of five to keep 'em from gettin' any ideas. Ain't no reason for them to keep this many of us around without sendin' a group to the capitol if they could."