“Answer us, you filth!” 

A sharp crack resounded around the jail cell, making the young guard apprentice wince. They knew the drow probably had a good reason to be in that cell, yet no matter the times they encountered it, blood still made them queasy. They felt their stomach churn as the Inquisitor shook it off his hand, as if it were nothing more than water. 

Yet, the drow just started laughing before chanting something in his own language. The Inquisitor held him by his throat. “If I wanted singing, I would have gone to the school play. Your type are so frail, so breakable, snapping you would be as easy as striking a match. But you have information we need. Tell us what you know about the crown. The Arima. Their scions.” 

The apprentice wasn’t sure about that last word - maybe it meant followers? 

“I will only speak to the young, scared one in the back...” the prisoner bargained. His long, white hair caught what little light shone into the room, a start comparison to his dark, violet skin.

The inquisitor sneered and looked back at the apprentice. 

“Oh- Oh no sir really I can listen from here, you need someone to guard the door anyway, right? I don’t think-”

“You’ll be paid triple.” 

The apprentice sighed and looked at the drow. 

“Don’t worry, youngling, if I wanted to hurt you, I already would have.” 

The apprentice groaned and started fidgeting with the edge of their armor as they approached the drow. 

“Closer, I cannot yell a secret out, now can I?”

“N-no sir,” the apprentice leaned closer, and flinched as the drow started whispering. 

Their eyes widened at what they heard. The crown- the war- the gods- the assassination attempt of the Regis. 

They were all just pawns in a much bigger game than anyone had anticipated. 

The apprentice stepped back, the drow still smiling at them.

“Now run. Go tell your kings. Let us see their next move.”