[Q1] The Chains that Bind Us

The healer is right. We are not meant to be dead. Dead play things aren't very fun to him. There was a stiffness about him as he rose, looking down to catalogue just how tattered his own clothing was, to find that the soft green linens he'd been wearing had at some point been taken from him, replaced with a hastily stitched rendition of the clothing he'd once worn day in and day out in his thousands of years a slave. 

A length of fabric that wrapped across his hips like a skirt, pulled high on one side To expose the length of his leg from ankle to hip, everything above left bare save for the golden collar. It had always left every scar on display as they criss crossed his skin, leaving more scar than unmarred skin after milenia of torture. It had been an effective means of embarrassment in years prior, leaving him so exposed, and that had not lessened with time. 

He couldn't allow the unease he felt to keep him from keeping these people alive. As he had prior, this was something that he had to ignore, push to the side and continue past. I was once a slave, yes, thousands of years ago. Held captive by the very same man who likely holds us captive now if these rags they've given me are any indication. Elgar'nan. That or someone has a very poor sense of humor. But no longer. I am the archivist and Bow of Arlathan and during my years a slave, I helped to free others. a pause, as he watched the lock bite the rogue's sticky fingers. Keep your fingers out of that if you want to keep them. He'd never thought any of them would be foolish enough to try such a thing. 

Babysitting hadn't been high up on his list of priorities, yet that seemed to be exactly what he was destined for.

My strengths lay in the elements and the arcane. My ability to draw a bow was stolen a very long time ago. As for our purpose here, It is fairly straightforward that we are meant to be kept as slaves, and in the same hand, exactly what is not to happen. The sooner we leave, the better. Though we will need the keys. That is our task. Removing themselves from the immediate area was easy enough. At least on the surface. Obedience in a slave was counted on. And not a soul in that cage was an obedient thing. 

Pushing the gate free took only a moment, the hinges new and oiled and not a sound was made.

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Summary: Who's made to wear short skirts? Faelyn is made to wear short skirts. An old call back meant to embarrass and degrade him. He confirmed that he was once a slave and is now the archivist and Bow of Arlathan leadership, that his power lays in elemental magic and the arcane. States that keys must be found, and that they must leave soon and quickly. The door to their cage is simply pushed open and due to its newer construction, does not make noise.