Ag's Perspective
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I swear no matter the dungeon they are always made just under 7' 6" as I find myself clacking the back of my horns into them every time I look down. Though that's not to say this specific cell isn't bad. Two metal beds held to the walls with chains, and the constant drip of water from one of the ceiling corners for whoever's desperate enough for a drink. No natural light opening, unfortunate. I've experience harsher and freed myself from worse. I was more worried for my new companion, if I can even call him that.
He sat down on one of the beds while I took the one opposite. When we first met he seemed determined and angry, now he seems to sit in a silent worry. It's quite cold in here, yet he looks like he's sweating buckets. "I know humans often sweat when they become anxious," I say. "but I've never seen one that looks like he's been pulled from a river.
Reggie -- I believe that's what he said his name was -- jolted up and looked at me. He then wiped off his face only for it to be moistened only seconds after. "Sorry about that." He started. "I'm just worried about my team. Percy and Ronwe must be worried sick."
"Did you know them long?" Hopefully talking with him will easy his burdens.
"I've known Ronwe for almost a year now. Joined up with me so she should could write an adventure book, but boy was she not suited for such a life. She could never bring herself to end a life; even now she still can't stand the sight of blood."
"She seems quite admirable. What about this Percy?"
"Picked him up a month ago. One of those monk fellas, said he had a guardian angel in his pocket. My only assumption is it got pissy with me taking it's job and some god put me here with you."
"That's certainly a possible theory, but it doesnt explain why I'm here. I was doing my duty; moments away from burning a tyrant to embers when suddenly I'm locking swords with you."
He leans back in thought. Messy, short brown hair scruffing up against the stone wall. "Humans have strange choices of hair styles." I thought as I've now noticed the two seperate patches of hair on either side of his upper lip. "I really hope that's not natural."
"Bloody 'ells mate!" A voice called from down the dungeon halls. "I swear on your mum if you poke me with that stick one more time she's not gonna recognise yea!"
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Bounty's Perspective
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This dodger's really taking the piss now. Bloody humans... It's always gotta be some sort of race thing. Well I'm sorry you were never born with nice fur, no claws to scratch and scale buildings, and no legs to run at high speeds. Actually no he does have legs, otherwise he wouldn't be POKING ME WITH A FECKING STICK EVERY 15 FEET.
It doesn't help Whistle is getting heavier with every step. I think he's lying about the graze. He's got the muscle to shrug off a nick, but he's not coughing up blood so I didn't hit anything vital. The bullet hit something in between. He needs some sort of medicine man or cleric at worse, but I doubt POKEY MCFUCKSTICK behind us would do anything to help out.
Getting thrown into the cell was actually a nice change of pace. Though the peace doesn't last long as I can see Whistle fading as I now notice the entire right side of my duster is covered in blood. Pokey McFuckstick finally takes his leave as some other guard stands at attention. Hopefully he's more hospitable. "Hey, buddy! My friend here is bleeding out. I need you to get a cleric."
"Yeah, I'm not falling for that one Cat."
"There is an actual pool of blood forming under him, and you're just gonna stand there!?"
"Yeah yeah, your fancy illusion magic is top notch. Bravo."
Fuck, he's too skeptical for his own good. "I can assist." Said a voice coming from the cell over. I recognise it, Dragonkin. "Place your friend's hand around the bars, but I warn you, it will sting."
"Is it all right if it stings, Whistle?"
There's no response.
"Alright my mate's for it!" I drag Whistle over to the side of the cell. It's a pain in the ass trying to menuvour his arm through and around the bars. A dark red scaled hand reaches around as well and grabs onto Whistle. An orange and white light emanates from their handshake. "There, he will still require proper care. I only put a bandage on it." I open up Whistle's duster --damn, we both have the same fashion sense. One of us is going to have to change later.-- and catch the smell of burnt hair. The wound has been cauterized.
Whistle's bleeding stopped but he's still worse for wear. "Hey, cheers mate! What's your name?"
"You may call me Ag."