Chapter Text
He could hear footsteps…. At least he thought he could. At this point it could be just his mind making up hallucinations—desperately trying to cope while he hopelessly waits for death to finally take him.
It had been three, four…maybe five days now? He wasn’t too sure. He couldn’t be too sure. He just knew it had been too long…and now it was just a matter of time. No one was coming.
He had yelled for help until his voice gave out—and even attempted to continue for perhaps a day after that; not caring that his voice was a rasp that no one could hear. Not caring that his abused dry throat was nothing more than a bleeding mess. Not caring that by continuing to yell that he was only succeeding in mangling his vocal cords.
The only reason he had stopped was because between his attempt to escape his bonds—a futile endeavor at wrenching against rope and thrashing in attempt to knock over the wretched scaffold—and his shouted pleas that he simply had no energy left.
That left him with the the only thing he could do. Dangle from the scaffold and wait for death as his mind conjures the hallucination of footsteps.
Because even though he tried with everything that was left of him, without his hands there was no way to escape… and with the ghastly iron nails biting into each of his fingers and the center of his palms there was no way he could get use of his hands. Leaving him here imprisoned, trapped, for dead….
….and forced to listen to his minds damned hallucinations of footsteps.
Footsteps getting louder. And louder. And louder. Approaching him. As if he would be stumbled upon by an imaginary savior.
He could only loll his head back and let out a pitiful cry as slowly the footsteps became two distinct pairs. Accompanied by voices!
Strangely familiar voices shouting words that he couldn’t understand apart from an underlying tone of annoyance. Voices familiar enough that despite knowing that his mind was just playing dirty tricks on him, it was impossible to stop a glimmer of hope from surging through him.
A dim glimmer that is promptly destroyed as the sound of footsteps abruptly halt and the voices are silenced.
He forced his eyes open to glare at the spot where the hallucination had come from and curse the gods that were tormenting him so. But to his surprise, once he looked passed the blood stained ground and the occasional body of highway men, stood a wide eyed Jarlaxle and Entreri.
He tried to let out a laugh—making more of a chocking noise than anything. He wasn’t sure if was hallucinating or if they were actually here.
Then Jarlaxle’s mouth opened and let out a garbled noise. His lips were moving as if he were saying: “He is alive. We have to help him.” But the sounds were just gibberish.
It was a hallucination. A cruel hallucination. Drizzt let out a broken cry. It only took a second the harsh metal of a bejeweled dagger to pressed against his neck.