This narrative interlude focuses on Buddy's background, and takes place between ANNIHILATION ADJACENT EPISODE I and EPISODE II.
We open on a dark cavern, deep underground. Harsh, indistinct voices can be heard outside a barred door, speaking a twisted elvish tongue. The words are foreign, but are occasionally broken by the crack of a whip or screams of pain. The natural cave structure echoes in ways that make it impossible to say how many voices there are, or exactly how distant they might be.
An acrid smell fills the small space around us - the aggregate scents of unwashed bodies, fear, and smoldering fungi. Beneath that hazy glow, two children whisper furtively to one another. Prisoners, the both of them, struggling to find some joy at the end of a day's unjust labor.
The first of the two, a gangly young elf missing half her left ear, whittles at something with a sharpened piece of stone, her face intent on the project. That face bears more scars than it should for her youth; her nine years of life have been harsh. With painstaking care, she peels away thin flakes of wood to reveal a curving shape in her hands. With every loud sound from outside she freezes, staring for a moment at the oppressive darkness through the bars of the cell they share. Satisfied that the sounds aren't getting closer, she resumes her work.
"What is it?" her companion asks, gesturing toward the shape in her hands. He's bigger than she is, but not much, with grey-green skin and lanky dark hair. He has no eyes, only a disconcertingly blank stretch of skin where they should be. The condition doesn't seem to bother him, and (after long acquaintance) she barely notices it anymore.
"It's a... dolphin." she replies softly, holding it up and smiling with a sense of pride that looks depressingly unfamiliar. "They live in the ocean, up above? ...my mom used to tell me about them." The two have been whispering together in a mixture of languages known as “undercommon” - some words borrowed from common, others in the language of drow, and some words from stranger, less savory creatures - but she uses the elvish word for dolphin, not knowing any other.
"It looks fearsome," the young grimlock says, the intended compliment clear in his voice, "are they dangerous?" He's heard of oceans, but has never put much thought into what sort of animals might live in one.
She smiles at the idea of a fearsome dolphin, and opens her mouth to respond, but the conversation is cut off by the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside. Both children dive to a dark pile of rags in the corner, the girl pocketing the half-carved sea creature and her makeshift knife in a smooth motion. In seconds, they quickly adopt the appearance of sleep, holding still and breathing slowly, wrapped in their foul, moth-eaten blankets.
A silhouette pauses in the barred doorway, red eyes in the darkness peering toward them. It waits, then nods, and then shuffles onwards to check the next slaves.
The silence stretches so long that it seems the question had been forgotten, but finally the young elf answers. "They're beautiful." She whispers it softly, to her only friend. "Nothing like this place."
The young grimlock's forehead wrinkles in thought as he imagines what a real 'dolphin' might look like. Lost in imagination, he drifts to sleep. We watch him age as we move to the present, his face gaining scars and deeper frown lines, but it still shows the same expression of wonder.
Now, years later, he can see dolphins; not just one but a dozen or more, revealed to his keen hearing with every high-pitched squeal they make to one another as they race alongside the ship where he rests. Remembering the elf girl, he fondly rests a hand on a small and familiar stone knife at his belt, wishing she were here with him to share the sight.
UP NEXT...