h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Dry, black as night (Drow being able to see perfectly in the blackest visibility find it amusing for the humans they indulge their sadistic whims upon to not be able to see what's going to happen to them).
Clean rock and soft ashes adorn the floors of all the cells. The only light visible (barely) is the slight light from outside (the dull red glow of lava) from a landing place for the High-Guard wyverns to swiftly bring in any difficult prisoners.

Skullsplitter is thrown into one of the barred cells. The Guardian laughs and waves a hand, performing a very light healing spell - enough to stop him dying from the savage beating he'd received, then leaves.

Skullplitter groans as he tries to get into an even vaguely comfortable position.

Time passes. Then more time. A guard appears, and knocks out Skullsplitter with a spell. He comes to fully healed, gagged and chained rather thoroughly to a torture table. The Emperor comes in, smiling and things get messy for a while.
This continues every day for a time.

***

The High-Guardian lands in the aviary entrance, a guard approaching to enquire on the Guardian's business is rewarded with a Head-ectomy. Cymoril, riding on the back of the wyvern slips off, stoops to pick the keys off the guards belt, and walks over to the bars, looking in at the worse-for-wear Euan.

"Human, I have come to free you. But I do so only on the condition that you do not try to kill me for at least a week."

"Nae kiliin' yez? An' yez come tae free me... fergive me if this seems a wee bit fishy..."

"I can leave you here until the Emperor tires of you if you'd like. Morag wants you free of here. And I, well frankly you intruige me. A week in the hands of the Emperor's finest torturers and you're still as rebellious as ever. Now choose."

"Awright, awright... Ah'll nae kill ye this week."

Cymoril nods, satisfied, and still unsure of exactly why she was doing this (must be her soft demon half), unlocks the cell door.

The High-Guardian gives him a nod towards the steed, and Cymoril concentrates and spreads her wings.

"Now, Skullsplitter. We're going to have to fly very quickly out of here. Your sister there wants you free."

Skullsplitter narrows his eyes in thought.

"So, why ye doin' this? Ah thought ye wanned me fer a slave..."

"This whole situation has.... given me a lot to think about."
Cymoril looks at Morag
"For years I have respected a human without realising it, and yet even now that I know the truth, the respect is still there. And as for you... I've never seen such defiance and mental resilience. I wonder if there is one race of humans that may deserve respect. Or perhaps it's just that you and your sister are exceptional. I intend to find out. Come. We must flee. Mount your sister's steed and we will escape from here."
She beats her wings, a look of effort on her face (she didn't fly often), and climbs the thermals of the magma-cavern.

Skullsplitter clambers onto Morag's wyvern, a look of puzzlement mixed with dark brooding on his face.

After a couple of minutes flight Skullsplitter shrugs his shoulders and pulls out a hip flask which had been secreted in the folds of his great kilt.

"A' the mental resilyence in tha worl' cannae compare to gettin' well pished afore ye meet the Drooies."

Taking a long slug from the flask, Skullsplitter settles down for the journey ahead.

<>

The steep climb lasts for a few hours, the lights and towers of Commorogh (except for the Emperor's) gradually dwindling below.
Eventually the group reach the ceiling - a brooding cloud of sulphur and steam, wyvern shadows scuttling over the ceiling and swooping below.
Marag's mount grips the ceiling with it's wing claws, and climbs through a hole, hovers up a chimney vent using the thermal, and emerges in the cool clean air over a nearbye mountain. Morag crawls out looking exhausted, and grimaces as she notices the near-dawn light.

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