Slate gray eyes dully reflect the torch light from behind a rock at the mouth of the cave. The figure attached to them turns around and slouches backwards against the rock allowing himself a brief breather before continuing, knowing the closest guard was crumpled behind a tree ten feet away. The figure reaches into one of the many pockets on his black jerkin and pulls out a small water skin. He holds it in front of his face for a second knowing it is his last one. Even if he had reached his goal and irrevocably acted on it, would he be able to make it with no more? He peeks over the rock again for a brief second and slouches down once more. He mumbles, "Got no choice now..." before splashing the cool liquid onto the emerald green scales of his forehead. The figure gets up into a crouch, peering over the rock waiting for his chance. He stands coiled, like a living spring with barely bridled energy.
A gnoll at the front of the cave cracks, what he can only figure is a joke, in their guttural tongue. As the group around the small fire bends over whooping like hyenas he takes his chance. The energy is unleashed, moving so fast his jerkin makes more a blur than his pale skin, the figure jumps and rolls behind a small "structure" that the gnolls have set up for a certain degree of "comfort". The structure reminds him of the human idea of a couch, although all this is is poor quality leather pulled loosely over some bones of an unknown animal. The leather was thin so next time a joke was being told and preemptive cackles were heard the figure used the blades fastened to the fins on his arms to cut through the leather and leap out of the seat. the punchline came out the wrong part of the gnoll's throat as the figure cut his neck wide. The other gnolls could only stare dumbstruck as the figure whipped two wickedly fluid throwing daggers into their chests. the last gnoll turned seeming to try to arm himself, but the figure was quicker and the gnoll breathed no more than one last hiss out its severed windpipe. The assassin know thought that the ruckus had caused some attention from those near by as he quickly retrieved his daggers and ducked behind a small tent erected in the cave.
It was slow blooding work making his way to the back of the cave where he knew the slaves were being kept, and he thought he had almost made it when something he hadn't expected happened as he got to the back of the cave. The area was more open and off to his right he could see a small alcove where the slaves were being penned up. The only other thing in the back of the cave's open area was a large and much nicer tent than the rest. The sneak knew he was surrounded by hostile gnolls, still far too many for comfort, even given how many he had killed. But he comforted himself in the fact that he had survived worse odds. The number of guards, although smaller than it must have been, was still decent and he knew that he wasn't going to make it over to the pens unnoticed. The only thing to do was to take them head on. As he rolled into the combat the gnolls reacted quickly to his attacks, faster than he had anticipated.
Every slash was met with blade as each side trying to take the others life. The would be assassin was doing pretty well, given the odds, but he was weakening fast. A mix of racial lack of endurance and low water tiring his limbs and pulling his blows. The figure hit a gnoll in the face using his head fin while trying to clear some room. More gnolls were joining from the front of the cave and the weight of numbers was spelling the Zora's doom. then all sound and action ceased in response to a loud echoing roar from the direction of the larger tent.
The crowd parted to a string of words in the foul gnollish tongue. Greegra locked eyes with the zora, feral fury in his eyes, and then continued in common so that his next edict was not only a command, but intimidation. "Don't kill it! Its mine! Its worth a fortune!" The crowd parted even further as Greegra advanced on the zora.
All the failed liberator could think was, "He knows... Imprisonment of this sort will be worse than death..." Closing up behind Greegra the crowd formed a certain kind of arena wall as they all cheered, happy to see their captain in a duel. Greegra wasted no time, whipping around a very large nonlethal club he carried for just such an occasion. the zora tried to block but the huge blow still sent him flying across the make shift arena. The zora rolled away from the next blow and struck up. What was meant to be a killing blow only grazed Greegra's face, leaving a cut that would become a scar across Greegra's face forever. Greegra did not take it lightly. He lashed out with a fist as the zora left himself exposed, blood splattering from Greegra's cut due to the exertion.
Everything fell to black as the zora fell unconscious, ready to be put in the pen.