Author: Turelion
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Turel wept. Tears cascaded down his pale cheeks, forming small puddles on the cold stone floor. He sighed heavily and tried again, stretching his weakened arms toward the ceiling and screaming at the top of his lungs. The words came easily, flowing from his lips. The flow of the words was all wrong though, he thought to himself. The words did not flow gracefully like water; it was more akin to the ebb of tree sap - slow and sticky. The feel of magic coursing through his veins was absent, and the familiar warmth on his shoulder was replaced with the dull pain of emptiness. Again the tears fell, mixing with the sweat of his fruitless exertion. He collapsed in despair onto his straw cot, falling instantly into a restless, nightmare-laden slumber.
He awoke slowly, forcing his eyes open to begin another day of desolation. He looked with contempt at the thick steel bars and stone walls that formed his prison. With a heave he lifted himself from the cot and stumbled on weary legs to the door of his cell. Placing his sweaty forehead against the cold steel gave him the only relief he had felt for what seemed like eternity. For weeks he had remained in this cell, attempting in vain to reclaim what had been stolen from him. Again he felt the tears welling up behind his eyes, but these were tears of unspeakable anger, of hatred. Never before had the devout cleric felt such feelings for anything. He reveled in it. The gods had forsaken him, and he would make them regret it. He would make them pay dearly. With his newfound anger driving him, he searched the cell for anything that might help him escape. He found the item he needed lying in the corner. In the cold rage that consumed him, he did not even balk as he tore into the sheets that covered the corpse of his only friend and companion. He tore through them with determination he had not felt since childhood, easily removing the lock-picking kit from the sole of his partner’s shoe. Sneaky little fellow, he thought to himself. Without so much as a glance towards his lost companion, he returned to the steel bars and listened. For several minutes he strained his elven ears for even the slightest noise. Convinced he had been forgotten by his undead captives, he began picking the lock. In his weakened state this proved to be no easy task. Several minutes of clanking, whispered curses, and fits of anger passed before the lock finally gave way. Elated, Turel threw open the door of his cell. Much to his dismay, the rusted door released a horrendously loud screech which echoed throughout the corridor. Without pause he sprinted across the hallway to where his weapons and armor had been stored. He found them in the bottom of a rotting wooden box, covered in cobwebs and dust. His sturdy iron shield had even begun rusting at the corners. “How long have I truly been here?” he asked himself silently. Unable to recall the number of days, weeks, or even years that had passed, he donned his helmet, shield, and mace. He eyed his breastplate and leggings longingly, but lacked the strength to equip them. With a growl of frustration, he turned and headed in the only direction he could find: up.
Despite his greatest efforts and his elven heritage, his booted feet echoed loudly up the staircase. If any creatures still remained in this god-forsaken place, they would hear him coming from a mile away. True to his luck of late, he soon heard the sound of movement ahead of him. He climbed on, shield and mace at the ready, for what seemed like days. His legs began to fail him, causing even more noise to reverberate up the endless stairway. Just as he felt he must stop or risk collapsing, the stairs stopped and he faced a large wooden doorway. Whatever had been moving was directly behind the door, still rustling about. Certain that anything surviving in this place was his sworn enemy, Turel knelt to regain his strength. Once his legs had regained feeling and his breath had slowed, he crept cautiously towards the door. With a howl that would put the largest of wolves to shame, he threw the door open and prepared for the worst…
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