“Wulfhard.”

“Ilban.” He nods back at me as he says this, stoic as ever.

Two guards come storming down the hall, blades in hand, but Xahee grabs one by the neck, leaping from the shadows, and jams his thumbs through each eye respectively. The guard wails in pain and drops his blade, which gives Xahee time to grab it, kick the guard in the knee, and enter a clinch with the blinded guard’s partner. Wulfhard turns his attention to the conflict, and whips the chain which he used to pull the bars off of my cell at the blinded guard, knocking him backwards and to the ground, opening a gash across his exposed face. The clinched guard turns towards his fallen comrade, and Xahee uses the moment to break the clinch and stab him through an exposed rivet in his armor. Good riddance. Xahee smiles at me, and runs down the hallway,

More prisoners break out in the chaos. For all I know, they’re common criminals, but right now, we’re Ilban, one in the same. Comrades. More guards run down the hall to match the prisoner outflow. Wulfhard nods at me as I make eye contact and look down the hall I saw Deora dragged down. I run towards it in the chaos, and Wulfhard pivots as I pass him to grab a guard with one hand and throw him into the wall. I hear something break, but don’t turn back. Eyes forward. Feet moving.

The hallway turns into a blur. Sconces pass, prisoners flowing out as I go deeper in. Why? “Why am I going deeper in?” I find myself thinking. Asking myself. Corner, turn right. Sharp left. Downward slope, deeper into the dirt. Deeper. Left. Right. Straight. A fork. I stumble, come to a stop. No prisoners, no guards here. Quiet. Ringing of metal behind me. Suddenly, a pitter-patter of light footsteps up the left path. A diminutive elf runs, out of breath, then hunches over when she reaches me, and throws her hands up, backing up, staring at me.

“Y-You. Guard?”

“No. I’m looking for a half-elf.” I ask her, looking at her. She was a prisoner, surely. Or maybe she came from underground. Deep Elf, Dark Elf. Not one of the Pale Elves, and definitely not an Oak Elf at her small stature. Greyish skin contrasts with ornamental gold rings decorating her nose and ear, both of which are sharp features, the nose retrousse and ears pointed. Vibrant eyes adorn her face, with sullen bags beneath them, weary. Green in one, blue in the other, like the festival colors of Isma. Her black hair, once tied back, now chopped poorly, hanging over part of her face. “Is there anyone else down there?” I ask, panting.

“If she’s a prisoner, oubliette’s down the right.” The girl points back over her shoulder, still hunched, the path opposite she came. I look down at her waist, now, and see that she has an ornamental dagger strapped to a belt. Maybe she wasn’t a prisoner.

“Who are you?” I ask, looking at her, confused.

“That’s not much of your business, is it?” She manages a fox-like grin through her deep breathing. “I’ve got to go. They’ll be coming soon. If you’re trying to bust someone out of the dungeon… Good luck.” She reaches into a pocket on her torn robes, and palms something from it into my hand before I can react, then runs off. I turn to stop her, but she’s already far out of my range. All I can do is look down at what’s in my hand. A brilliant gemstone, prismatic, glittering. A thief.

I hear metal down the left side of the fork, and quickly take cover down the right side. Six guards clad in armor run past, not a single one turning to look down towards where the dungeon is. Truly forgotten, then. No time to waste.

I continue down the hall. Sconces, dead fires line it. Dim lights occasionally grant me passage. As my steps come quietly down the hallway, eventually, the chambers come into view. A cylindrical prison, with cells around the wall. I step into the chamber through the arch. A railing lines the interior, and I look over it, only to see two more floors of cells below. As I pull back from the ledge, I look up and see two floors above me as well. Five stacked, circular floors of cells, with prisoners contained within. These must be the worst prisoners, then. Where is Deora?

A Malkyn hisses at me as I walk past his cell. Rugged and scaled, the hiss alone tells me how venomous this one is. A human man with an unshaven beard and two gouged out eyes sits in one cell. As I pass by his cell, it smells of death. Then, Deora’s cell. The third cell I walk by has her in it. She sits quietly, staring out the bars. As I approach, she remains still.

“Deora?”

“Took long enough, Sam.” She slightly smiles, though she doesn’t look particularly happy about the situation she’s been placed in. “Don’t suppose you can grab the keys off of the pillar in the middle?” I look back over the ledge, and see that there is indeed a stone pillar in the middle of this strange dungeon. If a guard were to sit there, it would mirror a panopticon, where one guard could witness five floors of cells at once, simply by turning in place. It’s a jump away from the ledge, and, in my current state, I’m not sure if I could make it, truly.

“Yeah. I can make it.” She smiles a bit more at this. I turn away from her and wince as I adjust myself to climb up on the ledge. I was able to run here, somehow, but my pain is catching up to me. Adrenaline. I feel my heart pumping in my chest as I clamber over the guardrail and stand on the ledge, looking at the pillar. I just need to push off, and I can clear the gap. It’s a floor down, the hardest thing will be the impact. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breath out. Push.

I’m in the air now. Almost feels like soaring. The floor is below me, pillar coming closer. I see a key ring. Do the guards have to jump on to this every shift? How hard will—THUD. I land flat on my feet, but fall forward and land on my already injured, maybe broken arm. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I try to scramble to my feet but writhe in pain on top of the pillar. Shit. Searing pain shoots up my arm, through my gut, and I almost hurl from it. The keys. A metallic sparkle catches my eye from one of the few flames here in this prison. I reach for the key, but knock it off the pillar to the bottom floor of the prison. There are stairs back up. I try to slide to the edge of the pillar to get down, but slip, and fall, landing on my side. Fuck. The pain’s back. I squirm around on the ground in pain, and after what feels like an hour clamber to my feet, snatching the keyring.

A prisoner on the ground floor looks at me. An Oak Elf. “Care to free us?” I look back at him. “You can’t expect to just walk out of here. Especially in the state you’re in.”

“What are you in for?” I ask, through clenched teeth.

“This floor’s reserved for the rebellion at Seashroud.” He says, pointing around. He doesn’t seem to be lying. Everyone here is an Oak Elf.

“I have someone I must free first.” He frowns at this. I do. I need to help Deora, first. What if one of them grabs the key from me, frees the others, they swarm me? I won’t achieve what I set out to do. I’m in no condition to fight. “I’ll be back.”

I start towards the stairs, keys in hand. Step one foot up. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. A few more of these, and I’m at the top of the first flight of stairs I’ve got to climb. A prisoner or two on the second level calls out for me. I turn my head and keep walking past them towards the flight back up to the third level. One more flight. Step. Step. Step. Step. More steps. And up. I turn to my left, the outer wall of the dungeon, lined with independent cells.

“You made it back, huh?” Deora looks at me. “They usually use a ladder to get on top of the pillar. It must not be out.” I try the first key of the five on the ring. It doesn’t work. Neither does the second. The third clicks in with no issue. “They’re sorted by floor.” The door slowly creaks open. Deora steps forward. “It feels good to breathe free air again. Looks like they did a number on you, huh?” She looks at my exposed chest, my arm, both torn up, battered, broken in ways.

“Yeah. You don’t look much worse for wear.” I say. It’s mostly true. Other than her hair being unkempt and her armor being replaced with robes, she seems mostly unscathed.

“The guards were luckily quite willing to arrest me peacefully when they saw four of their own dead before them. I knew I couldn’t fight, so my best option was to surrender on my terms.” She says, calmly.

“Hm. How pragmatic.” I nod my head quietly. “You know the Seashroud Revolt?”

She grimaces. “Lost good ilbum there. They fought the good fight.”

“But the casualties?”

“A few eggs, omelet.” She says, quietly. “Why?”

“We might have some help, if you think it’s a good idea.”