Einah & Magnus

The Dungeon

The first thing I noticed was that the dungeon wasn't as bad as it could have been, although my knowledge of dungeons was thankfully small. Nevertheless, a dungeon is still a dungeon. As I was being led through many twisting corridors, I tried to remember my way. Six torches, then a turn to the left, four more and you turn to the right. Besides the torch light, there were a few small windows that let sunshine in, but even the light of day couldn't penetrate that piercing darkness. It seemed to seep into your bones, chilling your very soul. It was completely stone, and they were all cold and damp to the touch, making it hard to breathe. Not that you wanted to, because the smell of death and disease was heavy in the air. I knew that I couldn't stay in there very long because if the darkness and cold didn't get to me, then the sickness would. I hugged myself tightly, holding onto what warmth that could be found, and clung to the one hope I had as I was being led down deeper into the recesses of the dungeon.
We passed by cells with solitary inmates, scratching on the wall or moaning and talking just to hear the sound of a human voice. My guards walked a little faster, even they didn't want to be in there for too long. I studied them, noticing that they were very young looking, probably just new recruits. I wondered if they would be able to handle the ravages of war, of if they would just die like too many other soldiers.
That thought reminded me of a soldier I wish would die. It still felt that Magnus had betrayed me somehow. I didn't even struggle as I was thrust into the cell. I remembered looking into his eyes and seeing something strange. I would have thought it was remorse. That is, if I didn't know better.
The slamming of the cell door brought me back to reality and the dim present. The sound reverberated throughout the hard walls, a finality in it's tone. I suddenly felt as if this cell was my tomb, and I was doomed to spend the rest of my life in the dark, with who knows what crawling around me. The panic started to rise in me, but I shoved it down. If I was going to get out of this, I was going to have to think fast. First things first: I had to get out of these chains.
Gingerly sitting down, I maneuvered my hands down to my feet, and took one of my boots off. As I sat down on the cold hard ground, I felt something crawl over my hand. I didn't want to contemplate what it was, but I remembered that it was hairy. Slipping my hand down the sole, I felt for a small piece of metal I used to pick locks. Finally I found it, and gently tugged it out of its hiding place. After that I made quick work of my wrist and ankle shackles. Each time I heard the tiny click, it was like a step closer to freedom. I took a moment to massage the feeling back into my hands and feet, and with renewed vigor, I set out to escape.
I made short work of the lock on the door, and soon I was maneuvering my way around the labyrinth of the dungeon passages. As I approached what I hoped was the exit, I had to stop and hide in the shadows every time I heard the footsteps of guards escorting another unfortunate soul to his confinement. When that danger had passed I would continue, the clink of shutting doors reverberating through my mind, pressing me forward. The lonely inmates talking to themselves or scratching on the walls in desperation tugged at my heart, making me want to take them all with me. I silenced my conscience by rationalizing this desire. None of us would get out if I tried to take everyone with me.
Stopping and looking around, I realized that my cut and dry plan of escaping might not be as foolproof as I had thought it was going to be. I could have sworn I took the same path that was taken to get me to my cell, but I didn't seem to be getting any closer to an end. There was nothing that looked familiar, though that could also be attributed to the monotony of the design. Everything looked the same, no matter what part you were in. It was either dark and depressing, or darker and more depressing. After what seemed like hours of pointless wandering, I tried to make my way back to my cell, to perhaps start the process again.
I truly began to give up hope when I couldn't even make it back there. There is no way to tell orientation in a dungeon, so I couldn't pinpoint which direction I was facing. I sat back against the damp stone, despairing of ever finding an exit. Just as I was visualizing dying in this corridor and being found a skeleton years after my death, something ran through the shadows into the light. It was a rat, scurrying along, not bothered by the lack of light or proper course. At this point, I figured nothing could be worse than my present situation. Maybe the rat knew the way out. In any case, I began to follow it, as it twisted and turned, navigating through the shadowy sea of darkness.