Alan ran his hand against the wall once more. It was cold and surprisingly smooth, he imagined other prisoners in this same situation running their hands exactly as he was, day after day, year after year, until the surface was the bumpy smooth texture he felt now. He fought back the despair.

He had been dropped in this dark pit a while back. Instead of going into the city, Blake had made him take some potion that had rendered him unconscious and when he had woken up, he had been here. He remembered feeling vertigo as he looked around and saw Blake staring down from an entrance above him. It was almost like being in the bottom of a well.

"Here we go." Blake had said. "Final stop. So we'll be keeping you in this here cell for a while. Nothing to it, you can rest up here and we'll be back to see you soon." He found the key and put it in a latch in the hole above him. "We will be getting answers from ya lad, no doubt about it, so easiest thing is to cooperate when we come for ya. You understand?"

Alan nodded his head still groggy from whatever he had been made to drink, "I understand." He tried for calm, but his voice came out small. He was scared. "I do understand," he repeated, "I just... isn't there another way? I'm happy to cooperate. I'll behave, I won't tell anyone what I saw.." Alan trailed off.

Blake's face turned hard. "No boy, this is how its gotta be. No way around it. And believe me, cause I can see you thinking about it, there ain't no escape here. I wouldn't get your hopes up." With that, he had closed the latch leaving Alan in the dark.

That had been some time ago.

It had been three meals since then, and so far no one had come to get him. It was dark. Dark was an understatement, Alan thought ruefully, to describe a complete absence of light. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face, and he thought it actually seemed brighter somehow when he closed his eyes.

There was no real way to tell time except by when meals were brought to him. The only entrance he could find was the latch he had seen above him when they had dropped him in. The latch itself was a thick slab of steel with a small window of thick metal bars roughly twenty feet above his head. The only time he could actually make it out and see the inside of his cell was when the guards came to drop down food, bringing torches to light the way. This had happened three times and he had tried to take the opportunity to learn his surroundings and see if the guards were talkative.

So far they had not responded, simply throwing his food into the cell haphazardly, and promptly leaving. His next plan was to count the seconds between meals and try to figure out a system where he could record days based on that timing. He didn't know why keeping track of time was so important to him, but it scared him how easy it was to lose track of it in the pitch darkness of the cell. Plus there wasn't much else to do.

The food itself was not much to speak of. Stale bread, more rock than bread, and a foul-smelling mush along with water. Worse was how they delivered it to him. They simply threw it down into his hole. He quickly learned they would drop the food directly on him if he was not careful. The water they dumped in the same way and he discovered the cell floor must lean slightly as eventually it would pool in a corner from which he could sip it from. When they left he would then have to feel around the floor for what they had dropped in order to eat it. It was upsetting but still he forced himself to eat everything he could find.

His cell was a square, roughly three paces from wall to wall. The sides were smooth stone. For some reason, he assumed he was very very deep underground. He wondered about who had been held here in the past and why. He hadn't ever heard of Boulder even having dungeons as there were too many Skills that someone might have to help them escape. Instead, rather than imprisonment wrongdoers were usually punished immediately and severely. If the crime was severe enough the criminal was put to death, and in rare circumstances put under a highly Skilled guard and drugged or tortured.

He knew he must be the last type in this case, and while he was worried about Blake's promise that they would get answers from him, he was starting to develop a real fear that they wouldn't come for him at all and just leave him here. There was no bedding, no light, no interaction... there was nothing. And there was one more thing that weighed on him. The bathroom situation. Namely the lack of one.

He had not found any place to go in the small cell. He had chosen the corner to use furthest from where the water pooled, but within the confines of his cell that was not far enough away from any other thing for his liking. He worried about it eventually mixing with the food and water that the guards threw down and spent some time trying to feel the slope of the floor in order to avoid this as long as possible. There wasn't much to do about it though and at some point he would not be able to hold it in any longer. He sat down on the cold hard floor and put his head between his knees. Why was this happening?

Time passed.

He had used the bathroom and resigned himself to eventually getting used to the smell. He had removed his shirt to soak up the urine so that he could avoid it mixing with the water. He was ravenous and only growing hungrier. Had they forgotten about him? Only three meals had come. Was it night time, was that why it was taking so long? Or had it only been a few hours since his last meal?

He was hungry. He had learned not to focus on the smell. He knew enough to recognize that at least half a day must have passed since his last meal. Or at least he thought he did? Had he fallen asleep?

Alan drifted in and out of sleep, paced his cell when he could, and tried to climb the wall for quite some time from various angles and directions. He also tried to think of any Skills he might be able to activate that might help him escape this situation. He had read up on his fair share of Skill path books back in school. He used to read them and imagine which ones he might choose, and what professions or guilds he could join to learn more.

He couldn't think of any climbing related Skills, but he knew of a jumping Skill that had been used as an easy textbook example of Skill acquisition in school. So he kept climbing and jumping. If he remembered correctly the trick to activating the Jump Skill was to jump straight up with no running start and with your own power. If you were able to jump to a certain height this way you got the option to accept the Skill. That easy. Except he couldn't seem to jump high enough for it to activate and he was running out of energy as he grew more hungry.

He knew deep down that even if he were able to jump up to the latch, it was certainly locked and most likely guarded.

Time passed.

He was lying on his back staring at the darkness when he thought he noticed something. Light flickering around the latch edges. He had assumed it was his imagination at first but slowly the light grew and he felt himself grow excited. He could feel tears coming to his eyes. A restricting of his chest, and he heard a sob escape his lips. Grateful tears. Grateful for the light. Grateful for the promise of food and water. Hunger was a constant companion, he had no idea how long it had been since his last meal.

He sat up and waited in anticipation. He tried to moisten his lips, but his tongue felt heavy and dry.

The light sneaking through the cracks grew brighter until he was forced to squint. He heard footsteps and eventually the sound of a lock opening on the latch. It opened and light burst into his room below.

He had to shield his eyes as the blinding light spilled everywhere.

"You there boy?" he heard a familiar voice say.

"Hey, Blake." He responded as he moved his hand away from his face, eyes slowly adjusting to the light. His voice came out in a rough croak and he tried to swallow to moisten it.

"Yup still there I see." He heard rather than saw the man spit over his shoulder. "How's the first several days been? We don't get to use the cells so much since we don't normally bother to hold any unSkilled, but well here we are."

Several days? Only several days.

"It's been pretty good" he croaked, "but some food wouldn't hurt. I'd like to give my compliments to the chef, but I think I need another taste first."

Laughter. "Goddamn, I kinda like you boy" Blake sputtered, "you got grit that's damn sure, I'll let the chef know and see what we can do."

Did he actually have grit? Alan didn't think so. It was just that there was some freedom being in such a hopeless situation. You didn't worry about social niceties or being liked or what you said or did. None of that mattered. All that was left was how you wanted to be for yourself. Apparently, he preferred to keep some humor in his life, to keep from giving up.

Alan's eyes now fully adjusted made out the face of the large man smiling down at him. He forced himself to look away and at his surroundings. He needed to organize the cell before the light disappeared.

"Well I can see you're a busy man" Blake continued, "But I think we might start on hearing what you have to say about the raid if you have the time? Let's hear it, you can start when the Orcs came into the stables."

His makeshift toilet consisted of a rag to soak up urine and hold back more solid matter, and it was not arranged in the best manner. He set about moving it to a more secure location. He was no longer bothered by the smell or what he was doing, he had to use this light while he still could.

"I'll shut this door and leave," Blake said matter of factly, losing patience.

"Some water would help, I can barely talk as it is." It was a gamble, but he had some information that they wanted for some reason and he hoped it was enough that they could spare some water for it. Alan paused in his task of arranging the toilet to look up at Blake.

The big man sighed. "Oh alright. I'll be back, I'll even leave a torch here so you can finish doing whatever it is you're doing." And with that, he got up to leave.

Alan's fist unclenched slowly. He had not known how desperate he was. Shaking his head he finished arranging the toilet and had started inspecting the corner where the water pooled to see if he could improve it and keep it clean. He looked up when he heard Blake arrive back.

"Here you go." Something plopped down beside Alan. He glanced over at a water skin still shaking from the impact. He grabbed it quickly and hugged it to his chest. He had acted before he thought. Water. It was actual fresh water.

"Thank you." he whispered sincerely looking up at Blake, "Thank you."

"Shit boy you'll almost make me feel bad, now I got your water. You tell me what happened, and if I like what I hear I think I can find some food to go along with it."

"Ok." Alan sat down, and opening the container carefully he took some sips of fresh water. His first in at least a day. It was cool and tasted better than anything he had ever drunk. He made sure not to spill a drop. Every swallow was bliss. The feeling of coolness sliding down his scratchy throat and spreading in his stomach with each swallow. The promise of life. A cruel kindness.

Too quickly he stopped himself and recapped the container. He took his time, he would treasure each drop and each sip. Closing the lid tightly he placed it against a spot on the wall and sat down. And began to cry.

He tried not to. He couldn't afford to waste the water he had inside of him. But there it was. A choking sob, a welling of tears. An unstoppable torrent. He cried. Dispare and relief and anger and gratitude all mixed together. It was too much. Over the past few weeks, he felt like he kept being broken down and put back together just to be broken again. As sobs spasmed his body he vaguely wondered if there was a point when there would be nothing left to put back. He tried to control his breathing, to tighten his jaw, to slow down the sobs, to stop embarrassing himself. Yet still his breath quivered and he let out a small sounding wail as tears continued to fall and he gave into it. Shoulders heaving as he wailed into the darkness.

Eventually, he calmed down. Eventually, he looked up. Blake was there, looking down, face impassive waiting.

"Ok." Alan said gathering himself as if he hadn't just spent the last few minutes bawling, "Let's see."

He proceeded to tell his story. He didn't dare to leave anything out. Blake kept patiently silent through the entire telling. He only asked a few clarifying questions about the golden-eyed Orc and about the pile of bodies that the Orcs had been dragging the town's people into. He wanted to know how they were positioned and Alan hoped the man would believe him when he said he couldn't remember and that he was too far away for a good look.

For some reason, the only thing Alan glossed over was the exact nature of what he did with his Luck allocation. He mentioned allocating 50 Points into the Stat but kept silent about how exactly it had affected him. He made his hiding place sound a bit better than it had been and only mentioned that he felt powerful and that the Orc had not seen him. Aside from that, he told everything in as much detail as he could.

After he had finished Blake sat there scratching his beard for a second. Eventually, he began to stand up. Alan felt a moment of panic at the prospect of losing light again. Losing people again.

"Well, I believe you done right by me and I'm a man of my word so here's some rations for ya." The man tossed down a packet that landed with a small thump against the stone floor of his cell. "Now if it were me I'd be satisfied with that, but well... this here is an important matter and well I'm afraid you're gonna down here for a bit longer." The man almost sounded regretful.

Panic filled Alan. He had been through a lot recently and he was learning there were different types of fear. What he felt now was not life-threatening, but it was small, desperate, and all-encompassing. He did not want to go back to the dark.

"How long?" He managed, voice breaking, heart in his chest.

"Can't say boy" Blake stretched and spit to the side, "but you ain't forgotten, not by a long shot so don't worry about that. I'd focus on remembering more if you can." He bent to pick up the latch.

"Wait!!" Alan screamed. Screamed from the bottom of his soul. "Don't close it just yet! Please!! Please don't close it, don't leave me!!" He was shouting as loud as he was capable of, begging, pride did not matter here.

Blake paused, hard eyes looking down, and then shut the door. The light vanished to a thin leak around the latches edges and Alan watched unmoving, as it grew dimmer and dimmer until all that was left was... nothing. Darkness.

He crumpled to the floor, his forehead resting against the cold dark stone.

Time passed.