**[Horace, Day Seven]**

There had been no drinks, food, or painful slaps on the back for Horace. He had been placed in a cell and forgotten by everyone, almost immediately following Rita’s victory. It had just been enough time for him to see the separation between him and his companions. The discomfort from the drugged meal had worn off, leaving him depressed and upset over the way things had gone. Aiden, of course, was a hero and, unlike him, had been able to save Rita. She would be fine now. He had seen the looks on the female warriors’ faces as she was brought to their table and cared for. They would look after her, but he had no one to look after him. His skill set, which had looked so much more promising before entering, was proving to be awful in their current circumstances. If he had known they would end up in such a weird place, then he might have trained differently. As it was, he would have to make do with what he had and hope it was enough.

A raspy voice made his heart lurch as he had thought he was alone, “You done crying yet? Some of us would like to die in peace.” He moved to the cell door to find an empty hallway. “Where are you?” He asked, confused. “Across from you, idiot. You aren’t special in being imprisoned in this wing.” He did not respond as he was at a loss for what to say or do. Fortunately, the voice had its own questions and seemed totally happy to carry both sides of the conversation, “Wait, are you that delusional human freak that was here the other day? Ha! Told you there was no hope of a runt like you surviving. Frankly, I am impressed they let you live at all; I would have eaten that supple young flesh the first chance I got.” Horace’s mouth fell open in shock. First, because it was clearly talking about Aiden, he was the only one stupid enough to talk to strange creatures in a dungeon, and secondly, due to the completely relaxed way, the voice had ended the barrage of statements. “It would eat them.” He had been pretty sure from the orcs’ laughter that they did not feast on human flesh like he might have thought, but whatever this thing was might. There was no way he would let himself find out, and with that in mind, he turned back to the corner to lay down. Today had been filled with enough surprises.

****

The night passed with only a small break where a guard grabbed him roughly by the stump and shoved him into a cell across the hall. They did not explain why, but the bloody form of the chef hauled in a few minutes later was probably to blame. It did not look like the creature would survive. Horace’s pain had dulled to a light pulse in his shoulder after avoiding any trama in the last day, so his mind easily fell back to sleep once he settled in on the cold stone.

When he woke, it was to the sound of crazed chuckling from outside. “I apologize for mixing you up with the weirdo from before. I should have known you weren’t him. He would have chattered my ear off. The guards told me all about what happened yesterday, ha, such excitement!” The voice exhaled in a loud audible sigh, “If only I could have seen it, your human companions sound quite accomplished.” The voice paused, and Horace heard a disturbingly breathy inhale. “I forgot to mention something to that little blond scrap, but he was not worthy anyways. People like him are not ready for the truth. You though… I could make a deal with if you were interested.”

The pointed way he said ‘interested’ made Horace wonder what he meant even if he had no intention of listening to some maniac in another cell. His imprisonment was undeserved, but he doubted this creature’s was. However, the voice did not cease for the next hour. It babbled and spewed an endless assortment of words at him until he finally snapped from annoyance and broke his silence. “Hey! I am done listening to you. I just want to spend my remaining time in peace and reflection.” He should not have expected that to work, and a part of him deep down knew it would fail. He had spent the last week with only Rita and Aiden for company, so maybe he was seeking out some connection, even one this strange just to make him feel human again. I miss my mom, he thought, thinking of her kind loving eyes and warm embrace. It briefly stole his attention to happier times before more words from the voice brought him back to the present.

“It need not be your remaining time. I can make you powerful enough to carve your own place here. You could be the one surpassing your friends for once.”

Horace could not stop the scoff of breath that escaped his nostrils. A half-smile appeared on his face at the idea of being a force of his own. He had always been a follower and a second to more skilled people than himself. His mind was sharp, but he had never been known for any one trait. Rita had her magic, Aiden had his magnetism, but he felt like no one thing fit him. He could fight decently, yet here that had proven less than adequate, and he could succeed as a servant back home. That was all he had, and this voice thought it could miraculously make him something more? The smug tone in the prisoner’s voice rubbed him the wrong way immediately as it responded to his dismissal, “I saw you last night when they switched your cell, and I have seen your friend. Were you the strong one? Without an arm, you have nothing to bring to the table, but I can give you an edge to surpass all others. I can return that which has been lost and create a new man out of you with just a small price.” He froze. If he had heard correctly, then this creature had just inferred it could give him his arm back. A feat even skilled healers could not accomplish after a few hours.

It may have been a mistake to respond, as this creature was surely not an ally. However, the hope had lit something in him, and he had little to lose. “How can you conceivably fix my arm if you can’t even free yourself from that cage?”

It laughed back, “Ha! This cage is for those orcs protection, nothing could keep me trapped, and once a deal is struck, I can give you back an arm, my word on that.” He did not miss the subtle ‘an’ placed casually in the sentence and stayed quiet. The voice also paused for a few minutes before resuming. “If you worry about the cost, it is not unmanageable, and you would not be the first human to deal with one such as myself.”

This got the expected reaction from Horace as he sat up sharply, “What?! No human would deal with you, do not lie.”

“I am not, child. Although the human did not deal with me, he dealt directly with my patron. A brave move I would not recommend to another.” The warning tone and annoyance in the voice’s inflection gave him the impression that it was insulted with this supposed human's audacity.

Horace was beyond confused now, “I do not know what you speak of, who you are, or why one of my kind would ever encounter yours outside of this place.”

The voice sounded strangely contrite in its next statement as if pondering the dialogue, “My apologies human, I did not make the proper introductions. I am Myron, a cleric for Ponram god of dungeons, and sacred idol to my people, the gremlins.”

This was too much. First orcs were in charge of the dungeon they were stuck in, and now some mad gremlin cleric was trying to con him into some deal. He was ten years old and far too young to be dealing with all this, and he informed the gremlin of that.

“Ah, but that is why this can happen. Your very existence here has allowed me to make an arrangement. Were you some foreign human, then my hands would be tied, yet your connection with my god allows me certain liberties,” it said confidently.

“What connection with his god? I had never even heard its name before today.” Horace thought, or maybe he spoke aloud accidentally, as the gremlin responded as if it had heard him.

“You doubt me? I will give you five more minutes to decide on my offer and, to make the deal even sweeter, I will add information to the bargain. It seems you are quite lacking in that regard. A single name might entice you: does ‘Jerome Sinclair’ mean anything to you?” Horace’s muscles tensed, and he nearly gagged onto the stone beneath him as Myron’s evil laughter told him that they both knew the significance of that name, but he suspected it might be for very different reasons. If even a portion of what was running through his mind proved true, then this information was beyond valuable.

The conversation in itself before this point was worth everything he had accomplished in his life thus far. Rita and Aiden had to know. The sounds of footsteps approaching stopped him from responding, and the words of the orc made his blood flash hot in his veins, “Prepare yourself, freak. Once this good for nothing chef is defeated, it’ll be your turn.”

Unless the Dungeon Lord took pity on him, then this fight would not be one he could win. A small voice in his head whispered that whatever the cost it would be worth it for the knowledge and power it could bring him. Only time would tell if he was right, but the definite “Let’s make a deal” that arose from his lips as the mangled chef was hauled away started him on a new path. Amorian society would be forever ruined in his mind. If he ever returned, it would be with a torch and a sword, not as the face of the institution that had placed him here. He would burn it to the ground like it deserved and not feel a shred of guilt.