A Gloom over Gothrien

Prologue: A Cold Cage

Far beyond the northern shores of Gothrien, on a distant, lonely island among frigid waters, there sat a haunting structure of metal and stone. Frothing waves crashed against the rocky shore above which the structure loomed, jutting into the sky, its jet black form partially obscured by the cold mists. A number of small windows were inlaid along its walls; and, if one were to get nearer to the one in the far flung western corner, iron bars wet with condensation, they would hear the sounds of chains rustling and shaking wildly.

A guard walked down the hall towards the noise, one hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword and the other on a crackling torch to light his way through the dark structure. He reached the cell that the noise was originating from, and peered inside.

"Quiet down in there!" he shouted at the prisoner within.

The figure stopped and slowly turned his head. His hair was long, grey, and unkempt. Much of it covered his face, allowing only for occasional glimpses at the cold, unblinking eyes that gazed at the guard by the door. His face was mostly covered by a beard as grey and matted as the hair caked to his scalp; it reached halfway down his torso. His frail, lanky body was obscured by the baggy, tattered jumpsuit that all the prisoners here wore.

The gag, a crude metal implement connected to a rod inserted into his mouth to secure the tongue, however, stopped him from responding in much more than a muffled groan. His hands were bound in iron cuffs, each finger isolated in addition to the wrists, rendering him totally incapable of manipulating his hands. The cuffs were attached to a chain that ran the length of the cage and into the wall opposite from where he sat. This was the way mages were imprisoned to ensure that they could not produce any manner of spell.

 "What's going on over here?" spoke another guard as he approached the scene, walking up to the guard by the cell door.

"This one was causing a racket," responded the first guard, keeping his eyes on the prisoner.

The second guard peered inside and frowned as he looked over the disheveled and bound prisoner. "I never get used to seeing how they bind people like that," he said with a hint of sympathy.

"Neither do I," replied the other. "But they do what they have to. These are dangerous people, after all."

"How long has he been here like that? Do you know?"
"No, I don't. Longer than I've been here, though. The man's ancient."

The second guard couldn't hide his sympathetic instincts, and shook his head. "Seems an awful existence."

"Hey!" the first guard spoke suddenly, turning to look at his companion. "Remember, the monsters in these walls are far beyond your sympathy. Save it for their victims. You don't want the Inquisition sensing your apprehension, do you?"

With that, he left, leaving the second guard to stare at the prisoner for a moment longer. "Right...of course," he said softly to no one in particular before following.

As the light of both guards' torches passed into the distance, the prisoner turned his head away from the doorway to look out the window. The dark skies outside were filled with clouds and the wind lashed at his face. He smiled as well as he could with the gag over his mouth and resumed his rattling, letting out a few muffled laughs as he did so.