Franceth’s glance flickered around the room pacing back and forth between the table and the wall, “Where am I?, Where in God's name am I.” The question bounced around his head, his breathing growing ragged and heavy. Marlow clung to the bottom of the table, observing his possessor, flicking his antenna from side to side. Confronting him in such an uptight state would probably end with him splattered on the floor, his innards ground into a paste. For now, he would wait.
Franceth, noticing the door made a run for it. He sprinted towards the stairs, his boot slamming into the rotting wood as he leaped up the stairs. The first two steps held strong, bravely shielding the impact, however, the tension was too much for the third step. The wood gave, splitting down the middle. His leg sunk through the stair, rubbing roughly against the sides of the hole. He groaned, pulling his leg out, the adrenaline in his veins doing its best to numb the pain of the splinters stabbed through his legs. Taking a disappointed look at the large tear in his pants, he continued on this time with much more caution.
Reaching the door he grabbed onto the doorknob, and gave it a turn. His face sunk. All that for nothing. He sagged down onto the steps and took a deep breath. Clasping a hand over his chest, he closed his eyes, wordlessly mouthing a mantra. A moment passed and he opened his eyes, a newfound conviction glimmering in his eyes. “First things first evaluate the situation.” He said to no one in particular, observing the room, this time paying much closer attention to each item within the room.
A dark room, a locked door, a makeshift calendar. “Definitely a prison” he muttered, rubbing his fingers against his chin. He thought back to a book he had read a couple of years ago, ‘The Greatest escapes by Dorothy Fleming’. It detailed some of the most famous prison escapes in the history of the continent, and Franceth had found it a most enjoyable read. He flipped through the pages in his mind, remembering the details of every escape.
Lisa Sterner, the famous con artist had escaped from Greenrock prison by manipulating the prison guards and slowly developing a relationship with one, until one day he just unlocked her cell and they ran away together. That’s not gonna work for me, he thought, remembering his run-in with the winged beastmen. Beastmen were the least reasonable of all monsters. For less intelligent creatures such as wolves or bears, you could at least throw a piece of steak at it, and it might ignore you and go for the steak. However, despite their intelligence, beastmen were only concerned with 2 things. Food and power, and once they were set on eating you, they wouldn’t stop coming for you until you were dead. Trying to negotiate with a beastman would probably end up with him being eaten a day sooner than planned.
He moved onto the second escape. The name of the prisoner was unknown, however, he had been captured during the territory wars 70 years ago and brought to a Magien prison. He had escaped by instigating a riot, overpowering the first few guards, and taking their weapons, essentially starting a prisoner revolt. That’s probably the worst option, he thought glancing at his thin arms, muscle barely visible.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
He was running out of options. He skimmed through the chapters in his mind, trying to formulate a plan. Most of the escapes were either done by using tools within the prison, or by getting outside help. Outside help wasn’t an option, as he had nothing to write on, and nobody to call for help. The only person from the outside world he had any contact with was his father, the monarch of Juwele, and his father received hundreds of letters a day, 90% of them thrown into the incinerator. He had absolutely no way of reaching the outside world.
That left the final option. Using the tools within his cell. He looked around for a few minutes, trying to see what he could come up with. his eyes finally settled upon the chair and tables in the middle of the room. He mentally slapped himself. How could I be so stupid? staring at the 4 chairs set around the table, he stood up and walked towards the table, grabbing a chair and repositioning it in his arms. Now set on the idea, he found himself back at the bottom of the stairs and started climbing, walking along the rim, to avoid breaking the fragile aged wood. He paused at the second step, lunging forward to avoid the third step, the split pieces of wood now hanging limply from their supports on the side. Reaching the top of the steps, he started swinging the chair, the legs aimed at the door.
Marlow inwardly smiled. A makeshift battering ram, not bad, he thought, quite satisfied with his posseser's ability. “Ok you can stop now” he thought, transmitting the thought into the person's mind.
Franceth froze, the chair centimeters from the door. “Did I just talk to myself?”
“No, look behind you.”
Franceth turned around, the chair still frozen stiff in his arms. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “Are you the table?”
Marlow was starting to get annoyed now, flicking his antenna against the floor. “No you muppet, at the bottom of the stairs.”
Franceth redirected his glance to the bottom of the stairs, gasping at what he saw. The chair fell out of his arms and bounced down the stairs landing millimeters from the telepathic cockroach, its eyes fixed on him not budging an inch.
“You idiot, you could have killed me” Marlow telepathically spat. He had clearly misjudged the ability of his possessor.
Franceth however was not in a state to have a pleasant conversation with a telepathic cockroach. He slammed his shoulder against the door, only stopping after about 6 attempts, his shoulder burning up like a log. He turned around and shrunk down, pressing himself against the door. “Wh-What do you want for me,” he said, his lip quivering in fear.
Marlow was beginning to rethink his decision. “I’m Marlow and you’re inside my body”