In Slothari’s Dungeon

Tukar, Maranta and Bordeg had lost the will to speak to one another about a month into their confinement. It was clear that there would be no swift victory, no Hellbreaker riding in on wings of victory. If salvation was coming, it would be at a far more sedate and reasonable pace.

As all things went, their imprisonment could have been worse. There was no torture, just isolation and abandonment. When one’s prisoners no longer had a need to eat or drink, maintenance was far easier.

Branth had spoken up a few times, but every time his voice seemed to grow more and more distant, as if he was being moved from cell to cell, away from the others. Something was going on, but it was hard to tell exactly what.

There had been no contact with the outside world, not even a speck of light to break through the never ending darkness of the dungeon. It didn’t matter how strong one was, or how advanced their perception when there was no light to begin with. The lack of an ability to cultivate their elemental energy made it so much worse.

Finally, there was a change in their predicament, coming with the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. The three Uthraki perked up, and a faint light began to peek around the corner of the door. A man emerged from the shadows, holding a large torch in one hand that crackled with a merry orange flame.

“You have been summoned,” he declared. “The Lady wishes to meet you personally.”

The Uthraki chose not to respond, simply waiting for the door to open.

The man spat to the side. “Taciturn ones, eh? No matter.”

A sudden field of power locked down around them, and a wave of weakness spread through their bodies, stomping their power down to lows that had been unknown since Tier 1. Tukar let out a grunt of anger, but there was little he could do. Only when they had been sufficiently weakened did the door open.

A magical field spread around their bodies, and they were lifted off the ground and into the air. In their weakened states, there was little they could do to resist. They drifted out of the door and into the hallway at a maddeningly slow speed, and up into the light.

Their unknown jailer followed them up the hallway, and shepherded them through miles of tunnels and winding passageways. None of them had been conscious while descending into the bowels of the earth below Slothari’s bastion, and as such they were surprised by how deep it was beneath the surface of the world. At times, the hallways were at a nearly thirty degree angle, and they covered at least a mile of vertical distance along the way.

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Light began to spill into the darkness as they neared the surface, and the cells lining the hallways grew larger and more richly appointed. These were likely for higher ups among the realm’s governance who had annoyed Slothari and merited a lighter punishment.

A few of them were occupied, and as expected, a few foppish looking nobles sat within them, most likely the relatives of the true powerhouses of the realm. Slothari was the only constant in Mire. Everyone else came and went eventually, shackled to mortality by an inability to ascend the Tiers. The circle lord had likely seen millions of generations come and go, a tide of life and death that had remained with her firmly positioned at its crest.

Eventually, they broke out into the air, and found themselves in a small antechamber, with an archway leading out into the Oozing Bastion. The dungeon was located under a large hill near the city’s center, and a path led from its entrance to the citadel in the center. The warden walked slowly along the path, and towards the city’s center. As they went, the Uthraki were able to get a good look at the city around them.

The Oozing Bastion was centered around a vast mountain sticking out of the filth of Mire. A palace sprawled out over the mountain, mimicking its ruler in its appearance. Wide avenues stretched out into the bulk of the city, a collection of edifices built in a similar vein to the citadel ruling over it all. Somehow, the rock that made up the buildings seemed to flow and move as one looked at it, creating the disconcerting effect of life. None of the buildings were more than a few stories tall as a result, and the city had adopted an immense sense of width, miles across but far less endowed in the vertical direction.

Only a small portion of the city was visible to their sight in the strange, contorted positions that they were stuck in.

A few minutes later, they had crossed the majority of the space between the dungeon and the citadel, and had reached the city proper. Legions of guards marched along the streets, out and into the city around the citadel. None of them stopped upon seeing the warden transporting the prisoners, seemingly used to seeing such things.

“This is the domain of the being you foolishly attempted to rebel against,” the warden hissed, pausing for a moment and allowing his charges to take in the land around them.

Maranta tried to spit on the ground before him, but her control had diminished too much for that. Instead, she simply glared at him, wishing that her eyes could convey the true breadth of her wrath. Instead, all she achieved was a loud laugh from the warden.

“You won’t be so spirited after witnessing the power of this realm’s god.” Then he continued walking, the Uthraki humiliatingly bobbing through the air beside him.

They strode in beside a ground of soldiers, entering the citadel without a single comment. Whoever the man transporting them was, he was clearly well known.