"Welcome to Sijjin." The man who spoke had been one of the two men who had captured him in the field beyond the walls of this fortress.

"What is it?" One of the spear-wielding guards asked.

"It looks human." Another responded. "But, I've never seen a human with skin like that."

"A tall dwarf?"

"No such thing."

"Maybe it's a hybrid."

The faces of the attendant guards soured at the suggestion.

"It doesn't matter what it is. Throw it in with the rest." At this, the guards began to untangle the netting from around Clay.

The golem was aware of the nasty edges of the spear tips aimed down at him and made no effort to break free as his captors released him from his restraint. Once free he was dragged to his feet, the guards struggling with the unexpected weight.

"What is this guy made of?" A man lifting him exclaimed.

"He's hard as a rock." Another guard stated, perplexed.

"Not even dwarves have skin this hard."

"Just get him moving." One of the spear-wielding guards barked.

They shoved Clay forward, and the golem began to proceed toward the building the guards had come out from. Torches lit up the interior hallway of the building. The black stone that lined the walls glimmered under the flickering light. Guards led from the front and from behind.

As Clay looked at his captors he could tell that they weren't like him, regardless of his stone skin. Their features were sharp and angular, and their noses and chins held sharp curves. Their eyes were spread wide across their faces, and their ears were long and pointed back from their faces. In the flickering light of the torches, Clay saw that their skin had a dark and sooty complexion. Their hair a pale white.

These creatures were alien and hostile. Their manner towards him was unfriendly. He was their prisoner, not their guest.

As they moved through the corridor, Clay noticed many rooms were blocked with iron bars. This fortress was as inhospitable as the environment outside. The golem thought of Roland, perhaps they would never meet again. Perhaps this prison would be his home forever.

They led him to an iron gate and unlocked it. As the gate opened, the guards shoved the golem forward. Once Clay had cleared the barrier, they swung the gate shut with a loud bang. Clay listened as keys jangled, the lock sealed behind him.

The man of clay turned to look at his captors. They had begun to turn away from his captivity.

"Keep your head down. High fliers don't last long here," one of the guards remarked as he turned to walk away.

Left alone, Clay continued to stare out into the hallway at the departing shadows. As the footsteps receded, the echoes grew gradually more silent until, finally, the only sound to be heard was the flicker of flame in the gentle wind that streamed through the hallways.

Clay examined the confines of his room. It was empty except for him. The dim light that leaked in only served to illuminate how little there was to illuminate. Clay lay down on the ground. He didn't feel tired, but closed his eyes and relaxed.

The golem began to doze in the darkness of his cage.

"Who..." A voice carried through the darkness.

Clay thought of Roland. The cloaked figure he'd first awoken to. Had Roland found him here in this abyss?

"Who... are you?" The voice insisted.

The golem's eyes flashed open. It wasn't Roland who was asking the question. Clay was imprisoned.

"Who are you?" The voice seemed impatient to get an answer. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes." Clay called out. "I can hear you."

"So... tell me, what's your name."

The golem thought for a moment. "I am Clay."

"Clay?" The voice seemed doubtful. "Alright, Clay. Nice to meet you. My name's Malik."

Malik. Somehow the name seemed familiar to Clay, though he had no idea why.

This was the second person whose name Clay had learned. He thought of Roland. Despite the brevity of their encounter, the cloaked figure had considered him a friend. The golem wondered if this Malik would befriend him in his captivity.

"What is this place?"

There was a long pause that followed the question. "It's a prison."

Clay considered the implications of his imprisonment. The dark-skinned guards seemed unconcerned with his fate. He wondered if they would release him, but reasoned that the chances of his freedom being returned to him were slim.

"This is Siggin, the prison of the dammed" the voice stated.

Siggin. That's what the guards had called this place when they had landed.

"What did you do for them to send you to this hellhole?" the voice inquired.

Clay thought for a moment, "Nothing. I was just walking along the road."

"That'll do it. There's only one road around these parts, and it leads here."

Regret came upon the golem as he thought about what the voice had said. Clay had thought that the road would lead him to people. He didn't realize that meant captivity. But, he was already a prisoner. He couldn't do anything to change that.

"Malik, what..." His question trailed off. This was a prison. He was a prisoner. All the questions in the world wouldn't change that.

"What what? If you're wondering how to get out of here, you're talking to the wrong person." Malik's voice sounded frustrated. "I've been locked in here for thirteen years. Will probably be here till I die."

Clay was filled with disappointment when he heard Malik's discontent. Despite the foreboding environment, the golem had hoped there might be some means of escape.

"If you're hoping for excitement, just wait till they send us out to the quarry. Nothing like back-breaking labor to bring perspective to one's life." The voice carried a sardonic air. The false levity seemed developed through years of abuse.

The conversation died out as Clay found Malik antagonistic in their mutual captivity.

Again, the golem closed its eyes and entered a semi-dreamlike state.

"Wake up!"

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Clay's eyes flashed open. He'd heard the approaching footsteps through his half-sleeping state. He stood up to find a set of clothing thrown at him through the iron bars of his cell.

"Put those on. Nobody wants to see what you've got to show."

Clay pulled the sackcloth shirt over his head and raised the breeches to his waist. While he was dressing the guard threw a piece of bread at his feet and set a cup of water down through the iron bars.

"Eat, drink, and be quick about it." The guard barked.

Clay chewed on the morsel of bread and swallowed it with a mouthful of water. The action was mechanical and didn't provide him with any satisfaction. However, the water did serve to moisten his dry mouth.

The iron door swung open as the guard was joined by several more, spears raised menacingly.

"Out!" The guard commanded.

Clay stepped out from his cell and hastened to move in the direction the guards gestured for him.

As they walked down the hallway he was stopped and had a collar attached to his neck. As the next prisoner was released, they attached a collar to the man and joined them with a short chain. This pattern repeated a half dozen times before the men were commanded to travel down the corridor.

As they walked through the hallways, Clay saw that many more prisoners were being roused from their isolation and forced into chain gangs.

They continued through the winding corridors of the prison until they finally exited the facility, their chains echoing loudly as they went. The shelter of the prison had protected the prisoners from the blazing heat of the outside world. All the captives except Clay broke out in sweat as the heat punished them.

The chain gang was marched out and told to remain stationary as more collared prisoners were led out to formation. Clay couldn't tell how many groups were arrayed in the walled-off courtyard. When the guards were satisfied they were ordered to move out, one line at a time.

The prisoners marched out through a gate in the perimeter wall and continued out towards the burning lake. A bridge ran high across the lake and the guards commanded them one chain gang at a time to cross the lake of fire. The captives chained to Clay groaned in agony as they crossed. And, even the soot-faced guards perspired as they led the prisoners across the bridge. On the other side, they waited until each group had crossed and joined the formation.

The prisoners having been assembled, the chain gangs were moved out in a single file line. They came out onto the road. Clay examined the deep cuts in the rock, formed by the traffic of many wagon wheels over a long period. The golem reminisced over the freedom he had had when he first encountered this road, how optimistic he'd been when he'd left the animal trail.

The groans of sweaty discomfort abated as they moved away from the fiery lake. The jangle of chains clattered as the prisoners were prodded onwards. The blackness of the sky seemed all the more blinding after their eyes had been seared by the lake of fire.

Their passage continued unabated in the darkness of the desolate plain. They turned off the road and continued a ways, a path well trodden by the prisoners in the past. Clay watched the landscape shift, the surface of the soil stripped away and mounded up in hills. They had reached the quarry.

Clay and his chain gang were led to a ridge that had already been heavily excavated. Once there, they were given pickaxes and shovels. The half dozen men of the gang labored to move dirt and stone. The porous basaltic stone was brittle beneath Clay's powerful blows, rock and dirt disintegrated as he labored. The other workers began their labors in exhaustion and couldn't keep up with the man built from clay's energy.

Under their efforts, the shiny black stone was freed from its earthen confines. Every black stone was passed along to the guards, then shuttled to a repository for the stone.

"Obsidian." One of the prisoners told Clay when he asked about the stone.

"It has a high heat tolerance and is used as a fundamental building material in this territory." The weary human male told him.

The obsidian represented the bulk of their slave labor, but it wasn't the most valuable material the guards wanted them to find.

"Bloodstone." The same prisoner stated. "You'll know it when you see it."

As they continued their labors in the oppressive gloom of the quarry, Clay watched as several of his fellow laborers drew red stones from the ground. The rate at which this bloodstone was gathered was significantly lower than they gathered the obsidian.

Clay would watch each time as the guards excitedly circled the slave that found the bloodstone. They would quickly strip the worker of his find and run off with the prize. Occasionally the guards would nearly come to blows over the stones. No altercations occurred, but the tension in the air forced the laborers to stop as they waited to find out what might happen. An occasionally frustrated beating would be inflicted on a prisoner when a guard failed to procure the bloodstone.

As their labors continued, Clay proved to be a formidable engine of excavation. The obsidian that he excavated began to pile up behind him, the couriers of the stone unable to keep up with the speed at which he piled it. Despite the masses of obsidian he had piled up, he had yet to procure a single bloodstone. As such the guards showed little interest in his feats of strength.

Several of the chain gangs were falling into formation, and the day's labor coming to a close. The exhausted workers were only too ready for their efforts to come to a close, but Clay's group had yet to be permitted a respite. As the golem collapsed yet more basaltic stone beneath his pickaxe he watched as a glitter of red light flickered dimly from the soil he had loosed

Leaning forward to shift the crumbling debris, Clay found the shiny red gemstone among the rock and dirt. Picking up the bloodstone, Clay observed the small stone in his palm. It refracted the light that passed through it, casting red hues out over his hand.

Just as Clay was about to call out his find to the guards, expecting an excited gathering of the soot-faced men, the gemstone began to melt. Clay stared down at his hand in bewilderment as the bloodstone melted into a small puddle in his hand. The red liquid began to dissipate into the stone skin of his palm.

The liquid was absorbed completely into his skin, leaving a red hue to discolor his hand. As the golem observed the phenomenon, the residual red tone that discolored his hand dissipated and the skin turned to its normal shade of off-white. The experience left the golem confounded, but he felt a distinct thrill of energy course up through his arm following the absorption.

Clay looked to the other members of his chain gang, expecting someone to have noticed what had just taken place, but none of his fellow workers had the energy to pay any attention to what any other member of the crew was doing. At last, their work for the day was finished and they were ordered to line up in formation with the other work crews. As they departed the quarry, Clay felt more energized than he had upon entering it. He was sure that he was alone in that perspective, though a few of the guards had found the energy to whip the weary laborers. Those guards that did so had wild looks in their eyes.

The return trip took longer as the wearied workers stumbled along the path. But, for Clay, the trip seemed easy. And, unlike everyone else, the lake of fire did not cause distress in the golem.

Returned to his cell, Clay considered the events at the quarry. He had mined a considerable amount of obsidian, but the black stone seemed a secondary concern to the slave-driving guards. The bloodstone was what they were truly after. Every time a stone was found there was a scramble among the guards to be the first to recover the gemstone. And, Clay had no idea what had happened to the red stone when he had picked it up. It had just melted.

"Malik." The golem called out.

He waited, hoping for a response.

"Malik..."

"Yeah, what is it?"

Clay paused for a moment, unsure what to say

"What is bloodstone?"

"Ah, they took you out to the quarry today. Get some nice exercise?" The sarcasm dripped from Malik's voice.

Clay waited for the answer.

"Not in the mood, huh? Understandable." Malik returned to the question he had been asked. "The bloodstone is a special ore found in this territory."

"The guards seemed obsessed with it," Clay stated.

"Well, yeah. It's exceedingly rare on the market. When it reaches the market." Malik seemed to be caught up in his memories.

"It's a magic modifier. Craftsmen use it to augment the status effects of various pieces of equipment Not only does it improve the magical qualities of the armor, weapons, and jewelry. It also looks pretty." Malik said wryly. "But, that's not why the guards are obsessed with it."

It made sense that there would be something else to the stones to make the guards obsessed with the ore. The fact that it functioned to improve the magical qualities of equipment was intriguing. Clay wondered at the implications.

"Why are they obsessed with it?"

Malik took a long moment before responding. "Because they get high off of it."

That was an answer Clay hadn't expected.

"They get high?" The golem was perplexed by the answer.

"Yeah. They have a couple of ways they do it. They'll crush it into a powder and make an elixir with it. Depending on how they make the potion, it can have varying effects." Malik seemed amused thinking about it. "But, the most popular way among the guards here is to smoke it."

"They smoke the bloodstone?" Clay found the notion bizarre.

"Yeah, makes them mean as hell," Malik said bitterly.

"The ore has magical qualities. When it enters the bloodstream the user gets a rush of energy. That's the real reason it's so valuable when it makes it to market. It's commonly used as a drug, as it has strong medicinal qualities."

Clay recalled how he'd felt a surge of energy tingle through his arm when he had absorbed the crystal in the quarry.

"What about the obsidian?" the golem asked.

"The obsidian's pretty valuable. It's useful as a building material here, as it has a high heat tolerance. Sijjin prison is the primary obsidian mining operation in this region. Free laborers would never willingly get close to the mines, so they use us as slave labor." Malik seemed sad as he talked about it. "I've seen a lot of men die here, most in the quarry."

Clay recalled the weariness of the men as they had labored that day. The golem wasn't a creature of flesh and blood. He didn't feel the heat the same way that the other men had.

The conditions of the prison were cruel, and the fate of the prisoners seemed irrelevant to the guards. Clay wondered how long he would last in this hell.

"Anyways, get some rest. You'll be going out again tomorrow."

Malik seemed genuinely concerned for Clay's safety. That alone gave the golem consolation in his enslavement.