All around him, a roar rang out. The ding of battle filled the field before him. Armored men and women threw themselves at one another, the gleam of edged blades shone in their hands. Overhead a giant beast rained fire down from the sky, melting the flesh of those unfortunate enough to be caught in it.

Before him, a sword fell like lightning to the earth. The blade dug deep into the ground. Reaching for the sword he lifted it by the handle. As he marveled at the design the sword turned to dust, disintegrating in his hands.

"Wake up!" A loud voice barked.

Clay jumped at the alarming call. He looked around, searching for the signs of battle. What he found was a dimly lit cell, a soot-faced guard glowering down at him through iron bars.

The golem stood up as the guard threw a morsel of bread at his feet and filled a cup with water by the door. Clay ate and drank out of habit. This ritual had repeated over and over in the last month that he'd been imprisoned here. They were preparing the prisoners for another day's labor.

For Clay, the work was nominally difficult, but he was constructed from baked clay. The other prisoners in his chain gang were not so fortunate, they were creatures of flesh. The intense heat outside the prison sapped their strength before they even began their day's labor.

The golem pitied them but appreciated the opportunity to find more of the bloodstone that the guards were so obsessed with. Over the month of excavation in the quarry, Clay had found dozens of the red gemstones. On more than one occasion, the greedy eyes of a passing guard would spot the magical stone and shove Clay aside to get at it. Hastily running off with his prize.

But, the majority had gone unnoticed. Each time Clay would take the small stone in his hand, the crystallized magic would melt into his stony skin. The golem still didn't understand how or why the bloodstone acted this way when he came into contact with it. But, he relished the surge of energy he felt as the stone would be absorbed into his body. He had noticed the coloration of his skin turning from a pale, off-white, complexion to a more rosy, pink tone. His skin became more pliable with every stone he absorbed.

The golem often thought of Roland. The cloaked man had claimed to have constructed his body from clay and mud. Perhaps the man could explain the phenomenon that was occurring. But, Clay was doubtful he'd ever see his friend again.

The iron bars of the door swung open once more. Clay stepped out to continue the ritual of his enslavement. Over the preceding month, he had seen several prisoners die. The oppressive heat smothered the life in them as they labored. The guards showed little concern for the dead, opting to leave their corpses outside the quarry for the beasts of the wilderness to scavenge upon.

They had gathered in the walled-off courtyard, waiting for their formation to be completed, when a set of wings swept the air overhead. The beast landed in a heap, its rider unconcerned with the winged creature's wellbeing. The soot-faced guard, drow according to Mallik, ran over the the gathering of guards. A heated exchange took place. Several of the drow guards ran back into the castle while the rest, hastily, got the formation moving.

Their trek repeated in the same manner it had before. Excruciating groans were released as they passed over the lake of boiling flame. For Clay, it was an easy walk, but his fellow workers staggered with every step they took to cross the bridge. Once they had passed the obstacle, their journey became significantly easier.

At the quarry, they once more took up their tools and engaged in the menial labor. Obsidian stone piled up as Clay worked, and the black stone was shuttled away from the dig site by other slaves. The guards had more energy today and brandished their whips to encourage greater speed in the mining process.

Today, when bloodstone was dug up there were more cordial manners displayed in the acquisition of the red stone. Among the guards. The slaves received no such deferments. The drow guards were no longer posturing towards one another to get the stones. And, the one who received it didn't scurry off with the prize. The stone was calmly collected and carried to the location at which the obsidian was deposited.

This behavior caused Clay to wonder what had changed. What message had the flying drow brought as they had left the castle?

Clay continued his work, collapsing the coarse stone and dirt. Every piece of obsidian, he cast to the pile behind him. While engaged in this labor he saw the red glint of bloodstone in the debris he had excavated. Reaching down, the golem palmed the gemstone and felt the telltale signs of the bloodstone liquefying in his hand. He watched as the puddle disappeared into his skin, a red discoloration spread across his palm.

As he began his labor once more, the golem heard over his shoulder, "You! What did you just do?"

Clay felt his stomach turn to ice. Slowly, he turned around. Hoping that the voice was addressing another slave. As he turned completely to face the challenging voice he saw the billowing robes of the figure.

It was a Drow, like the guards. But, this drow wore fine clothing of red, black, and gold. The inner folds of the black robes were red, with gold lining. Whereas the guards wore plain black breeches and padded shirts, this drow had intricate patterns woven into his flowing robes. Clay didn't recognize him.

"I asked, what did you just do?" The extravagantly dressed stranger barked.

"N...Nothing." Clay stammered, caught in the act.

One of the guards that accompanied the stranger stepped forward and slammed the butt of his spear into the golem's abdomen. The blow did no real damage and only nominally forced Clay back on his feet. The stranger's eyes widened in surprise as he continued to glare at the collared prisoner.

A tense moment passed as the guard who'd struck him gazed, baffled, at the unfazed golem. Once more the guard raised his spear and, tensing his muscles, slammed the wood into Clay's abdomen. The loud smack rang out through the quarry. Sweat dripped from the drow guard's brow, the ineffectual blow causing little change in the golem's posture.

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The finely dressed drow's eyes narrowed as he examined the unwearied prisoner.

"Take him," the drow barked.

Additional guards charged forward, the gleaming metal spear tips aimed menacingly at Clay. The fellow members of the chain gang cowered at the sudden attention. The guards roughly forced Clay to the ground. He put up no resistance to their prodding.

The golem felt iron shackles being fixed to his hands and feet. Satisfied at his confinement they unlocked the chains fixed to his iron collar. Freed from the chain gang, Clay was pulled up to his feet. The guards groaned at the unexpected weight.

The finely dressed stranger stepped forward till the angular features of the soot-faced drow were inches away from Clay's blank face. Clay didn't know how to react to this change. He knew he was in trouble, but his enslavement made any change welcome. However, he was uncertain what this new situation promised.

Without breaking eye contact with the golem, the finely dressed stranger motioned with his hand. The guards dragged him aside and forced him to move forward. Clay maintained eye contact as long as he could before he was moved past the menacing drow. As he walked he heard the crack of a whip, followed by a miserable cry. The sound of pickaxe and shovel beating into the earthen soil once more filled the air.

Clay's feet plodded forward, the iron shackles on his ankles preventing him from taking wide strides. His entourage of drow guards kept a close watch on his every move. As they walked through the quarry, the inquisitive eyes of other prisoners followed the spectacle. Before the golem, a large canvased wagon was being loaded with the red glimmer of bloodstones. The golem was surprised by the quantity that lay piled beside the wagon. Wooden boxes were being filled with the ore before being stacked in the wagon's rear carriage.

Clay was stopped before the wagon, his guards waiting for orders. The extravagantly dressed drow came gliding out from behind the line of guards.

"Load him up," the man commanded.

The guards shoved the golem forward. He stepped up into the carriage. Under the canvas of the wagon, the guards affixed a chain to his collar and ran it through an iron loop. Bound in the carriage, Clay listened as more and more heavy boxes were loaded into the wagon. This process continued for some time. One guard sat in the carriage across from the golem, his eyes glaring at the bound man.

Eventually, the loading process ceased. Clay heard as someone climbed up into the carriage. It was the finely dressed stranger. The robed figure sat down beside the guard in the carriage and pensively examined the golem.

"What are you?" The man asked.

When Clay didn't respond, the guard moved to strike the prisoner. But, the strange man placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You look human, but your body is distinctly not human." The man stated.

Clay shrugged his shoulders, unsure how much he should tell his captor.

Seeing the golems noncommittal response the man changed tactics, "What's your name?"

"..."

The drow's lip twitched in displeasure, he was unaccustomed to his questions going unanswered.

With a sigh, the drow began to speak.

"My name is Marcel. I have been appointed by the Rayin family to oversee the procurement of the bloodstone." The man stated, pride dripping from his tongue.

Clay stared blankly at the man named Marcel. The drow's lips pursed in displeasure.

"I observed you picking up one of my gemstones." The drow stated venomously. "I want to know what you did with it."

Clay looked down at his hands, shackled by iron chains. Turning up his eyes, the golem saw the angry eyes of the drow boring into him. There was no reason to tell Marcel anything.

The finely dressed drow hissed as he let out a sigh, "Fine, you don't want to tell me anything now. I can wait."

Marcel pounded his balled-up fist on the front end of the carriage and the wagon lurched forward. As the wagon turned onto the road outside the quarry, the wagon bounced up and down unpleasantly as the wheels adjusted to the deep ruts carved into the stone beneath them.

Their journey continued in uncomfortable silence, Marcel and the drow guard glaring hatefully at Clay as the wagon bounced along the road. The golem thought about how he had absorbed the bloodstone. Truly, he didn't understand what was occurring when the red gemstones melted into his skin. He assumed it was because he was a stone construct. Perhaps the shared earth element between himself and the bloodstone facilitated his assimilation of the magical crystals. He still didn't know much about the stones.

"... My name is Clay," the golem stated after considering for some time whether or not to talk to his captor.

The eyebrows of the soot-faced drow turned upwards at his comment, surprised by the volunteered information.

"Clay? I've never heard of a human with such a name," Marcel commented, looking towards his fellow drow. The guard shrugged in response.

"Alright. Clay, then." Marcel plastered an amicable smile across the sharp features of his face, though the smile failed to reach his eyes.

"You're not human. That much is obvious," Marcel stated. "What are you?"

Clay thought for a long moment, torn between keeping his secrets and perhaps learning something from the menacing drow. "I'm a golem."

At this, Marcel's face dropped the false smile. "Who made you?" The drow demanded.

To this, Clay would not answer. Marcel picked up on the change in the golem's demeanor at the question.

"Well... Can't expect a golem to rat out its master," Marcel said with a sigh.

The word struck a nerve in Clay. Was Roland his master? The cloaked figure had said that he was the clay man's friend. Was that a lie?

"I can't say as I've ever heard of a golem of such fine craftsmanship. Usually, your lot are crusty old things." Marcel frowned.

"How did you come to Sijjin?"

Clay thought for a moment about his wandering in the wilderness. "The guards captured me along the road."

Alarm shot through Marcel's eyes. He exchanged a look with the steely-eyed guard. "We'll have to redouble the scouting parties. How long has this golem been in the prison?"

"A month, sir."

"Why wasn't I informed?" The drow demanded.

At the sudden inquisition, the guard gulped uncomfortably. "Sir, I don't have an answer. I will inquire with the guard captain when I return."

"Useless!" Marcel spat.

"Tell me, why were you in our territory?" The drow demanded.

Clay recalled his tumultuous fall through the pit and his journey through the wilderness of this hellish land. "I didn't know it was your territory," the Golem responded. "I fell through a pit in the world above."

Marcel shifted in his seat, "You come from Purgamous?" the drow asked anxiously.

Clay scanned the faces of the two men seated before him. They both appeared disturbed by what he had said. "I don't know what it's called. But, the world above was much different compared to here."

Marcel's hostility melted away from his face, the expression that replaced it was one of uncertainty. He hadn't expected to hear that Clay had fallen through the sky.

"Can you tell me, what happened to the bloodstone you picked up?" His tone had taken a conciliatory tone, contrasting dramatically with his earlier demeanor.

Clay was surprised by the change in character he observed. "The stone melted in my hand and was absorbed through my skin." He replied evenly.

The drow cocked an eye at his words, "The stone melted in your hand?"

"Yes."

"Regardless of what happened to the stone, all bloodstones from the Sijjin quarry are property of the Rayin family. I'm taking you to the operations headquarters. Your fate will be decided there." Marcel said in a measured tone.

Clay relaxed in his seat, as much as he was able with the shackles. The conversation seemed to have concluded. The pair of drow shifted uncomfortably, their intimidating airs expended.

The wagon continued to bounce along the worn-out road.