The bouncing journey along the road continued unabated. The conversation died out long since, leaving only the jostling of boxes laden with red treasure to fill the silence. Clay would occasionally glance between his captors, catching their eyes examining his every feature.

Taking the opportunity to examine Marcel's extravagant clothing, Clay noted the fine gold lining that shone brilliantly against the red and black of the robes. With the proximity found in the wagon, the golem was able to perceive the intricate designs woven into the black fabric of the drow's robes. A deep dark blue, the designs almost disappeared in the dim lighting of this underworld.

"What is this place?" Clay found himself asking, allowing his curiosity to get the better of him.

Marcel startled out of his scrutiny of the clay construct, surprised by the question.

Angular eyes examined the prisoner, "These are the plains of Orgas," the drow stated after a pause.

Clay nodded, glad to have the answer.

"This is drow elf territory. You were taken prisoner due to your trespassing," Marcel stated.

That didn't surprise Clay. He'd assumed he'd intruded on their lands while he had journeyed through the wilderness.

"You said something about me being from Purgamous." Clay was curious to learn more. "Can you tell me what it is?"

The soot-faced elf bit his cheek, unsure if he should tell his prisoner what he wanted to know or not.

After a long pause, the drow answered, "Purgamous is the world above Orgas. The two worlds are divided by the firmament."

"The firmament..." Clay echoed. "What's that?"

Marcel took a deep breath and let it out with a long sigh.

"The firmament was established eons ago by the Creator." The drow took another deep breath, before continuing. "In the beginning, the worlds were one. The races lived together under the creator's protection and guidance. There wasn't always peace, but the races were kept in check by the creator's power."

Clay was surprised to learn this history but readily absorbed the information.

Marcel continued his story, "As time progressed, the elder races came to view themselves as gods. The new gods that rose during the Calamity raised armies to war against the creator. The firmament was established to divide the armies of the rebel gods across the world. Purgamous and Orgas are but two such divided worlds."

Clay absorbed the revelation, observing the reverence with which Marcel spoke. The golem began to open his mouth to ask another question when the wagon lurched to a stop.

Marcel was caught mid-thought. Looking between his prisoner and the guard, the elf stood with a half bow and exited the carriage.

Clay and the guard looked at one another. The hostility in the guard's eyes was replaced with cautious detachment. The golem was collared and shackled, he didn't seem to be a threat.

An exchange of voices took place outside the carriage, but the canvas muffled the words beyond recognition. The exchange carried on for several minutes before the carriage began to move again. As the wagon moved forward, Clay could hear the muffled sounds of activity through the canvas. Animals and people were just beyond the veil, but the golem was bound as a slave.

The ding of activity outside grew louder as the wagon progressed. The road was much smoother now, and the boxes of bloodstone didn't clatter as loudly as they had on the road away from Sijjin prison.

Eventually, the wagon came to another lurching stop. Clay swayed in his seat at the cessation of movement.

Marcel poked his head in under the canvas, "Bring him out." He said, before retracting his head.

The guard unfastened the chain that ran up to Clay's collar. The chain rattled to the wagon's floor loudly. The drow motioned towards the exit and the golem got up and disembarked from the carriage.

Once outside he saw a train of workers unloading the precious cargo from the wagon. They were carrying the boxes to a nearby building. Marcel was waiting for the pair. And, seeing them on the ground, motioned the duo to follow him.

Following Marcel's lead, the three men entered the main building, passing through a facade of exquisitely carved obsidian columns. A pair of double doors was opened for them by a pair of drow guards. The building's interior was surprisingly well-lit, a row of light purple gemstones lined the walls.

They traveled up a central flight of stairs and waited by an ebony door. Marcel rapt his knuckles against the door and stood attentively for a response.

"Enter." They heard a distinctly feminine voice call out.

Marcel turned the handle and pushed the door open. The three men entered a room illuminated by several candles and mysterious purple gemstones. Before them stood a drow woman, dressed elegantly in a deep blue dress. Her white hair was bound in a ponytail.

"Mistress Resha, you are as lovely as ever." The robed elf greeted the woman with a bow.

"Hello, Marcel." The woman wasn't looking at the bowing man. "For what purpose have you brought a slave before me?"

"Yes." Marcel straightened. "This is a prisoner from the Sijjin quarry. I removed him from the excavation site when I witnessed him absorb a bloodstone directly into his hand."

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"Absorb?"

"Yes. It seems that he is a golem."

The statement took the woman by surprise, "A golem?"

"Yes, I believe that to be the reason for the disappearance of the bloodstone. Though, I have no idea the mechanism by which it occurred.

"But, this looks like a human." The drow female moved closer to inspect the shackled captive.

Clay was conscious of the guard tensing up at the proximity of Mistress Resha to his ward. But, the golem felt no cause to make the situation any worse.

"Yes. Only a very high-level necromancer could have made this golem," Marcel noted.

Necromancer? Clay had never heard the word before. He wanted to know what it meant but opted to keep his silence.

At his words, the woman turned towards Marcel. Her lips were pursed tightly.

"Additionally, it seems to have come from Purgamous." The robed drow said, his eyes locked with those of his mistress.

Resha unconsciously fell back a step, then regained her composure and turned around. Stepping around a table cluttered with scrolls and ledgers she turned to face her guests once more.

"Release it" the woman named Resha announced.

Clay was baffled by the sudden turn of events. He hadn't expected his freedom to be so easily attained after a month of imprisonment and forced labor.

"Yes, mistress." Marcel bowed and turned towards the door.

Resha nodded her head to Clay as he turned to follow the drow male.

Marcel led Clay and his guard out the way they had come. Once outside they stopped before the wagon, the workers having finished unloading the crates.

"Remove his shackles."

The guard pulled a key from one of his pockets and proceeded to unlock the bonds on Clay's feet, wrists, and neck.

Freed of the symbols of his imprisonment, Clay said, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Marcel replied, somewhat uneasily.

"If you'll come with me, I can set you up with a guild hall. You may be free, but you still need paperwork to move about in drow elf territory. We wouldn't want you to end up in Sijjin again." The finely dressed drow laughed uncomfortably.

With a wave of his hand, Marcel dismissed the attendant guard. And, gestured for Clay to follow him.

The golem wondered about the drastic change in demeanor that had come over the man.

As they walked through the dimly lit streets of the drow elf city, Clay found himself with a question he didn't have an answer for. "Marcel, what's a necromancer?"

The robed figure missed a step at the question. Recovering his stride, he answered. "Yes. Well, a necromancer is..." The man fumbled for words, "You see, they are a certain category of magic wielder."

Clay began to understand why they had released him. They were afraid.

"A magic wielder?" That didn't surprise the golem.

"Yes, well... a necromancer specializes in death magic." The drow looked over his shoulder at the golem, then continued. "It's a very rare and dangerous magic."

Clay thought about how he had met Roland. Waking up, in the middle of a strange field. The golem didn't know anything about the man other than the fact that he had claimed to have made Clay's body. He wished he could ask Roland these questions. But, he'd parted ways with the mysterious man over a month earlier.

The pair of men continued their journey in silence after Marcel's last words. The elf, was obviously, uncomfortable talking about the subject.

Clay observed the city around him. In the perpetual dark of Orgas he had no idea the time, day or night. Still, there was plenty of activity in the streets as they passed. Pedestrians, like themselves, wove between the buildings. The occasional wagon rumbled past them. Clay observed the smoothness of the road in the city, impressed by the contrast with the deep ruts in the road to the prison.

As they rounded a corner, Marcel announced, "Here we are."

The drow led the golem to a wide building that stood two stories tall. Above the door, a sign reads 'Traveler's Guild.'

The pair entered through the door. The building's interior was illuminated by the same mysterious purple gemstones that had been found at the Rayin family headquarters. Wax candles dripped as they provided additional light throughout the building.

Before them a human female sat behind a counter, observing the entrance of the odd pair. Whereas the drow was dressed elegantly as a man of status, the human at his side wore rags befitting a slave. Aside from the counter, several tables were set up throughout the room. Seated patrons observed the newcomers while enjoying their meals.

Marcel stepped up to the counter. "Hello," the drow said with a false smile. "I have an acquaintance whom I would like to have registered with your guild."

The young woman looked skeptically between the two men and said, "Fifty dinal for registration."

The drow rummaged through his robes until he found a jangling bag. He counted out the currency and then added it to the stack of coins. "If possible, please provide him with room and board for the next week. And..." He looked back on Clay with a wrinkled nose, "a change of clothes. If you could."

The woman took the stack of coins and pulled out a set of papers. While the two men stood waiting, the human woman filled out the paperwork.

"Name?"

The golem was surprised at the question. "Clay," he responded.

With a scribble, she looked up, "Family name?"

Family name? The question struck the golem. Did he have a family? He couldn't remember one.

"No family name." Marcel interrupted Clay's inner dialogue.

The woman looked between the two men, coming to her own conclusions.

"Alright, sign here." She gestured to the golem.

As he wrote his name on the paper, he wondered how it was that he knew how to write his name. In the last month that he had been aware, he hadn't spent any time learning to write. Again, he wished Roland were there for him to ask.

"And you, sir." She gestured for the drow to sign his name.

The soot-faced elf hesitated for a moment before bending forward to sign his name.

The paperwork was filled out, the woman passed to Clay a copy of the paperwork.

Satisfied that his role in the process was complete, Marcel bowed to the receptionist.

"Thank you." He said curtly.

"Thank you, Marcel." Clay called after the retreating figure.

Looking over his shoulder, the elf nodded his head. "Don't mention it." And, disappeared beyond the door.

Clay turned back to the human woman, unsure of how to continue.

The receptionist stood up and began to walk towards a staircase on the side of the open dining room. "Follow me."

Clay followed the young woman as she led him up the stairs and to a door. Opening the door, Clay saw a small room with a bed, a table, and a chair. The woman motioned for him to enter.

"I'll be back with a change of clothes for you." The woman disappeared as the door shut.

Left alone, Clay recalled the prison cell that had been his home over the past month. This abode was, admittedly, better furnished. But, the golem still felt captive.

He sat on the bed. It was soft and sank deeply under his weight. He'd never been on a bed before, but somehow knew what it was without being told. It was odd. The things he knew without being told.

Gradually, he slid from his seated position until he was lying on his side on the bed. His feet hanging down to the floor. He had no idea what to do now. He was glad for his newfound freedom, but he had no idea what to do with it. He pulled his feet up onto the bed and curled his knees up to his chest.

A knock sounded on the door. Clay jumped to his feet and came to the door. On opening the door he saw the receptionist, her arms laden with clothing and a pair of shoes.

Handing the garments to the golem she said, "Let me know if they don't fit, I can find something else that will.

"When you like, the kitchen is open at all hours. There's always something boiling in the stew pot." That said, the human female turned and returned to her post at the reception desk.

Clothes in hand, Clay closed the door. Disrobed, the golem pulled on the padded brown leather shirt and pants. The new clothing felt softer than the coarse sackcloth he had grown accustomed to over the last month.

The notion of food didn't hold much power over him, so the golem opted to lie down on the bed. His eyes closed to the world, Clay began to doze gently in the soft fabric that enveloped him.