The Eight Pillars of Magic (The 8... of Magic Series 1)

Crows get Wizards

It was pitch-black. He didn't know how long he had been in this cell, it was a smalll enough that the Stranger could'nt fully extend his limbs. There was a small rift through which he could hear the neighbouring prisoner's screams. He spent the first day or two trying to climb up the slippery sides. After a few days, he had given that up. There were more prisoners probably. The Stranger had asked his neighbour what this place was and the voice had whispered that this was Rotten Creek. Up to incarceration, the Stranger had believed that this place didn't even exist. A rumour, evil propaganda spread by the Hgh-Frwr. But it was true oh so true.

Down here were no candles, no torches just total darkness and silence. This monotony was only interrupted when guards brought food or ale. Iron shackles not only restricted his movements further, but his usage of magic too. He looked scrawny, malnourished and his hair was growing everywhere. What was once his shirt was now a dirty, tattered mess of fibers and fabric, only barely able to hang from his shoulders like a discarded old towel. There were more holes than fabric at this point, leaving much of him exposed to the elements. He was wearing a ripped hoody over his shirt. The hoody was still in a fairly good condition, apart from the tears and stains, but at least it helped him down here, even if only for a little. The truth was Indolay didn't feel temperature but only for a certain amount of time. His pants weren't what they used to be either. A big tear had split the left leg in two and the right leg was full of smaller tears as well. But at least his boots hadn't failed yet and kept protecting his feet. Although they were missing laces, way too big and the soles were worn to barely a sliver of what they were. He wore a small scarf around his neck and had it wrapped around his face in a way that covered his bearded chin. It was torn and worn, but otherwise in a decent shape. His headwound was wrapped with a bandana, of old cloth and ragged, but otherwise in a good and relatively clean condition.

Apart from being unable to move, prison was not too bad. It was connected with less worry and gave him time to think. There were multiple reasons that qualfied for his capture like: practising Higher Magic without license, tax evasion, identity theft and well insulting the rich and powerful of Ista. Still his captors had told him nothing and eventually the Pondering of what got him into prison proved to be boring effort. There was not much to do besides waiting and feeling the moss grow on the cobblestone. The moss softened the ground a bit but true comfort it was not. Today was one of those days when he missed the comfort of his haystack bed. This pit was a pitiful place to die in and so the Stranger hoped for an oppurtinity of freedom. This hope faded every day, he was spending here, feeling magic while unable to use it was a torturous pain. A pain so deeply burning, a pain that ate someone from the inside out and that no one could understand who hadn't access to magic. Like a longing for a lost love. There seemed to be lots of pain while chasing after a glimmer of hope and escape.
A book would certainly help diverting his thoughts, the Stranger hoped to at least convince one guard in this pursuit. Somewhere deep in the dark. A howling beast heard all talk.

„I guess that is the point. Kept in dark until we break."

It must've been a day, week or maybe a month after. In the Rotten Creek the passage of time did not exist. The Stranger might've been sleeping, he couldn't tell when his eyes were open or not. The iron chain that connected the shakles of his hands feets together was yanked. So brutally that he crashed into the cold iron rods. The metal burnt his skin, it felt like that or had he started to imagine pain. Then there was a torch and men approaching. His cell door was opened and they dragged him outside with no regard for his weak body. A sudden punch to his stomach took all air out of his lungs and the Stranger fell to harsh to the ground. Next thing he knew, was that wardens put something over his head like a bean sack, which seemed counterproductive, as he already couldn't see anything. They pushed him around, so he began counting his steps and the turns. Noises of the outside world began to enter through cracks in the walls. The wardens had no regard for his feeble body, pulling him up to his feet and or dragging him across the ground. It had been so long since, he had really walked and struggled constantly to keep his balance. On they way of wherever, they were going those guards pushed him intentionally into walls. He heard them giggling but none spoke to him, a few times he tried starting a conversation that was punished even crueler. The Stranger came to a halt when he bumped into a thick oaken door reinfoirced with iron hinges. A thick key unlocked the door from the outside. Light pierced thinly through the bag, as the door was opened. The Stranger was pushed a final time and he could feel that he was outside due to a soft breeze. Someone ripped the bag from his head, revealing the scenery. He was standing on a balcon between two mountain sites, he took the moment to deeply inhale fresh mountain air. The Stranger's eyes had trouble adjusting to natural light after so long in the dark. Down below was a farm field littered with carnage, destruction and weapons. Red, black and blue were the new colours of what was once a tremendous farm field, which had now become the stage of a disastrous fight.