The Chained Watcher

A room lost by Time

Rapid footsteps echo through the empty halls of the fortress, each sound matching the pounding drum of a heartbeat, loud in his ears.  Did he lose them?  He looks back over his shoulder, sagging in relief when nothing can be seen behind him.  Unfortunately, he is now very lost.  Surprising as it is, gladiators don't usually get guided tours around their prison.

Slowing to a fast walk, Mumbo tries to catch his breath from running so far so fast.  He glances at the walls, hoping for some kind of landmark, or even a directory if we're feeling lucky.  Sadly, Lady Luck does not provide a magic map with the word "Exit" on it, but up ahead he can see a large, strange looking door.  Getting closer, it seems to be very heavily fortified, though quite old and completely caked in dust.  The lock also seemed to be time-worn, and when he touched it, it just gave way before dropping to the ground, clanking loudly.  He flinched, eyes flicking around wildly, looking for any guards who might have heard the sound.

When no angry guards were forthcoming, Mumbo slowly turned back to the door, and got a very bad idea.  "Oh this is a terrible idea." He muttered under his breath, before gently pushing at the door.  With the angry screeching of hinges that had not seen movement in who-knows-how-many years, the door ground open, revealing the room within.  The standard magic torches flickered to life on the walls of the circular room behind the door, illuminating the contents of the room, and causing Mumbo's breath to catch. 

A figure is half-slumped in the center of the room, arms and wings suspended by chains attached with spikes driven through the limbs in multiple locations.  A Watcher.  He's in the same room as a Watcher.

He almost turns and leaves right then, but looking again, it seems like the Watcher is unable to move, if it's even still alive.  Its hair is covering its face, and the royal purple cloak all Watchers seem to wear is tattered and torn.  The chains themselves have that purple sheen to them that all Watcher magic seems to have, but occasionally the color pulses, traveling from the chained figure in front of him up to wherever they're connected. 

Then he sees the wings.  A Watcher's wings are their pride and joy, (if they even feel joy) and their number and size are visible signs of their rank in the hierarchy.  No Watcher would tolerate the mistreatment of their wings, and the only time he's seen messy wings was after an attempted coup d'etat, where the rebel leader was disgraced publicly before being summarily executed.  Even then, with dirt and sticks and mud on them, that Watcher's wings still shone through the mess with a faint purple glow. 

This chained Watcher in front of him was different.  Its wings held no glow, almost being colorless.  As he watched, a faint pulse of color traveled from the base of the wings, before being drawn out through the chains.  He had a thought, and recoiled slightly.  Could the chains be draining this Watcher's magic?  What would it be used for, if anything?  His eyes flick to the magic torches on the wall... the magic torches.  Oh.  Oh dear.

Even after several minutes passed, there was still no movement from the chained Watcher.  He drew a little closer, staring at the cruel spikes embedded in its limbs as he did so.  Glancing at its face again, he was startled to discover that it had no mask.  With the way its head was hanging, he still couldn't see most of its face, but he was sure there was no mask. 

Curiosity urged him onward, ever closer to this bound being, the same type of being as his captors.  Closer, yet closer, until he's only a couple of steps away.  Could it be dead?  But it's still making magic, so maybe a Coma?  He tilted his head, bending down a little to see if he could see its face, and froze.

It was looking at him.