The Oubliette at Ak Min Tor

Part 1 Escape At Hand

I lay here slowly dying from starvation.

There is water here, and moss and mold grows on the stones.

I lick the water off the rocks to slack my thirst.

The taste of the mold can't be washed away.

I wonder what it was that woke me. I hear scratching from somewhere.

A rat skitters at my hip, meals now few and far between.

Even the rat had the taste of the mold on its fur.

The sky and sun are distant memories here in the darkness.

Voices in the distance, imagination? Ghosts maybe, calling me across.

And still the smell of the mold on everything.

I crawl across the floor to find another tiny puddle of brackish and fetid water.

Trace the outlines of the cell again, I've lost count on the number of times.

Feet haven't worked since they were broken in the fall.

What is this place? I've forgotten why I was put ... thrown in here.

A long fall and the feet landed crooked. Broken, but never could see the damage.

The leather of my boots and belt didn't sustain me for long, just made me more thirsty.

Doesn't matter anyway, don't need boots if you'll never walk again.

A memory of a distant past ... there was sunshine there, and a fish jumped on the water.

My son beside me on the shelf, he tries to hit the fish with a rock, maybe next time.

Another memory in a flash. A woman leading me to her bed. My wife? Don't remember.

The pain brings me back to the present, and the thirst that never goes away.

And still that infernal scratching sound.

I drifted through the days, the months, the years, surviving only.

My tormentors never came after just a few times.

I guess I couldn't tell them what they wanted.

I was blindfolded. To protect their identify? I don't know.

There it is, again ... the scratching sound, but from beneath.

Metal on stone, scraping the world away from under the floor.

Demons from the underworld, finally coming to collect their prize.

Tap-tap, scratching again. What is that?

Whispering in the darkness, but the language is strange ... not the common.

Muffled silence, and the subtle sound of shuffling and scratching again.

This goes on for ages, time has no meaning here in the underworld.

Beneath the paths of men, beneath the stones, beneath my belly, someone is there.

I press ear against the floor. Who bothers me in my dungeon?

Only the scratching again, but more thumping.

The muffled ping of a padded piton struck with a hammer of metal.

I can feel the vibrations of their excavating now.

Come ... come ... the guards never make it down here anymore.

The air rumbles and shakes, but not from those beneath.