A bone from a piece of meat.
A solid plate that is void of food.
Wooden bed posts.
To the normal eye, these were just useless items. To the eyes of a desperate prisoner, they all had a use. A very good use. The only decision now was whether or not to take the risk of it. Under the right exact circumstances, it would work perfectly. Though, he only encountered the exact circumstance once, and it was before he started thinking hard about things.
There was talk outside of fighting, killing, running back, many things. All mixed messages about what had happened outside the confines of the jail cell. It was funny, no matter the just town of Trollsbane, or the evil temple of Bjolmur, their jails were so similar. The concept was the same. The objective was the same, to get out. The memories of being confined in many other jails on the island crept back into his mind. And now magistrate of a town, what the hell had happened since then? It didn't matter now.
The human and lizard with him had gone to sleep. They slept a lot, only waking a few times. Fooser slid down the wall, onto the dirt and stone floor. He slowly looked down his leg, his pants were dirty and torn in some parts. Eventually his eyes came to his large boots. They were a mix of metal and leather, ideal for protection and comfort. He slowly moved his hand down his leg and pulled the opening of the boot open even more, looking down at the handle of a dagger.
They spoke of completing a ritual. Was it the one they were needed for? Are they no longer needed alive? Was anyone coming to get them? Images of fire red liches, Aurora, and others came to mind.
Knowledge is power, and he had none.
In Jail Again
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