A Dark Cell

Zangard sat in the cell, no idea where he was. He had slept through the journey. Once he’d arrived, the box and hood had been removed, as had the chains.

He looked around, unable to see anything whatsoever. It was so dark, no windows. There was no sound either.

The decisions he’d made suddenly felt like a bad idea. He’d sacrificed all of his magic for the only power he now wielded; one which Luvendar had rendered useless.

Zangard sighed. He’d once been a powerful mage. In past times, he could have cast light to see the insides of his new home, now he could only trudge around in the dark.

He began to explore the cell, feeling along the cold, damp walls. His hands traced the uneven stone, searching for any signs of weakness or cracks that he could exploit. But the walls seemed impenetrable, mocking him with their solidity. There wasn’t even a door.

Luvendar. Zangard shook his head. He was in the undercells. Out in the middle of nowhere. He looked up, unable to see it, but knowing the entrance to his cell was high above his head.

In past times, he’d have been able to levitate. Another power lost to the greed of his dark magic.

Time passed slowly in the darkness, each moment stretching out into eternity. Zangard could feel despair creeping into his heart, threatening to consume him whole.

Zangard sat in the cell, contemplating his fate in the oppressive darkness that surrounded him. He could feel the weight of his actions pressing down on him, the consequences of his hubris closing in. With a heavy heart, he realized that he had brought this upon himself.

As he sat there, the silence of the cell enveloping him like a suffocating blanket, Zangard's mind raced with memories of his past glory. He had been a respected mage, his spells revered and feared by many. But now, all that power was gone, stripped away by his own arrogance.

There was no escape from here. He’d been trapped in this cell for an eternity.

He laid on the cold, hard stone, closing his eyes.