"C'mere boy," Hoska spoke, motioning for young Goram to approach him as he worked the forge, his large hammer weighted down in his grip. Goram had been staring out at the bustling streets when he was brought from his reverie by his father's voice, turning back to look at the rest of the workshop.

If it wasn't for the sweltering heat, and constant sound of metal on metal, the workshop would have been a pleasant place to spend the day. Hesitant at first to go near a man with a large hammer in his hand, Goram slowly wandered over to the forge. "Now, Goram, see the glow as the metal heats?" Hoska pulled the metal onto the anvil quickly with his gloved hand. "Gotta be quick, son; reheating metal never ends well."

[center]*****[/center]

Goram observed the strange woman as her appearance became clearer in the torchlight, though it was hard to make out anything distinct with the dark of the dungeon still creeping in, the edges of the torch's glare like flimsy barriers, waiting to collapse. Lady Mariah Amor, she said her name was, a familiar name the Goram knew well. He had seen her on occasion as he made his rounds with the noble families, but had never spoken to her before now. He noticed the sadness in her eyes as she finished, commenting on the situation they were in.

"Indeed... But, despite the circumstances," he began his reply, curling his lips into as gentle a smile as he could. "I still think it is a pleasure to meet you, miss Amor." Goram was never normally one for pleasantries and courting, but he would never forgive himself he didn't at least try and cheer her up; even if they're current predicament was far less than satisfactory. "I'm Goram Dorr; most nobles know me as the Master Blacksmith, but, you're welcome to just call me Goram."

Goram heard footsteps nearby, and so turned to see the source. The young woman who had directed him to the dungeon was now leading others down as well, more victims of the venerated Lord Nixus. The first was a maiden, familiar in face and yet unrecognisable... [i]Something dreadful must have happened to her,[/i] Goram thought to himself. But then, this wasn't the kind of place for happy people to frequent.

A short time later, a young man was being escorted down into the dark. Goram thought he recognised Kipling Baye, though he couldn't tell, as he had only dealt with his workers, and not the man himself. Whoever he was, however, he was kicking up quite the fuss; the dungeon was quickly filled with his screams of protest and aggressive behaviour as he attempted to escape his cage, but to no avail. 

After the man had gone deafly silent, another was brought in, though he appeared to be unconscious; whether he had fainted or had been drugged, Goram couldn't tell. He was placed inside one of the other cages, the prison emitting a substantial amount of light compared to the others alongside it. Seeing the unconscious man slowly awaken, he watched as he attempted to break the glass cage, though his attempts were just as futile as the last man who tried. He was surprised to hear him shout, though his cage was a fair distance away, and he couldn't quite make out what he was trying to say.

Turning back to Mariah, he could feel the silence as the two of them had nothing more to say. Feeling a slight draft, Goram began to notice her shivering, reacting much more to the cold temperature. Moving closer, he gently moved her towards the nearby torch, so as to help her keep warm. "You don't seem to like the cold," he spoke, looking up at the dancing flames, a strange tinge of fear sparking in the back of his mind. Standing beneath the dim light of the torch, he stared out at the rest of the dungeon, anticipating the arrival of the others.