[i]Drip. Drip. Drip.[/i]

Aksel Dehli had taken to counting the droplets of water leaking through a crack in his low stone ceiling, dimly refracting the low torchlight before splashing down into the slowly growing puddle. Hundreds of thousands of identical droplets had accumulated in that same depression in the uneven dungeon floor. In his oppressively damp cell, Aksel could only imagine that it was a similar buildup of moisture in his own lungs inducing his worsening cough.

It had been sixteen days – or around that time. With no natural light anywhere to be seen in the dungeon corridor his cell was located in, the only way for the young man to understand the passage of time was by counting his meals, served roughly once a day. Sixteen days since he had arrived in Tolos, looking to escape those pursuing him. Sixteen days since his mother was murdered in front of his eyes, him left in the street with lifeblood leaking out of multiple wounds.

He was rescued out of that predicament; rescued right into this new one. He would survive his wounds, for his new captors had stopped the bleeding, stitched and wrapped him tight. His dirty fingers went to his red stained bandages. He traced the pattern. Just under his left shoulder to a shallow one that led to his second lowest rib. Across his chest and up to the right side of his collarbone. He didn't need to look at his back to know that the one there was the deepest. Recollection of each day in this dungeon blended into the next, but the sixteen day old memory was burned into his mind with searing clarity. 

[i]It all doesn't seem real.[/i]

He had been betrayed by the elven nobility in Tolos the same way his grandfather had been. Worse, it was his own brothers, fellow monks of the Tolosi Pantheon, that had given him up to his persecutors. Was it because three parts out of his four were human? Just elf enough to tend the faith but not enough to be an actual brother. He could never fit just right despite his lifelong dedication to the Pantheon, prayers offered daily to gods of order, justice, storms, harvest, seas, poetry and everything else whether it pertained to his own life or not. Yes, he was selfless and humble; he had to be. Arrogance was born of privilege, and privilege he had not.

Deep within his own world, Aksel didn't hear the approaching footsteps until they were near outside his cell. That would be daily bowl of pap. Every day, the clattering of a half full tin bowl brought him out of his introspection. Boiled water, grease and oils and everything too rough to even make it into the sausages. The first two days he was unable to keep it down. Bland enough but with stomach turning textures. After kicking the contents of his stomach to the side of his cell for a second time, he took a different approach for the third day. He picked out the bits of bone and chewed out the marrow – just like pig ribs when he was a kid, right? Tossed the teeth and cartilage in the waste bucket and slowly sipped the broth. The young monk would never look at his captors. It was some sort of pride not to play the dog, whimpering with wide eyes bleeding to his master. Aksel wasn't a proud man. He wasn't trying to prove anything, but he was indeed strong. He would keep his sanity and his humanity. A lifetime of experience steeling himself against degradation lie with him in that cell.

He stared at his bare feet, at the mud and grime underneath his overgrown toenails. The calluses were just starting to form from hours of anxious pacing over the first five days. With soles bloody and raw, Aksel soon learned to indeed keep the blood pumping through his legs, but only in small increments at a time. His eyes shifted from his feet to the stone floor, following the cracks spanning to either side. They darted up at the receding sound of footsteps walking away from his cell. No clatter?

[i]No food?[/i]

The usual spot – just outside the cage door, close enough for the prisoner to reach and replace with an empty bowl later – contained no bowl. In its place was a small bundle of oddly pristine cloth. Out of habit or of suspicion, Aksel crawled over to the door and reached between the same two bars to the same spot. He pulled in the bundle and unraveled the meticulously folded material. Inside was simple white stone ring and a small note.

It read: [i]“Your key out. We will find you at The Lucky Mummer. - T, J”[/i]

How would this ring serve as a key? And who were these people writing the message. What did they want with Aksel? Why were they sending him to an obscure bar on the edges of Tolos? A million questions bounced around his young, blonde head as he slipped the white ring onto his hand. It was too large to fit on either or the appropriate fingers, so Aksel selected his right middle finger to house his possibly saving grace. He stood up, studying his cell's door for any indent that matched the face of the ring – two curved arrows, one twice as large as the other. He tried to fit the ring into every crevice he could find in the entire cell. Nothing seemed to match. It was a terrible fit to the door's keyhole, the only thing he thought would make sense.

He didn't understand. This must be just a trick, something to give him a small glimmer of hope before sending him crashing back down to the reality of his grimy cell with its leaky roof and gruesome food. Aksel slammed the ring into the cell door in frustration. Out of nowhere, a shockwave ripped through the air and launched the young man across the cell to crash into the opposing wall. Aksel's ears were ringing, and he seemed to be hallucinating. It almost looked like the barred door was blown completely out of its frame. No, he wasn't seeing things; the punch from the ring had not only opened the door to freedom, it had virtually bent it in half. Bewildered, the monk slowly rose to his feet, his wide eyes never leaving the mysterious stone ring.

Voices rang through the corridors, and Aksel knew his time was fast shortening. The guards would be at his cell soon. The only blessing afforded him in the moment was the fact that the layout of the hallways amplified echoes throughout the entire dungeon. He knew that this would only confuse the guards for so long, so he took off running, the adrenaline coursing through his body nearly allowing him to forget his still-wounded feet.

He ran blindly through the narrow passageways, turning any direction that felt right, making sure that these turns took him away from the sound of voices behind him. Heart beating, he knew that his luck had to run out soon, but as soon as that thought crossed his mind, He saw the distinctive glow of natural light. 

Splitting pain erupted in his entire arm, and Aksel thought that he might have broken his hand. No shockwave had come this time, just an ordinary punch.

[i]What is going on with this ring? Was that first time just a coincidence or did I do something wrong this time?[/i]

Ironically, the door was already unlocked, and Aksel's punch served to swing it wide open. The room was empty except for a desk with a finely crafted, steel guard's dagger splayed over an unfinished letter to one of the guard's wives. The young man stashed the dagger in his ragged tunic. He climbed up onto the windowsill and looked out, seeing that he was three stories up but with large bushes directly underneath his perch. Muttering a quick prayer to the Tolosi god of birds and all creatures flying, Aksel Dehli dropped out of his jail and into the afternoon daylight.

______________________________________________________________

With no further incidents, Aksel arrived at the tavern known as The Lucky Mummer. He looked around, self-conscience about his comically ragged appearance. Luckily, word had not reached the city proper of an escaped prisoner. Before he took more than half a dozen steps into the establishment, however, he was grabbed by arms that seemed too large to belong to a human. He was carried up a flight of stairs and bundled into private room. The large man sat him down in a chair and pulled out the dagger hidden in Aksel's tunic. In front of him sat two men, indistinguishable save for a minor height difference.

The taller man dropped a large purse heavily on the table, the familiar clinking of coins resonating in Aksel's ears. 

“You have languished under political oppression for far too long, Master Avalusk,” began the shorter man.

[i]Avalusk!? How could they possibly know? Who were these people?[/i]

“Our witless Prophet has tolerated foolishness for far too long. It is time for a new Tolos to be born, and in the wake of its impending rise, an entire new world. Find a doctor for your afflictions and purchase what supplies you need before departing the city. And do make haste. Oromis has returned to our earthly plane, and you are going to aid him in his conquest. We will be in contact.” With those few, short sentences, the meeting was over. The  brute of a man once again took Aksel up into his massive arms and tossed him out of the private room, followed by the dagger. With no other options available and nobody else to turn to, the young monk set about following his orders.