Ayron was awoken by a loud hiss and the following one sided conversation between the Khajit. He almost threw a shoe at them; however that dark elf Ilven or Alvin or whatever was very mean and any attempt of friendly slave conversation was met with a cold glance that would ice Ayron to his very bones. So he refrained from his most likely horrid idea and now that Aryon was awake before the day of work began he was stuck with only his thought. Thoughts, not of home, but of escape and macabre murder of the foremen through out this entire Telvanni complex that even a skeever is too good for. As he closed his eyes he concentrated on his dreams of making it outside. Left, right, up little lift, right, and continue straight till you reach fresh non dank spore filled air. Outside lay woody roots of the strange mushroomed capped trees and the small town around the tower. The high and mighty Dark Elves, who employed the sorry lot that is the confined group beneath the soil, who live above us all even though they simple own a large slavery operation. 

"What I wouldn't give..." Ayron muttered to himself, somehow waking the slave beside him.