A shrill cry of pain and terror echoed through the dim halls of the Prison of a Thousand Torments. Once a military compound, the name derived from the ancient Sultan Beauteous when he threw his half-brother Selan into its depths to die. The greatest torturers and gaolers in all the realm were invited here to practice their skills on the destitute and downtrodden criminals. Both the oppressed and the truly terrible were sent here to live out their days. Neil knew none of this, but there was something unsettling for a thief like him in this dark place. He knew he could end up here very easily for many of his ideas of fun, and it was only the promise of treasures and Calliope walking in that had him stepping past the arch, following the gate-guard they had coerced with a promise of payment as he led them down into its depths. 

Most humble dwellings in Rhagba Shahir were located on the outskirts of the great city, the opulence and wealth closer to its core. The lesser dwellings of lesser men were made of mudbrick or clay, their surfaces usually plastered or covered in painted clay to give it some manner of aesthetic. Doors were often missing, replaced with heavy curtains so there was always air flowing freely, and that a guest may clap twice in order to gain attention for entry. Bricked buildings were considered tacky and uncouth, even for the poor. The prison stood out amongst the peasant quarter, with walls of mortar and stone and a heavy door at its front, not to mention the crimson towers and the archers ready to loose on any fool who wandered too close without clear intent. 

The two foreigners and the guard passed through the first floor quietly, keeping themselves away from the bars of the cages. Every cell had a man begging for release or crying out to Hayashim, still holding on to hope for freedom from this hell. They were the new residents, unused to complete despair. They passed down carved steps of stone to the next level down, this level below the sands of the surface, where the prisoners wept or carved the walls with stones to mark the days as they trudged inevitably forward. Sconces and torches were sparse here, but still present. 

The guard grabbed a torch and led them down to the third level, the torch flickering feebly in the oppressive dark. Only once did they pass another lit torch in the labyrinthine level, turning this way and that. Some men lay dead in their cells, others hugged their knees and looked vacantly into the hall, unaware of the light or the strangers walking before their very eyes. Still, some seemed damaged, but not yet broken. With sunken eyes and hopelessness cloaked in apathy. It was in a long hall of caged men, where they found one in such a state. An older man, head bald and finger nails unusually long, curled up in the back corner of his cell. Neil thought he was dead at first, until the guard kicked him through the bars and his head raised lazily, like a turtle slowly peeking out of its shell. 

"Sukander Besar?" Calliope asked, hands on her hips. 

The man said nothing, but there was recognition in his eyes that revealed a familiarity. 

"He is who I said he was," the guard said, his hawkish nose drawing a sharp shadow over his mouth. "Now pay me, bitch! And complete your business." 

"Very well," Calliope said flippantly, gesturing with her hand lazily as her eyes bored into the elderly prisoner. "Neil, pay this man his due." 

The guard's eyes bulged, his expectant look turning into horror when Neil's hand pressed against his mouth and the dagger pierced the side of his throat, blood gushing out of the wound onto the dusty stone floor. "Sorry, boss's orders." Neil said, clearly not happy about the murder, but knowing if they let him go without payment, they too would likely be thrown in here. To bring some levity to the situation, he slunk over to Calliope, one arm in his sleeve with a hand hanging out to make it appear as if he was malformed. "The deed is done, dark master." He rasped.