My cell where I would spend sixty years (not hyperbole though at the time I thought it had only been fifty) was laid stone and mortar. A throwback construction project in a tower so I got a nice view of the city as it evolved over time. I was all alone in it, I had a nice metal bed with a too small blanket that during the winter only gave me the illusion of being warm but not its comfort. No pillow because creature comforts are not allowed political prisoners apparently! I also had no contact with the outside world except for one guard who would provide my sludgey too cold hardly edible food. The guard wasn't much of a conversationalist, just dropping the food and leaving. I never got his name, or what he did for a living, but he was the only way I could successfully notice time advancing (my over use of necromancy has caused me not to age properly. Like my finger nails don't grow really and my hair either beard or facial the sameway, it was at least twenty years by my count before I even noticed aging at all in myself, which was nice as far as knowing I could survive, but obnoxious as far as trying to figure out how long I'd been up there).
I would come to find out later that I only had one guard was intentional, as no one knew I was actually imprisoned in the greater Ronerawth government. Not even the emperor if you could believe that! In a hilarious sequence of events the council that had doomed me to my imprisonment were executed to the last man, and since they didn't exactly write down everything they'd done, my order of imprisonment went from being a term to forever. Like at no point was I to actually be released, which seems entirely unfair for my crimes none of which in my opinion were punishable. That I even had a guard to feed me seemed more just the way government works, he'd been hired to do a job and the job was what he would do. I have to say if he had died suddenly for whatever reason I probably would have joined him after starving to death for years (because again necromancy).
The worst part of course about the imprisonment was hope. I kept hoping someone would save me, one of my friends, an ally, anyone. But no one came. Not Nidget or Andre, no Captin Therod with a gruff annoyance, or Valrym grudingly laying assistance, Mordere wasn't there to slice a throat with as much casual indifference as buttering toast, or even Hanlon with his weird appearence (to be fair Hanlon did eventually save me... oh crap spoilers!) Anyway all of this to say for the first couple decades I kept hoping my "friends" would come get me, and they never did. I would find out later of course they all thought I was dead (except for Hanlon who knew I wasn't because again he's creepy). Of course by the time I got out they were all dead, well aside from Valrym and creepily enough Hanlon.
So yeah, sixty years in a cell I'll skip what I did to amuse myself for decades in a small circular room, its amazing what you can do when you let your mind wander. And by amazing I mean its not at all. Next entry my escape!
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