Warning: Not for faint hearted fellows.
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The stairway led down into a suffocating darkness, each creaking step swallowed by the oppressive silence below.
As Arawn descended, the air thickened with rot and rusted iron, the scent of dried blood and something far more putrid clinging to the stone like mold.
The moment his foot touched the cellar floor, a new world unfolded before him.
Chains lined the walls like grotesque decorations, clinking faintly with unseen movement.
The flickering light of half-melted torches cast long shadows across the damp stone, revealing cells—no, cages—barely wide enough for a grown man to stand upright in.
Blood stained their iron bars, dark and dried in some places, fresh and dripping in others. The scent alone was enough to curdle the stomach.
Arawn moved cautiously, each step echoing louder than the last, as if the walls were mocking his presence.
