Welcome to Gaia! ::

The door swung open to what appeared to be a large hallway, an entryway, from which ascended a stone staircase, which cast a large shadow under it. There was a somewhat cursory rug on the ground around the staircase, which appeared to lead up to a metal trapdoor.

On the rug, near the door, was spread out a large cloak and then another one rolled up apparently as a makeshift pillow. Crumbs of bread were around it, along with a dried-out inkwell, a brittle-looking quill, and a leatherbound book.

Charonite had looked at her over the thank-you; he merely said, "You're welcome," though he said it quite gruffly as though he were embarrassed. Or didn't want to talk about it. He was a great deal politer than one would have thought a General-King to be -- and indeed, a bunch of his Lieutenants would have been annoyed that he swatted Nemesis around far less than their own selves. Hematite might have started a petition. Nealite might have been amused. "Don't thank me until we're out of here."

But he took the book from her and opened up the cover.

Normally, he would have ditched the book and focused on the trapdoor -- Charonite had his eye on the prize, which was freedom, and freedom appeared to be the staircase in front of them which he was enthusiastic to embrace. But Warin, who had been the only one to escape from the cells below as Elaine had queried --

Not much of a reader, either, he still flipped over to the next page. Not taking his eyes off it he said, "Look for food."

The journal appeared to chronicle the recent life of one Warin Cartwright, apprentice to a man he referred to simply as 'the Master,' and not one who wrote a great deal of context, unfortunately, into his journal. As it turned out, most people did not write diaries with the expectations they would be read, and Warin's was overtaken at points with shopping lists for peculiar items and to-do lists for peculiar errands.

At a certain point the handwriting became worse and it appeared to be his diary in jail -- bitterer, longer, and more reflective, but not much more helpful. They were in a city called Camelot, in a prison under it, where 'forgotten people,' wrote Warin, 'are left to rot.'

A few sentences caught Charonite's eye -- but a moment later, he might have wished they hadn't --

-- I do not know what is more unbearable, what the Warden wants with Tristan or what the King's guards want with Elaine -- I have never been so driven to madness and a thousand murders, but all within the impotence of my own head --

then:

But there is some hope.

and, later:

They have left us to die.

There is no other answer.

One way or another, they have left us to die.

and, finally, at the end:

I came from nothing. I am Warin Cartwright. I will leave this place.

She glanced over her shoulder, taking note of the expression Charonite's face. Nemesis bundled and picked up the cloaks first, deciding that doing what Charonite wanted before she asked him a question would give her better results. "What did it say? Please don't tell me 'nothing'." She also thought that adding a 'please' to her question would earn better results. Though, the one time she had gotten an answer was when she had practically demanded it from him. In time she'd figure out the best way to hear what she needed and wanted to hear from him.

She moved to the base of the staircase, putting a foot on the first step before glancing back to Charonite again, as if to make sure he was coming with before plunging into an unknown territory.

The trapdoor was locked, on the outside. It was just as well.

Still, Warin must have gotten out somehow.

Charonite ascended back down the staircase and underneath -- he was already yanking away the rug in the shadow of the stones, face the impeccable blankness you got of trying the last avenues before violence escalated.

Giving in to frustration, she irritably pounded her fist against the trap door, as if that would help. When it didn't, she followed Charonite back down the stairs. For a few minutes she helped Charonite rummage through the few things on the floor before she noticed the hole. Needless to say, she thought finding a magical way up was better than going down into darkness.

She moved away from Charonite's side, going over to the hole to examine it. It certainly looked like... someone had blown their way into the stone tiles. "Are we going... down?" she asked Charonite, because really... it seemed like the only option, like someone had done this to get out when they couldn't get through the trap door.