It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Grog Strongjaw, a goliath barbarian . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, Vax pulls Scanlan aside and pitches him a backup plan. He wants to have Scanlan Dimension Door into Umbrasyl's stomach and use the unmovable rod to hurt him from inside.
DM: All right, you make your way to the Iron Stocks. And it is currently unguarded, there is nobody there, the Herd has lost interest in it, the door's partially ajar, and as you walk inside you can already smell the place just reeks of refuse and decay. It looks like everything left in the middle of a workday. There are still ledgers open on the front desk, you can see what looks to be a small group of-- a barracks-type scenario to the left of the entrance that is just completely abandoned and looks like some cases are left open, scattering various keepsakes and bottles that are shattered on the ground, a lot of people left either to go into battle to defend against the dragon, to lose their life in it, or just to get the hell out of Dodge.
Player: Can I walk up to the ledger and pretend to read it?
DM: Yeah. You pick it up and leaf through for a few pages, lotta great squiggles.
Player: Yep.
DM: Some pretty handwriting, you can tell--
Player: Any squiggles that look familiar?
DM: Um, no. No, none that-- I mean, some look familiar, some are more rounded--
Player: Oh, this poor bastard right here, yep, I remember him, good chap. Hello? Is anyone in here?
DM: There's a slight pause. Then you hear a voice echo from the right side of the room, down a hall just through the stone, you can barely make it out because the distance it's at, because you're hearing the echo protrude from quite a distance, but a voice just says, "Hey! Hey! In here! Need food please!"
Player: Oh, shit. So I go in that direction. Open the door and try and make my way that way.
DM: You charge down the hallway and there are a number of cells that are immediately here. Some of them are open and abandoned entirely, there are a few that you look off to the side, looks like a few individuals just passed away inside the cell. You come to a set of stairs that leads down into the next subterranean region and you hear the voice again, much closer, be like, "Hey! Hey! I hear your footsteps!" And you see a hand reaching out from behind some of the bars.
Player: Put your hand back inside.
DM: The hand retracts as you look over.
Player: That's a good lad. What's your name? Before I approach. Still far enough away.
DM: "Ah. Orn. Orn Finch at your service. Been in here far too long and very thirsty. I will be happily at your service, fair muscled man, should you see fit to relinquish me from these binds." And you look at him, he looks like a lowly beggar, longish tattered hair, wearing just general tattered and soiled clothing, no shoes, feet look blistered and black.
Player: Ugh. I'm going to call you Orn Blackfoot.
DM: "Blackfoot it is, Orn Blackfoot at your service, if you could just--"
Player: My name is Lord Grog.
DM: "Lord. It is my pleasure." And he reaches through and grasps your hand, his fingers are bony and thin, and he takes it and shakes it with what little strength he has.
Player: Man, you are looking a little rispy-- Pour out a little ale into a goblet, and I give him a goblet of ale.
DM: He snatches it from you and slurps into it, extremely thirsty.
Player: Ah-ah, not too fast, not too fast, don't want to get the bubbles. And I reach into the Bag of Holding and I have a dry food ration. I have three left. Now I have two. And I give him some dried food ration.
DM: He takes it and eagerly starts jamming it into his mouth. As he's eating, he's not even talking at you, this is just sheer hunger, the need to survive has taken over and he's just cramming it in there, choking a couple of times, keeping himself okay.
Player: Pace yourself, lad. Tell me, why are you in here, Orn Blackfoot?
DM: "Ah, well, this is-- everyone just started yelling and they abandoned us all here. It's been terrible hearing the moans and screams going silent. I thought they abandoned us all."
Player: No, they did, to be clear. They totally abandoned you. You are really the only person I know of that's in here. All the other mates around you, they're either sleeping or, you know.
DM: "I appreciate the food and drink, you've certainly done--" At which point a voice comes from about two cells over behind you that goes-- "Did I hear food and drink?"
Player: Fuck.
DM: "Food-- food and drink, please. Please."
