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: You hear two voices simultaneously down the end of the hallway come in, one of which is a very weak female voice, the other is a very loud kind of-- "Hey, bring me food this way, please!" The other one is like, "Please, I ask of you, I'm starving." And you see these two hands come out of the two cells in the distance.
Player: Right, I'm going to pick a number between one and ten. Ready? Go.
DM: There's an awkward pause. "Three?" "Seven! Definitely seven!"
Player: I lean over to Abjurist Noja, I say, I actually don't know any numbers, so. Y'know what, we're going to deliberate and we'll be with you in just a moment. (whispers) Abjurist, how old y--, why are you in here, who put you in here?
DM: "I've only been in here for about a week. Got in an altercation in my store when these brutes started walking in. Threw me in here, didn't even let me take my spellbook."
Player: Oh, that is a crime. I love b-- I can't even say it. Hold on, stay right there, I'll get you out-- And I walk back to Orn Blackfoot, I go, look, hey, so I gave you food, can you do anything, like, special?
DM: "What?"
Player: Like, can you make your hands turn to flame, can you disappear, are you really good with a bow and arrow?
DM: "No! No." And he reaches out and grabbing at your clothes though and starts pulling you--
Player: Hey! Orn, chill!
DM: "But I have friends in many places, though. I can, I can get you things. I can make connections--"
Player: Yeah, but most of the people in here are dead, right, like they're probably not--
DM: "Not even here, Emon! I can get you anything you need from Emon. I can get you from Stillben. And Lansway, just name it and get me out of here and I can--"
Player: How long has it been since you've been to Emon?
DM: "Few months?"
Player: You got any loved ones there?
DM: "Why?"
Player: I don't know, just asking, like, do you want me to take a note from you to them or something, you know.
DM: "No, if you can release me, I'd be more than happy to take it myself if you don't mind."
Player: Yeah, no, I'm still deliberating, sorry. Enjoy the food that you snuck in your jacket pocket. And I go back towards the front desk area. And I try and find any-- is there a lever on the wall to release the cells or can I look for keys?
DM: You-- make an investigation check.
Player: Fuck me.
DM: Yes.
Player: Your fate is in excellent hands. Oh shit, you're not dead! Minus two for a 17!
DM: Ah! All righty. So. After spending the good part of an hour or so clamoring through, just throwing bookshelves over and (crashing) taking the desk and actually throwing it onto its back and pulling drawers out, this is Grog's method of investigation here, you're just--
Player: Yeah, just trying some splinters of wood in the locks just in case.
DM: Yeah, yeah. You break off a few forks in some locks.
Player: Forks, yeah.
DM: In practice, yeah, whatever looks small enough and should fit, though it doesn't, but you make it fit. And it doesn't help. You do eventually find in one of the cells, closed and locked as you look by, there is one person in guard armor, in Westruun guard armor, that is in the cell. Not moving.
