<i>In Praven city jail, nowhere near the Squealing Pig tavern.</i><br/><br/>Light poured into the cell through a small window, barely illuminating the dank and smelly interior. The biggest difference was perhaps it enabled someone to see the filth on the hay instead of just smelling it. Whispering filled the air, prayers, pleadings, sometimes curses. The city jail lower levels was where those poor and unlucky fellows that didn't have a title to their name got stuck. The soldiers caught in war, the thieves caught in the market and the outlaws caught on the run. Their only company in the dreary jail was the ancient stonework, chains and rats.<br/><br/>The steel of Valae's manacles cut in her flesh, she hung limply from the ring fit to the wall. The ring was put too low to allow her properly stand, and too high for her to properly sit. She wore only the bare minimum of scraps for clothing, everything else she had owned taken away for 'storage' and 'return to their rightful owner'. Her black hair hung in front of her eyes, obscuring her face. Her skin was covered in bruises, caked blood and patches of dirt. She had struggled every moment she could, and they had beaten her each time until she finally collapsed or had given up. She had fought when they had first captured her, dragged her to the city. She had struggled when they chained her through the wall, and made sure that one of her tormentors might never walk properly again. Finally, she had fought the guards off with just her legs when they tried to take a 'helpless woman'.<br/><br/>She smirked to herself. Leaving half of those men groaning on the floor with their comrades trying to save them from the madwoman in chains was a fond memory, and perhaps her last fond memory ever. She had decided to cherish it, savor it. It had been a message, and the message had been. "I am Valae the Wolf, and even in chains I am dangerous." It was a senseless and small little act, in all, only ensuring her that no food would arrive her in her cell before her execution, but she would not walk broken to the gallows. She was not going to whimper and beg like everyone else in this stinking jail. She spit on the floor, laughing weakly to herself. It was far from the forest of home, but even in this strange land with her execution being soon she would not allow herself to break, to weaken. She would stay strong and deny all those that sought to see her fall.<br/><br/>"Laughing crazy to yourself again, woman?" The coarse voice of the guard distracted her from her thoughts, and she chuckled softly. "Am thinking, how small Swadian balls must be if they only taunt me from behind bars." Her thick, vaegir accent was plainly audible, putting focus where it shouldn't be as well as having harsh-soundings 'k's. This all made her sound somewhat primitive to the more fluid speak of the guard "You wretch, we'll see how much you laugh when you're dancing the hempen rope." A wad of spittle landed in front of her feet, and he walked away. Valae bit her lower lip, she doubted she could escape within 3 days, and on the fourth she would be hanged. Her hope for salvation was wearing thin. She couldn't pay the massive bounty she had accumulated, since the manhunters who had captured her had taken her money from her. Despite her strong and proud attitude in the face of death, she knew that unless something happened she was going to die.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>