<strong>Innoki, Lexi, Imeda</strong><br/><br/>"There really is no good time to discuss that place," the arcanist and schoolmaster mutters. "Very well. A history lesson, then." He reaches for a bell, rings it for silence, then assigns the children some tasks intended to keep them busy the next hour or two. One of the oldest gets the job to supervise them.<br/><br/>Master Ghoroven leads the three of you into his study, and bids you all sit down. "Harrowstone. You already know the salient points, of course. That it was the final stop for criminals from near and far, that other nations paid good money for us to deal with their problem residents, that there was an unusual amount of dangerous criminals in there when it was destroyed in a fire. None of that, after all is a secret..."<br/><br/><strong>Alendru Ghoroven</strong><br/>The day had begun like any other; Alendru had woken up, eaten breakfast, and taken the walk to Harrowstone; providing arcane support for the Warden and the guards brought in a fair bit of money and usually only took two or three hours out of his day, a good deal, even if it meant making the trip to the prison every day. This day, he arrived to frantic activity, however. There had been a riot; led by the Splatter Man, the prisoners had overrun one of the wings of the prison, and the Warden was in the process of organizing his men to retake the wing and return the prisoners to their rightful place in their cells... or kill them all. "Good to see you, Master," he greeted Alendru. "We could use your help."<br/>Under the circumstances, this was expected; Alendru simply nodded assent. He had not prepared any combat magic, but how dangerous could a bunch of escaped prisoners be? The group was assembled and led downstairs; halfway down the stairs, they were assailed by powerful illusions. Each of them saw their names scribbled in blood on the wall, saw the other men fall, disemboweled, their skulls shattered, a misshapen dwarf hunting for bone splinters. Stirges descended upon them, drawing their blood, as a haunting flute played a mournful dirge. The guards were trained; all of them had served in the army before joining the ranks. They blinked the illusions away, assured themselves that all was still in order by touching their comrades, and pressed on. Alendru was not so fortunate; he turned and fled upstairs, screaming in terror.<br/>Minutes later, another guard rushed upstairs, a messenger. Behind him, the stairway down collapsed, indicating that the Warden felt the security of the prison was at risk. "To the elevator!" The messenger ordered. "Shoot all that climbs up, unless it gives the password!"<br/>Alendru watched in a daze, still in the thrall of the horrors he had seen. The guards took up position at the elevator, as they raised it, the winch failed, and the platform plummeted downwards; the ropes and chains operating it provided perfect handholds for the inmates. The guards quickly threatened to run out of ammunition - or time to reload - so begun pouring caskets of oil down the assembly, to make it too slippery to climb. A moment later, a gout of flame burst up from the elevator like a stream of hellfire, accompanied by horrid screams and the stench of burning flesh. The ground quickly began to sag, and the guards and Alendru fled in panic. The prison was destroyed in the conflagration...