[center][h2]Pandora's Prison[/h2][/center]
[center][i]Wraithblade6[/i][/center]
[center]Day 1, Morning[/center] 
[center]Damien[/center]

After a moment of silence, the prisoner dragged himself to the front of his cell and slumped against the wall facing Ludelle with a dull expression. He looked older, with a sun-deprived complexion, and smooth, human skin tht was marred by a few wrinkles around his eyes. He didn't appear to care about cutting his long, dark hair, as it lay freely against his chest. It looked like it had been beautiful once, she could tell, but time and neglect had sapped the life out of it. His eyes were boring and human, of some dark shade, but not black. Humans. They were always so arrogant and racist, but this one looked beaten down, beyond caring about things as trivial as pride. Of course, this was the ward for dangerous magic-weilders, so he had to have something. It was strange that he was able to hurt the guards with his magic despite the anti-magic zone around this place. Perhaps he was powerful. 

In his eyes, she noticed something unusual. Gone was the look of fear and trepidation that was so common to first time prisoners. This was no timid whelp. Nor was there petty anger or sexual lust or even a spec of redemptive regret. The eyes were simply cold, confident, and remorseless. It was like looking at someone who had lost everything and yet continued to walk on like an unstoppable zombie corpse, like he had been summoned, controlled, or driven by some oath he could not forsake. It was nearly terrifying to witness.

Then those eyes suddenly flicked to her. Detachment... a broken soul, unable to love, a true psychopath, with the key to unlocking his heart dangling delicately around his neck. 

The man's head tilted, and his piercing glare softened slightly. The voice had belonged to a women from another cell. It was dark, but Damien was certain she had the head of a bird. He thought to himself. Surely it didn't matter who or what she was. She was here, and that meant she was a criminal. She was just another failure, a potentially good and righteous person fallen to corruption, a fool, and a shameful loss to society. But what did Damien care about society? 

Nonetheless, if he wanted to network his way into the heart of the enemy, if he wanted to serve his god, he was compelled to speak. He had to play the role of fellow convict and glean all the information he could. He'd be getting out of here soon once his guild was informed of his capture. 

A soothing, deep, slightly ragged voice flowed slowly like the comforting growl of a male lion. Ludelle's dread ebbed, squelched by the rapture of curiosity satisfied as the man spoke, "Does it matter who I am? I am a villain, a murderer, and now I am a prisoner. I am a fiend, girl, and I will kill as many of them as I can before Yishreenok finds me worthy." That was a pretty morbid statement, but other than his spiritual affiliation, it didn't reveal anything of his street loyalty. Damien intended it that way. He looked at her, making out what he could with his human sight. If he got her name, great. If he didn't, he didn't. In obedience to the mysterious mission he had been given by his chosen deity, to continue to live until whatever Yishreenok wished was carried out, he asked her, "What are you in for?"