They took the fighters a floor deeper than the magic users, truly the deepest part of the dungeon. We were placed in individual cells, spaced to where we couldn't see one another. In my cell was a cot for sleeping, a pot for pissing, and shackles around my wrists. The chain between was dangerously long; weaponizable, should the lone guard decide to enter my cell. I devised a plot to expedite that exact situation. I dragged my chamber pot near the end of my bed, at the back wall of my cell (don't want him to have time to change his mind if he does enter), and used my chain to gently CLANG the side of the pot.
After ten minutes of steady clanging, the guard walks over and rattles the gate. "Stop with all that banging!" I thought I might try my hand at a gentle approach. "I could bang this, or you could come in and give me something else to bang." With a grunt and a blush, he stomped off. I guess my feminine wiles are out of practice. Brute force mental warfare it is, and the clanging continued.
Ten minutes later, "give it a rrrest, me ears er splittin". I stopped; and one, and two, and three, and four, CLANG! started up again after a whole rest. The sound that was heard next was beyond speech, merely raw emotion. A guttural roar, filled with rage and frustration and murderous intent rose from the guard. Perfect. He rose from his seat, bludgeon in one hand, keys in the other. He unlocked my cell, and stepped forward into my web.
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