Darkwind Keep, Dungeons…
GAVIN TAVISCHOLM sits in a cell on the southern side of the dungeons below Darkwind Keep. The window on the wall just beyond his cell faces the lands of the Frost Giants. The sun, lowering over the Davor Mountains sends a shadow through the bars of his cell over his body. Stripped of his crown, his armor, and his dignity, Gavin was put into an orange jumpsuit with metal bracers around each wrist. Instead of his normal war boots, Gavin now wears flat bottomed, soft soled shoes. He sets his head into his hands and sweat drip from his long string silver hair and brow.
“My men turned on me,” Gavin mutters to himself. “and now I am trapped in this hell hole.”
“Ach, me boyo, do ye not remember ye teachings,” a spirit says with a Scottish-like accent.
“Master, Master Sheratin?”
“Ach, ye actually remember me.”
“I have no key.”
“Boyo, ye’ve lived on this rock too long. Ye have the power to get out on ye own. Ye need no key. Look within.”
Then, the spirit of Gavin’s former master disappears. A determination, a resolves swells to the surface within Gavin.
“He’s right! Time to leave!”