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genericangstyposter Posted:
You peer around the cell. It’s dingy and has the familiar smell that dungeon cells everywhere soon develop beneath the gag-worthy ones of **** and ****. The floors are earthen and might possibly allow you to dig a pbumage out with a spoon in, say, oh twenty years perhaps. The bars are made of rusted iron but still strong despite the number of sweaty palms that must have gripped it over the past few centuries. The walls, on the other hand, are carved from stone and cemented together by mortar; they look sturdy enough to withstand a siege catapult or two.
There’s the **** pit in the corner of the room, and a little bench chained to the wall in the traditional fashion of prisons everywhere. You wonder if it’s the same architect who designed all of these places, or if they hired the same interior designers. Still, whichever it may be, the bench is there as right as rain.
Other than that, there’s nothing really noteworthy in this place. Unless, of course, you really want to dig through the **** pit… |
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Posted On: 11/18/2007 12:31AM | View eponymous_ennui's Profile | # |