Now Rot Here

Winski fought the depression. It was such a familiar state of mind for him, as if it was borne in his bones. It wasn't just the circular thought processes ending in the same conclusion, that there was no hope. It was also a physical state, crushing his chest so that it was hard to breathe and making his limbs weak and listless. When had he ever lived without it? Short periods of hope and life, like the few years he had shared as Jelena's lover, thinking about the house in the outskirts of a city in the Western Heartlands, Sarevok's and Tamoko's house nearby, taking care of their babies when they would be adventuring. Other than that, it was always this. Oddly enough, the short time he had enjoyed depression-free existence was the time most devoid of cynicism. And yet cynical beliefs made him feel safe. Oddly enough, drinking a rather massive amount of alcohol had made him feel nothing and chased the pain away, but the next day and strangling soberness made the self-hate and depression even worse. Winski frowned, annoyed. He knew for a fact that he was very intelligent, had always been. So why was it, then, that he seemed to be so stupid about the very living, about the things he did?

Now, every time the thoughts of hopelessness and the willingness to cease existing caught him, he sought the warmth of Jelena's body, the love in her eyes. She, too, was somewhat affected by the place, but in a different way than Winski. Her personality and her divine link to her god protected her from despairing herself, but it hurt her to see such a place, such doomed souls roaming it. Knowing that she could not do anything for them. She had always been one who wanted to help others, and in the service of Ilmater there were many opportunities. But now there was something more important than helping strangers. To save her lover. Jelena wasn't sure that she was supposed to think that way. She didn't care. She was a spirit, and a divine agent of Ilmater, not a saint.

At least Winski was now aware. He knew that the hopelessness inside was not divine truth, or the logical inevitable his brain tried to twist it to be. He knew it was this place getting to him, and his core personality acting out. Poor Winski. So full of pain and guilt. Jelena sighed. She almost wanted to pray to Ilmater, to tell him that Winski had already suffered enough, and could he please take them away from here already. But she knew better. He had to know. He had to know about the families whose son never came back, the child slaves who coughed their lungs out and died of whip lashes in the Cloakwood mines. Jelena shuddered to think how that would affect him. But when he knew, he would truly know that our decisions always affect others. He was already over that significant people crap.

In the midst of the soggy fog loomed a formidable-looking fortress-like structure. They approached it, and it turned out to be a wall built of dark pine, the kind growing everywhere on the plane. The outer wall bristled with spikes, and there was a great wooden gate.

- "This is it," Jelena said. "Death of Innocence."

Winski nodded, feeling conflicting emotions. On the other hand he was terrified, on the other hand he was relieved that they finally had found what they were looking for.

Jelena knocked the gates and a human warrior wearing a gray plate mail and wielding a halberd came to open. He was apparently disturbed by Jelena's presence.

- "What is your kind doing here, lady?" he asked in a hostile tone.

- "I am here on a mission from Lord Ilmater, and I and my charge will turn ourselves in to be imprisoned for atonement."

- "I see. Come in then. The prison is at the end of the main street, next to the center square."

He let them pass.

- "This place feels vacant... like a ghost town," Winski remarked. It was true. There was hardly anyone moving about, and it was very quiet. The buildings along the broad avenue were hewn of the same gray pine than the walls of the city, and it was oozing dark, half-coagulated blood. Yet the air was not that humid and soggy, and the feeling of hopelessness was not so overwhelming as it was outside the town.

- "It does, doesn't it," Jelena nodded. "But I was told that some 5000 people live here. Some of them are even mortal."

- "Let me put it this way. I would have preferred that house in the Western Heartlands, given the choice," Winski said.

- "Beloved. We will have the house in Bytopia yet. Or anywhere on the planes we want," Jelena said, squeezing Winski's hand.

They arrived at the center square. There was a fountain made of gray marble. The water looked clear and fresh.

- "Given the general decorations, I would have expected it to be filled with blood or poison or something of the kind," Winski remarked.

- "It looks clear, but it can still be anything," Jelena said. "Let's not taste it."

There was a building with iron bars covering the tiny windows next to the ground.

- "That would be a dead give-away of this being the prison, "Winski said.

A bored-looking baatezu was standing at the door, holding a keyring with massive iron keys.

- "There's another one," Jelena said.

- "Greetings," Jelena said. "We are to be imprisoned here for atonement." Her gaze was firm and clear, her jaw determined.

- "Yes, the crazy Ilmatari broad. Probably trying to impress that masochist with this stunt..." the baatezu muttered.

Winski looked angry, but Jelena touched his arm. Her look was just full of pity.

They were led into the building, down the wooden stairs. The dungeon was a mixture of wooden and stony structures.

The baatezu opened the door of one of the cells. There were two simple hay mattresses, a pail, and nothing else. A small amount of light flickered through the iron bars from the window near the ceiling.

- "You will be given bread and soup twice a day. Now rot here," said the devil and locked them in, then walked away.