He had to find a way out. Voices had been greeting him recently, voices of envy and suspicion. There was one male voice, which he thought he knew; only that couldn't be, for in this world of dungeon there was no one else. The pitter- patter of footsteps resounded in his memory, a man with dark membranous wings flying high overhead.
His mouth opened and a name came out, but he couldn't hear it; he was deaf to his own words. The name from his memory was lost in this insubstantial dungeon for eternity. Yet he couldn't give up hope, he had his jewels and maybe with this memory's help he could escape.
All he needed was a name. A name of a friend. A name he could call for help.
He pictured the Eryien in his memories and channeled a spear thread through his jewels, calling out to the nameless.
He is lost.
He will make it. Give him some credit, give him time.
A Black Jeweled Queen sat atop her throne of worldly goods, shame and indecision in her eyes.
Maybe he isn't as strong as I thought.
Well you are as coldhearted as I thought. Maybe he will come through despite your suspicions.
The Eyrien bowed to the Queen mockingly, not caring that the Black reigned over his EbonGray.
Someone still believed in him, he mused silently, but why? What had he ever done to deserve this following? Bowing his head slightly he concentrated on the Eyrien prodding him unceremoniously with his Red. Enemy… Friend… Cousin… Brother.
"Andulvar."