RolePlayGateway™

Inside there is a catharsis of the self. Words unspoken flow freely from the seven towers, washing over the worn stone floors, the sound identical to a jungle waterfall, alone. Does the waterfall make sound if no one is there to hear it? Stupid questions, save them for the weak. This is what Jumaane thinks. He stands in the prison corridor, the cell doors bolted securely shut on either side of him. Lamplight flickers softly from flames set apart equidistant along the walls, between cell doors. He would not speak, not if he could help it.

The keys in one hand, the sturdy baton in the other, he is motionless, the axis around which this cell block turns, marking time and space though all else is lost. Jumaane is not alone. All around him, in their own protected spheres, the prisoners lie in their dark cells, awakening slowly but surely to the day they cannot see. Daylight does not touch the prison, or its seven towers. The sun keeps well away, averting its warmth and light from the darkness within. Here, evil is most concentrated in its most human form. These men and women have done what few dare to do. They have taken life from another.

Jumaane stands still, the only movement his chest slowly rising and falling with the breath of life. He is a beacon in the hallway, a fixture, a landmark that maintains orientation and keeps chaos at bay. He is familiar. Expected. Exactly where he should be as he always has been. Even in prison, there is order. Without it, there would be anarchy, and she would destroy cities and homes, topple kingdoms and threaten gods, restoring bestiality to take the place of law, and self-actualization to replace morality. The prison keeps within her anarchy, sealed tight within its chambers. This is Covenant's Prison.

"Jumaane!" a voice calls. He does not turn. From behind him, a woman approaches. She is shorter than Jumaane, but her face is thinner and eyes infinitely colder. Each time he sees them, he wonders if she possesses any human emotion at all. "Your shift is over, and mine has begun. You may go."

Jumaane nods, an almost imperceptible movement. Then he walks down the corridor, past metal cell doors, each stamped with a number identifying the prisoner within. He is deaf to their voices.

Tallulah takes his place, standing erect in the corridor, her eyes surveying the sector for any sign of movement. There is none and never has been. The prisoners are kept securely. Another day has dawned. Another will pass, until thousands upon thousands of such days pass in equal monotony, the only emotion penetrating the prison the unrivaled despair of the inhabitants within.

Aurali lifts her head from the ground, listening to the fading footsteps, she turns slowly to the other prisoners within the cell, the whimper fearfully, but it is inevitable. Aurali has waited 300 years for a chance like this, and she wasn't going to waste it, she only needed a few more droplets of life blood, and she would have enough power to break the barrier.

She sank her fangs into the neck of one of the others within the cell. There, she wiped the blood from her lips, that would be enough. Standing up again, her white dress trailing behind her, she turned to the barrier, focusing on the wrongs that had been dealt against her, she had been imprisoned here, not because, of what she did, but what she was, because of her need for the blood of others, because her thoughts were deemed to radical to exist in normal society, called a freak and a deviant, she had been brought here, where no one would have to cast their gaze at her.

She brought her hand up to the barrier, "I will end this prison" The containment orb around her shattered and she strode out into the halls.

(EDIT: I might... un sure... gtg later)