A Grueling Life in the Dungeon

The Dungeon's conditions were not quite as bad as Annan had imagined.

It was dim, damp, cold, and foul-smelling. The food was rotten and revolting, and the Prisoners were dangerous. But as Annan had told the deputy Warden, wealth and power meant nothing unless you were alive to enjoy them.

The Dungeon kept Annan from going out, but it also kept his enemies from getting in.

Sometime in the afternoon, the Guards outside the Dungeon pushed a food cart past the cells, handing out the last meal of the day.

The portions were small, and the Ogre received exactly as much as Black Ironless. Apparently, the Dungeon encouraged prisoners to fight over food.

The Prisoners had no work to do, either. Keeping them hungry would leave them weak and easier to control.

Still, the food looked like Moss, with dark-green strands floating through it, and the black Bread was half mold, half exposed wood chips... The Guards did not even want to put their fingers into the bowls.

Annan frowned. Could people really eat this stuff without dying?

But when the Guards reached Annan, they brought him a piece of White Bread, its crust cracked from sitting out too long, and a bowl of chicken soup with oil floating on top.

It was little different from what commoners ate outside, but in a Dungeon full of prisoners, it was a luxury.

"Why does he get normal food?" Howler asked, pointing at Annan's meal.

The guards ignored the Orc and pushed the cart toward the next cell.

Annan broke the White Bread in two and gave half to Katarina. He was about to slide the chicken soup over as well when he saw her dipping her dry Bread into the Moss soup and eating it.

Well, Katarina was a Fanatic who