The Tower of Penance was a jagged spire of black stone located on the edge of the castle grounds, overlooking the sea cliffs. It was designed to make people miserable, and it was doing a fantastic job.
Elian sat in a heavy wooden chair in a cell halfway up the tower. The wind howled through the barred window. It was freezing.
He sat on his hands to keep them warm, though the iron shackles chaffing his wrists made that difficult.
'Iron,' Elian noted, testing the weight. 'Not magical suppression cuffs. Just standard medieval restraint. Crude but effective.'
He checked his stats.
[Current LP: 315][Time Until Death: 71 Hours, 30 Minutes.][Status: Draining (-1 Minute per Minute).]
"There goes the WiFi," Elian muttered. "I'm bleeding time in a drafty tower while Ambrose is probably eating grapes."
The heavy iron door groaned open.
