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Meshqa looked around him for the 100th time today. Transferred to a holding cell with in the keep he had nearly been forgotten these last few months. There was food delivered a little less frequent then everyday. Some kind of gruel that served to sustain the body. Thoughts of his dove flittered in and out of his mind. He contemplated her face and eyes and form for a bit then noticed a shaft of light flickering on one side of his cell. He went to it seeking out its source. A bit of wall had crumbled, a very slight bit. " Shoddy up keep on the grounds" he said absently. The keeper had not come to visit him in a very long time. The Keeper was a gnome, and his treatments had been daily. Meshqa could not remember why they had stopped only that after his dove came to visit so long ago, the Keeper said Meshqa was not worth much. The ceaseless questions on slave girls and brothels ended shortly after. The Keeper mumbled on promises to Gentyl, not to disappoint his Gentyl, letting down his Gentyl. Meshqa did remember Gentyl. She was a witch that held his dove and kept them separate. Gentyl was the cause of his capture, the cause of the Keeper treating him.

Those treatments had taken something from Meshqa, he could not quiet remember what it was. The Keeper had proclaimed a breakthrough in Meshqa, told him he would now be only able to tell the truth. Meshqa had never had to be other then truthful. At least he thought he was that way. Memory was so liquid and gooey these days. That was part of the something taken. He loved his Dove. She was unfinished. For he had started to free her from the witches bond. She had retained herself and shown that she was the special one. The others, those females he had by the dozens tested, all broke. His dove though, oh she did not. Meshqa had found something then. More worthy then the petty empire he had built. He had found the element worthy of his devotion. Worthy of his energy. Worthy of the dark passions that free ones soul. She had been taken though. Now he was here being treated by the Keeper. Now he was sure there was something else he should be doing but could not remember. He looked around him for the 101st time that day.

Meshqa had begun to recite the Dark Creed of Silis line by line. An epic poem learned by all Acolytes of the Demonic craft. It had popped into his head the night before and Meshqa had begun to recite it as though the book where open before him. It was part of his past, a past mostly shrouded in a fog. Something the Keeper had done to him. Something to his head. No matter though it was coming back to him in this form. The Dark Creed was always a favorite. Chanting it like this gave him a brief moment of comfort. There had not been guards down here the entire time he was imprisoned here. So the sound of his voice was the only one he had heard in, how long, at least months. When he had freed his Dove again from the clutches of the witch Gentyl, Meshqa would recite the creed to her nightly. When Meshqa finished his solo recital he began it again.