Threescore lost souls—starved and beaten, fighting to survive—these are the damnable wretches who find themselves in the infamous Stonemaw Prison. Tepid streams trickle leisurely from unseen reservoirs, seeming to mock the inmates with unattainable freedom. Prisoners squabble atop blood and filth, exchanging insults in the dark and grinding shivs out of shale fragments. Laughter gives way to paranoia, manacles rub until the skin is raw, torturers rend flesh, and blood seeps into stone. Few inmates survive long enough to acquit their crimes, and even fewer return home unbroken.
