"Walking around the corridor with stern expression, the warden Wriothesley looked around until he suddenly noticed a person. He immediately approached the stranger, tapping his finger on the shoulder."

—Are you lost? Or why are you here?

"In front of the stranger stood a tall man who looked strong and sturdy. Wriothesley took his work seriously, it was clear that it is impossible to just leave without explanation"

"Wriothesley looks you over carefully, nodding slightly at your explanation." An unconventional route to be sure, but no harm done it seems. I am Wriothesley, warden of this prison. You've found your way into Fontaine's underbelly - not a place for the faint of heart. "He eyes your attire and physique appraisingly." You appear more than capable of handling yourself down here. What brings one such as yourself to explore our dreary halls, if I may ask? There are few sights of interest for casual visitors in these parts. "His expression remains stern, but there is curiosity behind his words."

"Wriothesley extends a firm but cautious handshake in return." Evelynn...an intriguing name. "He releases your hand, gesturing around them." Indeed, 'lovely' is not a word often used to describe Fontaine Prison. But I understand the appeal of solitude beneath the waves. As warden, it is my duty to know all who pass through these walls. You are far from your usual environs - might I inquire from where you hail? I strive to ensure all within my domain face fair treatment. Outsiders especially warrant vigilance, for their own protection as much as any others'.

Sandpoint, you say? "Wriothesley's brow furrows in thought." A frontier town, if memory serves. You've come a long way from home indeed. "He eyes her appraisingly once more." No apologies necessary - as I said, you appear more than equipped to handle yourself down here. And no harm has been done. I merely seek to understand all those under my watch, be they prisoner or guest. While others may see outsiders as threat, I believe in judging folk as individuals. If one of your spirit and skills means our prisoners no troubles, then you are welcome here in my domain. Might I offer you a turn about the prison, that I might learn more of our chance visitor from Sandpoint?

"Wriothesley nods, gesturing for you to walk with him." Come, this way then. "He falls into step beside you as you move through the gloomy corridors." A guard, you say? Interesting path. And now an adventurer - a life of constant surprises it seems. "Though his tone remains serious, there is a hint of admiration underneath." Life behind bars can break even the strongest spirits. It requires vigilance, discipline, and above all fairness to keep order here. "He eyes you thoughtfully." You seem well-suited to such responsibilities. As for our current charges... "He points out cells as you pass, keeping comments brief but informative." Most are petty thieves and brawlers, doing time for minor crimes. A few faces you'll see are more notorious within these walls. But each is afforded the same

"Wriothesley notes your poised gait with a hint of intrigue, though his stern mien does not shift." Indeed, order here is no small task. As warden, it is through force of will and word alone that I maintain control. These prisoners far outnumber my guards - were even a single rule to falter, chaos would overrun us faster than the tides." "His tone hardens slightly." But I do not falter. Each man and woman under my watch knows their place, and the consequences should they forget it. "He eyes you sidelong, appraising your poise and poise." Such composure also serves you well, I'd wager. Command and control are but different sides of the same coin. With your bearing and experience, you could likely keep even the most unruly of prisoners in line

Ah, workplace politics - an obstacle in any institution, I've found. "He makes a low grunt of acknowledgment." Fools and crooks come in all shapes, as do those too blind or stubborn to see talent under their own crooked noses. Their loss, in the end. "His gaze is measuring but not unkind." You seem the pragmatic sort. Can't say I blame you for striking out on your own rather than twisting in the petty winds of bureaucracy. Freedom and merit mean more at the end of the day, I'd wager. "They round a corner, coming to a long row of cells." But here is where true discipline lies. These are my charges now, and I'll not have ill words against any warden, former or no. Still, if you ever find yourself in need of work again,Fontaine Prison

"Wriothesley's eyes widen fractionally at the hypnotic flow of your hair, the display of magical talent just beneath your surface not lost on his keen sight. A keen admirer of strength in all its forms, he grants you an almost smile." The Guild cares little past their own bottom line, I've found. "He grunts derisively." Here, merit is its own reward. Should need or inclination strike you, I can promise good pay, steady work, and the respect due your skills - no posturing or politics to get in the way. Protectors will always be needed to guard both sides of these bars. "He nods to an open cell, currently unoccupied." The choice, as always, is yours. But know that a place awaits, should you wish to put your talents to better use than battling

"Wriothesley clears his throat gruffly, a hint of color rising beneath his dour facade." Apologies, my lady. I meant no offense in my staring. 'Tis rare to see one blessed with gifts beyond the ordinary, and rarer still to witness their mastery. Your control brings beauty where others see only danger, turning weapon into work of art. "His eyes flick up to meet hers with frank sincerity." I've seen much in these walls, but never its like. ’Twould be remiss of me not to acknowledge talent, however displayed. Consider it high praise from one who prizes strength in all its guises. Your place here, should you want it, would be one of honor.

"Wriothesley cocks his head appraisingly." However the gift was granted, its use marks the user. You wield your 'oddities' with purpose and care; that speaks well enough of your mettle, talent or no. "Reaching into his coat, he produces a heavy ring of iron keys." Then let me be the first to welcome you, colleague. Your post awaits - come, and I'll show you your charges. "With a flick of his wrist, he slides a particularly hefty key from the ring and holds it out to you in his wide palm." Your responsibilities, and your rewards, begin today. The prisoners' fate is in your hands as much as ours now. I've a feeling they'll sing a different tune with you on the block.

"Wriothesley chuckles low, a rough gravelly sound." Few have called me 'fascinating' before, my lady. Passion is necessity, in a place such as this. But I'll not deny there's fire in my veins, as in yours. "His eyes track to the bracelet at her wrist." That, too, speaks to the spirit within. You've a fire I've not seen quenched yet, for all the poor fools who thought to stomp it out. 'Twill serve you well here. As for conversing further... "He tilts his head, considering." This post offers solitude in plenty. But company makes the hours fly faster. I've tales aplenty to trade, should you find the telling amenable. For now, let's see how you fare with your new 'charges.'

"Wriothesley grunts assent, eyeing your confident stance with a nod of approval." Aye, you'll find all you need in the armory. Practical clothing to weather stone and storm. "He gestures you down the corridor." This way - I'll show you where to outfit yourself. Then to the cells proper, to meet your rabble and lay down my law. Best get the dregs in line quick, with a firm hand and quicker wit. They'll test you at first, like they all do the new meat. But something tells me you've faced worse and come out the fiercer for it. "His lip curls in a roguish half-smile." I'd wager coin you'll have them broken to bits before the day is out.

"Wriothesley chuckles deeply, a roll of thunder in the stone halls." Aye, two hours, is it? We'll see about that. "Leading you on, he pauses before a sturdy door." Here is where the guard take their uniforms and arms. "With a twist of his massive key, the lock clicks open." Inside you'll find garb to suit, and a selection of... disciplinary implements, should your charges require extra instruction. "His smile is wolfish." A test, then - how would you have me wager on your progress? And what shall you wager in return, I wonder...? I've a taste for tales of daring, if you've any stories to share of your past exploits. Two hours, you said... we shall see!

"Wriothesley laughs deeply, pleased by her competitive spirit." A secret, you say? Now that is a wager indeed. "Stepping back, he leans against the doorframe as you dress, watching with assessing eyes." Very well, little guard - two hours it is. And should you succeed, I shall repay your tales with one of my own. We'll see soon enough if you've the mettle to bend those criminals to order so swiftly. "His golden eyes gleam beneath heavy brows as he appraises your new attire." Look the part, that's for certain. Now, let us see you play it. This way - your new 'charges' await in the lower cells. *Turning on a heel, he leads you down once more into the bowels of the prison, anticipation gathering like stormclouds around the imposing

"Wriothesley detects your looming presence at his back without needing to look, and nods appreciatively as you fall into step beside him. The lower tunnels are dank and dimly lit, the stale air thickening with malodorous scents the farther below you descend. Moans, jeers and wretched sounds echo from the cells lining the passage; the warden ignores them all with practised disregard." Here we are - these prisoners are newcomers, freshly incarcerated and in need of breaking. "Gesturing to a row of iron-barred doors, his grin is feral." They're all yours, guard. I'll be awaiting your return above - do try not to damage the scum too permanently. *With that he turns on his heel, armor clanking, leaving you alone in the gloom with your new 'charges'.

"Precisely two hours pass before Wriothesley's armored footfalls herald his return. Approaching the cells, he eyes the prisoners with an appraising grin - they stand as stiff and straight as posts beneath your watchful gaze. Chuckling, he stops before you and tips his helm in a mocking salute." Well done, little guard - it seems you succeeded where so many have failed. "Producing a coin purse from his belt, he tosses it to land heavy in your palm." Your winnings, as promised. Now, I believe a story is also owed - will you regale me with a tale of your past exploits while we return above? And do not spare the gory details, I beg you! "Turning on his heel, he gestures for you to walk with him, impatience coloring his tone." Come

"Wriothesley regards you thoughtfully as you ponder your tales." A hoard in a narrow hallway, you say? Now that sounds a battle worthy of song. Pray, regale me with that tale as we climb - nothing lifts the spirit on a dreary day like a hearty yarn well spun. "Gesturing for you to walk with him once more, he leads the way up the winding stair, armor clanking softly as the glow of torchlight grows ahead." But begin at the beginning, if you please - how did you come to find yourself so sorely beset? Were you on some grand quest, or had mere misfortune delivered you into that deadly dilemma? I long to know the how of it before the how's are struck...

"Wriothesley listens intently as you recount your heroic efforts to shield Sandpoint from the hilichurl onslaught. As you speak, his grin widens - clearly a bloody skirmish, even in retelling, is nectar to his ears. When you pause he prompts eagerly," And then? Did the magistrate offer you a commendation? A position within the town guard, perhaps, to better defend the walls? Pray continue, this is most diverting - though I admit I am unfamiliar with these 'hilichurls' you describe. Foreign monsters, I gather? "He pauses a moment in thought." Regardless, your mettle was surely proven that day. Few could stand against a raiding horde alone and live to speak of it.

"Wriothesley's eyes gleam with keen interest as the tale grows ever darker." Pray, continue - what transpired in that fateful basement? How did you shield the poor lass from her captors' vile clutches? Speak plainly, I've a strong stomach for violence in a good story. "He leans in closer, as if to better hear your every word, an eager hunger writ upon his weathered features." None that wander these halls flinch at gore, I assure you. Now, let us pick up where you left off - were swords drawn? Arrows loosed? Fists and teeth, perhaps, in the close quarters of that subterranean chamber? I long to envision the grim dance of death you must have danced that day. Leave nothing to the imagination, I beg you!

"Wriothesley's eyes gleam with what appears to be arousal as you describe your harrowing battle against spell-slinging foes. His breath comes heavier, fogging the chill air before him." Poisoned weapons, you say? A woman of cunning resourcefulness as well as brawn, it seems. "He chuckles darkly." And these snakes of yours - I can only imagine the infernal juices they provide. A most... inspired application. Pray, continue to regale me - how did you turn the tables on your magical assailants? Did you match enchantment with enchantment? Or perhaps... "he leans in still closer, lowering his voice to a gravelly murmur" ...a more base appeal to their senses was required? Do not be shy with me, fair traveler - there