Jail Descriptive Writing

Waking from a delirious slumber, I felt around the ground of my dank, freezing cell. Four walls--six if you counted the floor and stone top--closed me away from the outside, the only connection a barred window that overlooked a pale crescent in the dark sky. A squarish area of light formed on the cracked jail floor from the light outside, contrasting with the blackness surrounding me. I could faintly hear the sound of my own heart beating and the faraway hoots of night owls. A rank odor wafted around the space, reminding me of breads burnt to a crisp. I got up from the moth-eaten covers of my make-shift bed and my body shivered violently. Sitting near the left corner overlooking the window, I used the wall as support for my sore back and gazed out of the window, my fingers fidgeting with the cuffs of my ragged brown shirt. The moonlight illuminated the bars on the window and my eyes stayed vaguely on them for some time. However, a figure peering into my cell from the window broke my dazed state like the crackle of thunder.

“Long time, no see. Up for another job?” the figure asked, a voice like

I heard the jail burned down a couple hours ago and assumed you died in the ensuing flames. Ah, I guess even a dog has its days,” Sparks said, not looking up from her writing.

“Ha, your humor is so scathing. Speaking of scathing, it reminds me of that sword storm trap that you got us caught in a few months ago. I demand reparations,” I fired back, snapping my fingers to one of the servants of the innkeeper.

“Get me your finest dish and some nice goat’s milk cheesecakes. The tab is on my heavily-clothed friend here.”

Sparks gave a snort before she stopped writing and took a hard look at me.

“Fine, I’ll pay now. However, I’ll deduct it from your share in the next dungeon raid.”

“Amendment: I would actually like some bread,” I meekly muttered to the servant.

Next, Sparks turned toward Arvell and slightly tilted her head