You only remember

washes of color, distant warm feelings of home and homeland… did you have family? Friends? Children? Your only reality now are these dim dungeons, corridors of stone and steel, underground factories powered by slaves on the anvil, slaves with pick axes and shovels, slaves made of many races, made one race covered in soot and slime. This reality is itself distant and fuzzy, like the foul tasting drink you’re force fed every morning that keeps your mind and body submissive, too foggy to rebel, too weak to resist.

Then come the whispers..

whispers through the fog. Whispers of freedom. How long have you been here? Can it be true? Freedom…

The morning comes

and a dish of corn, potatoes, and meat comes clattering into your cell. Real food! You can taste it! Your mind, so long lost in itself, begins to emerge. Your memories, still unclear, start to take form. Then, the light….

Rails of Slair