"I like it here..." said Night, sipping a strange-looking cocktail made from minced goblins and steelwood pollen, "Three meals a day - that's one," Night began counting on his fingers, "Every day there's something to watch: either a Fury fight or an execution - that's two, the only unpleasant thing is that we might one day become a spectacle for those poor souls in the neighboring cell... And that Barbarian...," a moment of silence... "A Barbarian?! IT WAS A SMOKE! SIR, STAND UP, GRAB A FIREBALL, AND QUICKLY FREE US FROM THIS CELL!"