The cell stank with the smell of sweat, blood, vomit, tears and who knows what else. The man had been chained to the wall for days, his eyes now adjusted to the almost pitch-black darkness of this place. His arms and legs stopped responding to him about an hour ago. He wasn't sure if he'd move them again. At least the numbness let him sleep now. A squeaking sound reached his sensitive ears, and he instinctively shuddered. The rats down here were said to be man-eaters. Tear the meat right off your living bones, if they popped up in the wrong place. Before the creature could get near his toes, however, the dungeon door slammed open. He cringed, the sudden loud noise almost deafening to his sensitive ears. Blinding torches made it impossible to see as he felt his arms and legs slapping down against the floor. He could barely register that he was lying in his own filth before rough hands dragged him up by the collar around his neck and pushed him into the caged cart. The roar of the crowd was even more deafening than the cell door, and the sunlight took about half an hour to get used to as he was unceremoniously dumped onto his hands and knees on some sort of wooden platform. His hearing and sight recovered just quickly enough that he wished he'd stayed deaf. "...murder, kidnapping, impersonation of the Royal Guard, assassination, and High Treason. For these heinous crimes against the Crown, you shall be forever branded a traitor, your titles shall be stripped, your possessions confiscated, your wife and children broken and sold to the lowest bidder, and you shall be thrown into the streets of Andreias." The gag around his mouth and the ropes around his arms and legs meant there was little he could do as the red-hot iron, wrought to the shape of "Traitor", was pressed firmly into his wrists and his forehead. He could only endure about half a second before he began screaming and crying uncontrollably, releasing water onto the floor beneath him as the crowd jeered and laughed. He watched as many carts and bags of his possessions, from his most personal clothing to paintings of his daughters, were thrown to the crowd or burned in front of him. He was forced to watch as his beautiful Olga, little Elizabeth and little Conner, were whipped and beaten and tortured again and again until they couldn't even recognize their own names or each other, then stripped, collared and sold in front of his eyes to the filthiest scum of the city. He was forced to hear his wife and children's broken voices quietly whisper, "Yes, Master" as they were led away. By the time they unbound him and threw him onto the muddy streets, it was night. He was numb, barely able to move, barely able to think about anything. His lovely wife, his dear, dear children... everything he had, gone.