The halls of this dungeon-like underground prison consisted of other prison cells. They were dimly lit by torches every 50 or so feet. The bars were made of rusty and black iron with crazed criminals lurking inside.
The stone floor's crevices and cracks were filled with moss and small fungi that were beginning to grow.
Inside the cells, it was even worse. Tyr noticed brown stains all over the floor, 'That's either dried blood or diarrhea... hopefully the former.' Thankfully it seemed old enough to not give a smell.
Looking around, he noticed a wooden bucket in the corner.
On seeing this and nothing else, he sighed: 'This is gonna be long.' He said to himself, sitting against the wall with his feet stretched out in front of him.
His cell thankfully was connected to a wall at the very back of the dungeon room so that he could lean against it and not have rough bars digging into his back.
