In all the most cosmetic ways, there is nothing that distinguishes Aterlacus from any similarly behemoth dungeon. There are prisons all over the world and a great many of them appear more imposing or more damp or more dreary than the old stone fort sat on its hill in the grey drizzling North. The iron bars might be the type found in any of a dozen places; the stones and the particular dimensions of the cells and the heavy doors which terminate them are solidly anonymous; and in every place where people are held against their will, there is always going to be some distant sound of someone's personal suffering.

What makes Aterlacus particular isn't the thickness of its walls or the cruelty of its masters. Rather, it is made unique by who it holds and how it does so. It's not easy, you know, to keep magicians where they don't wish to be. The whole world knows that.

The cell across from Kitty Jones is represented by a heavy door. It's closed with a simple but heavy bolt, and while there's no visible padlock the seal of enchantment on the door is evident even in the dim light of this gloomy corridor. The iron inlay grounding the spell work catches the light, glinting like the wet eye of a particularly cold blooded animal.

The particulars of what waits behind that door are more mystery than not. Save that a long time ago, someone put a boy who thought he was very clever in a box for safe keeping.