The snarls and grunts of approaching quaggoths capture the attention of the prisoners, except for one. All the prisoners look exhausted; the proud minotaur and stoic elf show it a little less than the others. Nearest the gate, a derro and a deep gnome argue in gravelly Undercommon. A glint that might be a coin flashes between them, and their voices soften. Looking past them is a short expanse of unworked stone, bending to the left. At the bend, there might be a deeper black shadow, that occasionally snorts or lets out a low rumble. Continuing to the left, there stands a melancholy dwarf, her bright green eyes focused on the gate. Next to her is another quaggoth — but not like any of the quaggoths outside the pen. Where their fur is tangled and matted with blood (or things unthinkably worse), this one's is neatly combed and braided, and it has almond-shaped eyes of clear sky blue. The approaching sounds cause him to stand and strain at the bonds holding its arms against its waist, and it growls with frustration. Twenty feet away, an orc leans against the wall, staring at the derro and the svirfneblin. Slobber oozes down from his chin as the approaching guards catch his attention. Maybe food is coming, or something more fun? The creature next to him, though, shows no interest in the orc, or anything else in the room or outside of it. It sits, warbling to itself in soft watery tones. Rounding out the circle, back near the gate, sits either a human or a half-elf, keeping to himself.
In the center of the cell is a pillar where a stalactite and its twin have grown and met over untold years of minerals drip-drip-dripping in the dark. Around it, three other figures huddle – the aforementioned elf, a tiefling girl, and a human man twirling his mustaches and murmuring to himself, "I feel good. I feel great. I feel wonderful," over and over. The tiefling eyes him with annoyance, and then looks to see what is happening at the gate.
Open creaks the heavy iron gate. "In you go. Not enough meat on you for us – but the priestess will make good use of you." They shove through the oddest looking creature any of the surface dwellers have ever seen. The tiefling would swear it was an overgrown mushroom, until it scampered away from the gate and deeper into the room! It seemed to huddle, frightened, against the central pillar.
"Hmph. Fun it is!" grunts the orc as he pushes himself off of the wall and plants a hard kick into the newcomer's flank.