Jerfuth awoke to the muffled sounds of other people talking. As he lifted himself up, he sized up the bump on the back of his head where a slaver had hit him. As he gently touched it, pain was sent shooting through his body. Oh man, that's going to be there for weeks. I wish I had my herbs, he thought to himself. Jerfuth felt the walls of his cage. Solid, cold steel made up the four walls with the exception of the small, barred hole just big enough for Jerfuth's face. Although his cage was completely sealed off, it was roomy, easily big enough to hold Jerfuth's tiger form.
Jerfuth put his face up to the barred hole peering out into the nearly complete darkness, the only light coming from the faint glow of the magic supressing shackles. Looking over to where he had heard most of the voices from Jerfuth spoke, "My name is Jerfuth, druid of the Singram tribe."