Selia is almost trembling with rage by the time the group reaches the cell. Such weaklings. Spineless, pathetic fools without even the slightest speck of potential. She thinks. She has to restrain herself to keep from attacking the guard halfway to the cell the gypsy is held in, fists clenched as he yammers some idiocy while leading them to the prisoner. It's difficult for her to imagine that such a wretch was related to a seemingly normal person. A lesson learned about the clutching grasp of infinite weakness, then.

This is disgusting. I thought this place a strong city, I guess I was wrong. Selia says, contempt clear in her voice. Are you awake? She asks the gypsy, her voice softening. She's wary of entering the cell, considering the possibility that the man is stronger than he seems to be. Although the guards are clearly weaklings, there are enough of them that such measures may have been necessary to keep their pathetic hides safe.