Urrim seethed as he listened to the judgment.

"It is the judgment of this Council that you, Urrim Weinstrel, suffer the punishment of Thought Noise for a period of 15 years from this day, the 28th day of Cet, in 1032 YC. During this time, you will not be imprisoned, nor will you be cared for by the society you have harmed. Due to the Thought Noise, you will only be able to focus on a very few specific things. They are as follows:

First, you will be able to focus on your crimes, and your victims.

Second, you will be able to focus on this judgment, and to reflect on your punishment.

For the rest, any attempt to focus will result in the level of Thought Noise increasing to the required amount to break your concentration. You will be unable to focus enough to cast even simple spells. Do you understand the terms of your punishment, Urrim Weinstrel?"

He could barely focus enough to nod. "I do." He was furious. The fools had interrupted his work, and now would interrupt for another 15 years!

The noise of a thousand voices came crashing over his consciousness, each of them yelling louder than the others. He collapsed under their weight and, mercifully, passed out.

Urrim's life was a blur for the next 15 years. Vague recollections of stumbling into people, images of drinking heavily to quiet the voices (which only sometimes worked), rotted food, these were the elements of his life for over a decade. In later years, when asked how he survived, he would be forced to admit that he did not know.

He woke to a throbbing in his head and winced, waiting for the voices to start in on him. The room remained quiet, cool. The bed sheets covering him felt good against his skin.

Urrim jumped out of the bed, falling badly as he landed on the stone floor. The cry of agony left his throat before he could choke it off. He listened carefully, but could hear no footsteps coming.

He was injured, in an unknown place, and hungry. His body was in poor condition. He needed to know where he was, and what was going on. With a focus of will, he managed to cast a very simple spell: the room was bathed in light. This room was clean, well furnished, and tastefully decorated. Whoever built it was obviously well to do.

A luxurious four poster bed sat in the center of the room, with large rugs spread over much of the floor. A sitting area on the other side of the bed held two chairs and a sofa. A small, low table rested between them. On this side of the bed was obviously meant to be a work and study area, complete with a comfortable looking desk and several book cases filled with books.

It was then that he noticed the plate of meats and cheeses, along with a jug of mead. He hobbled to it and ate hungrily. Truth be told, the food could have been low quality, and he would not have been able to tell the difference. He ate with the passion of the starving man, and greedily downed the jug of mead.

He noted that the door was closed, but did not appear to be a cell door. He believed he could walk out at any time he chose. For now, though, the food was making him sleepy. He looked back at the bed, and decided he would need his rest if he had to fight his way out. No sooner had he placed his head back on the pillow than he was fast asleep again.

He awoke again, more at ease this time. His ankle still hurt where he had twisted it before. Now was a good time to fix that. He sat up, and pulled his ankle closer, so that he could hold it in his hands. Focusing his will again, he used a simple Earth charm to heal his ankle. The effort tired him, but he was able to move again.

His attentions were drawn to the book case. Something about those books looked familiar. He pondered using Air to summon some of them to him, but decided that walking would use less effort, and he might still need all his abilities to escape later.

He picked up the first one, and opened to the first page. He was greeted with his own handwriting. His notes! Someone had brought his notes here! He quickly scanned the book cases. It looked as if all of his notes were here! He opened the final volume, and scanned to the back of it. Yes! All of them were saved, somehow! Even his notes from the experiments that resulted in his punishment!

He had everything he needed to pick up where he had left off. He had lost 15 years, but still had much life left. And, judging by the results of the last set of experiments, he might have much longer than anybody dared to hope.

Now, though, one question remained: Who was his mysterious benefactor? Who had arranged all this? He went to the door and opened it, no longer worried about who (or what) he would find on the other side.