The runes are drawn in a shaky hand - the witch doesn't seem to have the kind of finesse she might once have had with a piece of chalk. There does indeed seem to be something between a Dimensional Anchor and a Mind Blank incorporated into it - it seems to forbid travel into dreams, rather than travel between planes or the reading of thoughts.

"No hand will I raise against spirits," says the first prisoner, a massive purple fellow. "Their reach and their memories are long."

"What he said," adds the halfling in the other cage laconically. "Hey, good luck though."

"Thanks. I didn't exactly wake up this morning thinking 'hey, you know what sounds like fun, raising my hand against spirits' but they reportedly have it in for me, is all. Do you know what the deal is behind door number three?" She gestures.

"Warden's scared shitless of the guy," says the laconic halfling. "He just looked like some blue humanoid to me. Kind of a prettyboy."

Purple guy snorts. "He should not have been born."

"Huh, apparently Grozek here is a font of information. Grozek, what's the guy's deal?"

"He is hag-born like me," Grozek says, "but his face is fair, and that means he is the get of a sinner. I may be cursed by my mother's blood, but he is an abomination. And he walks in dream, like our mothers. The mule should not run like the horse."

"I haven't interacted with hags much, can you go into more detail about the dream thing?"

"The Slumbering Coven see all that is dreamed in this land and take it and keep it safe in their bosom. They hoard a trove of knowledge greater than any library, greater than any archmage. The abomination wanders through dreams as well, but he seeks only to amuse himself." Grozek spits.

"Uh-huh. Is it like, reasonably safe to open the door and meet the guy, the door looks like it's trying to do some serious work there."

"As long as you do not sleep," Grozek grunts.

"I have been known to occasionally sleep, do you mean as long as I don't do it with the door open?"

The halfling snickers. Grozek sighs. "Yes, I meant sleeping around the dreamwalker."

She sighs and heads for the scary door. Opens it.

A blue humanoid is sitting cross-legged on a pile of furs, and raises his eyebrows as she enters. "Ah, the closed book overcomes her fears and confronts the reader. I won't peek between your pages, don't worry, your cover is intriguing enough."

"Thanks, that's super considerate. Do you also spookily know what I'm here for?"

He reclines. "Ah, a challenge of wits. How could I possibly know what you're here for without plucking it out of your thorn-studded mind? Well, I might suppose it to have something to do with the army of bloodthirsty spirits approaching this city, howling death and destruction. And I might suppose in addition that you have a personal interest, rather than merely being a concerned citizen, as I do not imagine you to be such a community-minded person as to face Okku's army purely for civic benefit. Thus I might suppose that the garish king of bears is, specifically, after your throat, and you desire my assistance." He yawns. "But that would be purest conjecture. You might simply be the latest in my endless train of admirers, come to throw themselves at my feet."

Safiya raises an eyebrow. "Might we? We seem to have beaten the rest to your door, in that case."

Hand to heart, wounded expression. "Oh, how sharp! Perhaps you are right that I have not had so many admirers while I am locked away. A regrettable fact of my circumstance."

"What are you in for?"

"My crime is terrible, indeed: I am too beautiful to look upon. The Wychlaran had me locked away after a few too many maidens fell desperately in love and were ruined for other men."

"Enh, I've seen hotter."

A smirk. "It's kind of you to deflate me. But, come now; this banter is delightful, but you came here with purpose, and I'd like to hear it argued. Why should I follow you into battle against the spirits? I have spent some time accruing their goodwill, you know, being a shaman, and it would hardly behoove me to oppose them without reason."

"Apparently you can get amnesty. For being so pretty. Then you could, like, take up unflattering cosmetics to avoid getting immediately re-arrested, in this hypothetical."

"Ahh, amnesty. Only the Wychlaran themselves could offer such a thing, and I must wonder why they would offer such a boon to one hunted by the spirits."

"We fought some Red Wizards for them," Safiya says offhandedly. "After defeating the bear god in his barrow. And tonight we're headed to the Plane of Shadows to raid Myrkul's Vault and retrieve a lost half-celestial. If that doesn't sound interesting, though, there's always staying in a prison cell and hibernating until something that does catch your fancy comes along."

"I see... I suppose that sounds amusing enough."

The prisoner stands, somewhat reluctantly, and bows. "Gannayev-of-Dreams, at your service. You may, if necessary, call me Gann."

"Belmarniss. You may if you feel like it call me Niss."

"Safiya. I'm afraid it doesn't shorten well."